Collapse.
The wall of earth crumbled, and the ground itself gave way.
Beneath the debris, all Yuru could see was darkness.
“Cough…”
A faint cough escaped her lips.
It was proof that she was still alive.
“Brother…”
She knew full well that atonement was no longer possible. But just because it was impossible didn’t mean she could give up.
She had come too far for that.
Snap!
She snapped her fingers, triggering a spell she had hidden beforehand.
“Umbra!”
Crack! Craaack!
The darkness that had filled her vision began to writhe.
From within it, black humanoid figures sprang forth.
Thud!
Faceless, formless—they were black wraiths, beings shaped only by crude silhouettes. They rose and shoved away the debris.
“Well.”
Beatrice, now returned to her humanoid form and standing outside the wreckage, watched the scene unfold.
“As expected of the greatest mage of her era. Quite the trick you’ve pulled.”
“…”
Yuru didn’t respond. She scanned her surroundings.
Clay and Neville were gone.
“Where did you hide them?”
“Hide them?” Beatrice shrugged, “They walked off on their own.”
“Beatrice.” Yuru’s blue eyes glowed as she glared at her, “You’ve always pissed me off.”
Beatrice, the Sovereign of the Sky, was not one to fight on the ground. She guarded the Demon King’s army from above.
Whenever she appeared, the skies turned crimson like dusk, and flames rained down from above. People called her a calamity.
Her attacks were more widespread than even the Demon King’s appearances, and the resentment toward her was immense.
“You thought it was clever, didn’t you? Raining hell from above while playing the ‘Sovereign of the Sky.’”
“Oh?” Beatrice let out a dry laugh, “If you didn’t like it, why didn’t you try catching me back then?”
“What?”
“You couldn’t then. Do you really think you can now?”
Yuru, who had been trembling with rage, suddenly went calm.
“…Now I can.”
“Huh?”
Beatrice tilted her head, puzzled.
In that instant, Yuru gestured into the air.
Dozens of black wraiths charged at Beatrice.
“You’re foolish.”
Beatrice stomped her foot down hard.
“They’re just crawling things.”
Fwoooosh!
The ground split, forming a fiery pit of molten lava.
Several wraiths fell in, flailing. But the others used their struggling brethren as stepping stones, crossing the lava and rushing Beatrice.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
They grabbed hold of her limbs.
“You can’t escape now!”
Yuru dropped her hand.
The black wraiths tried to slam Beatrice down into the ground.
But—
They couldn’t.
“…Just as I thought.”
Craaaack!
Even as the wraiths pressed down with all their strength, Beatrice didn’t budge.
“This is the limit of your mana reserves.”
“What…!”
“You’ve used too much mana.”
A mage of Yuru’s caliber could regenerate mana at a far greater rate than average.
But casting Grand Magic multiple times rapidly depleted her reserves beyond recovery. It was like trying to refill a dam that had completely drained.
“Yuru.”
Beatrice’s eyes flared red.
“Die here.”
BOOM!
A shockwave blasted out from her, sending the wraiths flying.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
They rose again and charged like mad—but it was useless.
Even in humanoid form, Beatrice could freely shift into her dragon state.
Thrum!
Dragon scales erupted across her body like armor.
The wraiths’ blows bounced off uselessly.
“My turn now?”
Crunch!
Her extended arm pierced straight through one wraith’s torso.
Twitching helplessly, the creature dangled in the air. From the back of Beatrice’s hand extended large, white claws like a beast’s.
“Did you think being the Sovereign of the Sky made me weak on the ground? Foolish.”
She flung the impaled wraith aside and shredded the rest with her bare hands in an instant.
“You miscalculated, Yuru. Gravely.”
“…Beatrice!”
Her voice roared like a shockwave.
Laced with mana, the sound made Beatrice frown slightly.
“Give me back my brother!”
Yuru charged at her—clearly intent on engaging in close combat.
This girl…
Beatrice gasped when she saw the glow intensify in Yuru’s blue eyes.
She’s drawing mana at an explosive rate.
Talent.
The same, unmatched genius that had been shared by every member of the Hero’s party.
Now, faced with a wall, Yuru had broken through again.
It’s unfair.
Beatrice chuckled bitterly.
Humans are always unfair.
Why were such absurd gifts granted only to humans?
The demonic race had to fall to gain power. But humans were born with it.
