Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 88

Walm fixed his gaze on the assailant emerging from the blazing flames. She was a woman with red hair, and as all the standing soldiers were taken down, she undoubtedly had cast the spell. Choosing fire magic was likely a decision made to prioritize the scope and power of destruction, but Walm was accustomed to being clad in flames.

“Why won’t you die?!”

A voice laden with frustration reached Walm’s ears. It was unmistakably one of the culprits who had shattered the right corner tower, though the boldness that had sent allies flying alongside enemies seemed to have quieted down.

“Ah, did you get scolded?”

Walm received an incongruous reply. A man, both vivid and flamboyantly decorated, was sitting at the remains of the corner tower. Nearby, there seemed to be a mercenary group, including a man who appeared to be their leader.

Humans dressed in flashy costumes were something Walm had come to recognize on the battlefield. Commanders, especially those of noble birth, often held strong influence in the field.

Noble blood can sometimes turn into a curse. The pride and dignity of their family make them stand out, unable to hide, pushing them to the front lines. Considering the risk of losing command, this could be seen as intentional arrogance. However, for nobles, commanding people and leading thousands was a difficult task if not done so.

“Planning to play the hero with this number disadvantage?”

“Do I look like such a noble person to you?”

The head of the mercenaries threw words at Walm. Whether it was out of resentment for having his comrades slaughtered or some other reason, his words seemed to carry a mix of mockery and irritation.

Walm found himself isolated among enemies. To be precise, there were still soldiers around him, left behind. With no way to retreat and suffering numerous wounds, a few soldiers still did not cease their resistance.

They clearly did not believe in survival, so it had to be their stubbornness that kept them going. Some might have been hot-headed, deciding to take as many with them to their deaths as possible.

Among them, there might have been those who simply failed to escape in time or those who stayed back to cover retreating comrades out of a sense of responsibility. Their lives were also hanging by a thread. If Walm focused on escape, he could possibly break out of the encirclement using fire magic or outpace them with the acceleration of wind magic.

Even if the side of Viscount Edgar suffered defeat, Walm could flee to a city engulfed in corruption. The army aimed to occupy the area around the magic silver mines. If the tales of the Dalimarcus territorial soldiers were to be believed, an invasion reaching the cities under central government control would not happen.

“Running away might be the better option.”

The mercenary sensitively reacted to Walm’s sentiment.

“Do you think you can run away? You’re going to die here. Don’t worry, we’ll carefully disassemble your body, selling it piece by piece. The eyes and liver of a magic user like you will fetch a high price.”

It was a fervently radical confession. The high market value was conveyed along with murderous intent, and although not unpleasant, having those parts gouged out would mean Walm’s death.

“On the battlefield, even my body is popular.”

Walm never anticipated that a day would come when he would be targeted by numerous men and women for his body. Amidst the intense stares, soldiers continued their valiant efforts around him, falling one after another to the ground. A breaking point was approaching.

“Such a foolish personality.”

The word “duty” always seemed to chase after Walm. He had been a workaholic in his previous life as well. Despite complaining about reaching his limit or being unable to handle more, he would drag his body to tackle the work in front of him.

He envied the individualists and egoists. Not in a sarcastic way. They had a firm will and a smart brain for their own benefits.

Walm, an imperfect collectivist, weighed his own benefits against those of the group or community he belonged to. If the latter did not suffer significant harm, he would choose personal gain. However, once he understood that his actions could have a serious and fatal impact on the group or community, he would inevitably disregard himself or the few.

Could the two boys escape if he fled? Could the Highserk volunteer soldiers avoid harm? Could the people of the fallen nation achieve reconstruction without the magic silver mines? These questions were like a curse binding Walm. The path to retreat was closed, and Walm resigned himself.

“I really hate myself.”

The pain in the eyes was unbearable, and the loss of light filled one with terror. Yet, these were not the reasons for any hesitation in what was to come.

Walm well understood what would happen if Demon Fire was used in an unknown condition. People were killed and burned in great numbers—old and young, men and women alike. Yet, he had never burned enemy soldiers while standing in ranks with comrades who shared the same fate of being stuck within enemy lines.

