Kneel Before Your Master
I returned to the elf village with Berika's corpse in tow.
I dragged every last elf into the village square. The critically ill plague victims were no exception. I planned to deal with the plague soon enough anyway.
Roughly four thousand of them gathered and stared at Berika's body. Some of the more shaken elves collapsed to the ground; the rest simply stood there, vacant and hollow-eyed.
I looked them over and clicked my tongue. The population had once exceeded six thousand — two thousand had already died to the plague. True to their race, every single one of them had been strikingly beautiful. The dead elf women were a genuine waste.
"Listen well!"
I poured mana into my voice and roared. The elves turned toward me — the listless, exhausted gazes of the sick.
"Elder Berika is dead. Some of you already know that. Berika colluded with demon contractors and tried to kill us all! There will be those among you who sided with him — and those who knew and looked the other way! You ungrateful wretches! You will pay the price for that!"
I lifted Berika's head and hurled it to the ground. The skull shattered. Fragments of bone sprayed outward, and brain matter fouled the dirt.
"From this moment on, you are the slaves of Eugene Frucus! All of you — on your knees! I will not tolerate any nonsense! You filthy elves who don't even understand a promise! You who repay kindness with enmity! Accept your fate as slaves without resistance!"
I pointed at the ground. Lightning erupted from my fingertip and raked across the earth. The startled elves glanced at one another, gauging who would move first.
"…Don't make me laugh! I'll admit the Elder was in the wrong! I'll even admit that those of us who agreed with him — or stood by and did nothing — share the guilt! But that is no reason for us to become your slaves!"
One elf drew his sword and shouted with all the bravado he could muster.
"He's right!"
"We will never be slaves!"
"Don't underestimate us!"
Elves burst forward from every direction, swords in hand, spirits summoned. The Guardian Corps — the village's only fighting force. Nearly fifty of them stepped out. Every last one was an Aura Expert or higher. Alone, I would have had trouble handling them.
But I didn't need to lift a finger. I had a maid who had reached the absolute peak of both Aura Master and Archmage.
"Yuria. Handle them."
"Yes, Master."
A colossal blade of shadow rose from the ground and swept through their ranks. Half of the fifty died in that single stroke. The rest failed to dodge the spears that erupted from the darkness and died just the same. In less than a minute, every elf capable of fighting was dead.
"Those of you who still want to resist — go ahead. But I warn you. From now on, simply dying will no longer be the end of it."
I tossed Guardian Captain Zegner's head onto the ground as well.
An Aura Master.
The second strongest after Berika.
Their will to fight broken, the elves dropped to their knees. I grinned as I looked them over. A few of the women had already caught my eye. I was very much looking forward to the night they would attend me.
The Vitrase army pressed on.
Plague had taken root among the ranks. The army groaned under its weight. With each passing day the disease spread further. An army of twelve thousand began to grind and seize up in short order.
Over four thousand were already infected, and roughly three hundred had died. The older soldiers, their immunity worn thin, were the first to go.
The men trembled at the knowledge that the plague might close around their throats at any moment. They wanted to run. But the instant they fled, the army's blades would turn on them. There was even a unit dedicated solely to hunting deserters. And the moment they ran, their families back home would be put at risk.
The soldiers prayed — to the sky, to the earth, to the gods. Spare us the plague. And if we must catch it, at least spare our lives.
But the infected only multiplied, and Marquis Paul Smeshid, the general leading the army, grew increasingly desperate.
He had been considering a retreat. Then, all at once, he wheeled around and began screaming at his men.
"Advance! I said advance! This plague is the work of those damned elves! Only by seizing the ancient relic they hold will the plague disappear!"
The words that began with the general spread through the entire army. The soldiers believed him. He was a man of high station, and they had only fallen ill after entering the forest — the story held enough weight. The soldiers found a target for their hatred, an outlet for their rage.
"Those fucking elves! How dare they unleash a plague?! They've crossed the final line!"
"Kill the elves!"
"Rape the women and turn them into whores!"
"Only killing the elves will end the plague!"
"Burn the forest to the ground!"
The soldiers forced a brutal march. And at some point, the elves' interference simply stopped. The water that had always appeared in midair to snuff out their torches vanished. The tremors that had shaken the ground and stalled their advance disappeared without a trace.
The soldiers pushed on toward the elf village.
"Ugh… Aaaagh…!"
"Mom…! I want my mom…!"
"I have a son at home… my son… khrrk!"
Soldiers dropped one after another. It felt like one every ten minutes. The dead were simply left where they fell. Ordinarily, corpses were buried or burned.
"There is no time to bury the dead! Once we invade the elves, seize the ancient relic, and head home, we will tend to our fallen comrades! The plague is still spreading! To control it, the elves must die!"
That was the general's order. The soldiers burned with hatred for the elves. Everything — all of it — was the elves' fault.
"Advance! Keep advancing!"
The general bellowed like a man possessed.
"What are you doing?! Why have you stopped?! Did you not hear my order?! I said advance!"
"S-sir, a tree fell on my arm! I can't move it!"
"Aha! So you're a spy for those filthy long-ears! Kill him!"
Rage and hatred curdled into madness.
The general drove his men mercilessly. Useless soldiers were branded as spies and executed. The protests of his adjutants — that this had gone too far — were ignored.
General Paul pressed on even knowing the danger. He had no choice. His own life hung in the balance.
"Kelkel. You're doing well. Very well indeed. Kelkelkel."
"Faster. Do it."
Behind General Paul stood the demons.
One was a plague demon with slick green skin, unidentifiable slime oozing steadily from its flesh. Its head was shaped like a fly's, with three mouths. Bat wings flapped on its back. A hideous creature befitting a plague demon — Heple.
