“Damn it all!”

The knight Raym cursed, his boots hammering the cracked earth as he fled the mist.

The demonic fog had exploded from the ogre’s corpse, a roiling tide of corruption that devoured everything it touched. Now it was closing in, hungry to swallow him whole.

I have to make it out of here. I have to live.

Raym screamed the words in his mind, forcing his exhausted body onward.

He couldn’t die here. Not when his mother was waiting for him at home. He knew with chilling certainty that if he fell, she would soon follow.

But resolve was no match for the relentless reality closing in behind him.

A low, terrifying rumble vibrated through the ground as the mist surged. It was already upon him, licking at his heels like a predator savoring its prey.

“Damn it…!” Raym bit his lip, his lungs burning as he ran.

In that instant, his boot snagged.

“Ah—!”

A strangled cry escaped him as the world tilted. He had tripped on a single, jutting rock.

He hit the ground hard, twisting to face the onrushing dark. The rumbling intensified, the fog surging forward with unnatural speed.

Before he could scramble away, it latched onto his leg.

A sickening crack echoed as corruption bit deep, his ankle twisting, the flesh beginning to warp.

He was becoming one of them.

“Shit…! Someone, anyone! Help me!”

Consumed by terror, Raym swore and squeezed his eyes shut.

Then—a flash of brilliant white.

A silent, concussive wave of light washed through his closed eyelids.

Raym slowly, hesitantly, opened his eyes. He stared, dumbfounded, at the scene unfolding before him.

“…Huh?”

Beneath the pitch-black sky, a light glowed. It was so blinding he could barely look at it, yet so mesmerizing he couldn’t look away.

And no wonder.

The light… it was beautiful.

“…Light,” Raym muttered, dazed.

The radiant energy held the demonic tide at bay, dissolving its leading edge into shimmering motes that scattered like petals on the wind.

He could have sworn he smelled camellias.

“What is this…?” Raym mumbled, his expression vacant.

How could the mist have stopped? Was this some divine miracle?

He realized then that the searing pain in his ankle was gone.

The transformation… it’s stopped.

His ankle hadn’t reverted completely, but it was no longer the grotesque, monstrous limb it had been moments ago.

“Ha… haha…”

A shaky laugh of relief escaped him. He lowered his head, overwhelmed just to have survived.

But the relief was fleeting, quickly replaced by a burning need to understand. His gaze followed the swirling motes of light back to their source.

And then he saw him.

At the very edge of the mist stood a man, his hand outstretched, blood dripping from his nose.

Louis Berg.

The man holding back the mist was Louis Berg, heir of House Berg and son-in-law to House Praha.

How, Raym had no idea. But judging from the blood streaming from the man’s nose and mouth, the effort was costing him dearly.

He was burning his own life to stop that monstrous tide.

“…Why?” Raym whispered, the question escaping his lips unbidden.

Louis Berg had no reason to protect them.

Raym and the other northern knights had all silently consented to abandoning him in the Demonic Realm. They didn’t start it, but they were clearly involved.

And yet… here he was, sacrificing himself to save them.

As an ordinary man, Raym couldn’t comprehend it. If their roles were reversed, would he have burned his own life for an enemy?

Of course not. He would have sneered at the man’s fate and been the first to flee.

An Aura Master of Louis’s caliber would never have been caught by such a slow-moving threat. He could have used the other knights as bait to guarantee his own escape.

But Louis Berg hadn’t done that. Though he could have escaped with the greatest ease, he was holding the line for them all.

He was saving his enemies at the cost of his own life force.

Why?

Even as he asked inside, he knew the answer.

“…Because he’s a hero.”

A hero. He was what the Emperor had named him: the Great Hero of the North. The second man to bear the title after the Grand Duke himself.

Raym had always scoffed at it, dismissing it as propaganda from the capital.

He saw now how wrong he had been.

A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. He would have to beg his forgiveness when they got back. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but he had to try.

He closed his eyes, clasping his hands in a genuine prayer.

May that hero’s path be ever filled with light.

* * *

A trickle of blood traced a path from the corner of my mouth.

“Damn nuisance,” I muttered.

My new technique, Demonbane Shot: Annihilate, was a success. The mist was held in check, its corrupt energy unraveling into shimmering petals of pure Aura.

The blood was a cosmetic problem.

“Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” I mumbled under my breath.

My body felt fine. Lighter, even.

The bleeding was likely just a side effect, a purging of dead blood as my Aura purified the demonic taint within me.

