Chapter 587
Exterminate the Enemy. (4)
Ghislain lost his balance and fell from the Black King’s saddle.
"Captain!"
"My Lord!"
"Your Highness!"
The knights fighting nearby rushed over to support him.
One of them fussed, asking,
"What happened? Why all of a sudden? Do you have a chronic illness?"
It wasn't the first time Ghislain had collapsed after a battle, but that was always after the fighting had ended.
Never before had he suddenly collapsed in the middle of a fight while coughing up blood.
Ghislain shook his head and muttered,
"I'm fine… Just finish off the rest of them…"
Once again, he had shifted the flow of the world while his body was already in a weakened state. The recoil from wielding such immense power was overwhelming.
As expected, it was not a power he could use frequently yet. He needed to refine his mastery further.
Fortunately, the war was as good as over. He could leave the rest to his men.
With difficulty, Ghislain climbed back onto his horse, narrowing his eyes as his mind raced.
"Divine power… protected him?"
The priests of the Salvation Church were beings who defied divine power. The higher their rank, the more their nature opposed it.
Even in his dreams, the Saintess had been fighting against those who opposed the Goddess. And yet, the relic she left behind had saved Gartros.
Moreover, even if only for a fleeting moment, he had sensed an intention within that divine power.
"That bastard must not die… right now?"
Why?
Ghislain now fully understood the Salvation Church’s goal.
They sought their king and their sacred relic.
The relic had already been found. That left only their so-called king.
Even if Gartros had lost his forces, there was no way he would abandon his mission. On the contrary, he would become even more desperate to find the king.
"A king, huh…?"
If the one the Salvation Church was seeking was the same Adversary he had seen in his dreams, then he was indeed worthy of the title.
Ghislain had never encountered anyone as powerful as that man in his lifetime.
"Could the relic be hoping for Gartros to find the Adversary?"
Otherwise, there was no reason for it to save him.
And that only made Ghislain's thoughts more tangled.
After all, the Saintess and the Adversary had been enemies.
He had no way of knowing what the relic truly intended.
Ghislain chuckled bitterly.
There was nothing he could be certain of yet.
The will he had sensed in the divine power had faded too quickly it was possible he had misinterpreted it.
"Either way, the fact remains that the relic saved Gartros."
Perhaps it held some unknown will of its own, or perhaps it simply had a protective effect for its wearer.
He was curious, but at the same time, it annoyed him.
The Salvation Church was effectively destroyed, but like thorns in his boots, a few troublesome remnants still remained.
"Ernhardt… Gartros…"
He would hunt them both down and kill them.
Even if he had to search the entire continent.
Ernhardt’s identity remained a mystery, and Gartros was one of the strongest warriors on the continent.
If they were determined to stay hidden, tracking them down would be an exhausting ordeal.
"There’s no other choice. I’ll have to issue a state of alert across all kingdoms."
He would dispatch Ritania’s administrators to oversee surveillance. There would be some resistance, but the kingdoms would ultimately cooperate.
After all, if such an incident were to occur within their own borders, the consequences would be disastrous.
Having suffered greatly this time, they would undoubtedly want to eradicate the Salvation Church for good.
“Waaaaahhh!”
Ghislain wiped the blood from beneath his nose and surveyed the battlefield.
The soldiers' thunderous cheers echoed in every direction. The Atrodean army had been almost completely annihilated.
Struck first by magic attacks, they had been unable to put up a proper fight. With the Ritanian army forming tight formations and closing in from all sides, there was no way for them to withstand the assault.
Clatter, clatter.
Ghislain slowly rode the Black King across the battlefield.
No enemies stood in his way most of them had already turned into corpses littering the ground.
At some point, the battle had come to a halt. There were no more enemies left capable of fighting.
The surviving Atrodean soldiers lay groaning from their wounds or had thrown down their weapons and surrendered.
All except for one.
Only Count Biphenbelt remained seated upright on his horse, his back straight.
Clatter, clatter.
As Ghislain approached, the crowd instinctively parted to make way.
There was only one reason Count Biphenbelt had survived.
At a glance, he was clearly the highest-ranking commander, so no one had dared to strike him down.
His very presence radiated authority and an imposing aura.
The two men locked eyes as the distance between them closed. A brief silence passed before Count Biphenbelt spoke first.
"I want to know why I lost."
He had devised a strategy that would inevitably ensnare the coalition forces, ensuring they would be drawn into his tactics. The coalition had been chasing them, after all.
They should have been forced to follow his lead. Yet, instead, they had been utterly crushed in separate engagements.
He was curious just how had his enemy maneuvered?
But Ghislain answered with an indifferent expression.
"Because I was stronger and faster."
Count Biphenbelt hesitated for a moment before breaking into a smile.
"A straightforward answer."
