A guttural, piercing scream, one that hardly sounded human, thundered through the mountain pass. That discordant chorus of suffering, played by countless voices, had been brought about by a single imperial knight. Within the crucible of searing flames, Walm watched, calmly tracking the fate of those who burned.

The magic barrier that served as a second skin, capable of shielding its bearer from direct magical exposure and even close-range weapons, could, depending on the individual, show enough resilience to endure even Demon Fire. Any who possessed sufficient skill and resolve could cross the sea of azure flames and turn their blades upon the imperial knight.

The army surging before him was made up of countless replaceable infantrymen. Even so, had they been able to pick out the veterans and the strongest among them, they might have succeeded in eliminating the imperial knight. But this deliberate mix of the worthy and the worthless, the very advantage of being a massed group, had turned into a weakness in the face of the blue flames scorching their flesh.

“The fire… it won’t go out!”

“Ugh, aaagh!”

Driven by instinct, the soldiers thrashed wildly, trying to beat out the flames. Some threw themselves to the ground in an attempt to escape the fire, but a panicked mob had no mind to watch its footing. What awaited them were countless trampling boots, their muffled death cries crushed beneath the weight.

“Fall back! Fall baaaack!!”

“Don’t push me! Aaah! Stop it, let go of me!”

Once melted, a candle does not stop burning, it only flares hotter and fiercer. Even hardened veterans, who would normally be protected by their sturdy magic barriers, were swallowed by the tide of bodies and the waves of heat. With comrades on both sides bursting into flame one after another and the pressure of the crowd churning them from every direction, how many could possibly keep their composure?

A soldier who had nearly made it over the earthen rampart was grabbed by the shoulder and dragged back down into the inner side. Interfering with your own allies’ retreat should have been an unthinkable blunder, but a drowning man would grasp even at a straw. The one grabbing and the one being grabbed wanted only one thing, to escape the blue flames.

From that chaos of screams and panic, a figure burst forth. While the vast majority fled, he alone charged in the opposite direction, straight toward the imperial knight.

“There is no retreat, except by cutting down the Demon Fire user!”

Even in this situation, however few, there were still men trying to take command and strike down the source of the flames. He was the enemy commander who had been leading from the front when they crossed the pass. With only limited escape routes, he roared that a full retreat was impossible. His thin magic barrier flickered erratically under the strain of Demon Fire, his clothes and flesh scorching away. Whether it was pride or duty that sustained him, either way, he was no ordinary man.

“Follow 100-man commander Parumast!”

Responding to his call, a non-commissioned officer rallied the half-maddened soldiers. They surged forward as a single mass, hardly worthy of being called a formation. To soldiers, a non-commissioned officer was someone they could cling to on the battlefield. Had this been open field combat, Walm might have welcomed a deadly clash with them, but that wasn’t the case. This was Mayard’s carefully prepared position, a kill zone. Walm was just one part of a fake retreat used to support the poorly trained recruit company.

“Just don’t let your shots hit me.”

A shrill whistling like a siren rattled Walm’s eardrums.

“Uggh… eeegh?!”

One of the soldiers following behind suddenly bent forward, his body folding in half as a scream thick with a gurgling rasp tore from his throat. Several spells tore through the swirling azure flames, and their true form revealed to be Earth Bullets. Just as planned, the mage unit led by Deborah, along with the throwers, had begun their support from the ramparts, their designated firing points. Compacted earth bullets shattered limbs through armor, and countless thrown projectiles rained down upon the attackers. As one soldier after another fell, the commander called Parumst shouted:

“D-don’t stoooop!!”

His breastplate had been warped by stones, and his left arm hung limp at his side. His skin was already scorched a dark, blistered red. Even so, he showed no sign of stopping even after the soldiers who had followed behind him were gone.

Walm, glaring at the enemy who had come closest to him through the demon mask, raised his halberd without hesitation and swung. The axe-blade bit in at the shoulder, cleaving through armor before tearing down to the hip bone. Split diagonally, Parumast collapsed face-first onto the ground. The longsword slipped from his charred fingers, clattering against the imperial knight’s half-boots.

It was Walm who had cut him down. Walm who had cruelly led the men under his command to their deaths. Whatever emotions he carried now would be no comfort to the dead. Perhaps they would even be an insult. Even so, he could not stop himself from saying it.

“You did reach me.”

As if to witness the man’s final moments, Walm lifted his face from the fallen man. The militiamen who had failed to escape in time were throwing themselves not only over the rampart, but down cliffs and cut slopes as well. Depending on where they landed, it was no different from suicide, but at least some might’ve survived it. Even those who had charged the imperial knight hadn’t acted in vain, as originally, the plan had been to sow even greater chaos at the ramparts.

“…My apologies.”

Walm let out a quiet confession. It wasn’t directed at the dead before him, but at the tragedy that was still to come. Those who had managed to cross the rampart were likely trying to steady their hearts, on the verge of bursting from tension and chaos. Having barely escaped death, perhaps they were regaining their senses and helping their comrades, driven by guilt. The voice rising from beyond the rampart, trying to rally them again, belonged to a surviving officer who had correctly grasped the danger.

