The Devil of All Nations
The words hung in the air like a challenge wrapped in casual mockery.
"The instructor is the Devil of All Nations?"
Rai's eyes flashed with a sharp glint as he heard Philia's question.
Her narrowed eyes, playful and sharp, watched him while she unconsciously traced the rim of her glass.
"Nope. I'm just Rye Redford."
"..."
Philia scrutinized his face intently, searching for any crack in the facade, but all she found was an infuriatingly blank, unreadable expression.
"And if I really were the Devil of All Nations, what then?"
"Nothing. With a fabricated resume like 'Rennen survivor,' it's probably someone higher up pulling strings. As a nobody, I wouldn't dare guess."
She looked up at the cloudless sky as she spoke.
The phrase "someone higher up" clearly carried a veiled reference to the Emperor's involvement.
Rai regarded her with a proud, almost fond gaze.
"You already made up your mind, didn't you?"
With a casual wave of his hand, a soundproofing spell sealed the area around them.
Philia took a long swallow of her mixed drink.
"I've been burned too many times by jumping to conclusions too quickly."
"Still, you grew from those mistakes."
Philia recounted the time she had suspected his background and fought him the first time they met.
She stole a glance at the kind man who had wrapped around her like a blanket, then dropped her eyes to the glass clasped tightly in both hands.
"I grew up hearing that the Devil of All Nations was the Empire's greatest traitor."
"Really? I was taught the same thing. You grow up in the Empire, after all."
Philia's brows furrowed as she shot him a sharp, suspicious glare.
His tone danced between truth and teasing, leaving her unsettled, yet she lowered her gaze once more.
It was impossible to reveal her identity so easily.
Even as the man who had once been the Empire's greatest enemy, the restrictions binding him were likely absolute.
Perhaps playfully suggesting that a lie wasn't even necessary opened the possibility of doubt, but Philia saw it as a genuine gesture of consideration for her feelings and gave a small nod.
"Why do you think that?"
"When I first met the instructor, I investigated your background. Sorry."
"No need to apologize. Besides, if you checked my record, there'd be nothing to find. My history is basically just one Rennen entry."
Philia nodded in confirmation.
"Yes, that's all. That's why I suspected more. With your skills, it was impossible for your background to be that limited."
Philia's deduction wasn't particularly brilliant, but for anyone who had already begun to suspect Rai, it would have deepened those doubts further.
Yet there were no waves in the water—because the record was, in truth, nonexistent.
Still, Selenas and Leila had proven his identity, so most had stopped doubting or were being questioned about the proof.
"I happened to be in a position where I could observe the instructor closely. I've been learning under him, and he has a master who knows him well too. The master scolds the instructor..."
"Selma calling me out like that? The little lizard still hasn't been properly scolded."
"Please listen to the end. The master scolds the instructor, but if you keep listening, it feels like sharing pleasant memories. You can sense how much he misses those days."
Philia continued without pause, and Rai shrugged, listening with genuine interest.
"From what I hear, the master enjoyed every moment with the instructor. But the strange part is that while the master talks about their time together as if it were real, Clay doesn't seem to have any such memories. Isn't that odd?"
"I don't have any good memories with Clay either."
"That's what I heard too."
Rai felt the strangeness in her answer and looked at her directly.
"From what I know, the Lizard of Viridian and the Fallen Knight of Bane have always fought together. The only time they were separated was when the Lizard was in the Devil's unit."
Philia locked eyes with him.
Her gaze was steady, holding the conviction of someone who had already found the answer.
Rai smiled, thinking she was being remarkably sharp.
"Interesting."
"Yes, an interesting hypothesis. Who would ever imagine the Devil of All Nations teaching at the Empire's top academy?"
Philia shrugged as she took another sip of her drink, the light in her eyes completely unmoved.
***
The year 272 of the Imperial Calendar. Feodor, the capital of the fallen Kingdom of Keilen.
"Count Trayer, you may not enter wearing weapons!"
