At the base of a dim grove, concealed among piled fallen leaves, Walm lay flat on his stomach. He continued observing carefully, making sure not to rise above the height of the low shrubs and weeds that had grown modestly under the filtered sunlight.

“Four sentries at the gate. Can you see the watchtower?”

He wasn’t speaking to himself. They were scouting as a group to improve the accuracy of their information. The soldiers were packed tightly together, close enough to feel each other’s breath, concealed in the undergrowth. Justan, lying prone like a lizard, narrowed his eyes and carefully confirmed before nodding.

“Yeah. Two archers up top. Six more along the wall, at least.”

“There should be a similar number on the far side as well. Just as we were told, 40, maybe 50 in total, including those inside.”

The distance was roughly two hundred meters. Built along the slope of a small hill, the fort served as a checkpoint. Its mixed wooden and stone walls stretched down the gentle slope of the valley, sealing off the mountain road to control who passed through.

Due to the large amount of stone transported to the mountain fortress near the Refun Mine, the region of Yarkuk was facing a shortage of building materials. Even so, the local lord and builders had compensated through ingenuity. Walm disliked diligent enemies.

“A gentle slope or not, there’s a ditch. I’m not keen on getting shot in the back and rolling it down.”

The unfamiliar warhorses they had acquired from the mountain fortress near Refun Mine would make crossing the slope risky. Combined with Walm’s mediocre horsemanship, he’d likely be the first to die. Having finished their information gathering, the group carefully chose their footing and withdrew toward the mountain’s shadow, where Ayane and the others were waiting.

“This may not be ideal, but a direct assault on the fort is still our best option.”

It was the logical conclusion from their scouting, but the response was lukewarm.

“With defenses like that, wouldn’t it be better to go around?”

One of the few surviving cavalrymen accompanying them proposed an alternative to Justan. Walm also would’ve preferred a safer option if possible.

“No. Every route is covered. If we abandon the horses, we won’t make it back to the Selta Peninsula in time. In the end, this old road is both the weakest point and the fastest.”

The captured enemy unit leader, Iasanto, had proven extremely useful. He provided detailed information on the number of troops stationed at the checkpoint, as well as the security of other routes. The interrogation dagger ended up unnecessary, and calming the demon-masked man who kept demanding blood proved more troublesome than the interrogation itself.

“And you still want to attack the fort with this many people?”

There were only six combatants present: three from Justan’s escort unit, two cavalrymen, and one imperial knight. The cavalrymen looked up to the sky in prayer, but all they saw were branches thick with leaves. Reality was merciless.

Justan had no intention of taking the fort through direct close combat. Walm understood the role expected of him, a highly mobile weapon, a living piece of artillery.

“…Then we burn it first.”

“…I hate to put this on you, but it’s the most effective option.”

Unusually, Justan offered words of concern to the imperial knight. Walm had used Demon Fire against military targets before. That was fine. Soldiers lived and died by the sword. Such was the nature of war. But this fort was connected to a settlement carved into the mountain. He knew exactly what would happen if it burned.

Even so, it had to be done. Suppressing his inner conflict, Walm kept his expression calm.

“Once I’ll get close along the slope, I’ll burn it with Demon Fire. No signal needed, just move when you see it.”

“The foundation is stone, and even the wooden parts are coated with clay and plaster. Even with Demon Fire, you won’t be able to burn it down.”

Even if parts of the upper structure were wooden, the foundation was stone. Even Demon Fire would struggle to burn through it completely.

“Don’t worry. We’ll open the gate.”

“W-what?! You want us to open the gate while being roasted by blue flames?!”

“You’ve got to be kidding…”

The cavalrymen fell silent, fully understanding Justan’s plan.

“As long as it’s not a direct hit, your magic barrier will protect you.”

The former royal guard who devised the plan said it plainly. But there was a reckless edge to it, one could say it was fueled half by desperation, half by resolve. Still, no one objected further. They all understood time was limited.

“Douglas and the others will stay behind. The moment the gate opens, bring the horses through. If it fails, fall back to Refun.”

“We’ll run without looking back.”

“I’ll need the cavalry with me for the breach. Tie everything unnecessary to the horses. You’ll move faster, and I doubt you want your gear going up in flames.”

Having resigned themselves, the cavalrymen rushed to fasten their belongings to their horses. Walm, too, stuffed his bulky halberd into his magic bag. The strange sensation, as if everything past his wrist simply vanished, was something he could never quite get used to.

