Valhalla!
Valhalla, Valhalla, a lively song.
I was just about to try singing it myself when—
“Ttukbaegi!”
I swung my sword amid the surging demons.
And ahead of me, deeper even than the soldiers’ barricade, a valiant warrior was swinging a blade of his own.
Golgol!
Magnificent—Holy Golgol!
Golgol swung its sword with fearless courage in the thick of the demons. The greatsword it had quietly borrowed from home cleaved straight through them. Peerless valor itself!
And that wasn’t all.
Tiriktak! Tiktak!
My second, Tiktak, was outstanding too. Of course it was—after cradling a purified holy core, even the Minitons now carried a faint sheen of holy power.
Titik, tik!
Titik!
The holy Minitons that disregarded death were natural predators to the demons!
I had only one complaint.
What’s Ren doing…?
Why is he just standing there? Is the mage slacking off?
[Shut up and focus on the battle!]
Yes, sir!
I threw myself back into the fight. Stab, slash, bash with the shield. The initial panic of the ambush already felt distant; we were handling it surprisingly well. Even the territory soldiers—supposedly the weakest of us—were holding their own against the demons, and every bit of that was thanks to Brother James.
“Injured, over here—!”
He treated the wounded and, at precisely the right moments, checked the demons with holy magic. Of course he looked drained—purifying Tiktak’s core had nearly emptied his holy power—but for now he was still a rock.
Anyway.
If we keep this up, we might actually hold them without any “trouble.”
“Trouble,” in this case, meant zero deaths. I’d already lived through one territory war, but watching people whose faces I knew die still tore at me.
So—
“Valhal—la! Val! Hal! La!”
I wrung out every last drop of strength I’d ever nursed as a baby and kept slaughtering demons. Honestly, though, it was frustrating.
Now I understand why Brother James and Myuhan carry maces.
Facing a tide of demons made it clear: against these damned things, a club beats a sword any day of the week. So what now?
“Brother James—!”
“Yes!”
“A mace for me!”
“…Yes!”
Brother James, still in the rear, hurled the mace. I briefly became a border collie mid-discus throw and snagged it clean.
The hand-feel is… perfect!
Drunk on the familiarity of reuniting with a soulmate, I swung. Hitting with the business end of the mace was harder than expected, but I managed the close ones with the shield and kept sweeping them aside.
Then I glanced at the remains the demons left behind—more precisely, at the glittering “gems” nestled inside.
How many cores is that?
Tiny cores that matched their pathetic combat power, sure, but still—look at the sheer number.
[You idiot—behind you!]
Behind!
[Loot later!]
I kept swinging the mace and steadily thinned the demon ranks. How long the battle lasted after that, I couldn’t say.
“Hoo… hoo—”
Just as my ocean of stamina finally began to run dry—
Kyaek, kak!
The last demon’s death cry rang out, and the battle ended. We had held.
[You got lucky. They were all low-rank trash barely worth calling demons. Literally… yeah. Luck.]
Luck is a skill too, right?
[…Fine, descendant. This time you’re right.]
A strangely bittersweet feeling. I wiped the sweat from my brow and steadied my breathing.
Then—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A ground-shaking roar. Sudden as it was, none of us panicked this time. We simply tightened our grips on our weapons. We were ready. We were confident. Whatever came out, we could handle it!
But when the source of that roar finally appeared, we could only tilt our heads in confusion.
“Ah, aah, ah, ah— death, blood, rage, ha, te— hateeeee—”
A single demon stood before us. Its form was an egg—yet far too massive to simply call an “egg.” It stood nearly three meters tall. The creature’s only sensory organ, a vertical mouth, flapped endlessly as it spat out incomprehensible words.
“Dream, des—pair, dedeedeath, dedeedeath. Hateeeee—”
What is it even saying?
[Don’t listen. No matter what it says, nothing is stupider than lending an ear to a demon’s voice.]
Right. What a warrior of Valhalla could offer a demon was not conversation—only violence.
I tightened my grip on the mace—
“Ah, aah—! E-everyone, run! Run away—!”
Demon hunter Myuhan screamed almost as if seized by a fit. And yet, even while shrieking like a man in full panic, he himself did not flee. He gripped his mace instead—like a warrior roaring in the face of fear.
And then—
“I-I will not run—! I will not run away! Coward Myuhan is dead! He died the day he abandoned his brothers and fled—!”
He howled as if tearing the words from his own throat and charged the demon.
“Brother Myuhan—!”
Brother James cried out in shock, but there was no stopping him.
In that instant—
Screee, screeeeeeeeeeeech—!
“Guh!”
“Wh-what…!”
A hair-raising screech like metal scraping metal forced us to clap our hands over our ears. Then came the whisper that followed.
「Die.」
…That was the end.
Thud.
Blood sprayed in every direction. In that surreal tableau I stared blankly ahead with empty eyes.
He was dead.
The valiant demon hunter Myuhan was dead.
So utterly, pointlessly dead.
Wind stirred. Leaves brushed. The forest rustled.
In the gathering dark, the soldiers stood as if frozen, staring ahead.
