Chapter 412 - The End of the Civil War
Enkrid lifted his head toward the falling rain.
The raindrops, striking with a rhythmic thud, washed away the blood that clung to his body. It felt like the rain was wrapping his weary form in a strange embrace.
It was a sensation he sometimes experienced when holding Esther close as they slept—a similar warmth.
"Did Esther do something?"
It seemed likely. The Count's reaction and the demon's words hinted at it.
The rain didn't stop but continued steadily, growing heavier with time. Pools of water formed on the ground, washing away the blood and creating faint streams.
He had cut through ten thousand wraiths to reach the Count and slay him.
It sounded simple when said aloud, but it was anything but easy.
It was an extraordinary feat—a monumental achievement.
Standing amidst the rain, Enkrid caught his breath and picked up the broken half of Silver.
He looked at the Count's lifeless body and moved his aching frame, groaning under the strain.
Audin was also beginning to move, finally freed from the paralysis imposed by the restrictions.
"Good work, brother," Audin said.
"You too," Enkrid replied.
Their exchange was simple and to the point. Audin walked over to the Count's body, knelt on one knee, clasped his hands, and began to pray.
It was a priest's duty to offer prayers for the dead.
Even if a person's life was steeped in sin, they deserved a chance to reflect by the Lord's side.
"May you remain with the Lord and receive His teachings."
The god Audin worshipped was one who relished punishing sinners. His teachings often resembled physical blows rather than gentle guidance.
Repentance, in this belief, was aided by the Lord's fists and feet—a harsh interpretation of mercy.
"May you find peace there."
But would the Count truly find peace?
Enkrid pondered as he listened.
Ragna stirred, swayed briefly, and rose. He refrained from groaning, but his battered body revealed his condition—far from normal.
Even someone as resilient as Ragna had been pushed beyond his limits.
His sword was ruined, and most of his protective gear was torn or shattered.
Fortunately, no one dared to mock him for it.
Jaxen, too, bore a gaping wound in his abdomen, yet his expression remained composed. Slowly, he pressed a hand to the ground and pushed himself up.
"It's over," Jaxen said, his tone tinged with an unusual blend of relief and wistfulness.
It was rare to glimpse emotion in his words.
Had he wanted to deal the finishing blow himself?
Perhaps.
The rain continued to fall. Enkrid turned his gaze to Rem, who was struggling to rise.
Rem met his eyes.
Why aren't you getting up?
Enkrid asked silently.
After a moment of deliberation, Rem finally spoke.
"Commander."
"What?"
"Would you grant me the honor of carrying me?"
It was a roundabout way of saying he couldn't walk.
"You can't walk after that?"
Unable to restrain himself, Ragna chimed in.
"Delicate constitution?"
Jaxen added his own jab.
"Perhaps a lack of training," Audin remarked with apparent concern.
Rem remained unfazed. "I'm giving you the chance because you'll owe me for this."
No words could penetrate Rem's unyielding composure.
Though Enkrid didn't fully grasp the situation, he acknowledged that Rem had pushed himself the hardest.
It was true.
Even before the battle formation, Rem had used a spell that involved forcibly borrowing another's incantation—a practice deemed among the most perilous in sorcery.
What he had done was akin to stealing another's prayer and repurposing it.
Rem had forcibly modified a totem crafted for the Mad Immortal's personal use, pushing it to its limits.
The backlash was inevitable.
Moreover, he had taken the role of mediator within the formation—a task more grueling than Audin's foundational work.
It was natural for his body to rebel.
He could force himself to rise and walk, but Rem saw no need.
I've done enough. Can't I be carried for once? he thought, finding the idea amusing.
There was also a practical desire to recover quickly. Watching Enkrid's final strike as he slew the Count had left an impression.
The sooner I recover, the sooner we can spar again.
Having been influenced by Enkrid, Rem also yearned to cross swords with him—not in his current state, but at full strength. And so, he was determined to be carried.
