Valhalla!
We reached the Hadion border the following afternoon.
"This is where Hadion begins."
"Mm."
We took a short rest before the boundary stone that marked the line between the two territories. We could have marched straight into the Hadion Viscounty then and there, but the soldiers needed a moment to steel themselves.
Well…
They all look fine enough, though.
And they had every reason to. The standing troops with us this time had all lived through the last demon crisis — the Mouth of Targis. Anyone who had survived a lesser-demon wave was bound to have nerves of steel.
The most reliable among them were Zeke and Milo.
"All units, ready!"
"Maintain combat readiness at all times."
Were these really the same precious little darlings who used to get bullied by old Herben and the rank-and-file?
"I hear they've been promoted to adjutants now?"
So they say.
"But the soldiers are treating them with real respect."
These were the same men who had once tormented them, after all. Even Sir Valt's three knights seemed to acknowledge Zeke and Milo's authority to some degree.
This is what proper military discipline looks like…
"Haha, Young Master — there's a story behind that."
"A story?"
The answer came from one of Sir Valt's three knights. Since they couldn't see the Ancestor, he must have assumed I was talking to them. I would have to be more careful.
In any case, the story went like this.
"The very first thing Zeke and Milo did after their promotion was challenge everyone to sparring matches."
"Sparring?"
"Yes — though calling it sparring is generous. It was a one-sided thrashing. They must have been holding a lot in. They wiped the floor with the lot of them so thoroughly you wonder how they ever managed to keep it bottled up."
Ah. I see.
Ancestor, this is proper military discipline, right?
…
Proper discipline is born of violence… I'll take that to heart.
The Ancestor said nothing.
At any rate, by the time the preparations were roughly finished—
"Brother Khtun, I would like to bestow a blessing upon everyone. Would that be all right?"
"Ah, Brother James. A blessing, you say…?"
For the record, Brother James had jumped at the chance the moment he heard we were going to face demons.
"Nothing grand — just a blessing to steady the soldiers' hearts and drive away the weaker demons."
Drive away demons?
Aren't demons the sort of thing you wipe out completely?
The only good demon is a dead demon.
The Ancestor, however, seemed to think otherwise.
We need to reach Hadion's main town with all haste. Accept it.
I nodded without a second thought.
"Very well. We gratefully accept."
"Then…"
The moment his short prayer — Lord, protect these souls — ended, tiny motes of holy light, like fireflies, drifted out and settled over the chests of everyone in the party.
That's impressive. Has he always been this strong?
He seems to have grown considerably since the Mouth of Targis incident.
Right?
Brother James's holy magic felt as though it had reached a new realm after the Mouth of Targis. A thoroughly reassuring presence.
And so, with the blessing received—
"Move ouuut—!"
We pressed forward.
Into Hadion, which had become a den of demons.
And it was not long at all before we actually ran into them.
"Young Master — the village ahead is under attack."
Saint Khtun, sortie!
The instant I heard the scout's report, I spurred my horse and charged ahead.
"Hiyah—!"
"All units, double time! Follow the Young Master!"
"We're with you!"
Zeke and Milo rounded up the soldiers while the three knights fell in behind me.
We spotted the demons attacking the village just as we burst out of a forest trail.
"Demooons—!"
You maniac, calm down!
Ancestor, does this look like a time to be calm?! People are suffering at the hands of demons right now!
They may not have been Falaon's people, but I had already decided to treat Hadion as a vassal of Falaon.
"Uracha—!"
I leapt from the saddle and plunged straight into the tide of demons. Then came the mace, carving through space itself.
Thud, thwack—!
I say this myself with some embarrassment, but it was a truly stormlike entrance.
"Cover the Young Master!"
"Sir!"
"Sir!"
The three knights were at my side. And that was not all.
Goltic, Brother Myuhan — summon!
I reverse-summoned Goltic and Brother Myuhan from the main force, then summoned them again and set them loose. Their presence was like wolves among a flock of sheep.
But the demons' assault was ferocious. A handful of us could not reverse the tide alone.
And yet — who was I?
Khtun, the peerless prodigy necromancer.
What you need in a moment like this is the Legion of Valhalla.
"Valhal—la!"
At my cry, skeletons materialized in the heart of the demon wave. Forty-five in total.
"Advance—!"
Stamp, stamp.
Fifteen shield-bearers pressed forward, swinging their maces, and the demons could not withstand the force — they were driven back helplessly. Fifteen spearmen followed behind, finishing them off. And the third rank of sword-and-shield troops…
"Young Master."
"Yes, Brother Myuhan!"
"If you entrust the third rank of skeletons to me, I will hunt the more troublesome specimens."
"Please do!"
I assigned the fifteen sword-and-shield troops as Brother Myuhan's support. Coordinating a split command like that was a bit much for my multitasking alone, but Vessel assisted with that part.
And so—
"We take the village gate!"
"Sir!"
"Sir!"
We plugged the village gate that was on the verge of collapsing, while Brother Myuhan tore through the demon ranks, hunting the dangerous ones.
The main force joined us not long after.
"All troops — advance—!"
Zeke, effectively the commander of the main force, shouted, and the soldiers answered in chorus.
