Victory's Roar
Kyaaak—!
Crunch!
When some nameless soldier's sword pierced the last demon's heart, silence fell.
"Hah— hah—."
The soldier lifted his eyes and looked around.
Earth soaked in blood. A dying evening glow. Demon corpses piled in layers beneath the walls, and the bodies of his comrades sprawled across the battlements above.
He stared blankly for a long while, blinking, then collapsed where he stood.
His arms and legs trembled. There was no strength left in them. Small wonder — he had been locked in a life-or-death struggle for nearly half a day.
Everything before his eyes felt like a dream, and the whole of today had gone hazy, as if it belonged to some distant past.
After a moment spent gathering his scattered wits, the soldier opened his mouth.
"Ah."
A hoarse voice. Worn raw by battle cries and screams, it came out rough and broken.
But again—
"Aaa—"
A metallic rasp slipped past his lips.
Only then did the soldier truly understand.
He was alive.
He had not died.
It had felt as though he would, and yet in the end he had survived. He had smashed those damned demons' skulls, pierced their hearts, crawled, rolled, endured and endured — and somehow, impossibly, he was still here.
Perhaps that was why.
A hot surge of feeling welled up from deep in his chest.
What was this? Joy? Sorrow? Rage? Or simply relief?
He did not know.
It was something only those who had crossed the threshold of death dozens of times and come back could feel — a tangled mass of emotion too complex for any language to hold.
And so—
"Uwaaa!"
The soldier roared.
"Uwaa, uwaaaaaaaaah—!"
Toward the fields beyond the walls. Toward the dead demons.
And he was not alone.
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
"Waaaaaaaah—!"
From every corner of the fortress, cries erupted — whether screams or cheers, no one could say.
No one needed to tell them.
They had won.
They had prevailed.
In the end, they had survived.
The battle that would later be called the Hadion Holy War drew to a close like that.
In victory for humanity.
Roars bursting out on every side.
In the midst of them, I let out a ragged breath and collapsed where I stood.
"Shii…t."
Was it over?
Sitting with my back against the wall, I took in the scene around me.
The setting evening glow. In that red-washed space, demon corpses lay scattered without care or order.
How to put it.
It didn't feel real.
All of this… was the result of this one battle?
Really?
In a mere half day, this many demons had died?
I sat there staring blankly at the landscape, then lifted my head and looked around.
That was when the Ancestor's voice reached me.
"It's all over."
Over, huh.
"Really?"
"Yes. It's over. We won. We held out to the end. We overcame it."
The Ancestor, possessing the Valhalla Skeleton, said so as he set a hand on my head.
"You did well."
Just those words.
In that instant, a hot surge of feeling welled up from deep in my chest.
When I felt it, I understood why the soldiers around me were howling like beasts.
Because… they couldn't hold it in.
This feeling. This emotion.
And so—
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah—!"
I, too, let the rising tide pour out of me without restraint.
We had won.
We had survived.
Valhalla!
Truly, in a way worthy of Valhalla itself!
It was a heat I had never felt once across my past life or this one — something words could not begin to describe.
So I sat there for a long while, screaming myself hoarse.
It was fury, and it was joy.
How much time passed like that?
"Hoo."
"Have you settled down a little?"
"Yes. We really… won."
"Yes. We won."
I nodded at the Ancestor's firm confirmation.
It truly had been a brutal fight.
After the Viscount lost consciousness, even my own memories had gone hazy. I remembered somehow getting him inside the castle walls — and after that, nothing but kill, kill, and kill again…
There had been more than one or two moments when I'd nearly lost my life.
When the gate was breached… I really thought it was all over.
But we held.
How?
I couldn't quite remember. I'd just frantically summoned Valhalla Skeletons, swung whatever weapon was in my hands — mace or sword, I couldn't even tell — and when I came to my senses, I was back up on the wall.
But.
Did I make that too?
I tilted my head at the gate made of bone.
Probably. I was the only necromancer in the Hadion Viscounty, after all.
Wait.
The soldiers?
I snapped back to myself and started looking for the others.
I found Zeke without much trouble.
"Sir Zeke!"
"Ah… Young Master."
"Are you all right?"
At my question, Zeke nodded with a faintly weary look.
"I am fine. It has been a long time since I have fought a battle of such intensity."
So this was the composure of experience.
Zeke looked thoroughly exhausted, yet emotionally he seemed remarkably steady.
Perhaps that was why he understood why I had come looking for him, and spoke before I could even ask.
"Rowe, Kahn, and Halo of the Three Knights, and Milo, are unharmed. Of the twenty soldiers, four are dead and seven are seriously wounded."
"Mm."
The joy of victory lasted only a moment. Zeke's report left a bitter taste in my mouth.
The losses were not light.
I had never expected there would be no sacrifices — but facing them as reality made my heart heavy all the same.
Zeke spoke again around then.
"Simply surviving this battle was a miracle."
"It was."
"Everyone fought with valor. Those who fell would not wish for you to grieve, Young Master. Simply rejoice in the victory they achieved."
"…Would they."