The swirling azure flames rapidly withered away. Stagnant air, thick with the nauseating stench of burning flesh and clinging heat lingered over the open ground. What remained in the now-cleared view were only bonfires of what had once been human. Not a single survivor remained.

But it was not over yet. Once the enemy driven forward, had been battered and broken into collapse, there was only one thing left to do. A powerful voice, like a mountain wind cutting through the night, rang out.

“All units, charge! If you hold back today, you’ll regret it tomorrow!”

It was a statement that struck right at the heart of the matter. The chief instructor understood that all too well. As if to accompany the order to charge, war drums thundered. Going ahead of the rumbling assault like an earthquake, Walm leapt over the rampart piled with corpses.

“Come on, get up already!”

“They’re coming! The Mayard soldiers are coming!”

“Grab your weapons! Don’t run! Hold them off at the rampart!”

On the outer side of the pass, along the approach road and in the shade of the trees, half-burned soldiers groaned. What they all shared was fear and desperate panic. Having already judged them, Walm brushed past, driving them forward. His target was the officer, the one who could act as the stabilizing force of the group. Ignoring the mass of common soldiers, he closed the distance in a single rush.

“Uwaaah?!”

“It’s the Demon Fire user, aaagghhh!”

“Don’t flinch! Kill hiiiiim!”

The more badly burned a man was, the more desperately he crawled away. Even so, there were still brave souls who stood in Walm’s path.

“My arm, it’s—aaagh?!”

“How the hell are we supposed to stop that?!”

Walm wrapped his halberd in mana and used Strong Strike, sending limbs and heads flying From a purely efficient standpoint, the wide, sweeping blows were wasteful. But as a strike that twisted the very laws of reason, there was no better moment to use it as a display of overwhelming force. Once he had cut down four men, a path naturally opened before him.

“You’re a 100-man commander, aren’t you?”

The sole surviving 100-man commander answered by drawing his blade.

“You bastard… if you’re coming, then come already!”

Mana lit the enemy’s blade. The man clearly had confidence in his skill, so he was most likely the kind who had risen from the common ranks by merit alone. As Walm raised his halberd, the longsword came swinging up to meet it. The two Strong Strikes collided and violently repelled one another, as if rejecting contact. After a fleeting moment of deadlock, the sword’s tip was knocked wildly off course, along with the man’s elbow.

The man didn’t panic. He tried to step in and close the opening before Walm could exploit it. His movements were smooth, honed by real combat. In truth, the commander’s shoulder landed right against Walm’s chest, exactly where he had intended.

As countless soldiers watched in breathless silence, the 100-man commander suddenly wavered without making his next move. A warm sensation brushed against Walm’s skin. The heated liquid pouring down from the man’s neck was fresh blood. Like in a dry desert, the demon mask drank in the blood raining over it.

“Y-you… monster…”

Seeing the mask that seemed to drink living blood, the commander muttered the words like an accusation. Then the light rapidly vanished from his eyes. His weakening arms grasped at nothing, and he crumpled at Walm’s feet. The halberd had shot out to meet his charge, and its hooked blade had torn through the man’s throat, now glistening with blood.

Though there were still enemies to kill, the Crest militia found their bodies as heavy as lead. They couldn’t even raise their voices. But when the charging force finally crossed the ridgeline of the pass, they finally snapped back to their senses.

“The enemy… t-t-they’re—”

The ones who cried out and the ones who raised their weapons were met by spearheads thickly caked in blood. Without any real effort, Walm cut them down, burning away any will to resist within the group.

“Charge!”

“Drive them all the way to the bottom!”

On the other side, the training company moved under the command of the chief instructor, with Yogim and Moiz taking hold of the reins and directing the soldiers who acted as their limbs. The recruits rushing down the slope swung their spears and swords wildly at anything they could reach. Walm instructed them as he fought alongside them.

“Don’t just hack at armor blindly, you’ll chip your blade and let them escape! Aim for the sides or the legs, that’ll stop them!”

Having only just shed their “battle virginity” days ago, they were clumsy and ignorant of the ways of war. Jabbing half-heartedly at the backs of fleeing enemies at full speed wouldn’t stop them. The strikes had to be aimed for the lethal flank, or the legs that carried them in flight. The neck, with its smaller target area, was not for beginners.

As if to show them an example, Walm used the hooked blade of his halberd to slice into a soldier’s lower limbs as he ran down the slope. When he tried to push himself back up, what awaited him were countless blades. The recruits, knowing no restraint, beat him down again and again. And so, that second fall became his last.

“…He’s already dead. Stop beating the corpse.”

It would be a problem if they shrank back like frightened puppies, but losing themselves in the intoxication of bloodshed was no better. Through small mistakes and repeated trial and error, these new soldiers, guided every step of the way, followed Walm’s teachings as they continued the pursuit.

The difference in strength between the two armies was vast. There was no room for mercy. Even if they held local superiority, on the broader battlefield both Mayard and the Highserk Empire were being driven into a corner.

The soldiers under pursuit tumbled down the slope, dragging their comrades with them. There was no one left anywhere to restore order or hold back the chaos. The blood spilling across Orzelika Pass became a river flowing down the slope, carrying countless dead within it.

Translator – Lyxxna