The lingering sense of unease hardened into certainty. The Demon Fire had obliterated the watchtower, yet the flames spreading through the fortress were strangely limited. It wasn’t that he had subconsciously held back out of concern for the attached village. The walls and barracks built with scarce materials had been treated with fire-hardened clay, giving them resistance to flames. On top of that, there were remarkably few tools or supplies that could easily catch fire. This wasn’t something achieved overnight. It meant that, over time, someone had instilled fire-prevention discipline into the troops by removing, isolating, and controlling anything that might cause a blaze.

“Orders from Lord Ratu! The militia is to focus on putting out the fires!”

“Get the villagers out through the back and into the mountains!”

“The standing troops are to focus on the attackers! There aren’t many of them!”

Even the foot soldiers were moving well. In fact, despite being caught off guard by Demon Fire, they were already regaining control. Even the spearman now lying below had managed to exchange blows three times and had nearly evaded a fatal strike. If it had been a pure spear duel, the outcome might not have been decided so easily. Walm voiced the concern forming in his mind.

“Did that soldier deceive us?”

According to the captured soldier, this fortress was commanded by a dull, aging officer Ratu. In terms from Walm’s old world, he was the kind of washed-up officer banished from the promotion track to rot by the window. Eskish Fortress wasn’t a strategic stronghold, and it was supposedly under an insignificant commander. The information from Justan as a former royal guard had backed that up as well. But now that the lid had been lifted, that soldier had been quite the actor.

“…And you’re telling me what insignificant looks like?”

A commander called dull would never charge straight into the raging heat of Demon Fire. And above all, there was that Strong Strike that had crushed a fireball. The destructive force that smashed the ground itself as it scattered the azure flames meant that fireballs alone wouldn’t be enough to kill him. As Walm considered his next move, he tensed at the old commander’s strange behavior. Ratu took a stance with his spiked iron club thrust forward, prompting Walm to shift his guard against a magic attack.

“Hear me, knight of the empire! My name is Ratu! I’m the commander entrusted with this fortress! Come, let us cross blades in fair combat!”

“…Huh?”

Walm doubted his own ears. What the hell had that man just said? The man before him was the fortress commander, the one at the top of the chain of command here. And they were in the middle of a fight to the death. Why in the world was he introducing himself so politely? This wasn’t some exchange of business cards under the guise of testing one another.

Even Walm, both as a soldier and as an individual, felt thrown off. The only exception was the demon mask clinging to his face, trembling as if urging him to answer in kind to this strange declaration. He ground his teeth and forced the thought away.

“Focus. Don’t get dragged into this. There isn’t enough chaos yet to open both gates.”

Their group was small, barely worthy of being called a unit, but Justan’s strike team was already working to seize the gates. This wasn’t some heroic tale. Such old-fashioned duels didn’t exist in the present-day northern nations. Those belonged to a distant past, to an age that could afford such ideals. Walm gave no reply. Instead, he raised his halberd. Taking the silence as an answer of its own, commander Ratu spoke to the soldiers beside him.

“He is mine. Go defend the gate.”

“But sir, the enemy is the Demon Fire user. Even if it’s you, Lord Ratu…”

Despite his outrageous behavior, he saw the battlefield clearly. Walm realized it at once that Ratu had already identified him as the diversion. Ratu kept his eyes fixed on the imperial knight, ignoring his subordinate’s concern.

“Rodrigue, it’s pointless. Once you’ve cleared the enemies at the gate, you can come assist.”

The two men reluctantly pulled away from their commander. If Walm closed the distance under the cover of heat and flames, maybe he could kill them from behind. He moved to cut off the reinforcements heading for the gate, but the sound of the ground bursting beneath him snapped his eyes back forward.

“Looking away in the middle of a fight? You’re practically inviting me!”

“He’s charging in?!”

White hair streaming, the old commander surged forward in a single step. The pressure was overwhelming, like a fortress wall bearing down on him. On the battlefield, those proud of their strength often trained only their upper bodies, neglecting their legs. But that explosive acceleration, so ill-fitting for his massive frame, came from thoroughly trained lower-body strength.

“Look at meeeee!”

His long arms and the iron club nearly as long as Walm himself gave him reach equal to a halberd. A careless counterthrust might be smashed aside. Walm read the sweeping strike, leaned back from his forward posture, and combined it with a sliding retreat.

