Halo's first and second sons—Dales and Raphael—shared a quiet drink beneath the ashen sky.
The expedition had won a great victory, and the command had granted its soldiers a short respite. Drinking was allowed so long as one didn;t get drunk. Thanks to that, the two middle-aged men finally had the chance to sit together and speak honestly over whiskey.
"Brother Dales," Raphael said.
It had been a very long time since he last called Dales by that word. His face was tinged with a faint flush, though any true drunkenness could easily be purged with mana. Both men had already downed a considerable amount.
"That wound from earlier—does your arm hold up?" he asked, jerking his chin toward Dales's right arm.
During the day's fierce battle, Dales had been bitten by a behemoth that resembled a wolf.
Dales shrugged and nodded, then replied, "No problem."
"At our age, aftereffects are the thing to watch for," Raphael said.
"What about that slap you took from the Marquis? Your cheek still stings?" Dales asked.
"Not at all," Raphael answered boldly, tossing back another gulp of liquor.
It had been ages since the two brothers last drank together like this. For so long, they had fought relentlessly over the position of the head of the house, piling up nothing but resentment toward each other.
But at some point... Something had shifted. They had begun to feel a strange kinship again, perhaps even the brotherhood they'd known in their youth.
Raphael refilled Dales's empty glass and said, "Dales, let's just live more easily from now on."
"What are you saying?" Dales asked.
"Forget about the position of the head of the house. Let's just focus on one thing: Staying alive and coming back in one piece," Raphael replied.
A few years ago, Dales would have cursed him outright. Instead, he gave a bitter smile and nodded.
"Raphael, do you know?" he began.
"Tell me," Raphael said.
"I stopped caring a long time ago," Dales confessed.
The next head of the Ducal Family of Leston, and the glory of leading the ducal family into the future...
So long as Halo still stood strong, Dales had never coveted the position immediately. What really stung him was that their father hadn't even named an heir. The days when Dales had been the celebrated prodigy, the eldest son destined to inherit, had long since passed. He had once been called the genius who would guide the next generation of the Ducal Family of Leston—but that was a memory from another age.
"When I think about it, both of us did our best," Dales said.
He'd always known that Raphael harbored his own ambitions for the seat. Unlike Fayle, who had never awakened his mana, Raphael's talent was undeniable.
So the brothers had fought for years. Each of them had strove to catch their father's eye, gathering noble allies within the duchy, building their own factions.
Yet now, all of it felt meaningless. Perhaps it had been doomed from the moment a monster named Caron Leston had appeared in their house.
"Do you not regret it, Dales?" Raphael asked quietly.
"What regret?" Dales asked.
"Not striking down Caron when we had the chance," Raphael replied.
At that, Dales burst into loud laughter. He drank again and said in a voice edged with tipsy mirth, "Are you drunk already? Spouting nonsense like that."
"Who was it," Raphael pressed, "that whispered at Caron's Awakening Ceremony that we should join hands and push aside our dear nephew?"
"...Back then, I was blinded," Dales muttered. "But weren't you the one who stuck your own son at Caron's side, calling it guard duty?"
"Guard duty? Don't twist it like that. Anyone who heard you would misunderstand. I was the victim!" Raphael protested.
It wasn't as though they had never thought of holding Caron in check. In fact, they had even roped in the First Elder to watch him.
But fireflies meant nothing in the presence of the sun.
And Caron... He was the sun. He was a being who illuminated everything around him, and at the same time, reduced anything that drew too close to ashes.
It hadn't taken long for them to realize that.
Caron had entered Azureocean Castle only after childhood, yet now he stood proudly among the strongest on the continent. To think of restraining such a monster had been impossible from the very beginning.
"It was easier once I let it go," Dales said.
"The proud eldest son giving up the seat of the family head..." Raphael snorted. "If I had heard that a few years ago, I would have laughed in your face."
"And you?" Dales asked.
"I still want to drive my fist into Caron's face!" Raphael roared. "My one and only son—huh? He became a Demon King! How could you possibly understand that, Dales?"