But if Lea or the others saw this…

They’d lose their minds. They’d be shouting for a healer before I could get a word in.

I’ll have to avoid using this in front of an audience.

I made a silent vow and continued to pour my Aura into the technique.

I scanned the area. The noise had died down.

So they ran already. Ungrateful bastards. It was a small mercy they’d at least taken their wounded with them.

The question was how long I could maintain this.

My Aura wasn’t infinite, and eventually, the barrier would fail.

I extended my senses, wondering how many were left. About a hundred, maybe?

The black tide churned, as if baring its teeth.

“…Can’t even get a moment’s peace around here.”

Thirty left.

Twenty.

Ten.

Three.

Good enough.

With a mental snap, I dropped the barrier and vaulted backward.

RUMBLE!

The mist seized the opening, surging forward like a tidal wave.

“I have no intention of being your meal.”

My bow groaned as I nocked and fired an arrow into the churning mass.

It did no real damage, but the shot, saturated with my Aura, made the mist recoil for a crucial second.

I landed lightly, then used that moment to create distance, spotting the last of the fleeing knights not far ahead.

“Huh!” One of them saw me, his face a mask of shock.

I grabbed him by the collar and pushed my speed.

“W-Wait!”

“Quiet. Or you’ll bite your tongue, and that’s on you.”

Another quick bound.

I ran, soon catching up to the main group of survivors. I unceremoniously tossed the knight I was carrying toward them.

“Take him.”

I turned back, sweeping up the last few stragglers. Before long, we had all reached the entrance to the Demonic Realm.

“You’re late,” my master observed as I appeared with the final knight.

“Had to ferry some stragglers.”

“…It’s a surprise that you saved them all.”

“They still have their uses.”

“…I can’t tell if you’re a fool or just a good man.”

Me? A good man?

I let out a short, derisive laugh. “Enough nonsense. We need to move. That mist will be here soon.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

My master nodded and started walking, casting a troubled glance back at the advancing fog. He was probably seeing the fate of the Eastern Continent in that darkness.

I ignored him, gathered the Taskforce, and set a course for the North.

Our mission here was finally over.

* * *

Meanwhile, at that very moment.

At the Round Table of the Twelve Nobles, demonic laughter echoed.

“Hah! I wonder if those fools are dead yet,” one boomed.

“Myu, it is unseemly to celebrate when our comrades have fallen,” another chided gently.

“Spare me,” Myu, the Count of Slaughter, sneered. “You can wipe that smirk off your own face, Crio.”

“Hm? Oh, dear. You’ve caught me,” said Crio, the Duke of Benevolence, his hand failing to hide his smile.

Even he hadn’t expected a full liberation of the Demonic Realm.

Every Demonkin would now grow stronger. The sleeping Princes—even the Demon Emperor himself—would begin to stir. New, more terrible beasts would spawn.

And it was all thanks to Solamio and Jin.

“I never thought they would make such a choice,” Pepia, the Count of Madness, muttered with deep satisfaction.

It was Abyssal Bloom: a self-immolation technique exclusive to the Twelve Nobles. Or rather, a state achievable by any Demonkin of sufficient power.

It was the ultimate act of defiance, choosing utter annihilation over returning to the Demon God. The price was steep, but the reward was the power to unleash a new hell upon the mortal plane.

For most, the choice was unthinkable, as it meant they could never return to the Demon God.

“It must have been young Solamio,” Crio mused. “He did always value his sloth.”

“That madman,” Myu cackled. “Choosing oblivion just to avoid being reincarnated. Suits us just fine.”

“That whore in the Empire and the boy planning his little war games will find out soon enough.”

“They likely already know,” Pepia noted. “A shift this significant… Besides, the power seething in their own veins must have changed by now.”

“True,” Myu agreed. “At this point, we should be able to wield our true power even outside the Demonic Realm.”

Myu’s cat-like pupils narrowed to slits.

“Well then,” he purred, a sinister smile spreading across his face. “I suppose it is time to begin.”

“Begin what?” Pepia asked.

Myu’s smile widened. “The conquest of the continent, of course.”

In that instant, the air in the chamber grew heavy, the playful malice condensing into something sharp and cold as a razor’s edge.

“Yes… we have been patient long enough.”

“The time has come to grant the humans our mercy.”

“Ah, I want to tear them all to pieces.”

The Demonkin at the Round Table let their desires run rampant, their voices dripping with anticipation.

Crio surveyed them all, a benevolent curve to his lips.

“Very well,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Let the conquest of the continent begin.”

And so it began.

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