“May I have a moment, Lady Maya?”

In stark contrast to his rough tone with the soldiers, the former royal guard addressed Maya with gentle politeness. The cavalry’s dissatisfaction grew further at the unequal treatment.

“What is it?”

“Could you use water magic to create mud? We’d like to use it for concealment, and fire resistance.”

“Leave it to me.”

Maya nodded firmly and began working, mixing water and earth with practiced ease until thick mud formed. In other words, just like in the mining town, they were to coat themselves in mud to protect against fire.

“So we’re getting covered in mud again?”

“We’re not wild boars, you know.”

The cavalrymen grumbled, but with their commander already smearing mud over himself, refusal wasn’t an option. As they reluctantly scooped up mud, Walm spoke to them in a mild tone.

“I’m glad to have more companions for my little fire games.”

“Damn knight…”

“To hell with Highserk.”

A warm gesture meant to ease the mood. It must have struck a chord with the cavalrymen, because they responded by hurling clumps of Maya’s special mud at him, whether as thanks or as something less charitable. Walm sighed. Human emotions were truly incomprehensible.

They had done everything they could to prepare. Justan gave a short nod, jerking his chin forward. With that silent send-off, Walm slipped into the slope and began advancing. At first, he moved on one knee. As the distance closed, he dropped lower until he was crawling on all fours like an infant. No doubt Justan and the others were watching, like parents fussing over a baby learning to crawl.

Even the faint rustle of leaves felt deafening. Moisture from the vegetation smeared across his body, soaking through his clothes beneath the armor. The sentries at the gate were busy chatting idly, complaining about rations and speculating about the uncertain state of the war. Walm silently prayed their conversation would never end.

As he crawled forward, stretching his limbs out, the sound of footsteps echoed ahead. A guard on patrol leaned over the wall, scanning the slope below. A mark identifying him as a Yarkuk soldier hung from his arm.

Ignoring the dirt smearing his face, Walm pressed himself as flat to the ground as possible like a burrowing rat clinging to the earth.

Ten seconds. Twenty.
Finally, satisfied by the unchanged view, the guard’s footsteps faded away.

Flicking away an insect clinging to him, Walm resumed his advance, coordinating elbows, knees, and hips. His pace, as slow as a slug, distorted his sense of time. Despite the slow movement, tension and adrenaline heated his body.

At last, he reached his target position. Placing the ever-demanding demon mask in prime spot, he tested his stiffened limbs. The timing was his to decide.

Taking a breath, then two, Walm sprinted up the slope and scaled the man-height wall. Peering over the battlement, he saw a single soldier on the walkway. The man’s gaze, previously fixed into the distance, shifted in response to the anomaly.

“Huh?”

He wasn’t prepared to face a Highserk soldier. The blade of Walm’s drawn longsword flickered. Ignoring the frozen Yarkuk soldier, Walm dashed forward. What had once been a man collapsed from the passage, hitting the ground with a dull thud. All eyes within the fort turned toward the noise.

“Intruder?!”

One of the soldiers stepped in, raising a short spear and shield to block his path. There was no time to engage properly, and Walm charged straight in.

He knocked the thrusting spear aside with the flat of his blade and slammed his longsword into the edge of the raised shield. The reinforced edge was severed by Strong Strike, exposing the vital point behind it. He cut through it in one motion. Without even confirming the kill, Walm slipped past.

“Enemy on the slope! Intruder! He’s alone!”

The archers in the watchtower finally spotted him. Their swift movements in nocking and firing spoke of rigorous training. Walm didn’t slow as he tracked the arrows’ flight. Thunk. Thunk. They struck the ground at his feet and behind him.

“They’re off— damn it, the angle! I can’t get another shot!”

“He’s under us! Don’t let him climb!”

Whether they had missed or fired to suppress, it didn’t matter. They had lost their only chance. The moment he closed the distance, the fight was already decided. Dashing beneath the watchtower, Walm unleashed Demon Fire.

Flames burst from beams and floorboards, blooming like blue petals. In the next instant, the wooden corridor, engulfed in an explosion, was blown apart with a thunderous roar.

Among the falling embers, what had once been archers tumbled to the ground. Human bodies, now torches, unmistakably signaled the success of the assault to both allies and enemies alike.

Translator – Lyxxna