“De, dedeath, death, h, hateeee—”
The demon’s grotesque whispers filled every empty space in the woods. Drip, drip. Blood fell. They held their breath lest even the faintest sigh or heartbeat escape.
In their midst, Priest James fixed his eyes on the oval demon. He had never seen its form before, yet he had heard of it countless times from his comrade Myuhan.
No one knew its true name.
Only this—
The Mouth of Targis.
That was all it was called. The architect of the massacre that had turned the distant Targis region of the Deron Kingdom into a land of death.
Myuhan had always said the same thing.
—I will never retreat again. Absolutely never. No matter what happens, I will never abandon my comrades and run.
Every night, even while nightmares of that day tormented him, he repeated it—like a vow. No, like a hypnotic command to himself.
And today, in this very moment, that wish had been fulfilled. Even standing before the subject of his nightmares, his will had not broken.
How noble a resolve.
How noble…
“Ah.”
James clenched his teeth and forced the sigh back down. Because he feared the demon? No. He did not fear it. This was simply the respect due a brave man who had faced fear head-on.
And while paying that respect, James decided to carry forward the will of the comrade who had stood tall as a true warrior.
“Lord.”
My Lord who governs the blessed twelve hours.
Here stands Your servant.
Because of You I know no fear, and that I can plant these two feet upon this ground and face the enemy is all by Your grace.
Flowing river. By Your grace I enjoyed that comfort.
Clear blooming flower. I became a single flower and tasted glory.
“I am Your servant, the flower that withers fastest. Yet its fragrance and petals are most beautiful.”
Lord.
James walked forward. Both fists clenched tight, eyes unwavering as he fixed them on the demon.
“Grant me leave.”
That Your servant—the most splendid flower—may wither and fall in this place today.
With every step, waves spread and flowers bloomed. From deep in James’s chest, abundant holy power boiled upward.
「Die.」
The wicked voice forced death upon him—yet James chewed and swallowed the blood that surged up his throat and planted himself before the demon.
“With the Lord by my side, the power of evil shall lose its strength.”
A declaration. A self-suggestion whispered again and again.
It’s fine. I’m not afraid. I can overcome this.
Having soothed himself, James spoke to his comrades.
“Go.”
Hurry. Before the fear spreads through my heart and I collapse—hurry.
“Ah, aah, aah! Aaaah! Aaaaah—!”
As the demon spewed a scream that did not belong to this world, James poured every ounce of strength into his voice.
“Hurry—!”
At that cry, Valt forced his mouth open with difficulty.
“We… retreat….”
The soldiers, terrified out of their wits, spun around and fled. Valt alone did not move. He carried a duty more precious than his own life.
—Sir Valt, look after the children. That Bilhaim fellow will manage fine on his own, but Khtun… I just can’t set my mind at ease about him.
Valt ran toward Khtun to take him away. Or rather, he tried.
What met his eyes instead was—
“Y-Young Master?”
The small young master advancing toward the demon. Was he terrified? His arms and legs trembled so violently he could barely walk—yet with those same shaking steps he finally stood before the creature.
“Brother…?”
James looked back at him. Khtun did not answer. He only stared at the demon with eyes wide open.
A moment later, his mouth opened.
“Val… halla.”
[Step back. That is not a being you can handle—]
Chatter, chatter. Something was babbling, but I couldn’t hear it clearly. I was too terrified. So scared I felt I might go mad.
Yet Khtun forced the chant out again.
“…Valhalla.”
The magic words that kindled courage.
“Valhal—laaaaaaaa!”
As if answering the call, the undead’s jaw joints gaped wide in a silent roar. Shield in the left hand, sword in the right. All that was needed to face fear was that alone.
Khtun’s sword cleaved the air.
Slash—!
It was immediately afterward that the Mouth of Targis—its verbal command blocked—unleashed its tentacles.
Meanwhile, Ren scanned every direction with eyes of ice. His lips never stopped moving, as though the demons themselves were invisible. Dozens of spells packed into a single syllable; those syllables, each heavy with dozens more, spilled from his mouth hundreds of times.
As expected… this is the Apostle Council’s doing.
The Apostle Council. Worshippers who lurked in the shadows and joined hands with demons. To command something like the Mouth of Targis meant a worshipper of extremely high standing had taken the field—at least on par with an Apostle.
So who?
Ren identified the one behind it without difficulty.
Rohan.
Once revered as a saint. And at the same time… a foe he would tear apart and still not feel satisfied. If he was going to catch him, it had to be now. Moments when Rohan moved so openly were rare.
But—
When thousands of curses unfurled and formed a mist around him, conflict clouded Ren’s eyes.
“Val… hallaaaa—!”
He heard a voice roaring while still trying to hide its fear.
If he pursued Rohan, he could finally tie the knot of the revenge he had sought for so long. But then that boy would die.
What to do?
After a brief hesitation, Ren smiled bitterly.
“Tsk.”
How could he turn away?
—M-Master, Master, ah, aah—!
The memory of his own desperate cries from a day long past rose unbidden, and Ren made his decision. He told himself he was not helping Khtun—he was helping the past version of himself who had once stood against fear.