Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Caw— Caw—
A single crow descended upon the earth.
The crimson-stained land was nothing short of a feast.
Countless black-feathered kin had already gathered in swarms.
The crow too wedged itself into the crowd.
But even a crow wouldn't want spoiled meat.
It drove its beak into what seemed the freshest morsel.
Peck. Peck.
"You fucking— what the hell?!"
-Cawwack!
Crunch!
The seized crow flapped wildly in protest.
Startled by the sudden disturbance, the surrounding crows took flight as one.
Unfortunately for this one, it couldn't join them.
An overwhelming grip had already snapped its neck.
"Tch, all dead already......"
The man barely managed to raise his upper body.
After tossing the crow aside, he surveyed his surroundings.
A familiar yet horrifying spectacle unfolded before him.
Nothing but corpses, corpses, and more corpses.
Regrettably, the overwhelming majority were human.
The demonic beasts accounted for maybe 10% at most.
The implication was simple.
The Great War between humanity and demons, with the fate of the world at stake!
And humanity... had suffered a crushing defeat......
"Guess... my time's up too."
The man—[Delam]—smiled bitterly.
His flank was torn open as if mauled by some great beast.
The pooled blood within had already turned black with decay.
The mana circulating through his body was but a faint thread.
When even this disappeared, it would truly be over.
Swish.
"Hmm?"
Then a shadow fell over Delam's head.
Lifting his wobbling head, he saw an elderly man standing before him.
A snow-white robe and beard unbefitting a battlefield.
A face Delam knew well.
The Empire's state religion.
A Cardinal of the [Church of Light].
"Why is Your Eminence here?"
"......"
"What of the Empire? Of humanity?"
"......"
Though Delam asked, the Cardinal remained silent.
Instead, his body trembled violently.
Had the winter journey chilled him to the bone?
Whack!
"Guhk!"
The Cardinal swung his staff without warning.
Struck squarely on the crown, Delam collapsed face-first.
But that wasn't all.
From where did such strength surge in that aged, gaunt frame? The enraged Cardinal seized Delam by the collar, shaking him violently as he roared:
"You damned bastard!"
"Your Eminence...?"
"Because of you! Humanity fell because of you!"
Perhaps it was the head wound, but Delam's mind grew hazy.
Yet even through the fog, he couldn't let the accusation stand.
The injustice was simply too great.
"How is this my fault?"
"How—!? You slaughtered every nation's heroes in your so-called continental unification! Under that damned Emperor's orders, you killed every last hero who could've stood against the demons!"
"Ah."
"Ah? Ah-ha? You oil-fried son of a—!"
The Cardinal was so enraged he couldn't continue.
His face flushed crimson as the words exploded like grapeshot:
"I warned you! The Luminary God Himself revealed that weakened humanity would face demonic invasion! Why didn't you listen, you fool! Why slaughter them all!"
"My apologies... I thought it was a lie."
"If only you'd spared Brillunhilde of the Radiance! Or Nald of the Mountain! Or Rune Master Tamuka! Or Allen'dor the Dragonslayer! Or the Eastern— By the gods, you killed so many, you damned butcher!"
The Cardinal continued ranting, straining his voice.
But to Delam's ears, the words only echoed faintly.
His consciousness was fading, the Cardinal's voice growing distant.
Delam understood.
His end was near.
So he mustered his final strength for last words.
"Your Eminence... I'm dying now."
"Good! Die faster, just die!"
"How cruel... I did my best......"
"Still running that filthy mouth!"
"Regardless... my apologies...... I'll watch from the afterlife... May Your Eminence rally what remains... and lead them well......"
"W-what!?"
Death!
The finality all mortals must fear!
Yet this man was different.
Far from fear, he looked utterly at peace.
And rightly so.
Delam's life had been pure suffering.
From conscripted soldier to the Empire's Supreme Commander.
A legend written in blood.
An impossibility even for scions of noble houses.
Achieved by a mere lowborn commoner......
Need words describe such hardship?
Now eternal rest awaited.
Death ends all things, yet begins tranquility.
If an afterlife exists beyond the sky—
There he'd rest, cheering humanity's struggle.
'No regrets.'
Delam quietly closed his eyes.
Or tried to—only to make a fatal mistake.