The other was a wooden doll barely thirty centimeters tall. Sharp hooks jutted from both arms, and blood flowed endlessly from its mouth. A mid-rank demon with the power to puppet people and corpses like marionettes — Nerot.
Thuk. Thuk-thuk!
"Faster. Faster still!"
Nerot jabbed its hooks into General Paul's back, goading him on. Blood dripped steadily. Nerot sucked at the general's blood through its constantly bleeding mouth.
Heple was not idle either. It toyed with the general's right arm. The limb twisted into grotesque shapes — melting, then reforming into something revoltingly insectile.
General Paul tried not to look at the demons behind him. He shouted at his men.
"Do not rest! The moment you stop, the plague will kill us! Advance! Advance! We're almost there!"
And at last, the Vitrase army arrived at the Beliac elf village.
"Kill the elves and find the ancient relic!"
General Paul screamed until the veins stood out on his neck.
The soldiers charged like horses with the bit between their teeth. Even the knights who had once pretended at nobility raced toward the village. Anything belonging to elves would fetch a fine price, and elven beauty — male and female alike — was legendary. Elven women in particular were nearly impossible to obtain for any sum of money. Their faces were thick with greed and lust.
"Wh-where are they?!"
"There are no elves!"
"General! The houses are empty!"
"I-it could be a trap!"
"Damn it! The elves must have already fled!"
The soldiers howled in fury. There was nothing for them to take.
"You idiots! Look over there! The elves are gathered right there!"
Beyond a fence erected at the village center, the elves were visible. Plague-ravaged, gaunt-faced, they glared at the soldiers.
And at their center stood a nobleman with black hair and black eyes.
I broke into a broad grin at the sight of the Vitrase army pouring into Beliac Village. The soldiers charged in a frenzy — but they could not cross the fence. I had used a fraction of the ancient relic's power: the Earth Jewel.
It wasn't a perfect seal, of course. The ones who kept their heads would realize it was a barrier, and they would break through with raw force soon enough.
But I would strike first.
I stroked the Earth Jewel. I had a rough idea of how to use it. I poured mana into the stone.
"This is what you're after, isn't it? The Earth Jewel. Too bad. I have absolutely no intention of handing it over. Heh. You've walked straight into hell."
Mana poured into the Earth Jewel in a steady flood.
The Vitrase army. A force the king of Vitrase had scraped together to the absolute limit of his resources. If this army was annihilated… the Vitrase Kingdom would not survive what came next. It would fall, and some other nation would claim its territory.
"Burst!"
BOOM! KRA-KRA-KRA-KRA-KRA-KRA-KRA-BOOM!
The ground erupted. Dirt and dust shot skyward, and soldiers' bodies snapped like dry twigs. The ones who had pushed deep into the village, blinded by plunder, died in droves. Over five thousand lives snuffed out in an instant of pure futility.
"It's magic!"
"A grand mage!"
"Hiiiiiieek!"
The soldiers reeled in terror. Some turned and fled. I didn't bother stopping them. The enemy had already lost half its will to fight.
"Hey, you little shit. Get on with it."
I ground my heel into the head of Veint, who lay writhing on the ground without arms or legs.
"You… promised. Don't… kill my sister."
"I won't. As long as you do your job properly."
Veint clenched his teeth and activated his power. The plague-ridden corpses prepared in advance lurched into motion and charged the remaining soldiers. The men recoiled in horror and attacked the corpses — which then exploded, scattering plague in every direction.
The disease spread. Infected soldiers shuddered, then collapsed. Ordinary troops could not endure a plague of this concentration for long. I watched it all unfold from the safety of the barrier.
"As expected — biological weapons really are specialized for mass slaughter."
Bella, bound in rope, screamed.
"Heple! No! What are you doing?! Pull the plague back from the army!"
She called for her contracted demon. Bella seemed to have built a decent working relationship with it — there was a chance it might listen. But at the moment, the demon's attention was elsewhere.
I cocked my head to the side. In a clearing littered with corpses, Yuria was holding a vial and scattering something black across the ground.
Impure mana.
The very substance that served as a demon's life force and power.
Heple the plague demon and Nerot the puppet demon had already taken the bait. They bit even knowing it was a trap. They couldn't help themselves. The impure mana Yuria had specially refined before losing her memories was purer than anything else of its kind.
And arrogant demons would dismiss Yuria as nothing more than a mere human.
"Kelkel. A human from my memories…. Ah, this is no time for that!"
"Mm. Good. Impure. Mana."
The demons flattened themselves against the ground, tongues out, lapping up the impure mana Yuria had scattered. There was no dignity left in the sight — no demonic pride whatsoever.
"A look that suits you perfectly."
Yuria sneered. Clink-clink-clink! Chains of shadow wound tight around the demons' bodies. The demons remained unconcerned.
"You think this is enough to hold us?"
"Very. Stupid."
They twisted and strained. The shadow chains did not break.
"I judged that Master's greatest enemies would be demons, and so I researched them thoroughly. What proves most effective against demons is rare divine power… and, ironically, the power of other demons."
Rattle. Rattle.
The shadow chains held firm.
"You demons are not the only ones who can make use of impure mana. Those shadow chains have been reinforced with it. You will not escape them easily."
"Kelkel…. Impressive. Anything below high-rank would be completely helpless. But I am a plague demon! A top-tier demon! Chains like these mean nothing!"
Heple spewed plague from its mouths, trying to sever the chains. The plague did not spread — it clung to Heple's own body instead. Heple began to swell.