Chapter 412: The Civil War Was Over
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 412: The Civil War Was Over
Encrid looked up at the falling rain.
The steady patter washed the blood from his body, the cool water feeling as though it were wrapping around his exhausted frame. It was a sensation he sometimes felt when he slept with Esther in his arms—a similar, comforting warmth.
Did Esther do something?
It seemed likely. He could tell from the Count’s final reaction and the demon’s parting words.
Instead of growing heavier, the rain fell in a ceaseless, gentle drizzle. Water pooled on the ground, rinsing away the gore and forming small, crimson streams.
He had cut through ten thousand wraiths to strike down the Count. It sounded simple when put into words, but it was anything but. It was a monumental task—a feat of legend.
Encrid caught his breath under the downpour, then gathered the broken shards of Silver. Looking down at the Count’s corpse, he forced his creaking, protesting body to move.
Only then did the paralysis from the restriction wear off, allowing Audin to move as well.
"You fought well, brother."
"You too."
The exchange was brief and dry. Audin trudged over to the dead Count’s side. Dropping to one knee, he clasped his hands and began to pray. It was a priest’s duty to pray for the dead, after all.
Even if his life was filled with nothing but sin, I pray he is granted a chance to repent by the Lord’s side.
"May he dwell by the Lord’s side and receive His teachings."
The god Audin served took pleasure in punishing sinners. His "teachings" were less about enlightenment and more about a divine thrashing. Repentance, delivered via the Lord’s fists and feet—at least, that was the implication.
"May you find peace there."
As if he’d ever find peace, Encrid thought as he listened.
Ragna stumbled slightly as he stood. He didn't groan, but his body was clearly pushed to its limit. Even for him, this had been too much. His sword was ruined, and the armor clinging to his frame was torn and shattered. Fortunately, there was no one around with the energy to tease him for it.
Sachsen also had a hole in his stomach. Despite the wound, his expression remained stoic as he slowly pushed himself up from the ground.
"It's over."
There was a bittersweet quality to his voice—a rare glimpse of emotion.
Did he want to be the one to stab him?
Perhaps.
The rain continued to fall. Encrid looked at Rem, who was refusing to get up. Rem stared back at him.
What are you doing? Get up, Encrid asked with his eyes.
Rem pondered for a long moment before finally speaking. "Captain."
"What?"
"I'll grant you the honor of carrying me."
He was admitting he couldn't walk on his own two feet.
"You can't walk after just that?" Ragna spoke up, unable to help himself.
"Weak constitution?" Sachsen chimed in.
"It seems your usual training was lacking," Audin added, his "concern" striking like a physical blow.
"I'm only giving the Captain a chance because he must be feeling grateful to me," Rem replied. Naturally, no words could pierce his thick skin.
Encrid couldn't fully grasp the technicalities, but he recognized that Rem had pushed himself the hardest. It was the truth. Even before they had formed their battle formation, Rem had used sorcery he had "borrowed" from someone else. It was one of the most dangerous acts a sorcerer could perform—akin to stealing and using another person’s prayer.
Rem had forcibly modified and used a totem that the Immortal Madman had crafted for his own personal use. Since he had pushed his limits to activate it, a backlash was inevitable. Furthermore, acting as the central coordinator of the battle formation was a more grueling task than even Audin’s role as the foundation.
It was only natural that his body was screaming in agony. He could have stood up if he truly forced himself, but Rem simply didn't want to. He figured that after doing this much, he deserved a piggyback ride.
Besides, it seems like it’ll be fun.
He also wanted to recover quickly. He had witnessed Encrid’s final strike—the moment he cut down the Count. Rem, having been subtly influenced by Encrid’s battle-lust, found himself wanting to clash swords with him as well. He wanted to do it properly, with a fully healed body. That was the real reason he wanted to be carried.
Contrary to his nonchalant tone, Rem’s eyes blazed with intensity. His sheer determination to be carried seemed almost enough to vaporize the falling rain.
"Does my body look fine to you?" Encrid asked flatly.
"Better than mine," Rem replied shamelessly.
A crazy bastard indeed.
Even so, Encrid was prepared to carry him. Rem had earned it. Fortunately, he didn't have to.
"I'll carry him."
Dunchabel and Teresa had arrived, both catching their breath. Dunchabel was the one who stepped forward.
"Go ahead," Rem said. He didn't insist on Encrid; he didn't care who carried him as long as he didn't have to walk.
Dunchabel hoisted Rem onto her back, and Encrid did a quick, rough sweep of the surroundings. The rain continued to fall as the group began walking toward the allied camp.
The path they had carved through the wraiths wasn't as long as they had thought. During the breakthrough, it had felt like an eternity, but the return journey seemed short.
The enemy was silent, and their allies were even quieter. The soldiers watched in hushed awe as the men returned along the path they had carved with their own hands. Encrid and his companions paid the gazes no mind.
