The Guardian (1)
He had not prepared carelessly. Knowing Marquis Eloran would want to wrap this matter up in absolute secrecy, Baron Isquente had anticipated an ambush of some kind. That was precisely why he had brought the trio from the Aktania Gate: Galedin, Mary, and Hakon. They were promising talents, highly regarded even among the elite at the gate. At the same time, they were some of the strongest cards the Baron could play. He hadn't let his guard down. It was simply that the enemy's strength far exceeded his worst expectations.
The scent of burning drifted from the scorched earth. A ragged, precarious breath—a sound reminiscent of a wild beast's low growl—echoed softly. Yet, it carried no threat. The sound was closer to a pained groan than a warning.
It was a gruesome sight. Galedin's signature snow-white fur was so heavily stained with crimson that its original color was completely lost, and the battlehammer he had swung so valiantly lay shattered on the ground. Mary, too, was bleeding from her nose and mouth—a severe backlash from overexerting her fire abilities. Even now, she seemed to be trying to squeeze out every last drop of her power, but a limit was called a limit because it could not be breached. A few brutally mangled corpses littered the surrounding area. Somewhere among those bodies, Sir Mallon surely lay. It was hell. And from the depths of this hell, Baron Isquente stepped forward.
"Khehehe. Yes. I've been dying to meet you, Nelloa Isquente—the human I am destined to kill."
"..."
Everyone had told him to run, but he hadn't. Run? Where on earth was he supposed to run to? Given that monster's speed, trying to flee on his own two legs would only end in him being caught in an instant. The Baron had no desire to act pathetic just to cling to a few more minutes of life. Above all, he had never learned how to run away and abandon his people.
"Hmm? I heard you were a talkative human, but I can barely even hear your voice. Are you paralyzed with fear? Your eyes don't look like it, though."
"I don't usually converse with demons. You're only the second one I've ever spoken to."
"And who was the first?"
"I'll tell you once we become close friends."
"Hahaha! Splendid!"
Baron Isquente loved to talk. He had never stopped, even when others called him frivolous. To him, communication through words was his very reason for living. Conversations with those he cherished always brought him joy. Consequently, the Baron never engaged in idle chatter with those he despised. Communication was sacred. It was his firm belief that such a sacred thing should not be shared with just anyone. And now, Baron Isquente was throwing that belief away. A bitter, unpleasant sensation welled up in his chest, but it didn't matter anymore.
I was always a shallow, vulgar man anyway. I can abandon my beliefs as many times as it takes. They aren't particularly expensive, so giving them up is no great loss.
The Baron stared directly at the demon. The culprit who had brought about this disaster despite all their preparations—the very instigator who had shattered all his calculations—grinned wildly. He was an unusual demon. With his light platinum blonde hair and handsome features, his slender build evoked the image of a noble. Yet, his style of combat was closer to that of a barbarian. Pure, brutal physical combat. Wielding a greatsword with overwhelming physical strength was everything this demon was about.
"Oh, really? Then why are you opening your mouth now? Trying to buy time, perhaps?"
"Indeed. If my silver tongue can buy me a chance, there is nothing I wouldn't do."
"Khehe, fair enough. I'll indulge you for a moment as entertainment. It's been a while since I've met someone I can actually hold a conversation with."
What made this demon truly bizarre was the complete absence of even a trace of mana. Whether human or demon, the flow of mana always left a trail. Though it might fade beyond the reach of physical senses over time, advanced detection magic could still unearth it. That was why the Baron had assumed Marquis Eloran wouldn't dare bring a high-ranking demon along. If any trace of a demon were detected near Edelmarion, the Emperor would surely fly into a rage. Launching an attack with a demon in tow was practically political suicide. Yet, he had never anticipated the existence of such an anomaly.
"To be honest, I was a bit disappointed. I heard there were some interesting guys in the North and got my hopes up, but I haven't seen a single hair of them."
"If you head to the capital, you'll find plenty of strong people."
"Now, that would be troublesome. I want to enjoy myself, not die."
The demon shook his head. Meanwhile, the Baron calmly assessed his surroundings. His two strongest trump cards were not here. Galedin was completely incapacitated; his injuries were not the kind one could simply push through to keep moving. Even if he forced himself up by burning through his fighting spirit, it would be meaningless. That left Mary as his only hope. Once she recovered a bit more of her energy, she might be able to muster one decent strike. Did she still need more time? Fortunately, the demon seemed content to take his time. The Baron racked his brain. There was no way he, as a commander, wouldn't know of a demon this powerful and distinct. He had to broaden his scope. He needed to consider demons active outside the North. The most likely candidate was the West—the very region where the Demon King Eligos had attacked the Illencia Grand Duchy just a few years ago. As he recalled the prominent demons of the West one by one, he found a set of matching characteristics.