"And because I knew you well, but you didn’t know me."
Count Biphenbelt tilted his head slightly. Information about each other could only be gathered through intelligence.
Yet his opponent spoke as if he had truly known him.
Ghislain smirked.
"You wouldn’t understand. And there’s no need to."
"Indeed. What good would it do a defeated man to know more? It wouldn’t change the outcome. I only wished to satisfy my curiosity before my death."
"It’s a shame we had to meet under these circumstances."
Ghislain’s words were sincere.
In his past life, there were few as reliable as Count Biphenbelt.
With bold strategic judgment and keen insight, he had saved countless lives from the Rift.
However, the truth remained he was one of the forces working behind the scenes that had brought calamity upon the continent.
Regardless of whether he personally believed in the Salvation Church’s goals, the fact that he had allied with them did not change.
Ghislain slowly raised his spear.
"Any last words? As a show of respect for a great enemy, I’ll listen."
"There’s nothing to say. I’ve done all I could. The rest is up to those who remain."
"Straightforward. I like that."
Count Biphenbelt closed his eyes.
Of course, he wasn’t completely without regret.
"If I had focused solely on war from the beginning…"
Perhaps the outcome might have been different.
Maybe, even now, the continent would be split in two, locked in battle.
But prioritizing the Salvation Church’s goals had forced them to suffer major losses. It would be a lie to say he felt no frustration over that.
Yet what could he do?
Everything was already over.
Casting aside his lingering regrets, Count Biphenbelt calmed his mind.
Crunch!
Ghislain’s spear pierced straight through Count Biphenbelt’s heart.
"I’ll see to it that your body is preserved."
"…Thank you."
With those final words, Count Biphenbelt took his last breath.
A suffocating silence fell over the battlefield.
Countless eyes turned to Ghislain, and every ear awaited his words.
A faint smile brushed his lips as he slowly raised his spear and declared,
"You’ve all done well. The war is over."
"Uwaaaaah!"
Weapons were raised high as soldiers erupted into cheers.
The troops stationed at the fortress let out an even greater roar.
This wasn’t just the end of a battle.
It was the fall of the Salvation Church, the force that had plunged the continent into darkness.
A moment of monumental significance.
Relief, joy, and hope for a new era were etched onto the faces of all present.
Now, all that remained was the cleanup of the remnants.
A task so small it could no longer even be called a war.
Of course, the massive burden of post-war reconstruction still loomed ahead, but no challenge could be worse than the brutal conflict they had endured.
Amidst the roaring soldiers, someone shouted at the top of their lungs.
"Long live the Grand Duke!"
And with that, the troops of Ritania and the coalition forces erupted, each unleashing their own fervent cries.
"Long live the Duke of Fenris!"
"Our captain is the best!"
"Glory to Ritania on this day!"
"This moment will be recorded in history!"
"Honor to the courage of the coalition!"
"I am a superhuman too!"
"I have defeated the gods…!"
The battlefield was instantly filled with a chorus of triumphant cheers.
As the victorious shouts echoed through the air, the soldiers of Ritania and the coalition could no longer contain their emotions, letting them explode in celebration.
Old comrades ignored the clanking of their armor as they threw their arms around each other, embracing tightly. They patted each other’s backs, tears streaming down their faces.
Some removed their helmets and hurled them into the sky with triumphant cheers, while others fell to their knees, offering prayers of gratitude to the heavens.
Even soldiers from different factions of the coalition, once strangers, now felt like family in this moment.
They had traveled far from home, fighting relentlessly without rest. It would be a lie to say they weren’t overwhelmed with emotion.
"We did it!"
"It’s finally over!"
"A new era begins!"
The soldiers’ cries rang out endlessly. They embraced, clapped each other on the shoulders, and exchanged words of congratulations.
In an instant, the battlefield had transformed into a grand festival. The sheer joy of victory and the unbreakable camaraderie between them swirled into a storm of emotions, enveloping everyone.
In this moment, they were united as one, reveling in their triumph.
Leaving the celebrating soldiers behind, Ghislain went straight to Jerome.
"How is he? Is he alright?"
Jerome was still unconscious.
Vanessa, who had been tending to him, wiped the sweat from her forehead and answered,
"He barely made it through the worst of it. The others kept the circle from breaking."
Ghislain gave a small nod of gratitude to the surrounding mages.
"Thank you. Because of you, my friend is safe."
One of the mages quickly shook his head.
"No, it’s we who owe our lives to Sir Jerome."
Their voices were filled with sincerity. In their eyes, there was deep respect for Jerome.
The mage who had first treated Jerome stepped forward and spoke.
"Sir Jerome risked his own life to protect us. His self-sacrificing magic saved us all. It’s not that we saved him he saved all of us."
