The strike force was reassembled once more, but there was one difference: The addition of two Archmages from the Magic Towers.
One was Cor, the Archmage of the Imperial Magic Tower. The other was Libre, the Archmage of the Dark Magic Tower.
With those two added to the existing companions, the unit was no longer a mere squad. It had grown into something resembling a small legion.
At the front stood Caron, Leo, and the giant chieftain Utula, forming an unshakable vanguard. Behind them marched Orion, the contracted summoner of the Spirit King Ifrit. At the very center of the formation walked the Grand Saintess Seria. And at the rear, Gratia and her two fellow mages held their ground.
It was a force capable of leveling an entire kingdom.
Caron cleared his throat and spoke, "I'll explain our plan simply. As soon as we make contact, we unleash the new weapons. We test their power quickly, then when the trial is complete, Ifrit and Lady Gratia will lead with one massive strike. After that, we wreak some havoc, and then we fall back. Any questions?"
It was a hit-and-run, an old and reliable tactic. So long as mobility was assured, it was always effective. Warp spells were already prepared for emergencies. The strategy was simple: Hit hard once, then retreat intact.
The companions nodded in agreement. Only one voice dissented.
"Caron," Utula called out with his booming voice carrying over the battlements, "I only wish to be drenched in the blood of my enemies. But retreat? That is unworthy of a warrior."
Utula, the brave warrior and chieftain of the giants, stood scowling.
Caron opened his mouth to scold him sharply, then sighed and shook his head instead. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, coaxing. "Utula, we're not retreating."
Utula frowned and asked, "Hmm... But hit-and-run, does that not mean retreat?"
"Not exactly. It's a reverse charge. A counter-charge, if you will. And a counter-charge is still a charge," Caron explained.
"...Mhmm!" Utula's face brightened. "That makes sense. Very well."
It was nonsense, but Utula nodded as if he'd been enlightened. What exactly he understood was unclear—but that was enough.
Caron clapped the giant's back and then turned to the angel standing behind him. He asked, "Rapha, are you ready?"
It had been nearly one month since the hatchery began producing "creatures of light." True mass production had only started one week ago, and repairs to the hatchery were still incomplete, limiting the output.
Today, only fifty of them had been prepared in total.
But Caron's eyes gleamed with anticipation. He remarked, "I never imagined such things could be made."
That was because every creature born from the holy vessel was endowed with astonishing power. That the god of light bestowed such gifts was beyond what Caron had expected.
Today's battle was, in truth, a demonstration of them.
Rapha inclined her head and raised her hand, then said, "They have not fully adapted to this world yet, but their power will be certain."
"I'll hold you to that," Caron said with a faint grin.
Boom! Boom!
In the distance, the demon host came into view. Just as the scouts had reported, the numbers were vast. And among them rolled colossal war machines on wheels—so massive they gave the illusion of moving fortresses.
"Weren't those things called Destroyers?" Caron asked.
Dennis, the demon who had sworn fealty to him, nodded and answered, "Yes, my lord. They are usually deployed in territorial wars. From the great turrets mounted above, they can unleash dozens of volleys of demonic shells."
"Impressive," Caron muttered.
As heirs of the Arcane Civilization, the demons had clearly surpassed the siegecraft of the continent.
Caron studied the Destroyers quietly and thought, Those must be destroyed the instant they're captured.
If such weapons reached the continent, disaster would follow.
Cor, the Imperial Magic Tower Master, scratched his cheek and said, "That's the same as the ancient weapon we found in the Southern City Union. So it really did come across from the Demon Realm."
"Oh, the one from when we rescued the dwarves?" Caron asked.
"Exactly. Our research stalled there, so this is perfect. If we could just secure one intact...?" Cor trailed off.
"Then that changes things," Caron admitted.
If even the Ducal Family of Leston could gain leverage by acquiring one, the risk could be worth it. Peace demanded strength, and strength demanded tools like these.
Caron's decision was thus affirmed. He then raised a hand toward Rapha and said, "Begin, Rapha."
Rapha nodded and gestured lightly.
Whoosh!
From behind Caron's band, blue flames erupted. Moments later, creatures soared out of the fire by the dozens.
"Immortal phoenixes of light," Rapha cried, "burn our enemies to ash!"
Beings of pure flame—azure and white—burst forth in resplendent glory. They were phoenixes, messengers of divine will, manifesting in the Demon Realm itself.
Screech!
With piercing cries, the phoenixes dove straight at the demon army.
Caught off guard, the demons unleashed a torrent of dark magic in defense.
Hiss!
Crackle!
Spells made of dark magic blazed across the battlefield, but the phoenixes' flames consumed every trace of them, burning the malice to nothing.
Through the dark sky, brilliant light cleaved its way. The holy power pouring from the phoenixes shredded the demons' ill intent.
Roar!
Fire rained from above, and the cannons of the Destroyers swiveled in answer.
Boom!
All five Destroyers roared at once, spewing forth shells of condensed black mana.
"...Wow," Caron let out a low murmur of awe. He said, "We must claim those things."
Cor scoffed and said, "They're nothing compared to our airships."
"Sure, sure. Utula, Leo—shall we?" Caron asked.
It was time.
The phoenixes had sown chaos among the enemy ranks. Now was the moment to feed the demons' blood to Guillotine, Caron's blade.
"Orion," Caron called.
"I've been waiting," Orion answered grimly. "Ifrit—reduce every foe before us to ash."