With a deafening crash, Raphael's massive fist slammed into the ground like an iron cauldron lid.
"Are you planning revenge?" Dales asked calmly.
"Revenge? Of course I am," Raphael answered firmly.
"And how will you do that?" Dales asked.
"...Since I can't take revenge on Caron himself, let's torment Fayle instead! Let's wreck the family finances and send his blood pressure through the roof. At least that'll sting!" Raphael exclaimed.
"Tsk tsk, you madman. Just drink," Dales said, shaking his head.
He didn't know how things had come to this, but the feeling wasn't unpleasant. He thought, The head of the Ducal Family...
In the past, he would have staked his life on claiming that position. But not anymore. That seat had turned out to be nothing more than a poisoned chalice.
So long as Caron Leston existed, being head of the family would bring nothing but stress. Better to enjoy a comfortable old age than wear the crown of thorns.
From what the other elders conscripted into this campaign had said, life outside Azureocean Castle could be surprisingly pleasant. Dales had even sounded Hugo out about the idea.
"At least you married your daughter off well, Dales," Raphael said.
"As I've said countless times, Leon went because she wanted to," Dales replied. "And it's not even marriage—only an engagement. Engagements can always be broken."
"Ha! They say the emperor and his future empress are so sickeningly in love that even the palace walls are blushing. As if that's going to break. Meanwhile, my wife loses sleep thinking she might one day have a beastfolk girl for a daughter-in-law," Raphael said.
"Your wife still hasn't changed? I'd have thought she'd soften by now," Dales said.
"People don't change that easily. What about your wife?" Raphael asked.
"...Let's just drink," Dales muttered.
Their glasses clinked again, a sharp chime that carried their mutual complaints into the night.
Soon, their talk drifted toward Caron's display of overwhelming power earlier that day.
"When I saw him drag the moon down from the heavens... I felt chills all over my body!" Raphael exclaimed.
"Didn't you say you hated Caron?" Dales asked.
"I do! I hate him! But his swordsmanship—I can't hate that! It's different now, utterly beyond the Oceanwolf Sword Arts. After the war, I almost want to ask him for lessons. Don't tell me I'm the only one? Dales?" Raphael replied.
"...I feel the same," Dales admitted.
Through this war, both men had been forced to confront the limits of their own swordsmanship. Born into the Ducal Family of Leston, they couldn't help but be warriors.
But they had given up on the seat of the family head precisely because of that. To cling to the position at the expense of the family's future—that, they couldn't do.
Caron was the future of the Ducal Family of Leston. They could only accept that, and seek a new path.
That was the conclusion Halo's two sons had reached.
"When the war ends, how about we take a trip together, Dales?" Raphael asked.
"Not a bad idea," Dales answered.
"Then don't go dying from a stab wound before we can," Raphael said with a crooked grin.
"You always have to ruin it with your words," Dales grumbled.
"If it comes to it, we'll drag Father along too," Raphael suggested.
"That might even be fun," Dales agreed.
The brothers shared another quiet laugh, their cups raised in unspoken camaraderie.
But from the shadows, someone else was watching them.
"They've turned into rather charming old men, haven't they?" Guillotine asked.
"At least my effort raising them wasn't wasted," Caron murmured.
"Effort? All you ever did was bite and beat on them at every chance," Guillotine replied.
"That was training," Caron answered.
"You lunatic," Guillotine muttered.
Caron stood at the base of the wall, gazing at the two middle-aged men with a faint smile. He said softly, "They're not rotten to the core, at least."
And for the first time, he considered taking better care of them if they all survived this war.
With that, Caron lifted his flask and drank a mouthful of whiskey. Tonight, for some reason, it tasted a little sweet.
***
The next day dawned.
As expected after such a sweeping victory, the expedition's mood was buoyant. And the subject of their chatter was of course, Caron.
"Don't you think Caron Leston has surpassed his grandfather?" one soldier said in awe.
"I pissed myself when I saw those moons come crashing down," another admitted.
"No wonder the demons worship him," a third remarked. "They trample lives like ants, but the moment they stand before Caron Leston, they turn into fanatics."