Krang approached them. He was soaking wet, but he didn't look defeated. He wasn't smiling, nor was he drunk on victory. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking from his expression alone, but his trembling pupils gave him away. Though his face was composed, the storm of emotions in his eyes could not be hidden.
*
Just before the Count died, the soldiers had been fighting a losing battle against the wraiths, struggling to keep their souls from being possessed. They had fought until they reached the absolute limit of their physical and mental strength.
When will this end? Maybe it’s better to just die.
As they faltered, the wraith soldiers surged forward. The monsters attacked indiscriminately, targeting both the Royal Army and the Count’s forces. Before the wave of ghosts that knew no ally or foe, the two divided armies had been forced to mingle and fight as one.
Even the most valiant were reaching their breaking point. They saw terrible nightmares and illusions.
"Die, die, die, die, die."
But then, the vision changed. It was the sight of those fighting Count Molsen. Esther’s spell had taken effect, intertwining with the Count’s own magic to cause a bizarre phenomenon. Most of the soldiers present had their eyes fixed on Encrid’s battle.
Marcus had seen it too. Win, he had urged silently.
Aisia had seen it, clenching her fists. I should have been there!
Yet she couldn't pull away. Even if some shepherd who had appeared out of nowhere was performing miracles, the Prince would be in danger if she left her post. Unlike Aisia, Dunchabel and Teresa had run the moment they saw the opening. Whether they were to act as meat shields or strike a blow from behind, they knew they had to be there.
Andrew couldn't bring himself to move. Esther had not yet woken up, and he judged that guarding her was his primary duty. Thus, he could only watch.
The soldiers didn't even have the strength to cheer. Most collapsed, gasping for breath, their bodies soaked by the rain.
If anything, the rain was a blessing. It felt as though the lingering energy of the wraiths was being washed away. And indeed, it was. That was exactly what Esther had intended.
Having opened her eyes, Esther now understood what had occurred. The Count had tried to summon a "spell world" onto this land—a foolish endeavor. Even if he had succeeded, the demon would have stolen his body, using him to turn the kingdom’s citizens into test subjects, just as he had done with the chimeras. Such was the nature of a demon’s whisper.
Since she couldn't dismantle every spell crafted with borrowed demonic power, Esther had used her remaining mana to summon the rain. In the process, the image of the battle had been projected into the soldiers’ minds.
Esther had seen it too: the madman who had cut down the Count and even tried to slay the demon. She felt the need to tell him just how dangerous a demon truly was.
Krang murmured to himself as he watched Encrid. He simply waited. There was nothing he could do on that specific stage; this was the moment his friend had to step forward. Believing in him was all Krang could do.
I believe in you.
His faith was not betrayed.
As the rain poured, the wraiths dissolved. Krang stepped forward through the surviving soldiers.
"My lord?" Marcus called out, but Krang did not stop. He halted only when he stood face-to-face with the returning Encrid. After a brief pause, he spoke.
"Praise him. For the hero who saved us."
His voice was quiet and low. Marcus and Aisia, limping behind him, nodded in solemn agreement.
Krang took a deep breath, tensing his abdomen. His voice had been too quiet.
"Praise him! For the hero who saved us!"
His voice boomed, a shout erupting from the depths of his lungs.
"Ugh..." A soldier looked up, weeping as the rain soaked his face.
"Waaaaah!"
"We're alive!"
"For the hero!"
"For the Mad Company!"
Their shouts mingled into a roar hot enough to disperse the rain. In the center of that heat, an old commander shouted with all his heart.
"Everyone, repeat after me!"
The soldiers followed. This was the man who had led them through the swarm of wraiths; he, too, was a hero to them.
"Demon Slayer!"
The title spread like wildfire.
"Demon Slayer!"
"Demon Slayer!"
The rain kept falling, now naturally. There was no sunlight, yet everyone saw something shining. If the man who had slain the demon’s host, banished the wraiths, and ended the war did not shine, then what possibly could?
"Demon Slayer!"
It was a title that would make the demon—who wasn't actually dead—grind its fangs in frustration.
Encrid listened blankly and said, "I didn't kill the demon, though."
"To be precise, 'Noble Killer' would be more accurate," Rem added, ever the pedant.
"Slayer of the Demon's Minion is more fitting," Audin offered from a religious perspective.
"Who cares?" Ragna dismissed the nonsense.
Sachsen remained silent. Dunchabel briefly contemplated throwing Rem off her back before giving up. Teresa secretly agreed with Audin.
Krang showed a soft smile. Every single one of them was a hero.
They are consistently insane, he thought with a chuckle.
Encrid nodded calmly. He believed himself to be the only normal one here.
"Thank you, you craziest of bastards."
Encrid was actually taken aback by Krang’s words. Even facing a demon hadn't startled him this much.
Who’s the craziest? When Rem is standing right here?
Krang burst into laughter. "Hahaha! Let's go. Let's eat, drink, and rest. You can empty the royal treasury for all I care!"
Amidst the chants of "Demon Slayer," the cries of survival and victory echoed. The enemy soldiers quietly threw down their weapons.
The civil war was over.