Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Rune Master Tamuka
He addressed the thirteen chieftains gathered before him.
"As you all know, the current state of the war is unfavorable. The frontlines have been pushed deep into our territory, and after nearly a year of continuous fighting, the tribes have suffered immense losses."
"That's right! The planting season is almost upon us... If we miss it again, our people will starve to death!"
"How much longer must this war continue...?"
The chieftains voiced their grievances with heavy sighs.
Once again, it was Chieftain Rabata who spoke up.
With a dismissive scoff, he threw out his words.
"At this rate, anyone would think we were the invaders."
"......"
"You fools! We have no choice in this matter. What good does complaining do? Do you think the Rune Master can change that?"
"But the Rune Master—"
"Yes, he is the wisest shaman in Sambala. But even so, there are things even he cannot do. Are you all so incompetent that I have to spell this out?"
"......"
Rabata was right.
Had Sambala been the aggressors, things might have been different—but they were the ones defending.
And despite the dire situation, the Fiore Kingdom had not once offered terms of surrender, as was customary in war.
They just kept attacking. Relentlessly.
Which meant that, whether they liked it or not, Sambala had no say in how this war unfolded.
Well, there was one option.
Unconditional surrender.
But that was a choice the chieftains would never make.
"Let me share my thoughts," the Rune Master said.
"We listen, Rune Master."
"Our decline against the kingdom has only occurred in the past few months. At first, I thought it was due to the Sword Master's appearance boosting their morale—"
"That wasn't the reason?"
"After interrogating prisoners, I learned the truth. Our defeats were orchestrated by a single unit—the Special Forces."
The Rune Master explained.
The Special Forces were Fiore's elite, numbering only 300.
They were not mana-wielding knights.
But in some ways, that made them even more dangerous.
Because they would stop at nothing to complete their missions.
They had always been a thorn in Sambala's side.
But recently, the damage they inflicted had grown far worse.
The Rune Master suspected that even knights had now been incorporated into their ranks.
"Burning our food stores, sabotaging our fortifications, slaughtering neutral tribes before they could join us—all of it was their doing."
"Tch! How the hell did they even find our food caches? We built them in the most remote cliffs!"
"So they were the ones disrupting our fortifications... That land was reclaimed with rivers of blood!"
"Those bastards move like ghosts."
"And the annihilation of the neutral tribes... That was the worst blow. Many are reconsidering their allegiance."
The last point was the most critical.
Sambala was a coalition of many tribes, and even now, a few stubbornly remained neutral.
After painstaking negotiations, they had finally convinced some to join the war effort—
Only for contact to be severed before they even arrived.
And now they knew—it was the Special Forces' work.
As the chieftains seethed, Rabata cut to the heart of the matter.
"So what you're saying is—if we eliminate these rat bastards, the tide turns in our favor?"
"Precisely. If we drive these hateful creatures from our lands, we can at least negotiate from a position of strength—even if we must surrender."
"And I assume the Rune Master has gathered us here because he has a plan?"
"As sharp as ever, Wolf. Then listen well, all of you, to this old man's scheme..."
Rune Master Tamuka's Gambit
His last resort was unveiled to the chieftains.
A peaceful forest in the northern continent.
A narrow path wound through towering pines.
A line of wagons rumbled along it.
Clatter, clatter.
About ten wagons, covered in waterproof cloth.
Their cargo? Food.
Enough to feed a thousand men for two weeks.
Guarding them were fifty barbarian warriors.
But the warriors were so relaxed they were yawning.
This was the deepest rear of the Sambala territory—a place where enemy incursions were unthinkable.
Sssshhhhk—
Thunk!
"Gahk!"
"Arrows?! An ambush?!"
At least, that's what they thought—until someone's head was pierced clean through.
"Ambush?! This is our land!"
"Defend the wagons! If we lose them, our kin starve!"
The barbarians scrambled into defensive positions, shields raised as they crouched behind the wagons.
A disciplined response—for rear-line troops.
But their attackers were no ordinary foes.
The Special Forces of the Fiore Kingdom!
No matter how skilled these warriors were, they were still just a rear supply unit.
They stood no chance against the Special Forces' trained killers.
"I'll take point."
"Delam, we're counting on you!"
Thirty Special Forces operatives.
And at the forefront—Delam.
He kicked off the ground, sprinting forward, using a wagon as a springboard to vault over the defenders and land behind them.
Shhk!
The shield-bearing barbarian didn't even have time to react.
Right up until Delam's shortsword sliced through his spine, he was still tensed for an attack.
Splurt!
Blood fountained into the air.
