“This slope… is downright eerie.”

The dark brown forest soil was damp, as if it had been endlessly drinking fresh blood. Ever since the clashes over the Selta Peninsula began, there hadn’t been a moment for blood to fully dry on Orzelika Pass. Standing there, such thoughts were only natural.

Parumast, the chief 100-man commander of the Crest army, was the officer in charge of a unit composed of Felius militiamen. Considering that most officers were from Crest lineage, it was extremely rare for someone of Felius origin to hold a rank commanding five 100-man units.

Parumast had a long military career and was now one of the few commanders who had survived the decisive battle of Aidenberg. When the entire army collapsed, Felius lost a great number of soldiers. His peers and superiors were no exception, and most were either killed or taken prisoner. Because of that experience, he was far more sensitive than most to the threat of the Highserk army advancing from the mainland.

“This place is a natural fortress that even withstood a Great Rampage. Breaking through won’t be easy, but we no longer have the luxury of time. We can’t afford to stall any longer at a simple forward position that isn’t even a supporting castle.”

Parumast paused, sharing the sense of urgency with the assembled 100-man commanders.

Capturing the six passes of Zerebes was an urgent priority for the Crest Kingdom, yet even gathering information about the defenses of a single pass had already cost them an entire unit’s worth of exhaustion.

“As you know, the front is blocked by an earthen rampart built along the ridge. The right side is a steep slope, or actually more like a cliff. The left ridge has less elevation difference, but its edge has been cut into a sheer drop.”

No one objected. Every unit had confirmed this through blood and sacrifice.

“It’s not all bad news. There’s some good news as well. The main force defending this Orzelika Pass from the Mayard Duchy is made up of new recruits that still stink of grain. Compared to the other fronts, this is the easier one. You could even call us lucky.”

Part of it was to encourage the officers, whose faces had turned grim recalling past losses, but it was true for the most part. At other passes, entire companies had been wiped from the records. Compared to that, casualties here were relatively light.

“The knight commander has directly expressed expectations for this front. We must answer that expectation. Therefore, starting today, we launch a full-scale attack. What are your thoughts?”

“The right side is a cliff, but with lightly equipped troops and wind-attribute magic users, we should be able to scale the cut slope on the left.”

The oldest 100-man commander after Parumast spoke up first, deliberately breaking the ice so others wouldn’t hesitate.

“A good plan, but the battle won’t end quickly. We can’t afford to exhaust our valuable magic users in a breakthrough attempt. They’ll focus on drawing enemy attention instead.”

“Over the past few days of probing attacks, we’ve completed approach trenches and forward mounds in front of the rampart. Leave the support for the assault to us.”

“If we push through by force, casualties will be far beyond what we’ve seen so far. We lack enough healing mages, but we’ve prepared cauterization irons and bandages. We’re ready.”

The discussion gained momentum and plans started falling into place smoothly. Once all main points were covered, Parumast stepped in to conclude.

“Our top priority is enemy magic troops and their commanders. Especially that middle-aged woman. Watch her closely. She can crush armor and tear flesh apart with her bare hands.”

That female commander in her prime was the greatest threat in the pass. With strength far beyond ordinary humans combined with body-enhancing skills, she struck fear into common soldiers. Her voice carried clearly even in chaos, instilling fear in enemies and reassurance in allies. In a force mostly made of recruits, she was one of the key reasons the rampart held firm.

“There are also a few other capable officers. Overwhelm them with numbers and make sure they die. Any objections? …Then we proceed with the assault on Orzelika Pass.”

Having carefully aligned their plans, Parumast issued the order.

The commanders saluted and returned to their units. An hour later, 600 soldiers advanced up the dark slope of Orzelika. Even in daylight, the path was dim. Part of the force broke away, silently leaving the main road and pushing through rough terrain toward the carved cliffside.

The soldiers gathered there had bloodshot eyes, their repeated breathing betraying efforts to steady racing hearts. A measured tension sharpened their focus. It was not a bad state to be in.

The troops under Parumast had already undergone a baptism of blood through fighting in the demonic territory, turning experience into confidence. Along with plunder gained along the way, they had been promised fertile land after Selta’s fall… not barren demonic lands, but true farmland.

“We must take it, no matter what.”

Until now, Felius refugees had been given barely enough food and shelter by the Crest kingdom, but sufficient enough for survival. It was an open secret, even among children, that this was a calculated measure to increase military manpower and cultivate new lands. That was precisely why they would repay it, whether born from calculation or obligation. Most of those gathered here likely felt the same.

