Twenty minutes earlier.
A grand procession of carriages raced across the road toward Logram, having departed from Holy Krata hours before.
Soon now, thought the youth seated in the most lavish carriage in the center of the formation.
Inside rode none other than Neville von Lagnarich, heir to the Emperor of Holy Krata.
Hah… how long will I be dragged around like this?
It had only been sixty days since his coming-of-age ceremony, and yet Neville was already being sent on a sweeping diplomatic tour to every nation in the Holy Alliance—on the orders of his father, Emperor Lutan von Lagnarich.
He was, in theory, representing the emperor.
In truth, my father just doesn’t want to leave the safety of the palace.
Lutan had no intention of abdicating. He had designated a crown prince solely so someone else could handle dangerous travel and ceremonial duties on his behalf.
Among many sons, Neville had been chosen simply because he was the most obedient.
But that didn’t mean he was without resentment.
No… what burned in his chest was far more than resentment.
The Hero—Clay.
Neville idolized him. There was no complex reason for it.
It had been during one of Lutan’s many tests—he had sent his sons into the Demon King’s territory under the guise of diplomacy to see which would best follow orders. At the time, Neville had not even come of age.
When the demon forces ambushed their encampment, allies fell, and Neville’s life had been moments from ending.
That was when Clay appeared.
He had swept through the battlefield with the Holy Sword, vanquishing the demons and saving Neville.
Clench.
And then, the Holy Alliance killed him. More precisely, it had been orchestrated by Neville’s own father.
Neville’s fists tightened at the memory.
If only I had been stronger…
No one knew how long he would continue to be used like this—sent in place of the emperor to dangerous regions. Though he carried divine blessings and was hard to kill, Neville was all too aware that Lutan could discard him at any moment.
His father cared only for power. Love for his children had no place in that man’s heart.
Neigh!
The horses at the front of the procession suddenly halted.
They had arrived at the banquet grounds.
Hearing the movement stop, Neville raised his head.
Clunk.
The carriage door opened, and a knight bowed low.
“Your Highness, we have arrived.”
Another tedious banquet. Once again, he would speak in place of his father and in the name of the gods, offering prayers and congratulations to the host.
Neville sighed as he stepped out of the carriage.
Escorted by guards, he moved to the rear entrance of the banquet hall.
“…To grace this banquet, we now welcome our future leader! The Crown Prince of His Holiness Lutan of Holy Krata!”
The booming voice of Marquis Raviton, lord of Logram, echoed throughout.
Raviton loved speeches. The more prominent guests he could draw, the greater his own prestige.
Neville knew this all too well and frowned as he walked.
Rumble!
A thunderous sound split the air.
“What the…?”
BOOM!
A deafening explosion erupted, shaking the very ground.
“Guh!”
Neville lost his footing and fell hard, scraping his face.
“Tch…!”
But pain wasn’t his focus right now.
The tremor hadn’t stopped.
“What in the world?! Magic—here?!”
“We’re under attack! Aghhh—!”
“Fire’s spreading! Get the Marquis out of here!”
From the banquet hall—where he hadn’t even appeared yet—chaotic screams and panic reached his ears.
Something unthinkable had happened.
“Y-Your Highness!”
One of his soldiers rushed to his side.
“Are you alright?!”
He was fine.
Of course he was.
Fwoosh!
He had been blessed—perhaps excessively so. His wounds closed instantly, the Blessing of Restoration—Maberum shimmering on his forehead.
“I’m alright. What’s going on out there…?”
“I-I don’t know, but we must get you out of here, now!”
The soldier helped Neville to his feet. Under normal circumstances, touching him without permission would be a grave offense, but no one cared about propriety in this moment.
“Move quickly!”
Shouting orders, the soldiers formed a protective ring around Neville and began escorting him away.
Boom! Boom!
Flashes of deep blue light split the sky. Neville glanced up as he ran.
The demons were driven out… weren’t they?
Even if a few stragglers remained, they shouldn’t have had the strength to unleash this level of devastation.
Especially not here, just before the border of Krata itself.
BOOM!
Suddenly, a glowing blue figure plummeted from the sky and landed nearby.
“Arghhh!”
The resulting shockwave blasted the soldiers in every direction. Neville would have followed, but the Blessing of Resistance—Mazenkhe activated just in time.
“Guhh…!”
The wind slammed against him, then dissipated harmlessly.
It was real magic…
That meant it had directly clashed with the power of his divine blessing.