Though his tone was calm, Rem's eyes burned with fervor. His resolve to be carried radiated so intensely it seemed to evaporate the falling rain.
"Do I look fine to you?" Enkrid asked, his tone flat.
"More so than me."
Rem's response was unwavering.
What a lunatic.
Yet Enkrid relented. Rem had earned it.
Thankfully, he didn't have to do the carrying himself.
"I'll carry him."
Dunbakel and Teresa arrived, both catching their breath after running to catch up.
Dunbakel stepped forward.
"Go ahead," Enkrid said.
Rem didn't protest. He didn't care who carried him.
Dunbakel hoisted Rem onto her back, and Enkrid began tidying the area. The rain continued to pour.
The group started walking back toward their camp.
The path through the wraiths they had fought so hard to carve out now seemed shorter than they had remembered.
The enemy was silent, the allies quieter still. They walked the road they had opened with their own hands, indifferent to the gazes of others.
Krang approached them.
Drenched but far from looking like a miserable drowned rat, Krang neither smiled nor basked in triumph.
His expression betrayed no emotion, though his quivering pupils hinted at the storm within.
Just before the Count's death, the soldiers were fighting not only the wraith soldiers but also the spirits vying to take over their bodies.
They fought and endured, over and over again.
When will this end?
Their stamina was spent.
Maybe dying would be easier.
Their willpower was at its limit.
As physical and mental strength waned, the wraith soldiers, unrelenting and fearless, pressed on without end.
The soldiers did not care whether they were from the kingdom army or the count's army—they all charged forward.
In front of the relentless wave of spirits that knew no friend or foe, the two divided armies mixed together and fought.
Even the most valiant among them could only endure for so long.
In the meantime, the soldiers saw horrific nightmares and hallucinations.
"Die, die, die, die, die."
It wasn't a nightmare or an illusion. It was the image of Count Molsan battling.
Esther's spell affected them, intertwining with the count's spell and creating strange phenomena.
Most of the soldiers here saw Enkrid's fight.
Marcus also saw it.
"Win."
He sent his support.
AisHia saw it too, clenching her fist.
"I should have been there!"
But there was no way to pull back now. Even though a shepherd who had somehow arrived was playing a significant role, she knew that if she withdrew, the prince would be in danger.
Unlike AisHia, Dunbakel and Teresa immediately sprang into action. Whether as meat shields or to strike from behind, they knew they had to be there.
Andrew could not move. With Esther still unable to stand, he decided his job was to hold this position.
Thus, he could only watch.
The soldiers didn't even have the strength to cry out that they were alive.
"Guh."
Most of the soldiers collapsed, exhaling their last breaths. Those who had managed to hold on fell to the ground.
They didn't have the strength to cheer for victory. The rain soaked their bodies.
At least the rain was a blessing.
It felt like the spirits' energy on their bodies was being washed away.
And it was. Esther had done that.
When Esther opened her eyes in the real world, she understood what had happened.
The count had tried to bring the world of spells to this land, but was that even possible?
No. It was the result of demonic power intervening, but ultimately, it was a foolish act.
Even if he had succeeded, the idiot mage would have lost his own body and repeated his foolish deeds while possessed.
Perhaps he would have turned all the kingdom's people into test subjects like he did with the chimeras.
He might have done worse.
Such was the whisper of the demon.
Because Esther could not directly unravel the spell made using demonic power, she used most of her magic to make it rain.
In the process, the soldiers saw the count's image in their minds.
Esther saw it too.
The madman who had tried to slay both the count and the demon.
Esther felt the need to warn them of how dangerous demons were.
Krang, watching Enkrid's battle, whispered to himself.
His hands were not sweating. He simply waited.
There was nothing he could do here.
So did he feel powerless?
No. He had his own stage.
This stage was a moment for his friend to step forward.
So all he could do was trust, again and again.
"I believe."
His belief was not betrayed.