"I have heard of you. An eccentric demon in the West who insists on nothing but physical combat. I never expected to meet you like this."
"Oh! Even humans know my name? How delightful!"
"Yes. If I recall correctly... your name was Nezra."
"Correct! To be recognized by an enemy... I guess my hard work has paid off."
Nezra spread his arms wide. The Baron found that genuinely joyful smile deeply irritating. It was sickening and made him want to vomit. Yet, the reality remained that Nezra held all the cards. Baron Isquente was a lord. Though the relationship between a lord and his subjects might seem like a vertical hierarchy of master and servant, it was, in principle, a bilateral contract of mutual obligation. The subjects paid taxes, and the lord protected them. The soldiers here, as well as Galedin and Mallon, were officially his subjects. Therefore, every single one of them was someone Baron Isquente was duty-bound to protect. Just a little longer. He had to buy just a little more time.
"Tsk. It's troublesome when you keep watching the clock like that. If you don't entertain me with that clever tongue of yours, there's no point in me waiting around like this."
"...I will keep that in mind."
"Good. I don't care what you're plotting, but shouldn't we both have some fun?"
Despite his casual words, the Baron knew instinctively: the demon was getting ready to finish what he started. Once the battle resumed, how long could they hold out? Five minutes? Ten? He decided to be as optimistic as possible. Just then, Nezra frowned.
"Well, this won't do. I was planning to give you a bit more time, but I wasn't told that reinforcements would arrive this quickly."
Reinforcements? The Baron's senses hadn't picked up anything yet. But regardless of what the demon had noticed or misunderstood, an opportunity was an opportunity. The Baron drew his sword.
"Miss Mary! I know it's hard, but please, give me the biggest blast you can manage!"
"Die...!"
A torrent of flames swept forward, completely engulfing their vision. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mary collapse. With this, Mary was completely out of commission. But it was a magnificent strike.
"My name is Nelloa Isquente!"
He thrust his arm toward the sky, then slammed it down toward the earth. As if mimicking his gesture, a massive bolt of lightning crashed down from the clear sky, signaling a torrential downpour of thunderbolts.
"Lord of the Isquente Baronetcy! And the second commander of the Northern Front!"
Naturally, the position of front commander was not one that could be attained without formidable personal might—especially for someone of humble commoner origins. Though Baron Isquente styled himself a guardian, paradoxically, the only talent he possessed was geared toward pure destruction. When it came to defensive magic, he couldn't even deploy the weakest shield. In exchange, his raw destructive power could momentarily rival that of a grand mage. He left no mana in reserve. He had long since abandoned any thoughts of a drawn-out battle. Squeezing out every ounce of his remaining mana, he unleashed a relentless barrage of spells, though Nezra was nowhere to be seen through the chaos. Lightning, fire, and wind hammered the earth like a titan's forge.
"How fun!"
Nezra burst through the billowing smoke. A flying kick. It was blindingly fast. The Baron raised his sword to block, but the blade shattered under the impact. Baron Isquente was sent flying through the air. From that single blow, blood sprayed from his mouth.
"Agh!"
"Yes, this is it! A fight is only fun when you struggle like this!"
Three arrows flew from afar, embedding themselves in Nezra's shoulder. The arrows exploded on impact, but the cursed demon healed his wounds almost instantly. Firing those arrows had revealed the archer's position. Nezra picked up a spear from the ground and hurled it. A commotion erupted from the treetops.
"My, I thought that would hit, but it missed by a hair."
"Damn it!"
The Baron spat out a curse. It had been a very long time since he had sworn; he couldn't even remember the last time. Guided by the Baron's mana, lightning surged frantically toward Nezra. It was futile. His most powerful spells were too slow to catch the demon, while his faster spells lacked the necessary force. His mana was draining rapidly, yet Nezra was barely delayed for more than a few seconds. Even so, the Baron smiled. Though his mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood, a laugh escaped his lips. Because now, even he could feel it. A bone-chilling, terrifying presence was approaching at an incredible speed. It was a strange way to put it, but it was a deeply welcome dread. The trump card had arrived.