Paramust drew a deep breath, filling his lungs. Before that land could yield crops, many former Felius people would die. The choice was simple: stand by and watch it happen, or seize land and food from a neighboring nation.

He had already decided.

“All units! Charge!”

His roar echoed, repeated by the commanders and spreading across the battlefield. Drums thundered, pushing the soldiers forward. As in previous attempts, the advancing soldiers pushed in close to the rampart, only to be met by a rain of arrows and stones. Offensive magic tore through flesh, scattering blood and bone.

“Gah! AaAAaAgGH!”

“What the?! Where’s that coming from?!”

The militia didn’t just take it. They had flattened uneven ground and used the timber and soil to build siege mounds. The thick packed soil absorbed even direct hits from attack magic, and the elevated mounds allowed them to fire directly onto the rampart.

“Attacks from the siege mounds! Don’t fixate on what’s right below you! Cut off the reinforcements coming up the approach trenches!”

A seasoned enemy non-commissioned officer took hold of the wavering troops. Though mixed among the Mayard soldiers, he was an officer of the Highserk Empire. Following his orders, the archers leaned out from the trenches and shielded positions, loosing arrows at the men advancing, wearing them down before they could even reach the rampart.

“Damn Highserk bastards, too used to war…but that level of firepower won’t stop us.”

Many soldiers reached the wall and began climbing its uneven slope with shields in hand.

“Mage units, hold your fire! You’ll hit our own men! From here on, it’s brute force! Don’t get pushed back by a bunch of recruits!”

A deafening clash rang out, spears colliding as both sides fought for space. Some slipped through the gaps, and sharpened spearheads tore across armor, carving into flesh. One Mayard soldier, pierced through the ankle and sent tumbling from the rampart, met a gruesome fate.

“Ugh? Aaah!”

He groaned from the impact of the fall. To Parumast, it was painfully slow. He should’ve been swinging his sword or begging for his life. The Crest militia, bloodlust in their eyes, were far quicker.

“Sto—agh!”

He was stabbed repeatedly until his body was no longer recognizable. Paramust didn’t linger on such a common sight. Above them, the clash intensified, and the distance between the two sides shrunk until, in places, it devolved into sword combat.

“Tsk… they’re holding.”

The line had warped in places, but it still held. In weaker sections, the ground was piled so thick with Crest dead there was no footing left. He understood the strength of commanders with Super Strength and Diamond Skin skills, and as decided in the war council, they had committed fresher units to contain them. So why wasn’t the line collapsing? Watching carefully, Parumast noticed precise, deadly strikes mixed among the otherwise clumsy spears.

“That man again… just like the Highserk unit at Cape Gala. Troublesome to the very end.”

A halberd danced through the gaps, spraying blood with each swing. Unwanted memories of Aidenberg surfaced. Light infantry leaping over barricades, blue flames rising, cavalry moving as one… His instincts screamed a warning.

“…No. The enemy isn’t the Highserk of those days. Just fragments, mere remnants. So why…”

Grinding his teeth at both his own lingering sentimentality and the enemy’s persistence, Parumast couldn’t shake the old memories. Before he could dwell on it further, years of command experience caught something else… a shift.

Cheers erupted from the cut cliff on the left. The lightly equipped detachment that had split off earlier had begun their flanking attack. It wasn’t enough to be decisive, but enough to force a response. Some of the defenders peeled away to deal with the new threat. Parumast’s mind surged into motion, thoughts racing like a torrent through his veins.

“The gap between the enemy left wing and center, aim there! Parumast’s 100-man unit, charge!”

Having found his opening, Parumast leapt down from the siege mound and issued the order to the reserve force waiting below. This was the decisive element he had held back, and now they were ready to commit at any moment. Below, the soldiers relayed the command to their comrades, who were already exhausted from the ongoing clash with the enemy.

“Make way! We break through in one push!”

“Don’t block Commander Parumast! Move!”

“Fall aside! You’ll get crushed!”

The soldiers who had been clustered along the rampart scattered at once. Maintaining a wedge formation, the unit surged up the slope, cutting down recruits through sheer numbers. The enemy reacted quickly to the breach. Realizing the gap could no longer be sealed, they began an organized withdrawal from the flat ground back toward the raised rampart.

“Fall back! Fall back!”

“The rampart’s been breached! Retreat to the inner enclosure!”

They had secured the pass.

Now, should he regroup his scattered men and advance methodically? Parumast hesitated, and then, unbidden, memories of the capital’s fall resurfaced. Damn it. All because of the Highserk soldier. He had to cast aside hesitation, and by forcing his thoughts into order, Paramust reassessed.

