The joy of victory lasted only a moment before the tension began to rise again.
"Our soldiers suffered the most casualties! Naturally, we deserve a greater share of the spoils, don't you think?"
"How can you even say that? Do you know how many supplies we burned through?"
"Do you realize how many of our warships were destroyed?"
The air quickly turned venomous as factions began snapping at one another, each trying to seize even a slightly larger portion of the spoils.
It started with the commanders from the southern kingdoms and the Free City Union, their raised voices echoing through the ruins of the battlefield. The greed that had been kept barely in check during the war now surfaced like rot beneath cracked earth.
The soldiers who had fought side by side on the front lines still shared a bond forged by blood, but the same couldn't be said for their superiors, whose minds churned with calculations.
We need to secure as much as possible.
That's how we'll gain an advantage over the other nations.
Peace won't last long anyway.
This war's spoils will reshape the balance of the continent.
Even now, their eyes weren't on victory, but on what came after.
Everyone knew that the empire would take the lion's share of power. The empire had deployed the most troops, and it was the empire that had struck the fatal blow to the Demon King. To be more precise, the credit belonged to the Ducal Family of Leston, a noble family of the empire.
The Ducal Family of Leston had gained enough prestige through this war to even dream of independence.
Halo Leston may have fallen, but...
Caron Leston still stands. Given his age, the Ducal Family of Leston's dominance will continue for at least another fifty years.
If we can just handle that boy well enough...
Their greedy thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of a punch.
Pow!
A sharp blow echoed across the field.
"I've tolerated you bastards long enough," someone snarled. "But no more. You think we would hand over our hard-earned spoils to scum like you?"
"Scum?" another scoffed. "You mercenaries who were toyed with by the enemy have the gall to call us scum?"
"Enough! We won't associate with you any longer. You've insulted the honor of knights—so let's settle this now."
"My thoughts exactly."
Swords were drawn.
The knights of the Zion Kingdom and the Neon Kingdom, both from the southern continent, faced off with killing intent.
The spark had been trivial—equipment obtained from Glory, including advanced armor, blades, and even firearms that clearly bore the mark of superior craftsmanship.
Just like that, a fight had broken out over the spoils of war.
To make matters worse, the two nations that clashed were long-standing enemies.
The celebration of shared victory evaporated instantly, replaced by a suffocating hostility that spread like wildfire through the expedition's ranks.
Caron let out a long sigh as he watched the two sides glare daggers at each other. He had expected this much, but not so soon.
Now that the common enemy—the Demon King—was gone, division was inevitable. He'd known it would happen, but witnessing it with his own eyes left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Come now, everyone," Caron said, stepping between them with weary calm. "Let's all take a breath."
The fighting paused momentarily at his appearance, but the killing intent lingered. It was hard to believe these were the same men who had fought shoulder to shoulder mere hours ago.
Caron wondered if fighting side by side wasn't enough to wash away grudges that had lasted for decades.
"Why are you all fighting on such a fine day?" Caron began, forcing a smile. "Once we return to the fortress of the Demon King of Liberation, a grand victory banquet will be held. Let's leave the quarrels, shall we?"
He spoke softly, trying to smooth things over.
My body's barely holding together as it is, he thought grimly.
Though Seria had treated him, his condition was far from good. Even standing upright strained his limits—let alone breaking up a fight.
I understand now why Sir Zerath left this to me, Caron thought.
If Sir Zerath intervened, it would mean the Ducal Family of Leston and the empire were taking sides. But Caron was different. His role in the expedition was little more than that of an exiled one of the Ducal Family of Leston.
"Sir Caron Leston!" one of the knights from the Neon Kingdom barked. "We refuse to remain among the filth of the Zion Kingdom any longer!"
"How dare you!" a knight from the Zion Kingdom shouted in return. "Our kingdom shed the most blood in this war! We deployed most of our fleet! Do we not deserve our share?"
"The war is over," the knight from the Neon Kingdom spat. "We'll settle our matters ourselves. Stay out of this."
