Chapter 24: The Lifted Veil (7)
Chapter 24: The Lifted Veil (7)
Ed, who had been waiting outside the building for his superior to come out, momentarily forgot how to speak at the sight before him.
Just what on earth had happened inside?
He stared blankly at him casually pushing back his blood-soaked hair, then urgently shifted his gaze to check inside the building.
His intention was to see how many he had killed, but what met his eyes was an unexpected scene.
'No corpses...?'
If he was drenched in that much blood, it definitely meant a massacre had occurred.
An eerie silence hung heavy, but at least no corpses were visible on the first floor through the window.
In the end, with no other choice but to ask directly, Ed stammered.
"What happened... no, before that, that blood on your body...."
"Not Lord Demon's blood."
Ben answered instead. Ed flared up for a second.
Did he think he was asking because he didn't know that?
If he couldn't even distinguish whether the blood on someone's body was their own or someone else's, he wouldn't have been able to rise to this position in the first place.
So just as he gritted his teeth to try speaking again, Ben's expression caught his eye.
A sickened expression.
It was an expression commonly seen on those who had witnessed Lord Demon's battles firsthand.
Since he himself had often made such an expression, he could quickly grasp what it meant.
'Ah.'
'Right, that. I was so tactless.'
He had been so steeped in peace that he'd forgotten for a moment.
The 0th Legion Commander's combat style.
How could there have been an answer when he'd compared it to an ordinary battle without considering his fighting style, which was distinctly different from the other Legion Commanders?
How could he forget that?
Ignoring Ed's dumbfounded expression, Deon wiped the blood splattered on his cheek with his palm and flicked his tongue out to lick it.
And at the decidedly abnormal smile spreading across his face and the red eyes beginning to reveal madness once more, Ed, horrified, quickly pulled out a handkerchief and offered it.
"Please wipe it off with this."
"Is there really a need? Weren't we heading out to fight anyway?"
"Won't the blood obstruct your vision? At least wipe your face, please."
"Hmm."
Fortunately, there was no further refusal.
Ed, watching his superior obediently accept the handkerchief and wipe his face with anxious eyes, straightened his posture, thinking they had to get to the battlefield quickly before things escalated.
"......It seems we must hurry to the ramparts. They say the scale itself is different this time."
"I don't care about that. What matters is 'whether demonic beasts have feelings.'"
"They certainly do."
"I know."
That's why I'm here.
A laugh-laced remark came out, asking if he wasn't being too stiff.
Even though the words clearly contained laughter and mischief, Ed, as if proving he hadn't been called stiff for nothing, didn't relax his rigid expression but immediately bowed his waist.
—When he first became the adjutant to the 0th Legion Commander, and when he first showed this side, Ed had been extremely confused.
He is clearly the same being. But different.
Having agonized for a long time over what attitude to take and how to treat his superior, who displayed a personality completely opposite to what he had shown so far, he came to a conclusion so simple it made the long time spent agonizing feel like a waste.
There was no need to agonize from the start.
He just had to match the attitude he was displaying.
Just because his personality changes doesn't mean the person changes. His memories remain intact, so you just had to think of him as a somewhat capricious being.
And it was right to treat the current 0th Legion Commander with a more flawless attitude than ever.
Because if you treated him loosely and happened to displease him, 'he' would not forgive it.
"I apologize."
"Forget it. So, my weapons?"
"Here they are."
He held out several daggers and sheaths that could be worn on the body.
Deon took them as if familiar with it and began strapping them on one by one.
Strapping on a total of six daggers—on both thighs, both sides of his waist, and two crossed at the small of his back—he finally looked back and forth between the robe and the cloak held in Ed's hands before grabbing the cloak.
"The opponent isn't human, so I won't need the robe."
Flutter.
The black cloak fluttered wide.
Checking to make sure he hadn't missed anything, Deon, who had been moving his feet, paused briefly and glanced back.
The demon-race inside the building were looking his way with dazed expressions.
Since voices mentioning the 0th Legion Commander could be faintly heard, they seemed to have realized his identity.
'Well, not that it matters.'
Watching them frantically dodge out of sight the moment their eyes met, he soon let out a puff of laughter and turned back around.
Before anyone knew it, his red eyes were filled with a madness that seemed to give off a bloody stench just by looking at them.
In contrast, wearing a pleasant smile on his face, Deon drew and then sheathed the dagger at his waist as he spoke.
"Let's go."
***
I opened my closed eyes.
I saw soldiers lined up in haphazard but somewhat orderly rows.
As I broadened my vision a little more, what I saw was the endless sky stretching out behind them.
I stared silently at the clear sky, which didn't suit the battlefield where a feast of slaughter would soon take place, then lowered my gaze again.
'I' stood on the platform.
Looking at the soldiers hiding their fear, tension, anxiety, and dissatisfaction behind indifferent expressions, 'I' spoke.
"The vanguard is largely divided into two types."
I held up two fingers towards them as they silently lifted their heads.
"One is the true vanguard, who breaks through traps with powerful strength, tramples enemies, and raises the morale of allies. The other is the so-called meat shield, who uses their bodies to identify traps and offset powerful enemy attacks. Strictly speaking, we're the latter."
I glimpsed some who gritted their teeth.
They want to refute it. They want to shout no and hurl a barrage of insults. But they know it well enough.
'I', who had just become a commander from a regular soldier. And the soldiers hastily gathered for that commander.