Beyond a few minor defensive points, breaking through the inner enclosure would open a direct path to the stronghold behind. If they reached that far, his militia would have earned more than enough merit and be pulled back for reorganization. The enemy was already collapsing. Now was the moment to press the advantage.

“The enemy is breaking! Drive them back! Push straight through to the enclosure!”

Even if they couldn’t fully capture it, they’d kill plenty. Answering Parumast’s call, soldiers poured over the inner slope one after another.

The female commander remained with the rear guard, issuing orders as she fell back. Her mace crushed swords aside, her fists bursting bodies open like ripe fruit. Even so, the outcome had already been decided. The Mayard soldiers who failed to escape were skewered from all sides, resistance proving futile. Others took arrows in the back as they fled, pitching forward into the dirt.

It should have been clear victory.

“…A halberd?”

A blade infused with mana split a Crest soldier in half. The Highserk soldier, halberd in hand, didn’t flee, he stood directly in their path.

“Out of my way!”

Two militia soldiers charged at him without hesitation. They were in perfect coordination as one struck overhead, and the other aimed at the lower abdomen.

Parumast was certain the spear had found its mark, yet it passed through him like mist.

Drawing them in, the Highserk soldier shifted into a half stance with sliding footwork. With the axe-head, he slammed the thrust into the ground, then let the shaft guide the motion, and swept the halberd across. A throat split wide open. The spearman collapsed in a spray of blood.

“From the side!”

By the time the remaining militiaman raised his weapon again, the Highserk soldier had already lowered his stance, drawing the halberd back for a full swing. Reacting to Parumast’s shout, the man thrust his spear in to intercept but the heavy axe-head cleaved through, shaft and all, and took his head clean off. The body collapsed, and the severed head rolled across the ground beside it.

“Fall back! Now!”

A recruit, crawling and stumbling, fled without even looking back. In that corner of the chaotic battlefield, an eerie stillness settled. Despite the skill just displayed, the man’s build and equipment were ordinary, the kind you’d find anywhere. That disparity only served to emphasize his unnatural presence.

They were being overwhelmed. Not by reality, but by memories of Highserk’s former might. And indeed, despite what he had just done, both the rescued recruit and even the commander who had been holding the rear rushed toward the enclosure without a second look. Convenient sacrifices, and allies in name only… this was their reality. The brave and the good were always the first to die. Just like in Aidenberg.

“10-man team leader, crush him.”

Parumast gave the order in a flat voice. Having judged him a threat, Parumast was offering him the highest praise he could. At the cry of the 10-man team leader, a wall of spears was formed.

“I won’t call it futile. You did save a few of the recruits.”

So that his accompanying subordinates wouldn’t hear, the chief 100-man commander muttered under his breath. Even with the wall of spears closing in, the man was leisurely rummaging through the pouch at his waist. Was he giving up? Parumast couldn’t suppress a trace of disappointment. Though he had already lost interest and only meant to confirm the man’s end, cold sweat suddenly burst from every inch of his body. The man, who had blended in among the common soldiers was now wrapped in a magic barrier powerful enough to distort the air… and wore a demon mask.

“…Damn it.”

The enemy commander and the recruits, they hadn’t abandoned him. They had run away from this man.

“Kill him! Nooooow!”

The only reason he had survived Aidenberg was because of the composure he had been born with, and the caution he possessed as a commander. Where had he gone wrong? Why had he failed to remember? The face of the one who, on that hill, had burned the elite guards and the prince Winston to death.

“Chief 100-man commander, what are you—ghaa?!”

Startled by their superior’s scream, the soldiers understood at last, though too late. The color spreading before their eyes was a clear blue, like the open sky itself. But there was nothing they could do anymore. The spears thrusting forward had only a little distance left to cover, and yet that distance was hopelessly far. The 10-man unit that had rushed in was swallowed by the scorching blast and burned where they stood.

“D-Demon Fire! Fall baaaaack!”

“Damn it, we’re stuck!”

There had been countless chances to use it in the fighting up until now. Why now? No, it was precisely because of the current timing. Parumast bit down on his lip in regret. Using the recruits as live bait, this man had been waiting. Waiting for the tightly packed army to pour over the earthen rampart.

“Y-you bastaaard! How was I played?! Aaaaaagh!”

Hellfire Beacon, a flame that must never be answered on the battlefield. Within the flat ground divided by earthen walls, azure fire began to swirl, devouring everything and everyone. Screams became invitations, and the gates of the underworld opened their gaping jaws.

On the blood-soaked ground of Orzelika Pass, Demon Fire danced, and within its light the demon grinned, its teeth clattering in laughter.

Translator – Lyxxna