All the more reason to never give him up.
Especially him. Clay, born with the most overwhelming talent of all.
He’s ours now.
Fwoooosh!
Beatrice engulfed herself in flame and lunged at Yuru.
Seeing the inferno approaching, Yuru instantly summoned bitter cold.
BOOOOOOM!
Blue and red collided in a violent explosion of opposing forces.
☆
“Are… are you alright?”
Neville’s voice trembled as Clay carried him, running away from the battlefield.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Clay’s voice was low.
Neville had many questions, but he couldn’t find the courage to ask.
He’s… not the man I knew…
The Hero’s entire aura had changed.
The Clay he knew had been cheerful and outgoing. Someone who always shared his joy with those around him.
He talked so much that people used to run away just to get a break from him.
Now, he radiated a heavy silence. Like a man with nothing left to say.
Well, of course he’s different.
Somehow, he had survived death. But it was clear he had crossed death’s door.
“…Sir Hero.”
Despite everything, Neville had to ask.
“Did you… come to save me?”
“I told you not to call me that.”
Clay’s voice was cold.
“Ah, s-sorry…”
“…It’s fine. Just call me Clay.”
He told him to use his name, but Neville couldn’t.
Clay was the person he respected most. Even if he had changed, Neville couldn’t place himself on equal footing.
“…Mr.Clay.” He compromised, then asked, “You didn’t come to save me, did you?”
It wasn’t a question—it was an answer.
“Then why…?”
“Because I need you.”
“…What?”
“I need you.”
Neville didn’t understand.
“I don’t quite follow…”
All he could do was express concern.
“If you take me, Holy Krata won’t stand idly by.”
“You trust the Emperor who’s treated you so poorly?”
“Of course not,” Neville sighed, “He wouldn’t do it for me. But for the dignity of the empire, he won’t stay quiet.”
“That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”
“…What?”
Seeing Neville’s confusion, Clay elaborated.
“He can’t let the Crown Prince of Krata die. At least not right away.”
Only then did Neville begin to understand.
“You… plan to use me as a hostage?”
As long as he remained the Crown Prince, no one would dare kill him.
Clay could use him to limit the enemy’s options.
“The Emperor might just give up on me.”
“He might.”
“Then—”
“But not yet. He can’t afford to.”
Clay knew Krata’s internal politics well.
The Emperor had appointed Neville Crown Prince without any intent to transfer real power.
Even so, Neville held latent authority. If anything happened to the Emperor, it would all fall to him.
So the Crown Prince position itself was a seed of supreme power.
“If you disappear, the position becomes vacant.”
Then a new Crown Prince would be needed.
If Neville died in captivity, Krata’s prestige would take a hit, and the Emperor’s distant relatives would seize the opportunity to rise.
“Right now, it looks like the Emperor holds absolute power, but that’s only because others are hiding their claws.”
His obsession with power stemmed from the fact that his position wasn’t unshakable.
“You matter more than you think, Neville.”
Clay glanced at him.
“You just don’t know it because the Emperor worked hard to make it seem that way.”
Neville swallowed dryly.
A disguise…?
The Emperor had pretended not to care, but had quietly ensured Neville held the position.
It made sense.
For absolute power to last, the figurehead had to be someone without ambition.
Unbelievable…
Despite the Emperor’s cunning, Neville had been utterly unaware.
No—he hadn’t wanted to know.
He didn’t want to challenge the Emperor’s will.
“Then… Mr.Clay…”
“I want to use you,” Clay said it plainly, “Though really, it’s more that I need your help.”
“My help?”
“If you refuse, I’ll manage on my own.”
He said it without a shred of hesitation.
He really isn’t the man I once knew…
What had he gone through?
Neville had never truly understood how Clay had died.
“Will you help me, Neville?”
Clay asked before he could finish his thoughts.
“I won’t let the people who killed me go on living.”
Neville didn’t know how to answer.
He had changed.
He was no longer the Hero.
A Hero who had changed couldn’t be revered.
And yet—
“…Will I be of any help?”
He still believed in Clay.
“If I can help… then I’ll come with you.”
He chose not to doubt the path Clay walked.
It was a form of atonement—
For having done nothing back then.
“Then I’ll count on you.”
But for Clay, such faith was no longer something he felt compelled to protect.
(End of Chapter)