His trust was rewarded.
As the rain poured, the spirits dissipated. Krang took his first step among the revived soldiers. He walked out without a word.
"Master?"
Marcus called him, but Krang didn't stop. Only when he stood face to face with Enkrid did he pause for a moment, then spoke in a soft voice.
"Let us praise the hero who saved us."
His voice was low and soft.
Marcus, following him, agreed with that sentiment.
And it wasn't just him.
Aishia also limped behind, nodding instinctively at those words.
Looking at Enkrid, Krang inhaled deeply, bracing himself.
His voice was too soft before.
"Let us shout! For the hero who saved us!"
The voice spread. It was one of Krang's specialties—a shout that burst out with all his strength.
"Ugh!"
One soldier, crying, raised his head. The rain soaked his face.
"Uwaaaa!"
"We're alive!"
"For the hero!"
"For the Madmen's Unit!"
Their cries mixed together and became a garbled sound.
The cry seemed about to spread widely with the rain. That much heat was behind it.
At the center of that heat, an old commander didn't like the disorganized cries.
Hadn't he seen it?
The count turned into a demon, and the hero who slew him.
With all his heart, the commander shouted.
"Everyone, follow me!"
Many soldiers followed him. After all, hadn't he shown the leadership to endure the onslaught of spirits?
He, too, was undoubtedly a hero to them.
"Demon Slayer!"
The Slayer of Demons.
Let his glory spread far and wide!
The soldiers around him joined in the cry.
"Demon Slayer!"
Their chant quickly spread.
"Demon Slayer!"
"The Slayer of Demons!"
The rain continued to fall. It had started as a reaction to Esther's magic, but now, it was rain that was meant to fall.
That is, the dark clouds had gathered, and there would be no bright sunlight.
Even so, everyone saw something shining.
If someone who had killed a demon, banished spirits, and ended a war didn't shine, what would?
"Demon Slayer!"
If the actual demon who wasn't dead heard this, it might grind its teeth in frustration at the title.
Enkrid listened to the chant blankly and then said.
"I didn't kill the demon."
"Technically, 'noble slayer' would be more accurate," Rem said based on the truth.
"Demon's minion slayer would be more fitting," Audin added.
From a religious perspective, the enemy's identity was clear. At least, it was to Audin.
"Does it matter?"
Ragna calmly dismissed the nonsense with his opinion.
Jaxen remained silent, as usual.
Dunbakel, considering the potential for revenge if she threw Rem off her back, hesitated for a moment but decided against it.
Teresa secretly agreed with Audin's words.
It was then that Krang gave a soft smile.
Including Enkrid, all those present could be called heroes.
And by now, they had all learned just how insane these people were as they made their way to and from the capital.
'They're all insane.'
Krang smiled as he thought.
Enkrid nodded calmly. He hadn't read Krang's thoughts, but he considered himself the most normal among them.
"Thank you. You're the craziest one."
That was when Krang's words nearly stunned Enkrid. After the count died and the demon emerged, Enkrid had been ready to charge, but this time he couldn't help but be surprised.
Who did he say was the craziest?
"You're a hero of the nation now."
Krang continued speaking and bowed his head. It was the courtesy shown by a prince who would one day become king.
The soldiers around them watched.
Enkrid was at the peak of exhaustion.
There was no mental energy left for him to properly appreciate the treatment.
"It's fine."
Thus, he put his hand on the prince's shoulder and lifted him. He had done his part. He felt pride from the praise, and Krang's attitude wasn't bad either.
But one thing had to be addressed.
"Why did you say I'm the craziest?"
What about Rem?
Krang laughed at his friend's words.
"Hahaha, let's go. Eat, drink, and rest. We can destroy the royal palace's finances if we want!"
Among the cries of "Demon Slayer," the sounds of survival and victory echoed.
The enemy soldiers, once part of the count's army, quietly discarded their weapons.
The civil war was over.
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