"Advance!"
Then came Brother James's prayer.
"Lord, grant them strength and courage—!"
Brother James's holy magic, grown even stronger since the Mouth of Targis, wrapped around the soldiers. In an instant, sacred light seeped into their spears and blades. It was not quite on the level of Golgol's holy power, but against demons it would land as a formidable blow.
Ah — this is Falaon.
This is Saint Khtun.
In that moment, we were a storm. A storm of justice, crushing demons.
Time for one more cry.
"Valhal—laaaaaaaa!"
The soldiers took up the chant.
"Valhalla—!"
"Valhalla—!"
The whole world was Valhalla.
Valhalla.
A cry of unknown meaning rang out across the field.
"First rank, hold firmer!"
"Don't break formation!"
Skree! Crack!
A battlefield of mutual slaughter between humans and demons. From a short distance away, Shuren Hadion took in the brutal scene with his eyes.
How…
It was a shock.
How is something like this even possible?
To be honest, he had been more than a little dissatisfied.
— My second son, Khtun, will aid Hadion.
His second son, Khtun?
Khtun was a green boy who had not even completed a full year since his Blood Awakening Ceremony. And a bastard son, at that.
Baron Falaon has no real intention of helping Hadion.
That was what he had thought. And if that were the case, why send his own child? Who could say. Perhaps, being a bastard, the boy was simply being discarded at a convenient opportunity.
His grievances had been plentiful, but Shuren was still a man with some grip on reality. Even if Baron Falaon's true intent was exactly that, what was Hadion supposed to say? They had no choice but to accept.
And that suspicion had hardened into certainty the moment he learned the relief force consisted of three knights and twenty soldiers. His heart had truly sunk.
How am I supposed to face Father and the people of the territory?
They would be waiting with bated breath for him to return with reinforcements. But as he had said, he had no choice in the matter — and he was not so shameless as to demand that others spill blood for Hadion.
And yet.
"…"
"…"
Shuren and his escort knight, Paron, could not find a single word. Everything before them defied every expectation.
"Valhallaaaaa—!"
"Valhallaaaa—!"
Khtun roaring at the front, the soldiers following behind him, and the white-boned butchers methodically slaughtering demons in perfect order. The battle was over in less than an hour, and Shuren and Paron simply stood there like stone, watching it all unfold.
They came out of their shock not long after.
"Young Master Shuren."
"…"
"Young Master Shuren?"
"Ah — a-ah — y-yes, please speak, Young Master Khtun."
"We're trying to enter the village, but the residents won't let us in. I believe we'll need you to step forward."
"Ah."
Shuren nodded. After a moment, he stopped mid-step toward the village and looked at Khtun.
"Young Master Khtun."
"Yes?"
"Are you not… afraid?"
"Am I not afraid?"
"Yes."
Shuren asked, watching him. The truth was, Shuren was terrified. Of the battlefield, of blood, of the act of harming another person. That was why, despite awakening a decent talent at his Blood Awakening Ceremony, he remained little more than a spare sack of grain on the shelf.
And yet.
Someone younger than me…
How could a boy who had only just completed his Blood Awakening Ceremony be so fearless?
At that question, Khtun gave a short laugh.
"What's there to be afraid of? I have power, and at my side I have steadfast knights and soldiers who protect me."
"Ah…"
Shuren found himself convinced despite himself.
He's simply a different kind of person.
A boldness that seemed born into him — as if he had come into the world already a hero. Whereas he himself was… a coward.
Then—
"Young Master Shuren, may I offer you a piece of advice?"
"…Yes."
He answered, but his face fell at once. Experience had taught him that what usually followed was something less than welcome. Work harder. Think of the people of the territory. Practical advice that was, for that very reason, cruel.
He was already bracing himself when—
"Valhalla."
"Pardon?"
"When you need courage, shout Valhalla. You'll find it."
"Ah…"
"Now, shall we head into the village and persuade the residents? The soldiers need rest as well."
"I-I'll do so at once."
Shuren hurried forward. As he walked, he turned to Paron at his side.
"Valhalla? Is he mocking me? What do you make of it, Sir Paron?"
He asked, not quite hiding his irritation. Paron glanced back at Khtun, then spoke.
"Young Master — think carefully."
"About what?"
"Who shouted 'Valhalla' the most on that battlefield."
"The most…?"
Shuren tilted his head — then understood. Who had cried Valhalla the loudest and the most often on that field.
"Young Master Khtun himself…"
"Exactly."
"But I saw no fear in him at all. He himself said he felt none."
Even to the naked eye, Khtun seemed a man who simply did not know fear. A necromancer who charged across a battlefield with shield and mace — afraid? The idea was absurd.
Paron answered.
"There are those who hide their fear behind courage. And…"
"And?"
"Look."
"…?"
At Paron's words, Shuren turned. And he saw it.
The back of the boy smiling as he encouraged his soldiers. It was hard to notice beneath the exaggerated manner, but Shuren could tell. That back was trembling, ever so slightly.
Only then did Shuren understand.
"…I see."
There was no born hero standing ahead of him. Only a coward who chose to act as one.
Valhalla…
In that moment, Valhalla took root in Shuren's heart.