Another mage added,
"Sir Jerome’s wisdom and power are something we should strive toward for the rest of our lives. Just having the chance to aid him is an honor to us."
The mages all bowed their heads.
Their expressions showed gratitude, reverence, and even a hint of shame.
Watching Jerome’s magnificent magic, they had come to realize their own shortcomings.
Ghislain looked down at the unconscious Jerome and smirked.
"At this rate, you’re going to become the King of Mages, huh?"
Even in his past life, Jerome had been incredibly popular due to his natural charisma and warm personality.
But now, it seemed he had become even more beloved.
His sacrifice and sense of responsibility had even managed to move these notoriously self-serving mages.
"Still, I told you not to overdo it. If things get dangerous, just run away."
Ghislain muttered under his breath before shaking his head as if it couldn’t be helped.
But he knew Jerome better than that.
That just wasn’t who he was.
And maybe that’s why Ghislain had trusted him so much in the first place.
Thanks to everyone fulfilling their roles, the war had finally come to an end.
Gartros may have escaped, but it would be impossible for him to regain his former strength.
Even if he had to form a continent-wide pursuit force, Ghislain was determined to track him down and kill him.
"Time to head back."
He had to return to the Kingdom of Sardina to discuss post-war matters and plan the next steps.
Of course, he wasn’t planning to leave immediately. He needed to rest here for a few days.
There was the matter of transporting a certain spy,
"And Julien should be able to take care of that quickly."
And another old friend who was soon to return.
"Huff, huff… This… can't be…!"
Count Kalmund, the Third Legion Commander of the Atrodean Army, clutched a deep wound on his chest, panting heavily.
As expected, he had spotted a detached unit from the coalition forces.
The Third Legion had been keeping their distance, intending only to hinder the enemy’s movements. Their goal was psychological warfare rather than direct combat.
Even just the threat of a potential ambush was enough to wear the enemy down. And if a decisive battle was forced, they could simply retreat to create distance.
Then, from the enemy forces, a single figure charged forward.
"Damn it… The Prince of Turian…"
Groaning in pain, Count Kalmund stared at the man before him.
Cold eyes devoid of any emotion.
He had come alone.
Seeing an opportunity, Count Kalmund immediately sent out his priests and knights. Even Leonard, the leader of the Revolutionary Group, had volunteered to join the attack.
But the outcome was catastrophic.
Before they could even properly exchange blows, the priests were beheaded. The knights were slaughtered to the last man.
The moment Leonard sensed defeat, he fled faster than anyone else.
Then came the massacre.
As the Prince of Turian carved through their ranks, the enemy army arrived. The Third Legion, now in disarray, was swiftly overwhelmed.
"Cough!"
Count Kalmund spat out a mouthful of blood.
Despite his bodyguards blocking the way, he had still ended up wounded and collapsed.
His guards had been cut clean in half.
This wasn’t something that could be called human skill.
Before such overwhelming might, human strategies and tactics held no meaning.
"We were… fighting against a monster beyond reason…"
Among the Atrodean Army, the strongest were Gartros of the First Legion and Aiden of the Second Legion.
Perhaps if both of them fought together, they might have had a chance against this man.
It was impossible to know without testing it, but that was Count Kalmund’s judgment.
The man before him slowly raised his sword.
His forces were being cut down mercilessly by the advancing enemy troops.
"This war… we've lost."
A chilling realization struck him.
This man was an existence beyond comprehension.
It was already difficult enough dealing with the Duke of Fenris, but now the Prince of Turian had proven to be just as monstrously strong.
Slash!
His thoughts ended there.
Before he even realized it, the man’s sword had severed his head.
"Hoo…"
Julien, who had just beheaded Count Kalmund, exhaled deeply.
The enemy’s movements had irritated him, so he had rushed in alone to break their formation.
Even for someone as powerful as him, taking on such numbers alone had consumed a considerable amount of mana, leaving him fatigued.
And because of that, another troublesome one had escaped.
"The report?"
He asked briefly, and the small creature perched on his shoulder—Dark No. 28—responded.
"They said you don’t need to return. Just keep pursuing. They’ll handle the rest. Jerome should already be there by now."
"Alright."
Julien nodded slowly.
His original plan had been to crush the Third Legion and then regroup at the designated location.
But with Leonard having fled, he had contacted Ghislain for an update.
Fortunately, it seemed his absence wouldn’t cause any issues.
With Ghislain, Jerome, Parniel, and the superhumans of the coalition, the remaining enemies would be wiped out with ease.
"In that case, I should get moving."
At his command, Dark No. 28 spread its wings wide and took flight.
Julien spurred his horse forward, following the direction Dark had taken.
Once again, Leonard, the fleeing leader of the Revolutionary Group, had managed to escape.
He would remain a threat in the future.
So this time, Julien intended to erase him completely.