The iron club passed just short of his chest. Studs lining the weapon churned the air, producing a violent roar like an instrument meant to terrify the enemy. The head of the club sweeping past him was the signal to step in. There was no time to hesitate. He would take the man’s head in one blow. Walm committed himself to a short, decisive battle, but before the spear could reach Ratu’s throat, the shaft that had been pulled back slid into place and covered the centerline of the old general’s body.

“He blocked it?”

Steel infused with mana clashed, rejecting one another. Sliding the axe head along the surface of the iron club, Walm brought the side blade down toward Ratu’s knee. It was a strike meant to gouge out the joint and shred the ligaments, but the massive body leapt backward, literally lifting off the ground. It was a movement that seemed to ignore gravity, but Walm didn’t miss the landing. He evaded the counter-swing that followed and drove in with a thrust. The thick magic barrier and the breastplate beneath it kept the blade from biting deep, but it couldn’t fully negate the impact.

“Ngh… guh!”

As the old commander let out a strained groan, Walm gathered his Demon Fire. Blue flames filled his vision. Ratu swept them aside with Strong Strike, but when the flames cleared, the imperial knight was gone.

“…There!”

Sensing the presence at his side, Ratu thrust his club forward, and Walm answered with the mightiest blow his halberd could deliver. He compensated with angle and initiative for the difference in raw strength. Once again, mana clashed against mana, but this time, the halberd broke through the iron club. Walm brought the axe-head crashing down toward Ratu’s exposed chest, his elbows raised. Strong Strike tore into the magic barrier and carved a horizontal line into the breastplate.

“…Too shallow.”

Blood seeped from the wound, but the redeployed mana barrier suppressed the bleeding. Walm raised his halberd high again and brought it down like splitting firewood. The iron club met it head-o, but Walm had no intention of trading blows directly with Ratu as he regained his stance.

At the moment of impact, he rotated the shaft, slamming the axe-head sideways and letting it slide. He had aimed to take a few fingers at least, but the club deflected from the elbow, and the strike left Walm with nothing more than a scrape across the iron gauntlet.

“What’s wrong, commander of Eskish Fortress? Out of breath already, old man?”

With Ratu’s club raised high once more, Walm re-established the halberd’s proper distance. Despite the taunt, the spirited battle cries from before had gone quiet. Walm had hoped the old man’s spirit had broken at the realization he couldn’t win, but he quickly realized he was wrong.

“…So close, yet it won’t reach. Haa… think. My vision was blocked… I was deceived. Haa… space… angle… not enough. Not enough…”

Ratu muttered to himself like a man possessed. His expression was eerie like his mind, once overheated, had suddenly cooled and sharpened. The demon mask trembled with excitement.
“What a fickle bastard you are.”

Walm exhaled blue flames. He wouldn’t give him any more time to think. Dodging the straight line of blue fire, Ratu came charging at the imperial knight in a low stance. It was an unusual posture, as though wrapping the club around his own body. By using that tree-like frame to hide the weapon, it concealed the source of the strike at the cost of exposing many openings. As a high-risk, high-reward style, it wasn’t a bad choice. However, Walm had no intention of matching him in a contest of brute force. He would wear him down with heat and blue flames, then finish him with Strong Strike. Two more steps and he would be in range… or so Walm judged, until Ratu’s next move made his eyes widen.

“He swung already?”

It would take four more steps before they were close enough to exchange blows again. And yet, Ratu put his entire body and soul into a mighty upswing. It was only when the roar of wind being torn apart changed in quality that Walm understood his intent. Even after having seen the weapon shatter the earth itself, Walm had overlooked it. The spiked iron club stabbed into the ground again, scooping up a great mass of soil and hurling it into the air.

“…So that’s your play.”

The heat and flames dulled it slightly, but the spray of dirt and gravel didn’t stop.

“My eyes!”

A chill ran down his spine. Walm instinctively lowered his face and a split second later his whole body was struck by stones. The demon mask rattled under the impact, seemingly scolding him for his mistake.

“This isn’t the time for—”

At the edge of his vision he caught sight of a leg thick as a log. Ratu had already circled to his side and was mid-swing. Using one foot to turn, Walm spun around and unleashed Strong Strike aided by the hot wind.

