Judgment for the Wicked
Foolish as it may be, humans are designed never to give up so long as even the faintest hope remains. No matter how desperate the moment, if there exists even a slender possibility of survival or success, they possess the habit of pressing on. Put another way, when hope vanishes completely, they can become unable to move forward at all.
"Damn it... How the hell did it come to this...?"
Gallard, too, had once held onto hope. When he nearly died at the hands of the Fibron Empire, he still had the Saintess as a bargaining chip, and so he refused to surrender—he violated her and saved his own life. On every battlefield, he had comrades he could treat as expendable, knights and mages to be spent like supplies, and through them he racked up achievements while preserving his own skin. He commanded from the rear, fled the moment things turned dangerous, and repeated that cycle day after day.
After nearly dying at Tekeloman's hands, he always fought from advantageous ground. Death had always seemed particularly distant from the man. But no longer.
"I'll make you an offer. Promise to abandon Gallard, and I'll spare the rest of you."
When McDeras spoke, the expressions of those around him shifted. Even among themselves, Gallard's reputation had never been good. On battlefields where comrades died in droves, Gallard frequently returned without so much as a proper wound. He produced results, so the imperial court never punished him—he was only ever promoted—and that made it worse still. Anyone who had truly dealt with Gallard could not help but realize the man cared for nothing but his own safety.
Just as he had massacred civilians to gain an advantage against Tekeloman, just as he was now driving his comrades forward to secure his own survival, his actions were all too glaringly obvious.
And so the knights deliberated—whether to abandon the man before them and save their own lives.
"Let me ease your minds."
McDeras stretched out his hand, and five blood-red spears fell from the sky, impaling them. In an instant, five men died. Then that energy was drawn back into the crimson sphere.
"You have no chance of winning. I'll change the terms. Kill Gallard with your own hands, and I'll spare the rest of you."
Insurmountable despair—that was what McDeras was to these men. But now, hope had appeared. From a situation where survival meant defeating a man of inhuman, catastrophic power, it had become a situation where they only needed to take down a single knight commander.
Whether McDeras would truly keep his promise didn't matter. What the knights of the Caelon Empire valued most was that hope of survival had been born.
"Aaaargh!"
One of the knights charged at Gallard. Gallard cut the man's throat and roared.
"Attack the—attack the enemy! Mutiny in wartime is summary execution!"
Gallard's threats, which would once have been terrifying, no longer worked at all. With a monster who could slaughter dozens or hundreds single-handedly standing right before them, how could they fear Gallard's swordsmanship? The mages and knights of the Caelon Empire began attacking Gallard as one. At first he seemed to cut a few of them down, but soon sheer numbers overwhelmed him, and wounds accumulated one after another.
"Damn it! We're on the same side! Why the hell are you doing this, you bastards!"
The man who had abandoned his comrades had lost their loyalty. The result was only natural.
"Stop... please stop..."
As Gallard was driven back, wounds multiplied across his body. Blades from every direction began to ravage his arms, his abdomen, his legs. Strength drained from him little by little.
Watching the very people who had once been his allies—the ones he had commanded—strain with every fiber of their being to kill him, charging and swinging their swords, was more wretched than anything else.
Tears streamed from the man's eyes.
"Fuck!"
As he screamed something close to a death cry, gasping for breath, McDeras approached and stopped the others. The knights and mages of the Caelon Empire now fully obeyed McDeras's commands—the response of people who had realized they could not win, and that disobedience meant certain death.
"How does it feel?"
Gallard, his body reduced to rags, muttered without even wiping the blood caked on his mouth.
"You cruel bastard... How can a person... how can a person do something like this... Do you even know how many people you've killed today?"
"They deserved to die."
"Don't... rationalize it. In the end, you're just the same kind of monster as me."
When Gallard lashed out, McDeras smirked.
"Is it because you think you're going to die anyway? You've gotten rather insolent. Crawl like a dog and beg for your life, and I'll spare you."
After a silence, Gallard crawled across the ground toward McDeras. He was unmistakably begging for his life.
"Disgusting."
In an instant, McDeras drove his sword into Gallard's arms, his legs, and one of his eyes.
Gallard's screams spread across the battlefield. But they did not last long.