He opened his eyes and looked ahead.
A woman surrounded by chilling energy.
Her blue hair fluttered in the fading breeze.
Neville’s eyes widened.
“…Lady Yuru?”
She was the Master of the Blue Tower, one of the Hero’s closest companions.
“Why is she here…?”
As he muttered, his gaze scanned her form—and he fell silent.
She was breathing heavily, gasping for air.
Her robes were torn. Blood dripped from her lips.
And her glowing blue eyes burned with maddened intensity.
Neville swallowed hard.
A magic overload…
Even someone as gifted as her couldn’t unleash multiple large-scale spells without consequence. Her body would have overheated, and she had likely used frost magic to cool it—adding poison to poison.
He realized with dread—
She came all the way from the southern border to here… breaking through every checkpoint on the way…
It made sense now.
That explained everything.
But it also chilled him to the bone.
One of the Hero’s own party members—one who had stood by while Clay was executed—what was she doing now, tearing apart a Holy Alliance stronghold?
“...Neville,” Yuru finally spoke, her voice strained, “No need for formalities.”
She made no attempt to hide her identity.
“It’s harder without the party. I’m doing things I was never meant to… Look at me, I’m in tatters.”
“…Lady Yuru?”
“No need to be polite.”
Her eyes turned cold.
“I didn’t come here to respect you.”
Step. Step.
She walked slowly toward him.
“After killing the Hero, Emperor Lutan gathered all his top knights around him, didn’t he? Afraid someone loyal to the Hero might still be nearby. And then he stuck nobodies like these around his own son.”
“What are you saying…?”
“The Hero…” Her lips trembled, “It’s all because of the Hero.”
Because of the Hero?
Neville frowned, confused, “Because he passed…?”
“…What?” For a moment, Yuru blinked at him—then she covered her face with one hand and began to laugh.
“‘Passed’? Passed away?”
Her laughter turned manic.
Neville took a step back in fear.
Yuru kept walking closer.
“Was the Hero’s death so noble you use euphemisms now?”
“…”
“You really are different from Lutan,” The smile vanished from her lips, “But you’ll never succeed him. Lutan’s already implanted a long-life heart from a longevity species to extend his life.”
“…What?”
“It’s an open secret. Whether you believe it or not, he’d do it—even if it meant defying the gods.”
Neville raised a hand, his skin crawling.
“Please, Lady Yuru! Whatever you’re planning—stop this!”
“Why? I can’t use dark arts? When Lutan uses them and pretends to be holy?”
Yuru screamed, extending her hand toward him.
“Neville. I’m begging you.”
Despair twisted her expression.
“You didn’t believe in the gods. You believed in the Hero. So…”
It was a madwoman’s whisper.
“Let me undo my regret.”
♧
“…The Watchtower, huh.”
Barungenia.
After his talk with Cardin, Clay had climbed to the far-left spire of the Demon King’s Castle.
—At the very top of this spire is an eternal flame.
—The previous Demon King installed magic orbs throughout the continent via human collaborators.
—These flames serve as windows, showing what the orbs see.
—I don’t know where all of them are. That was under Lord Rohare’s domain…
Cardin had told him this.
Clay had no specific place in mind to spy on yet. But he had a reason for climbing the tower.
Information is everything.
Word must’ve reached Tia by now—via Lilien—that Clay had walked out of his grave.
If so, any number of reactions could already be in motion. Even if they didn’t care about the body, they couldn’t ignore Beatrice, who appeared to have revived it.
To prevent her from rallying the Demon King’s army, the Holy Alliance might already be mobilizing.
So, if he could spy on anything—it would be worth trying.
“This is it.”
At the summit stood a decayed old door.
Not much to look at…
Hard to believe a magic surveillance system lay behind something so worn.
Creak.
Clay gently opened the door and stepped inside.
“…There it is.”
A single flame hovered above a pedestal.
Each time it flickered, a scene shimmered within its depths.
He approached.
The images were faint at first. But as he leaned in, they sharpened.
It was true. The flame was showing somewhere.
“…No idea where this is.”
Currently, it was just a tree in the middle of a desert.
Clay reached out and swiped the flame to the side, just as Cardin had instructed.
The image shifted.
“…Fascinating.”
He began flipping through visions. The former Demon King had indeed been thorough.
And then—
“Huh?”
A wrecked banquet hall came into view.
And it caught Clay’s full attention.
(End of Chapter)