The halberd and iron club collided. Mana wrapped around both weapons, clashing and bursting apart. What remained was a contest of pure physical strength. The result sent Walm’s elbows flying upward, while the iron club drove back into the ground. No matter how superior his muscles were, without a full windup the spiked club was little more than dead weight. Walm slid his grip down the shaft to shorten it and aimed at Ratu. He should have gained the initiative then but from below, he caught sight of something monstrous rising toward him. The club, which should only have been able to move sluggishly, suddenly grew in his vision. Walm tucked his chin and twisted his body sideways just as the studs grazed his cheek.

He understood what had happened. Ratu had kicked up the head of the club buried in the ground to make up for the lacking momentum. Covering himself in blue flames, Walm thrust once, then twice from behind waves of fire, using them to keep him at bay. But the iron club moved in tight, controlled motions, deflecting every spear tip.

“Why is a guy like this even here?!”

Walm glared at Ratu again. The old man’s short breaths and gasps spoke of exhaustion. The wound carved into his breastplate was proof of Walm’s advantage. And yet the pressure Ratu exerted hadn’t diminished in the slightest. Walm attacked high, middle, low in irregular patterns, withdrawing just enough to let the side blade scrape and wear him down. Still, every decisive strike was being blocked at the very last instant.

“Hah… thrust… pull… chip away…”

As Walm thrust, the iron club shot forward in response. The difference in weight forced his spearpoint off course, and the club slid along the shaft toward him. Reacting instantly, Walm slammed the axe-head against the studs, knocking its axis off. Following the motion of the axe-head pushed aside by the studs, he switched his grip mid-motion and drove the butt end forward in a crushing strike. The blow struck the old man’s body, but it wasn’t a full force hit. By thrusting his shoulder forward, Ratu both avoided the hit to the head and reduced its power.

“…You’ve picked up some tricks.”

Admiration and irritation welled up in Walm at the same time. At the start of their clash, there had been openings to exploit. But now, with every exchange, the old man took the wounds as payment, learned from the technique used against him, and turned it into his own nourishment. And these weren’t the flimsy sort of makeshift adaptations one picked up on a whim. The fact that he could put them into practice immediately spoke of a lifetime of foundational training.

“Growing in the middle of battle… that’s supposed to be a privilege of the young.”

Walm let out a small curse. For a half-dead old man with one foot already in the grave to do such a thing was the stuff of nightmares. At this point, taking his head in a single strike was no longer feasible. He would have to wear him down, and chip away at his limbs and magic barrier to exhaust him. The iron club raged like a storm of steel, scattering the Demon Fire while the halberd carved at the trunk of a great tree. Dozens of exchanges passed. How many more blows before the giant tree finally fell? Suddenly, their brutal exchange was finally broken by shouts from elsewhere.

“Walm, don’t get tied down! These bastards are insane!”

“It’s the head of a royal guard, damn it!”

“After him!”

The voice on the verge of breaking belonged to Justan. Hounded by Ratu’s retainers, he was barely fending them off with a feral expression.

“You thereeee! That armor… you’re one of the royal guards who protected the capital, aren’t you?!”

Faced with a former royal guard of the Felius, Ratu let loose a thunderous shout he must’ve not used in years. Walm had no intention of indulging this battle-crazed old man any longer.

“The path is open. Stop the Demon Fire!”

He severed the flow of mana, and the blue flames rapidly withered. From the distance came the sound of hooves gouging at the earth as they drew near. As if remembering something he’d forgotten, Walm turned around and headed for the gate. The scattered corpses along the way were Justan’s handiwork.

“Wait! Don’t go, I won’t let you escape!”

It was Ratu and his soldiers who now flew into a rage, weapons raised as they began a furious pursuit.

“Walm! Hurry up Walm, get over here, damn it!”

In a voice strained to the limit, Justan cried out for help. Unlike Walm, who had widened the gap from Ratu, Justan was being driven back by five soldiers, literally on the verge of being skewered from behind. Walm fired off a rough, barely aimed fireball. It was little more than a bluff but to those who knew the terror of Demon Fire, its psychological impact was immense. The Yarkuk soldiers instinctively took defensive stances, and Justan used the force of the explosion to sprint away.

“Over here!”

It was Douglas, forcing a reluctant group of horses forward as he burst into the fortress. The blood-soaked strike team scrambled onto the horses in a race and passed through the second gate.

“Don’t run! Don’t you dare run—AAARGH?!”

“Persistent old bastard!”