"That's what we should be saying, you crawling vermin!" the knight from the Zion Kingdom said.
At that, Caron couldn't help but laugh.
"Ha... Hahahaha!" he laughed, genuinely amused.
This was pointless. Trying to reason with them was like trying to lecture children mid-brawl.
After laughing for a good while, Caron stepped closer to the two knights, standing as representatives of their respective factions. They looked ready to cross swords at any moment, but Caron merely smiled and said, "Thank you, truly. Thanks to you, I know exactly what I must do."
This was merely a preview of what awaited the continent upon their return—fractures, rivalries, chaos. War was over, and unity would crumble.
Such was the way of humans and all races. It wasn't strange to fight for one's nation or people. But the timing was wrong.
"We haven't even honored the dead yet," Caron said quietly. "Countless souls gave their lives in this war, and you're already clawing at scraps."
He raised his head. His eyes gleamed with dangerous light as he said, "I gave you a chance."
And then...
Pow!
Both faction leaders collapsed to the ground before they could even register what happened. Caron had punched them both, hard enough to knock them unconscious.
Standing over their fallen bodies, he declared coldly, "Listen well. From this moment on, if anyone raises their voice over spoils again, I will crush them. And I don't just mean the ones themselves. I'll hold their entire faction accountable."
Caron was sure that this wasn't the world Halo dreamed of.
He, at the very least, wanted Halo's death to be an honorable one. And for Halo's death to truly be remembered as such—it couldn't be like this.
"From now on, I'll personally oversee the distribution of all spoils. By what authority? As acting commander-in-chief. Understood?" Caron continued.
Until the joint funeral for the fallen was held upon their return to the continent, Caron had no intention of sharing a single piece of the spoils with anyone.
Craaaack.
Without hesitation, Caron snapped the arms of the two knights who had been openly fighting. Then, grinning faintly, he said, "If anyone else has a problem, speak now."
No one spoke. Silence spread like a graveyard's chill.
Satisfied, Caron nodded, then said, "That's more like it. These bastards only learn after getting their asses kicked."
He glanced over the assembled crowd, licking his lips.
Things were already falling apart, and they hadn't even returned home yet.
"Halo's death won't be in vain," Caron murmured. "Not while I'm still breathing."
***
Thanks to Caron's intervention, no one dared to fight over the spoils again. Word had already spread that the knights of the Zion Kingdom and Neon Kingdom had been utterly crushed by him. That rumor alone was enough to silence further disputes.
In that uneasy atmosphere, the expedition finally arrived at what could be called their first base of victory—the fortress of the Demon King of Liberation.
As Caron had promised the soldiers, a grand banquet awaited them there. For the first time in what felt like ages, the warriors shed their layers of tension and greed, drowning their exhaustion in laughter and drink.
"Drink up!"
"Here, have a glass, you pointy-eared elf!"
"Hmph. For a dwarf, you're surprisingly well-mannered."
"Hahaha!"
Laughter roared across the hall. Those who had survived the brink of death drank and joked together, their shouts echoing like music.
By nightfall, the tension of the day had all but vanished. Even the brawls that had nearly erupted over loot were now forgotten under the haze of ale.
Caron's warning had done its job. No one dared to start trouble again.
While the rest of the expedition drank, Caron was in his quarters, speaking through a communication orb with his father, Fayle.
" ...You've done well, Caron," Fayle said.
"About Grandfather..." Caron began quietly.
"Your grandfather made a choice befitting himself," Fayle's calm voice interrupted. "You have nothing to be sorry for."
"Father..." Caron said.
"Leave the postwar matters to me. You've done enough. Truly—you've done more than enough. Rest now, my son," Fayle said.
Whoosh.
The communication orb hummed once, then fell silent. Caron lowered it to the floor and dragged a tired hand across his face.
News of Halo's death had already reached Azureocean Castle, but nothing had changed. His uncle Dales, Raphael, and even Fayle himself had all accepted the loss with composed faces.