As the man known as the Devil of All Nations marched through the long hall with his aides, a knight standing at attention shouted urgently.
The knight had gathered his courage just to voice the warning. He swallowed hard, his body tense with fear.
Without even glancing at the knight, Eliot Trayer—Eliot Redford to the world—threw his sword aside and walked straight in.
The aides following behind him did the same, casting their weapons onto the floor before the door at the end of the hall.
"Thud!"
Before the soldier guarding the gate could open it, the Devil kicked it aside and strode through.
"What an uncouth beast without any manners."
One of the nobles present clicked his tongue at the sight of Eliot.
On the throne, King Margos of the Kingdom of Keilen frowned deeply, his white brows drawn together as he stared at Eliot.
The sight of Eliot, who had marched up the red carpet without a bow, was already strange. But the King's cold, dismissive gaze toward the overall commander of the kingdom was even stranger.
Eliot stood ramrod straight before the King, then turned his head sideways. The central nobles arrayed on both sides averted their eyes.
Behind them, a few nobles who spoke freely but could do nothing when facing the King also looked on with the same dull, indifferent expressions as the monarch.
The King's chancellor and the dukes were the true targets of that gaze.
Like their leader, the aides Joshua and Melanie also refused to bow to the King or any noble.
The other aides mirrored the behavior exactly—they followed only one man, the Devil of All Nations.
"Bold, aren't you? Kneel."
"Hah, the kingdom is already on the brink of collapse, and this is what you care about now?"
"Kneel."
Margos toyed with a single finger-sized seal as he spoke.
Eliot's face twisted in irritation, but he dropped to one knee anyway.
His aides followed suit and knelt as well.
"How many times do I have to remind you that the Hound must not keep his head held high?"
"Fine. Who changed the Empire's defensive plans? How many times do I need to tell you that the gate is just bait?"
The words lacked any true respect, yet the King didn't rebuke Eliot's casual speech.
"You insignificant worm, do you think I don't know the filth in that black blade of yours?"
"The one with the black heart is you. Who is it? That spy the Empire planted—tell me his name."
"Hahaha, you didn't think I was gathering soldiers around the young provincial lords, did you?"
"What nonsense. With this seal on me, can I even plot a rebellion?"
"If you're as cunning as you claim, you'd have thought of a way around it. Of course, that plan is already burning to the ground."
Eliot's expression hardened at the King's words.
"You're crazy. The Empire is marching on us right now, and you say we should have crushed the provincial lords?"
"We must stabilize the inside before guarding the outside. Isn't that the basic principle of military strategy? With no insects trying to steal the kingdom, relax and repel the Empire's army."
Eliot stared at Margos with a dazed expression.
The gathering of soldiers around the young provincial lords had indeed happened.
But it was only to convince the lords to prepare for the Empire's invasion.
Eliot had planned to concentrate all his forces on the border with the Empire, leaving the lords' troops in two armies under his command.
He would have waited for the Empire's next move from a safe distance, since he didn't know their true target.
Yet the mad king had taken both armies.
Perplexed by the unexpected development, Eliot could only wear his usual dazed look.
Since the King was mad, it was possible this was the planned outcome.
What truly galled him was that everything was clearly the Empire's doing.
For decades the Empire had been sowing seeds to claim the Kingdom of Keilen.
When Margos returned to claim the throne after being held hostage in another country under the pretext of study, his mind had already been twisted beyond repair.
No one knew exactly what torments he had endured in the Empire's hands, but the result was a man who was both pathologically arrogant and incapable, consumed by jealousy toward anyone popular with the kingdom's people.
He had been turned into a wretched creature addicted to drugs and debauchery, utterly beyond redemption.
The Empire had successfully corrupted Margos and elevated him to the throne despite him not even being in the line of succession.
That the kingdom's political sphere now lay entirely in the Empire's palm was already obvious.
Betrayers, spies, nobles and commoners, merchants and servants, knights and soldiers—there was no corner of the kingdom untouched by the Empire's influence.