I didn't know.
Soldiers dying was nothing new. There had been the territorial war, after all.
But the way it landed felt different this time… probably because that war had been my father's, and this battle had been mine.
When all's said and done, I'm the one who sent them onto this field.
Even though we could have fallen back to Falaon.
"What nonsense. If those creatures had taken Hadion, far more people would have died in Falaon."
Maybe so.
"So…"
It's fine.
I shook my head.
Slap—!
And struck both cheeks hard.
"Young Master?"
"Mm."
That cleared my head a little.
Honestly, I knew.
What the Ancestor, Zeke, and the survivors were saying was meant to ease my heart, whether or not it was strictly true.
I didn't want to take comfort from other people's words and rationalize my own guilt.
Anyway.
I bear it.
Yes. That was all.
Right choice or wrong — every consequence of my decisions was mine to carry.
"…You've grown harder."
Because I'm Valhalla.
Yes. Bearing responsibility.
That was what Valhalla meant.
In the days after the battle ended, we handled the aftermath under Viscount Hadion's direction.
The first thing the Viscount did was honor the dead.
Viscount Hadion also designated this day as a memorial day for the viscounty, and commanded that every year the heroes who had given their lives for Hadion be honored.
Once the mourning was done, a victory festival was held.
Thanks to the Viscount's open-handed generosity, the celebration was quite lavish. For three days the soldiers ate and drank their fill, crying and laughing as they let their emotions run free.
I enjoyed the festival alongside them as well.
Viscount Hadion summoned me to the lord's castle around the time the postwar business was roughly finished.
"You've come? Sit."
"Ah, yes."
As I took my seat, the Viscount smiled warmly.
"I am truly grateful. Thanks to you, we weathered the crisis. You saved me, and you saved Hadion. I am deeply in your debt."
"I only did what an ally should."
At my words, the Viscount's smile deepened.
"Ally — a fine word. Yes. Through this affair, Hadion has become Falaon's ally. That is a fact no one can deny. Needless to say, every promise Shuren made will be kept."
"I never doubted it."
"Thank you."
I'd wondered, just a little.
What if he wiped his mouth and pretended none of it happened…
"You really…"
What.
The Viscount may have shown unexpected sides of himself in this whole business, but the fact remained that he was a greedy man who had started a war because he coveted a magic stone mine.
As far as I was concerned, I had every reason to doubt him right up to the very end.
Still. I'm glad.
I was human too. After fighting side by side with Hadion, I hadn't particularly wanted to give them a taste of Valhalla's retribution.
After that, the Viscount kept adding his thanks and carried the conversation this way and that — the current state of the viscounty, what had become of the people who had fled, and so on.
For the record, the viscounty was at peace.
The demons haven't vanished completely, but there's none of the large-scale movement there used to be.
As we'd expected, it seemed the cultists really had poured everything they had into that final battle.
Word had been sent to the refugees as well, so they would be returning soon.
Truly good news.
How long did we talk like that?
The Viscount opened his mouth.
"…And so, I would like to give you a personal gift."
"A gift?"
Who had ever dared insult the Viscount as a shameless petty man?
I straightened my posture.
Not because of the gift itself — showing proper courtesy to one's elders was simply the way of K-Falaon.
But what was he planning to give me?
My heart started pounding.
"You there—! Bring the item!"
Before long, a soldier waiting outside the door carried in an enormous box.
Thud!
It was roughly a meter on each side, and heavy enough that setting it down produced a dull, solid sound.
"Open it."
"This is…"
What could it be?
I tilted my head and opened the box.
Inside was…
Bones?
"Bones."
Yes. Bones.
The contents of the box were a heap of bones of unknown origin.
Only — the color was a little strange.
Silkie chicken? Why are they black?
I tilted my head and looked at the Viscount, who answered.
"Long ago, my ancestor captured a certain necromancer and seized these as spoils of war. I don't know much about such things myself, but our territory mage Pheloren tells me they are quite precious materials for a necromancer. Well?"
"Uh, mm."
Was this just dumping leftovers on me?
Had my eye not been wrong after all?
I was thinking as much when the Ancestor suddenly cried out in shock.
"That!"
Yes?
"That — that's it! That!"
What's "that"?
I tilted my head, and the Ancestor spoke in a rush of excitement.
"The Essence of Dead Spirits! Don't you know? Bones imbued with the Essence of Dead Spirits!"
What's that?
"You dense fool! And you call yourself a necromancer!"
The Ancestor snapped at me and launched into an explanation.
So what was the Essence of Dead Spirits, exactly?
In short, it was a high-density crystallization of mana — a necromancer's own power, refined and condensed into a solid mass.
And what was so good about that?
Simple.
"It can block Aura, you hear me? Aura!"
Aura…!
Because it was mana condensed to such extreme density, it showed resistance even against Aura.
In other words, with this, I could create undead capable of standing against a knight's Aura.
"What's the matter? Not to your liking?"
I shook my head.
"No. I revere you."
"…Revere?"
Mm. Revere might have been a bit much.
I just meant I was that grateful.