No one so brazen as to deny this while clearly knowing it existed in this place.
Therefore, towards their silence, 'I' calmly opened my mouth.
"Since everyone here has participated in combat, you must know the atmosphere of the battlefield well. I assume no one has forgotten. The shouts and screams from all around, the constant ringing of weapons across the battlefield, the muddy ground dyed red with blood. And, the 'madness' flowing through all of these as a medium."
"......."
"There must be those who resisted the madness trying to swallow their minds, and those who were consumed by it. So I'll say it now."
Judging by their eyes, they seemed to know what I was going to say.
They're probably expecting a cliché line like 'Don't be consumed by madness'.
What a laughable thought.
'I' had survived in this crazy place until now with this absurdly weak body.
How could the words from such a person's mouth be cliché?
"Be consumed by madness."
A chilly silence descended.
'I' spoke, revealing the surging madness perfectly towards them with their shocked expressions as if they couldn't believe their ears.
A few flinched at the madness revealed in my expression and eyes. Some even barely stopped themselves from stepping back.
"But don't be half-consumed. Be completely consumed. You only need enough reason to distinguish between friend and foe."
The saying 'don't be consumed by madness' only applies to knights or higher who possess proper swordsmanship.
What help would maintaining reason be for us, who haven't learned even a single decent sword technique?
Since ancient times, a predator must be calm to succeed in the hunt, while a sheep that runs amok wildly is harder to catch than a gentle one.
We were nothing but sheep, and at least from 'my' view, there was only one way to survive in this place teeming with countless predators.
"Don't leave behind intact corpses. Even if you judge it to be dead, don't stop chopping. Slit its belly and mess up its entrails. You stop only when you judge it can't get any more tattered."
Looks of disgust, I see.
It's just words, yet they're turning pale. How ridiculous.
If you stand on the battlefield with such a half-baked mentality, one hundred out of one hundred of you will die.
I didn't become the vanguard commander because I wanted to, but since I had stepped up here, I had no intention of letting the soldiers under me die.
It wasn't a sense of responsibility. 'I' was worried about the disadvantages that would come if I lost all my troops.
What would be left for a commander who had lost all his troops?
For a guy like 'me' without any backing, my head would surely fly.
How did I even survive this far? Do I have to die because of bastards like them?
"You bastards seem to have forgotten where you are. Get a grip!"
That's too unfair to accept.
Eyes wide with surprise turned towards me.
'I' glared straight back at each of those eyes and yelled at the top of my lungs in a venom-fueled voice.
"Do you think the enemy will swing their swords while weighing their opponents? If you scream that you were forcibly brought here, will they go 'Oh, I see~' and spare you? If there's a bastard who wants to argue about morals or ethics here, step forward right now! I'll personally throw you in front of the enemies so you can debate ethics with them!"
A cold wind blew.
The sound of sand being swept by the wind could be heard. The sound of fallen leaves tumbling, and tree branches shivering slightly could be heard.
So much that all these sounds could be heard, silence descended upon the open plain.
"We are weak. And this place is a battlefield where the weak are weeded out. How many ways do you think we have to survive in a place like this?"
Have you still not realized that this is not a situation where you can be picky?
It was a scolding in that vein.
Amidst the unreturned answers, whether they understood or not, 'I' slowly continued.
"As far as I know, there's only one method we, who can't fight and yet can't avoid battle, can use.
——"Psychological warfare."
It's instilling 'fear' into the enemies.
So they can't recklessly attack. So they can't recklessly point their swords.
Then, in what way should we instill fear?
"A sense of foreignness. Make them feel a sense of foreignness. Because any sense of foreignness on the battlefield inevitably leads to fear through whatever process. Fear will dull the enemy's hands and feet, and in the end, prevent them from properly displaying their skills. We slit the throats of such bastards."
Yes, we become the hyenas of the battlefield.
Don't think it's cowardly. What does cowardice matter in actions done to survive?
Then, I suppose it's time to discuss the method of creating a sense of foreignness, which brings the story back to the beginning.
"In this limited space called the war zone, there are indeed not many ways to create a sense of foreignness. In fact, what we can do amounts to just one. If I had to list them all—"
I held up my arm, wrapped meticulously in white bandages up to the fingertips, as if to show it off.
"Maintaining a clean state without a speck of dust or a drop of blood, all alone in a battlefield full of bastards covered in blood and dust."
This time, I fluttered the white cloak specially issued to me.
"Or being drenched in enough blood to stand out even among people drenched in blood and dust."
There's no way we, who have to roll on the ground right now to avoid swords, can maintain a clean state, so in the end, the method we can use is just one.
Looking at the soldiers who were silent with even darker faces, perhaps realizing they had no choice, 'I' laughed.
It was a laugh so bloody that even I thought it smelled of blood.
"We will cover ourselves in blood. Showing cruel handiwork that will make even those accustomed to war convulse. Swinging our swords while smiling in a way that sends chills down the spine just to look at. It would also be good to show that we are mad for the enemy."
In short, be consumed by madness. That's it.
The one who runs becomes a target.
But a madman who charges with his eyes rolled back becomes an object of avoidance.
"I'll say it again. We cannot be the 'true vanguard'."
"......."
"But you don't want to be meat shields either. So we take a similar but different path."
Did I say the true vanguard raises the morale of our allies?
Then we....
"We crush the morale of the enemies."