He'd genuinely pissed off the Cardinal.
A man who'd lived ascetically as a clergyman his entire life.
Yet all that discipline meant nothing before Delam's farewell.
Eyes bulging, the stuttering Cardinal roared:
"Y-you bastard! Running away? While those left suffer under demons and monsters, you'll slip away alone into death?"
"Not... by choice... I'm dying......"
Delam chuckled weakly as his head lolled.
His eyes never opened again.
The supreme commander who conquered the continent under the Emperor!
Thus met the [Supreme Commander]'s end.
"You vile wretch!"
So Delam never saw it.
The Cardinal, having lost all reason, raising his staff skyward.
Offering everything to his god......
"O Luminary God! Grant this sinner no rest! Let him atone for his failures and sins himself!"
Whoooosh—
An explosion of light engulfing the plains.
The sole miracle of the Empire's Church—the Luminary God's power.
Tick, tock......
Even time itself rewound!
[The Seven-Year War!]
Not its official name.
Merely what people called the ongoing seven-year conflict.
Soon to become the Eight-Year War, at this rate.
It began over nothing.
The third prince of the Fiore Kingdom.
Died while visiting a neighboring kingdom.
No murder. No poisoning. Just an accident.
Nothing for which the neighbor could be blamed.
A simple matter of condolences.
Yet these fools couldn't manage even that.
[That bastard was a spy, wasn't he? Serves him right!]
Such audacity in an official diplomatic missive!
The bereaved king gladly accepted the provocation.
A declaration of war.
Thus began the conflict.
-Your Majesty! Our forces will suffer greatly too. Mutual destruction is inevitable—please cease hostilities!
The nobles' pleas.
Yet victory came absurdly easily.
The provocateur king and all royalty met the executioner's blade, their kingdom annexed by Fiore.
Witnessing this, the Fiore king thought:
-This is doable. And conquest... is exhilarating.
The conqueror's blood awakened.
His barely-bloodied army immediately marched on another kingdom!
And succeeded yet again.
Soon only eleven kingdoms remained on the continent.
Thus began the prologue to conquest......
"...so they say?"
"Who said that?"
"Remember yesterday's merchant? His mercenary guard told me!"
The neighbor's son chattered excitedly.
But Delam listened with disinterest.
This was the [Roof of the Continent].
The most remote region imaginable.
Thus the war's devastation hadn't reached here.
Occasional monster-hunting mercenaries or peddlers came only to spread such useless gossip.
"Delam, why so glum?"
"What reaction did you expect?"
"Aren't you fired up? War! Our golden chance to rise above commoner status!"
"Sure~ If we don't die first."
"We're the conquerors! What's to fear? You don't know—the Fiore Kingdom is invincible! Undefeated!"
"Ugh......"
Delam couldn't suppress a sigh.
His disdainful gaze said it all.
The offended boy shouted:
"Hey! Got no dreams? How long will you farm potatoes in this backwater? You're amazing with a sword!"
"Says who?"
"The hunter."
"That old man knows nothing. Without Mana Ceremony, sword skills are worthless."
"Exactly why we must enlist! Earn merits, receive the ceremony, become nobles!"
"Yeah, right."
"You coward!"
Finally the neighbor's son threw down his hoe and left.
Probably to find that mercenary.
Delam clicked his tongue and crouched again.
Each turn of his trowel unearthed potatoes.
Few in number, and even those undersized.
Delam's expression darkened.
If drought-resistant potatoes fared this poorly...
This was the Roof of the Continent.
So named for its extreme elevation.
Hence the cool climate where wheat struggled.
Only potatoes and buckwheat grew reliably.
Yet advantages existed.
Cool breezes grew grass lushly.
Few wolves or monsters made it ideal for shepherding.
'Still, this winter will be hard.'
If potatoes fared poorly, what of grass?
Impossible.
Undernourished sheep would grow thin, their wool sparse, milk scant.
Meaning village starvation.
Moreover, such summers usually preceded brutal winters.
'Did blizzards come or not?'
Forty years had blurred his memory.
Scratching his head, Delam muttered:
"Well, at least we won't starve? Unless conscription drags all our youth to war."
Delam, age 13, summer.
The conscription officer arrived the very next day.
The Empire's Supreme Commander Has Returned