The Demonkin army is no longer in pursuit.

I risked a glance over my shoulder. The horde that had been hounding our retreat was gone. Vanished. As if the desolate landscape had simply swallowed them whole.

Did they give up?

I frowned. The thought made no sense. They could have overtaken us with ease. Why let us go?

Something must have happened.

Whatever the reason, it was a stroke of luck. Hans was already unconscious, and the others were running on nothing but will.

“We rest here,” I said, my voice raspy. I slowed to a halt, the group stumbling to a stop behind me.

The words had barely left my lips before Lancelot collapsed. “Ugh… I think I’m dying.”

He managed a weak, playful tone, but his state was wretched. Even a Master would break without food, water, or rest, and the hollows under Lancelot’s eyes were proof enough.

“Just a little longer,” I told him. “We should arrive within the day.”

“But can we even find any rest when we get there?”

Lancelot leaned against his spear, a faint, weary smile on his face. Beside him, Lea panted for breath while Roxen simply closed his eyes, conserving what little energy he had left.

It’s no surprise. We’ve been moving without proper sleep.

I was accustomed to such marches from my days as Artezia’s hound, but this was a new kind of hell for them. I sighed softly as I watched them drift into an exhausted sleep almost the instant they stopped moving.

Still…

“The demonic energy is growing thicker.”

I swallowed, the foul miasma flowing from the north coating my tongue. The closer we got, the more potent it became, hinting at the presence of some colossal Demonkin.

“It seems they’re still holding out, though,” my master observed from beside me.

“That’s a relief. Nothing could be more bloody annoying than arriving to find everyone wiped out.”

“Hmph. You’re starting to sound like your subordinate.”

I shot my master an incredulous look. Me, sound like Lancelot? That was practically an insult.

“A bit harsh, Master.”

“Heh. It seems the exhaustion is getting to you as well. Let’s change the subject. Have you given any more thought to your Mindscape?”

“…I still don’t understand it.”

I shook my head, sighing. In truth, the concept of a Mindscape had been my constant companion during the trek across the northern mountains. I had turned my focus inward time and again, searching for what mine could be.

But the answer remained elusive.

Something that reflects my life? But my life has been defined by revenge. Trace the origin of my Aura? But isn’t its source the same as my master’s?

And yet, he insisted that no two Mindscapes could be the same. I couldn’t make sense of the contradiction. Was he unable to explain it, or was I simply too dense to grasp it?

“I think I need more time,” I admitted.

He chuckled softly. “Look deep within your heart. The answer will reveal itself.”

“Yes, Master.”

“For reference,” he added, his tone casual, “the origin of my Aura is the camellia blossom. But that is mine. Yours will be different.”

“What?”

“You already know, don’t you? So much has changed.”

My master’s gaze fell to my chest. “Your Aura is no longer a reflection of mine. It has been reforged by a new life, a new past. That is why only you can find its source. It is a power that only you can wield.”

With those cryptic words, he gently closed his eyes. I watched him for a moment before turning my focus inward once more.

A brief respite. It wasn’t enough. To survive the next battle, I had to master this new power.

Look deep within my heart…

As my consciousness began to blur with fatigue, a thought surfaced, faint as a whisper.

I was close. I could almost grasp it.

* * *

The knights of the North fought on, their jaws clenched, holding the line against the unending tide of Demonkin.

How many months had it been?

Their bodies were screaming, their spirits fractured. The masters of House Praha had fallen silent, their power seemingly exhausted. For days now, the number of Demonkin hadn’t seemed to decrease at all.

“Has the Acting Head not yet awoken?” a knight of House Praha asked, his face a grim mask of dirt and despair. He was the acting knight commander, a title he’d inherited after the last commander was torn apart by the horde.

“No, sir. Taking in that much demonic energy… it’s taken its toll.”

“Damn it all!” the acting commander roared, slamming a gauntleted fist against the frozen earth.

The North was hell. A breach to the Demonic Realm vomited forth an endless stream of monsters, and one of the so-called Twelve Nobles had driven House Praha to the brink of annihilation.

Lin Praha, the Acting Head.

Roxha Praha, the Trademaster.

The Elder Council and their sworn knights.

All of them had been broken, toyed with by a single Demonkin before being cast aside.

“Do you think the Goddess has abandoned us?” one of the knights asked him, his voice hollow.

“Abandoned us…”

The acting commander looked up at the sky with a bitter, self-deprecating smile. 

The heavens, once a canvas of blue and white, were now choked with a perpetual storm of black clouds. Darkspawn wheeled and shrieked in the gloom, silhouettes against a sky that promised only apocalypse.

“Perhaps she has.”

A dry, humorless sound escaped his lips. He had dedicated his life to the Goddess, only to die at the hands of her enemies. It was a jest of the cruelest sort.

I’m not afraid to die. I’m just afraid for those I’ll leave behind.

The acting commander stared into the roiling sky and spoke to the silence.

“Have you truly forsaken us?”

The sky did not answer. Only the piercing cries of Darkspawn echoed back.