To shake him off, Walm hurled a fireball at Ratu but the old man smashed it apart with Strong Strike, roaring as he swung his iron club wildly. At this rate, the old man looked like he might live another fifty years. Walm fumbled from urgency and his poor horsemanship, when a chill ran down his spine and made him let go of the reins. Ratu’s club slammed into the ground between Walm and the horse, and the startled animal bolted off in a completely different direction.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Ratu, now with a longsword drawn at his waist, charged forward with frightening enthusiasm. Behind him, a mass of soldiers followed. To be left stranded among such a crowd in his current exhausted state would be a nightmare.

“Walm, your hand!”

A hand stretched out toward the panicking Walm. Looking up, he saw Ayane reaching her arm out as far as it would go. He grabbed it, pulling himself in between her and the horse’s neck. The horse neighed in protest at carrying two riders but still surged forward with enough power to leave the pursuing soldiers behind. Walm glanced once at Eskish Fortress growing distant. Ratu had dropped to both knees and was pounding the ground over and over, weeping.

“Commander, we need to treat you at once!”

“At this rate you’ll really die!”

“Ghh… aaah… damn you, Demon Fire user!”

Ratu’s anguished roar, calling out to the imperial knight echoed across the mountains long after they were gone.

◆

The horse didn’t slow. Its hooves struck the earth in steady rhythm, and within that sound, a faint voice slipped through.

“…It’s hot, isn’t it?”

At Ayane’s sudden words, Walm agreed.

“…Yeah. It is.”

The small hands wrapped around his waist were trembling. What exactly had made her say that? His own body, flushed with blood and Demon Fire? Or the burning fortress where scattered human lives flickered like torches? She had passed through that stronghold. There was no way she hadn’t seen what Walm had done there. Even now the bitter cries of the commander whose soldiers had been burned alive still lingered in his ears. There would never be a proper moment to say it. But someday, he had to.

“…Ayane. I… I killed Makoto. I’m truly… sorry.”

Walm confessed the truth he had been unable to tell her back in Refun. He had burned so many without hesitation, and yet now, just saying it made his hands and voice tremble. His heart hammered like a drum, and he narrowed his breathing, trying desperately to hide it. After a long silence, Ayane finally spoke.

“…It’s not your fault, Walm.”

Her voice wavered.

“I should’ve… asked you myself. But I was too scared… to hear it.”

With those broken words, a drop fell onto the nape of Walm’s neck. Unable to turn around, he waited for her to continue.

“I was so busy just surviving that I didn’t really see the people around me… my friends. I thought… as long as I kept saving the wounded being brought in… that was enough… Maybe I should’ve returned to Crest. I convinced myself that if I stayed in Selta… I could stop the war.”

Her voice trembled more with each word.

“Even if people praised me, I’m still just a tiny, insignificant person. I don’t know what to do anymore… what’s even right anymore… will Yuuto be next? Or Johanna…?”

The countries and their people had become too twisted now. There was no longer any hope for a peaceful resolution. Walm couldn’t bring himself to offer half-hearted kindness or comforting lies.

“You’ve done well, Ayane. You’ve done things I could never imitate… but if the pressure, the expectations, or reality itself become too much to bear, then you should leave the northern nations. In this world, there are places to live besides Mayard and Highserk.”

As he forced out those words, the memories of his past stabbed into him. That phrasing sounded almost exactly like the words his brother had used when they parted in anger. In the end, they really were alike.

“…If I left the war behind… and went there… would you come with me, Walm?”

“…”

That plea from one of his own homeland, the rise and fall of his country, his duty to his people… her question threw his mind into chaos so violently that it made him dizzy. A murky flame of emotion lit in the depths of his heart. “Don’t look away. If you left Highserk now, what would happen to the people left behind? And what of the comrades who died in the last great war? What did they die for? What were those sacrifices for? After all that killing… after everything… are you going to run again? Are you the only one allowed to live in peace?” At the end of that spiral of self-loathing, the scales that had balanced against each other finally tipped.

In the end, Walm’s silence became his answer to Ayane. The girl’s arms tightened around his back, her body pressing against him from neck to waist.

“…Hehe, sorry. That was mean of me, wasn’t it? I was joking. I know you can’t abandon people who are suffering, Walm. Just… for a little while… let me stay like this.”

Their heartbeats overlapped, as if trying to become one. And yet, despite the closeness, the distance between them felt impossibly far. An unbearable cold and an inescapable warmth… both lingered quietly against Walm’s back.

Translator – Lyxxna