McDeras issued an order to Gallard's former comrades, the knights of the Caelon Empire.
"Kill him."
In a flash, roughly a hundred knights surrounded Gallard. With the sound of blades piercing flesh, Gallard died.
"..."
After Gallard's death, no one spoke or moved. On this battlefield, the only person with any choice left was McDeras.
"Earlier I said I'd spare you. But I've changed my mind."
The moment McDeras finished speaking, the knights and mages of the Caelon Empire prepared for combat. But he said something unexpected.
"In this war, anyone who has never once attacked civilians—answer me. Those who claim they never killed them. I'll spare only them."
"I never killed any!"
Countless cries rang out. Awaiting McDeras's judgment, not merely some of them but all of them asserted their innocence. He turned to Choi Yebin.
"Is anyone lying?"
Choi Yebin hesitated briefly before answering.
"All of them... every single one of them is lying."
McDeras found it surprising, but he did not doubt Choi Yebin's answer.
"If you say so, then it must be."
Then hundreds of blades began shooting down from the sky out of the crimson sphere.
Thirty seconds. In a mere thirty seconds, every last one of the hundreds of knights and mages on the battlefield was dead. All that remained were the knights of the Fibron Empire and McDeras's party.
McDeras asked Plimia.
"How do you feel? Relieved?"
"Yes..."
Plimia's heart seemed troubled somehow. McDeras stroked her hair and whispered quietly.
"Of course you wouldn't feel only relief. Guilt is inevitable. If you could watch countless people die and feel nothing, that would make you a monster. But Plimia—remember this one thing. These people are ones who fight ready to die. They've been killing others without a second thought all this time; today it was simply their turn."
Then he added,
"Because they died, the knights of the Fibron Empire lived. Civilians were able to keep their lives. One way or another, a battlefield is an endless series of choices. You have to decide who to kill, or who to spare. The former is mandatory; the latter is optional."
Only then did Plimia's expression ease.
"I understand what you mean. It's true I felt a little guilt, but I don't regret this. Those people deserved to die, and I know this was the right thing to do."
The once-fragile Saintess's heart was gradually growing firm. Feeling proud of that sight, McDeras walked over to Tekeloman. When he stood before the man, Tekeloman bowed his head and spoke. He even used formal honorifics to express his gratitude.
"Thank you. If it had not been for you, Lord McDeras, appearing by heaven's grace, we would surely all have died. After we fell, they might well have pursued the refugee columns and massacred them. In every way, I am truly grateful."
McDeras answered in kind, looking at Tekeloman calmly.
"The reason I helped you is simply because you showed kindness to Plimia, and because I felt respect for the way you risked your life for your comrades and never gave up. That I aided you is not a matter of luck—it is because I was moved by your actions. So continue living as you have. Even if you live foolishly, a day will come when someone recognizes you for it."
Tekeloman bowed his head, choked with emotion.
"I will keep that in mind. Also, my benefactor—please speak more casually. That would be more comfortable."
McDeras nodded and looked toward the territory of the Fibron Empire as he spoke.
"I intend to intervene actively in this war. To do that, I'll need to make contact with the leadership of the Fibron Empire. If I go alone, I might invite needless misunderstanding, so Knight Commander Tekeloman—I'd like to meet them through you. Is that possible?"
A legendary mage who had ravaged hundreds in little more than ten minutes. He was absolutely critical personnel, essential on any battlefield. Tekeloman answered urgently.
"Of course it's possible. I'll also propose that appropriate compensation be granted to you, Lord McDeras. I'll guide you at once."
He turned, and the knights behind him all bowed their heads in greeting to McDeras. Then they fell in behind Tekeloman's procession once more.
As I walked beside Tekeloman, he asked with a puzzled look.
"Forgive me, but may I ask one question?"
"By all means."
"It's a fundamental curiosity. What is your purpose, Lord McDeras, in participating in this war?"
The reason was Plimia's request—to liberate the people and Saintesses suffering under the Caelon Empire. Indeed, even in the battle just now, he had specifically spared the Saintesses.
But what was the essential purpose?
McDeras answered briefly.
"The end of the war."
Looking at the crimson sphere, he added,
"Even if I have to kill one side completely, I will end this war."