Those who had no idea what was about to happen, what could they be thinking at their final moments? Some with their guts exposed spun their last words, while others, like a strange young soldier reaching out for salvation, tried to convince their tainted conscience that they were necessary sacrifices for the group, making Walm nauseous with the hypocrisy.

To save a young boy he had come to know meant killing fellow soldiers he did not know. It was the epitome of unfairness.

“Huh… haha… there’s truly no salvation,” Walm mused.

This raised a question. If it came to saving Highserk soldiers or saving the young boy begging for help, whom would Walm have chosen to abandon? Merely contemplating the choices Walm might have made caused a chuckle to escape his lips, and a dark smile to spread across his face. In these futile thoughts, the flame being projected began to fade, signaling the beginning of Walm’s dissection.

From the bag hanging at his waist, he grabbed the mask and put it on his face. The demon mask trembled with joy and anger in the long-missed air of the living world. The mask stuck to his face so much it hurt.

Walm liked the mask. It was the same as a robber’s mask. If one’s face was not visible, a person could commit cruel acts with ease. Walm was no exception to this cowardice.

“My apologies. But you like it, don’t you?”

Walm played with the mask. Sensing the anomaly in magical power, the mask rattled with joy. The demon mask loved nothing more than to watch the azure flames burn the present world from the best seats, taking delight in the spectacle. It was a creature of poor taste. Capturing the sight of as many fellow soldiers as he could within his vision, Walm murmured softly.

“…Forgive my hatred, I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing with that—”

The words of some noble were cut off. The burning pain in the eyes was overwhelmed by the instinct to survive and a rational desire to kill. To send them to the underworld, the Hellfire Beacon was awakened from a year of slumber.

Blood seeped from his eyes, and the pain in the eyeballs affected his brain. Biting down on his teeth to endure the pain, Walm continued to laugh. Otherwise, he would have been overwhelmed by it.

“Ah, hah, hahaha, haaah!!”

The hot wind that blew became a whirlwind spreading into the sky, and azure flames overflowed. The cheerful shouts quickly turned into screams of agony. Among them were still fellow soldiers and barely breathing injured soldiers.

“It’s been a long time.”

It was an emotion unfit for a human who had summoned hell. Yet, in Walm’s mind floated the dark, murky days with his former squad and at Dandurg Castle.

“Ah, Aaah?! The fire, the fireeee!!”

“Put it out, put it out noooooooowwww!”

One by one, the screams faded. Those consumed by the inferno, their throats and lungs burned, were equally deprived of oxygen and suffocated on the ground.

There were exceptions. The elite horsemen and the mercenaries were indeed excellent. Even engulfed in azure flames, a few soldiers still tried to close the distance to bury Walm.

“Don’t falter, off with his head!”

Walm began to welcome these attempts. Despite the intermittent eye pain and magical power consumption caused by the Demon Fire, it was still more bearable than the enemy suffering in the heatwave.

In an instant, even the soldiers who had momentarily erected magical barriers began to withdraw from the battle as their magic reserves dwindled. The burnt smell swiftly transformed from the smell of searing flesh and hair to one that clung to the nostrils.

The regular soldier who had endured the azure flames and thrust his spear at Walm was barely hanging on, appearing so frail. Walm used his halberd to entangle the spearhead and, with a swift motion, the spear easily slipped from the enemy soldier’s grasp. His skin and nerves were blistered from the heat, making it impossible to hold anything properly.

The soldier’s fighting spirit remained strong as he tried to draw a short sword, but the hooked blade extending from Walm’s halberd swiftly sliced through the throat from the side. As he continued to kill one after another, the soldiers closing in on Walm dwindled. Whether they had been consumed by the azure flames or had attempted to escape before their magic power ran out remained unclear.

One thing was certain: everyone on the battlefield had lost something—whether it be their gaze, their thoughts, or their lives—to the Demon Fire. As the eerie blue flames formed a sea of fire, and with a mask trembling with intensity, Walm couldn’t contain his laughter. His voice echoed through the battlefield, as if he had reached a peak of exhilaration amidst the blazing azure flames.

Translator – Lyxxna