Gladly, came the infernal reply.
Summoned in an instant, Ifrit appeared upon the battlefield, hurling waves of hellfire that followed the phoenixes' blaze.
Even in the shadowed night, the battleground was lit like day.
And with a smile, Caron hurled himself into the fray.
***
"Aaaargh!"
"Kill them!"
The cries of the demons were drenched in madness, saturated with killing intent. Compared to human emotions, theirs were thicker and sharper. They were so intense that merely facing them made the skin prickle.
No matter how many Caron cut down, more demons rushed forward.
"Isn't this the battlefield you longed for?" The voice of Guillotine rang in Caron's ears.
It was true.
This was the battlefield Caron had yearned for all his life. He wanted nothing more than to wade through demon blood and swing his sword until death took him.
Claws and blades sought every opening, slipping through the smallest gaps in his defense. Yet not a single strike touched him.
Slash!
Caron's mana poured out of him like an ocean. The demons around him were already drowning, caught adrift in his sea.
There was no dazzling swordplay. He simply swung, cutting through necks one after another. A blue light flickered in his eyes.
"This isn't enough," he muttered. This petty skirmish wasn't what he had hoped for. These small flies could never satisfy the hunger within him.
"But they're still demons," Guillotine whispered.
A race born for war. For centuries Caron had imagined them as overwhelming foes, mighty enough to match his dreams. Yet now they proved disappointingly frail.
At this rate, it felt as if all his effort had been wasted.
Whoosh!
His irritation stirred the sea, and a great wave surged forth. It crashed down upon the charging demons, sweeping them away as though they were nothing.
Barons, viscounts—such ranks could never hope to block Guillotine .
"Die! Die!" they screamed.
But their frenzy faltered in an instant. As they watched their kin being swept aside so easily, clarity returned.
The blade shining with a deep, oceanic light planted an uncontrollable fear in their minds. The human wielding it—he was far more terrifying than the sea itself.
He'll cut off my head.
If I resist, I'll die.
The fear was alien to them. To find their legs retreating from a mere human, to feel their arms trembling beyond their control—this was a nightmare none of them understood.
The strange aura flowing from Caron's sword invaded their bodies before they could resist, smothering every last scrap of will to fight.
"You're not coming here to get it?" Caron asked with a crooked grin, watching them falter. "Fine. Don't come. I'll go to you."
Murderous intent filled the air.
With a single swing, Caron cleaved through two noble demons who had dared to step into his path. Blood sprayed across his armor, and he strode forward with a smile, drenched in gore.
The fear he spread began to dominate the battlefield. Demons wavered, and into those cracks seeped the dark power of Slaughter that lay buried deep within him.
There was no escape. Anyone who tried to turn and run would lose their heads to that dreadful blade.
Thud.
A few nobles dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. Others broke under the pressure, slipping into mindless frenzy.
Caron smirked at the sight and said, "Smart little bastards."
Meanwhile, his followers had slipped into the melee and began shouting with loud voices.
"Swear loyalty to the Demon King of Liberation!"
"The Demon King of Liberation is merciful! Throw down your weapons and beg to join his host!"
Internal dissent. Seeds of rebellion. The battlefield fractured as planted agitators did their work. The enemy never had a chance to unite.
Boom!
Even the siege engines they'd so proudly prepared were shattered, annihilated by Gratia and Ifrit.
From Caron's pocket dimension surged the black knights—Avengers—swinging blades of vengeance.
"We will have our revenge," one of Caron's summoned Avengers hissed.
"Do not surrender. We exist only to kill you," another added.
By now, numbers no longer mattered. The hunters were Caron's band, and the hunted were the demons.
"Ha..." Caron exhaled amid the storm of madness. Smiling, he looked straight ahead.
Three demons stood before him: Two men and one woman. Unlike the rabble, they radiated thick, potent dark mana. They were stronger even than Count Dinatrius, whom Caron had already slain.
Yet Caron greeted them casually, "Nice to meet you."
A scarred male demon bared his teeth and replied, "Caron Leston. You wretched human, you've walked into your own death. I'll drag you back after cutting off your arms and legs. The Demon King of Sloth awaits you."
"Oh, really?" Caron asked lightly.
"You dare call yourself the Demon King of Liberation? A filthy insect of a human, usurping the title of a true—"
Slash!
Before Drakia, the demon, finished, a dark blue blade erupted from his chest. A clone of Caron had slipped behind them, striking without warning.
The battlefield flipped in an instant.
The nobles had thought they'd encircled Caron, but now nearly a dozen Carons surrounded them.
Such a feat was beyond human. The nobles trembled, faces pale, and at last they understood.
Their foe was no mere man.
Caron Leston was a Demon King. The very human who had devoured half the Demon King of Slaughter himself.
Only a Demon King could display such power.
As the high-ranking nobles froze, Caron twirled Guillotine with a casual flick and grinned wickedly.
"One down and two left. Cutting you both down would be boring... so here's an idea. You two fight each other. Whomever survives, I'll graciously accept as my servant," Caron suggested.
He had no intention of sparing them. Caron planned to kill and absorb both. But the smile on his lips masked the truth.
Such wretches deserved nothing but a pitiful, blood-soaked end.
"Well?" Caron asked softly. "If you want to live, fight each other."
The mad dog bared his fangs, his killing intent unfurled without restraint.
For such creatures, mercy was meaningless.