"What are you talking about?" a soldier from the Holy Kingdom cried. "Sir Caron is the Warrior sent down by the Light itself, the very incarnation of the divine! As long as we follow him, even in this hellscape, we will survive!"
Some expeditionaries had already begun to treat Caron as though he truly were a god. Among them, the soldiers from the Holy Kingdom were the most fervent.
"The Light has descended into the Warrior's body without question!" one proclaimed.
"Praise the great Light! Protect the Warrior with your life, and strike down the vile fiends!" another shouted.
While the expedition rode high on Caron's deeds, the demons were no different.
"The Demon King of Liberation will unite the Demon Realm," one of the demons said.
"A new age is coming," another added.
"To survive, we must follow his will."
Those who once followed Havoc had already become zealots, spreading their new 'faith' to the rest. And their work was effective. Even those who had reluctantly bowed to Caron found themselves swept up in awe of his impossible power, turning into passionate devotees ready to die for him.
The Demon King of Liberation had shown the demons a new path—the only way to escape this cursed Demon Realm.
It was proof of how much one overwhelming figure could shift the entire balance. Even in circumstances this dangerous, where disaster could erupt at any moment, the expedition's spirits remained strangely steady.
"Times of chaos always forge heroes," one soldier said smugly.
"And what kind of lunatic says that about himself?" another shot back.
"This lunatic, right here," the soldier answered.
"You're insane," the other muttered.
Meanwhile, Caron stood atop the fortress wall, his gaze sweeping across the ruin.
The ancient fortress had been obliterated by the expedition's firepower, yet some sections still stood intact. Dwarves and mages scurried around inspecting the wreckage, while soldiers rested in clusters.
Reports from the night before had been troubling. Men swore they had seen illusions, suffered hallucinations, or even glimpsed ghosts. Every case pointed to disturbances of the mind.
The priests had rushed to intervene, but even their holy power hadn't been enough to fix the problem.
Most likely, it was due to Void's mana suffusing this land.
"We've been inside the Realm of Void for only a single day, and already it's this bad," Caron muttered.
They had won a great victory with minimal losses. What remained was simple—pursue the Demon King of Havoc, and deal with the Demon King of Void.
But time wasn't on their side. The ever-churning energy of Void would, sooner or later, corrupt the minds of the entire expedition.
In the worst case, annihilation awaited.
They would have to reorganize quickly and press forward without delay. The longer they lingered, the greater the chance of being wiped out.
Caron frowned up at the ashen sky. The gray seemed thicker than before, the taint of Void heavier, seeping deeper into the air.
Unlike other realms, where demons had at least some knowledge, even they confessed ignorance of the Realm of Void. For that reason, the expedition had begun sending scouting parties yesterday—only for many of the scouts to return half-mad.
Whatever it was, something inside this realm was moving, unseen.
"One day of rest is enough. We'll march again," Caron said under his breath.
At least one thing worked in their favor.
"Are we putting the demons in front again?" Leo asked.
"Better them than sacrificing our men," Caron answered flatly.
They had gained many more 'shields.' Unlike the human soldiers, demons and demonic monsters could resist Void's power to some degree. Reluctant as he was, Caron had no choice but to use them.
As he was calculating their next steps, a figure vaulted up from the base of the wall.
"Lord Caron," a man called.
"Oh, Sir Zerath," Caron responded.
It was none other than Commander Zerath..
"What is it? Is Grandfather looking for me?" Caron asked.
"I bring a report," Zerath began. From the grave look on the man's face, Caron knew something had gone wrong.
"The Veil of the Void has closed. At the same time, all communication with the outside has been severed," Zerath declared.
"But I was in contact with His Majesty the emperor just last night," Caron said in disbelief.
"It is no longer possible. We've checked again and again," Zerath confirmed.
Zerath had no reason to lie.
Caron exhaled sharply, a deep crease forming on his brow. He asked, "...So we are trapped inside the Realm of Void?"
"That is the headquarters' conclusion," Zerath answered.
"Ha..." Caron sighed.
The Demon King of Void had stripped the expedition of every choice they had.