No matter how many threads Eliot cut, the Empire's poison, already deeply rooted before Margos was born, could never be completely removed.
From the Empire's perspective, everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
The sight of the Devil of All Nations breaking down so easily would have been infuriating.
"Hah... we're finished."
"Commander, refrain from speaking words that could harm the kingdom's morale. We do not tolerate disrespect toward His Majesty."
Eliot calmly met the chancellor's gaze.
The chancellor was clearly in league with the Empire, yet had somehow escaped Eliot's notice.
He was probably the one who had egged the King on about rebellion or something similar.
Eliot ignored the chancellor and looked around at the other nobles.
They seemed to have already swallowed the chancellor's words and were attacking the provincial lords without question.
How many of them were actually spies working for the Empire? The thought was absurd, but perhaps they were all of them.
Without losing their minds, they were attacking the kingdom from every direction, yet they hadn't fallen into debauchery.
"I admit it, Old Raccoon. You're truly a remarkable man."
Eliot offered a sly smile as he praised Julius.
Thanks to the Emperor's designs, the royal palace of the Kingdom of Keilen was in ruins.
The center had sunk into endless debauchery, losing the ability to grasp the situation.
There was also some blame to share—Eliot had won every nearby battle without a single setback.
p>The nobles still scolded him, but they trusted him completely.
The Devil of All Nations would surely win.
It was only natural they believed the Empire's army could be repelled.
In this hopeless situation, Eliot looked up at the ceiling and sighed.
An invisible hand from the Empire had won the war.
"Go. Head for the gate and fight the Empire to the death."
Margos laughed mockingly and pressed the seal in his hand onto the throne armrest.
Once pressed, the seal's command could no longer be refused.
The soul-bound order had to be obeyed regardless of his will.
The sheer pleasure of being able to summon the Devil of All Nations, feared by all nations, with a single gesture filled Margos with satisfaction.
"I will obey Your Majesty's will and seal the gate."
Eliot bowed politely.
Though the nobles nearby snickered, he paid them no mind and rose to leave.
"If we go like this, we've won. The gate is 100% bait."
Joshua spoke from behind.
Eliot let out a short laugh.
"Would you rather be in the second army?"
"What, are we supposed to die with the rebels? No thanks."
"Was the commander of the marsh defense force Lester? We'd better warn the swamp area."
Joshua shook his head in refusal, and beside him Juan scratched his white beard as he spoke.
With the entire army now heading toward Ketlangca Gate, the aides voiced their opinions, each desperately trying to find the best outcome in an unfavorable situation.
"What if we send half the army to the marshes? Even a small force can hold against the Devil."
p>Michael, whose fair skin marked him as no ordinary knight, voiced his opinion, and the aides laughed.
"Michael's got ambitions for command, huh, Chief?"
"Ah, no! I meant Commander Melanie! Commander Melanie or Joshua would command Lester better than he does!"
Michael looked flustered by the joke and rushed to explain.
Amid the laughter of the aides in the dangerous situation, Melanie spoke in a flat, indifferent voice.
"I won't go anywhere unless I'm next to the chief."
"Me too. No matter which side we choose, the Empire will break through without him. So staying right beside him gives us the best chance of survival."
Joshua exaggerated with melodramatic flair, claiming his life was precious.
Though they bantered lightly, the aides' momentum when they picked up their discarded weapons in the hall was sharp, as if they had never been in a losing war.
Their eyes as they marched out of the palace showed no trace of fear.
As they passed the city gates, Wyatt emerged from the ranks of the saluting soldiers.
"Where is our destination, Chief?"
"Ketlangca Gate."
"That's a dead end."
Wyatt shook his head with a grin.
Eliot led them through the path cleared by his soldiers and said,
"Let's pray our predictions are wrong."
"The last words are always prayers, huh?"
"I'm a pretty devout believer, after all."
He raised his middle finger toward the sky.