As the barbarians recoiled from their comrade's gory demise, Delam—crouched low like a serpent—lashed out in all directions.
"Agh!"
"Khh—my ankle!"
Three men down in one strike.
Tendons severed, the barbarians collapsed.
A scimitar thrust toward Delam from the side.
He sidestepped it with ease, then closed the distance with an odd, shuffling gait before calmly driving his blade upward.
Thip.
"Ghk...!"
A barbarian clutched his throat, blood bubbling from the new hole beneath his chin.
Death was inevitable.
Barbarians were renowned for their ferocity.
Not just their warriors—even their regular soldiers were aggressive.
Such was the way of those who lived by nature's law.
"Ugh..."
"D-Demon! That's the Little Demon of Fiore!"
But that reputation didn't hold up against Delam.
The barbarians pointed at him, backing away in fear.
Rumors had spread over the past few months.
[Beware the brown-haired demon!]
The Fiore Kingdom was raising a monster.
A slaughtering demon who approached with an innocent, youthful face—
Only to send warriors into eternal slumber...
"Damn it, these bastards are really pissing me off."
Delam, for once, was genuinely angry.
Normally, he wouldn't mind enemies giving him a fearsome epithet.
It meant he was making an impact.
And of course, his own side knew about it too.
A single operative who struck terror into the barbarians?
High command would be lining up to reward him.
But the problem was—
"Why did it have to be demon?!"
How had Delam died in his past life?
Leading the empire's elite in a desperate last stand against the demonic horde—only to be gutted by a Demon General.
And now they called him a demon?
After everything he'd done to save humanity?!
"Just thinking about it pisses me off again."
"A-Ah! The demon's enraged!"
"Run! You can't fight a demon!"
"Ghhk—!"
That last scream wasn't from a barbarian.
Delam turned toward the sound.
The rest of the Special Forces had engaged—and one of them was currently being choked by a barbarian brute with arms like tree trunks.
"What the hell is that?"
Fwip!
Delam's shortsword left his hand.
Shortswords weren't meant for throwing.
But this one flew with terrifying speed—as if physics itself had been ignored.
"Haha—Huh?!"
The barbarian, startled, tossed the operative aside and dodged.
His reflexes were unreal—spotting the throw from his blind spot.
And his bare torso, despite the winter chill, marked him as a madman.
This was a [Barbarian Warrior].
"Delam! He's knight-level!"
"Don't worry."
Delam dashed forward, unarmed.
The Barbarian Warrior blinked—then grinned.
Because Delam had no weapon.
Weapons were meant to bridge physical disparities.
Even if your foe was bigger, faster, stronger—a blade could freeze them in their tracks.
But the reverse was also true.
Without a weapon, raw physique decided everything.
And right now, the Barbarian Warrior was easily three times Delam's size.
"What's so funny?"
"Die, runt!"
Whoosh!
The warrior's massive foot shot toward Delam's head.
Delam didn't even flinch.
He just narrowed his eyes and leaned back—just enough for the kick to graze his nose.
With the warrior's leg now extended over his shoulder, Delam stomped down—
Crack!
"Wha—?!"
—on the other foot.
The Barbarian Warrior toppled backward.
Delam instantly pivoted, mounting the warrior's back like a cicada and locking his legs around the man's throat.
Grrrk!
But he didn't stop there.
Delam leaned back, using his full weight to choke the warrior.
It should have been laughable.
The size difference was absurd.
Even as his windpipe was crushed, the warrior smirked, reaching back to pry Delam off with one arm.
But then—
"T-This brat?!"
Delam didn't budge.
In the past, maybe.
But now, Delam was a proper low-rank knight.
What he lacked in raw strength, he made up for with mana.
And as a [Weapon Master], Delam understood one fundamental truth:
The most primal weapon a human could wield was their own body.
He knew anatomy.
Leverage.
Action and reaction.
His joint locks were unbreakable.
Thud! Thud-thud!
"Grrrrgh...!"
The warrior hammered at Delam with bear-like fists.
But in less than thirty seconds—
Thump.
His tongue lolled out as he went limp.
Crick.
A final twist of the neck sealed his fate.
How long had this warrior struggled to awaken his Aura?
And yet, it took only a minute for him to leave this world.
A pitiful end.
"Wh... What the hell?"
"How is that even possible?"
Even the Special Forces operatives were stunned.
This wasn't plucking fruit from a tree.
This was—
Whoosh!
A torrent of flames suddenly engulfed Delam.
One of Sambala's rare shamans had arrived.
"Now what?"
Delam chuckled from within the inferno.
Like a true demon—just as his epithet suggested.