There had simply been too much death—too much blood spilled—for anyone to mourn just one man.
The surviving members of the expedition drank and laughed, trying to drown the memory of death with noise and alcohol. Caron understood that feeling too well.
Glug.
He poured himself a full glass of whiskey and downed it in one breath.
It was the same bottle he had secretly stolen from Halo's office. They'd planned to drink it together once the war was over.
Now that moment would never come.
It still didn't feel real. The image of Halo's face as it faded away grew more distant with each passing day.
Caron let out a long breath, and was about to refill his glass when—
Bang!
The window burst open, and three knights came climbing inside.
"I told you, didn't I? The Commander would be drinking alone again!" Kerra began.
"You win, Kerra," Ugo muttered.
"Even after all these years, that gloomy habit of his hasn't changed one bit," Beatrice added.
They were Caron's old subordinates—Kerra, Ugo, and Beatrice. The three of them plopped down beside him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Caron glanced at them with a faint smile, then asked, "Couldn't you use the door like normal people?"
"This way's more exciting," Kerra said with a grin.
"This is the seventh floor," Caron said.
"Exactly! That's why we climbed up the wall. We're just trying to cheer you up, Commander, so show some appreciation, huh?" Kerra replied.
One by one, they pulled bottles of liquor from their coats. Within moments, Caron's room turned into a makeshift tavern.
"What about food?" Caron asked.
"Ugo handled that," Kerra said. "Show him, Ugo."
With a sheepish grin, Ugo opened his satchel, and out came an entire roast pig. He said proudly, "I swiped this from the banquet hall, Commander."
Kerra unsheathed his sword, sliced off a thick piece of meat with expert precision, and handed it to Caron. "Here, have a bite."
"You're cutting food with your sword?" Caron asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Does it matter? It all ends up in the same place in your stomach. Be grateful I'm serving you, Commander. Now quit whining and eat," Kerra snapped.
Caron clicked his tongue, but a small laugh escaped him as he chewed the meat. The flavor was rich and tender, perfectly seasoned—a luxury he hadn't tasted once throughout the war.
They ate and drank for a long while, their laughter filling the room.
"Hey, Beatrice," Kerra said suddenly. "What will you do once we go back?"
"I'm not planning on telling you," Beatrice replied curtly.
"Are you going to head back to the Holy Kingdom?" Kerra asked.
"Maybe. I haven't decided yet. I was also thinking of tagging along with the Commander instead," Beatrice said.
Kerra barked a laugh, then continued, "What will people say? An old dame chasing after a younger one? That'll start some rumors, won't it, Commander?"
"Kerra," Beatrice called, her tone low.
"What?" Kerra replied.
"Shut your mouth before I cut your tongue out. Ugo, toss him out the window for me," Beatrice said.
"That's actually not a bad idea," Ugo said, sipping his drink.
Caron laughed, letting their chatter wash over him. They were the same as ever. It seemed as if they were talking so eagerly to fill the void Halo left behind.
Perhaps Halo was gone, but in return, so many things had been preserved.
...Thank you, Caron thought silently. He didn't want to wallow in grief. He knew Halo would never have wanted that.
Caron raised his glass quietly and said, "Let's have a toast."
Kerra smirked and replied, "A toast sounds good. Oh, Commander—how about going on a trip with us when we return? I think it'd be great to even take Aqua along."
"Before going on the trip, do one last job with me," Caron said.
"Job?" Kerra asked.
"Yes," Caron confirmed, then took a sip of whiskey, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and told them about the "job."
Kerra listened with growing amusement, then grinned. He said, "Now that sounds fun. What do you think, Ugo, Beatrice?"
"Very much like our Commander," Ugo answered with a grin.
"...It sounds like a crazy plan," Beatrice muttered. "But yes—it's perfectly fitting."
Caron lifted the bottle in a small salute, saying softly, "For Halo."
There was still much left to be done. At least for now.