“Sir? Are you alright?” his adjutant asked, his hand on his sword.

“It doesn’t matter.” The acting commander straightened, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Whether the Goddess answers or not, our duty remains. We hold them back.”

Before them, countless Demonkin were reforming their ranks for another charge.

“All units, prepare for battle!” he roared.

At his command, the weary knights raised their shields and readied their blades. The battle began anew.

CLANG! CLANG!

The symphony of steel on steel was deafening. To a distant observer, the fight might have seemed evenly matched.

The reality was far different.

A wicked grin split a Demonkin’s face as it parried a northern knight’s clumsy strike, toying with him.

They were being played with. The Demonkin sacrificed their lesser spawn to dangle a sliver of hope before the defenders, all while methodically grinding their numbers down to dust.

And then, finally…

CRACK!

The acting commander’s sword shattered, the pieces cartwheeling through the air.

The Demonkin facing him sneered, letting out a low snarl as it raised its own blade and brought it down in a brutal, decisive arc.

This is it…!

The acting commander squeezed his eyes shut.

In that instant.

<Crushing Presence>

CRUNCH!

With a sound like splintering bone and pulped flesh, the sneering Demonkin before him ceased to exist, its form collapsing inward as if squeezed by a titan’s fist.

The acting commander’s eyes snapped open. He turned, trembling.

He was here.

The man who had cut down knights for disrespecting his people. The man who had killed the High Elder and claimed the title for himself. The prodigy of House Berg, the man rumored to have slain one of the Demonkin’s high lords.

“High Elder…!”

Louis Berg stood amidst the carnage.

“Looks like we weren’t too late,” he said.

And with him were Grand Duke Artezia and Lady Lea.

* * *

After a full day’s march, we had finally reached the northern front.

I feel like I’m going to die.

I forced down the bile rising in my throat and took a ragged breath. My stomach churned. We hadn’t had clean water in days, and my vision swam. The only thing keeping me upright was the resilience of a Grand Master’s body.

Lancelot, on the other hand, looks like a corpse.

I shook my head, glancing at Lancelot and Mihaila groaning beside me.

Lancelot, a Master, and Mihaila, who was nearly his equal, were barely conscious. Hans had collapsed the moment we’d stopped. Only Lea remained on her feet, though it was clear she had reached her limit.

To have come this far on willpower alone. I see now why she was called the Incarnation of War.

The thought of the Lea from my past life brought a bitter smile to my lips. We had arrived, but there would be no time to rest.

With a faint sigh, I unleashed my Crushing Presence again.

CRUNCH!

The Darkspawn flattened in an instant, bursting like overripe fruit. Drenched in the bloody rain that followed, I approached a knight who was struggling to his feet. Judging by the insignia on his pauldron, he was the acting knight commander.

The previous one must have died.

In a battle of attrition, losing a commander was catastrophic.

“Are these all your forces?” I asked.

“Y-yes, sir!” The acting commander nodded hastily, his eyes wide with a desperate, shining hope.

I let out a small, humorless laugh and scanned the battlefield.

Most of the Darkspawn had been annihilated by my Presence, and the more intelligent Demonkin had fled the moment I appeared. My master and the Grand Duke were already giving chase; their fates were sealed.

I turned back to the acting commander. “Where is your commanding officer?”

“Well… that is…” He hesitated before recounting the situation. As I listened, a groan escaped my lips.

All of them… unconscious?

According to him, the Demonkin were using an artifact that could forcibly infuse its targets with demonic energy.

Lin and Roxha Praha had both been struck down by it. To make matters worse, the one wielding this cursed object was one of the Twelve Nobles.

Myu, the Countess of Slaughter.

This is a problem.

I clicked my tongue. The situation was grim.

An Aura Expert at their peak and two Aura Masters were out of commission, along with the other ranking Experts. The strongest combatants left on this entire front were mid-level Aura Experts, supported by low-level practitioners and even Aura Adepts.

It was a battle they could not win.

Not even a moment to rest.

I glanced at Lancelot and the others, then sighed. I issued a sharp order to the acting commander.

“First, bring food, fresh water, and medical supplies. And prepare a place for my people to sleep.”

I might be able to manage, but the others were in no condition to fight. Only a Grand Master could push their body this far and still function.

I drank the water and ate the hard bread the knight brought, forcing my mind to clear.

The main Demonkin army would arrive in two weeks.

I had to restore order to this front before then.

“Take me to the Acting Head,” I commanded.

* * *

The acting knight commander led me to a command tent.

“It has been a while, Lord Berg.”

Inside, Lin Praha greeted me with a faint smile. He had mentioned she occasionally regained consciousness; it seemed our timing was fortunate.

“Forgive my state. I cannot offer you a warmer welcome.” She gestured toward her legs, her eyes filled with a deep, haunting regret.

I said nothing. I only looked.

Her legs were not just wounded; they were rotting. Blackened flesh twisted and warped, reshaping itself into the jagged limbs of a Demonkin.