The Effortless Reconquest
In a situation like this, there was no way the demonfolk would come attacking. Philemon Castle, located roughly two days north of Antioch, had fallen into a markedly desolate atmosphere quite different from just moments ago.
“Hey Kane, how’s it looking over there?”
“How? It’s obviously empty as hell here too. They dragged off every last soul who could be mobilized. Only one or two lucky bastards like me are left.”
“Well, you’ve always had that insane luck for dodging the worst of it.”
The soldiers sat lazily around a campfire, warming themselves. They were officially tasked with defending the eastern and western sectors of Philemon Castle, yet they had set those duties aside to lounge about, sipping from their cups.
“Still, Lost… is it really okay for us to be doing this? No matter what, we’re technically on duty. Getting drunk like this feels a bit…”
“Who cares? In a situation like this, there’s no chance those demon bastards will show up here anyway.”
“That’s true, but…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. Overthinking just ruins the taste of the booze. And even if the demonfolk really did come swarming, what could the two of us possibly do about it? Right?”
“Mmm…”
Soldier Kane could only nod in agreement after his comrade so shamelessly demolished his concerns with cold logic. He tore into the small bird roasting over the flames, trying to shake off the lingering unease that refused to leave him.
The generals had marched out with the entire army under the banner of capturing the Demon King and ending the war. Now that the majority of the troops who had once guarded this place were gone, the handful of soldiers left behind had fallen into an atmosphere of complete laxity.
Most of the food supplies had been taken with them, but the wine barrels—deemed unnecessary weight for a march and battle—had been left behind in their entirety. As a result, they had become the sole property of the remaining soldiers. In effect, the men were filling their empty stomachs with alcohol.
Having gone so long without abundance, they rejoiced at finally being able to stuff their mouths to their hearts’ content. The tension they had maintained for so long melted away, and with their already pitifully small numbers, they had completely abandoned any pretense of guard duty.
And… those who had slipped into the castle at some point and were now slowly emerging from the shadows as they watched this display could only feel a deep sense of futility at how laughably simple the situation had turned out to be.
“I expected as much, but… this is almost too hollow, isn’t it?”
“You can say that again. We shed so much blood trying to defend this place. To think we would reclaim it so effortlessly…”
In the past battle at Philemon, the demon army had been forced to retreat after losing two thousand soldiers. Yet at this very moment, the demonfolk had essentially seized the fortress without spilling a single drop of blood.
The human soldiers lay sprawled before them, drunk and unconscious. Since these men represented virtually the entire remaining garrison, the only task left was to bind them properly and take them as prisoners.
“In any case, the situation isn’t over yet, so stay alert and finish the job. Once we’re done here, we’ll leave a small detachment behind and move immediately to the next location.”
“Yes, Legion Commander.”
“Understood.”
At Ilios’s command, her subordinates moved to bind the human soldiers who had fallen into a stupor without lowering their guard until the very end. After confirming that even the fear of the enemy suddenly waking and counterattacking was meaningless, Ilios felt a sense of joy—separate from the futility—that they had captured yet another castle without any losses to their own forces. At the same time, she began to question why events were unfolding so favorably.
I knew Samson’s unit at Antioch would serve as bait, but even so, this seems excessive. To think they would squeeze out every last soldier and leave the castles completely undefended…
The allied forces were reacting with an aggressiveness that went far beyond simply repelling invaders. As Ilios watched them swarm like bees drawn to honey, she began to wonder whether that cunning hero had prepared yet another scheme.
I’ll need to look into the details later, but we don’t have the luxury of worrying about that right now. The only thing that matters is reclaiming as much territory as possible while the enemy’s forces are away.
Setting her doubts aside for the moment, Ilios pressed forward with maximum speed, like a glutton in an eating contest. Regardless of her personal suspicions, she had always upheld as ironclad principle that she would make only the best choices for the Demon Kingdom.
“Gurgh!”
“Gack!”
Short death rattles escaped the soldiers as they died. Only minutes earlier they had been grumbling that there was no way the demonfolk would attack, yet now they lay as cold corpses with expressions of utter despair frozen on their faces.
Watching the soldiers fall without the slightest resistance, like scarecrows being mowed down, the commander who ruled this small village of Enmao—Giltier—collapsed on the spot, drenched in terror.
“Th-this can’t be… H-how… How are you here…?”
The demon warrior clad in violet armor. The sword radiating thick purple energy. Giltier knew all too well who it was.
The being who had once inflicted a bitter defeat upon him. The very symbol of despair.
The Demon King.
The fact that the one who should currently be waging war in the south at Antioch had appeared here left Giltier, who had given up on fighting the Demon King and chosen to defend this place instead, gripped by profound confusion and hopelessness.
The Demon King slowly approached the trembling man. Faced with that sight, Giltier could not even think of raising his weapon to fight back. All he could do was shiver and weep.
It was not mere terror-induced paralysis. Through bitter experience, he knew it all too well—knew it to the point of nausea.
That his attacks would never reach the Demon King. That meaningless resistance would only pile despair upon despair.
Watching him, the Demon King extended a finger toward Giltier as if a sword were unnecessary.
THWACK!
The searing agony that followed. The world flipped upside down in an instant. Only then did Giltier realize what had become of him—his head, severed from his torso, flying through the air.
In his fading consciousness, he caught one final glimpse of that symbol of absolute terror. The monster he never wanted to see again, even in his dreams…
Strategy and tactics are, in essence, nothing more than a dignified way of saying “deception against the enemy.” However, since failing to defeat the foe before you could mean the immediate loss of your own life, the collapse of your family, your society, and ultimately your nation, such deception is only natural in war.
And based on that fundamental nature of warfare, at this very moment the Demon King and Legion Commander Ilios—or more precisely, the fifteen thousand troops fighting alongside them—had succeeded in deceiving not only the racial alliance but even their own ally, Legion Commander Samson and his forces. They now began to reap the results at a terrifying speed.
The territories that had originally belonged to them but had fallen into the hands of the racial alliance after bloody, hard-fought battles. Unlike the desperate struggle it had taken to lose them, the Demon King and Ilios were now reclaiming those lost lands as easily as picking up fruit that had fallen to the ground.
Starting with the small castle of Colossae, located three days from Antioch and situated at the center of the alliance’s occupied territories, the Demon King’s army began capturing city after city—Timothy, Thessalonica, Corinth—without suffering any significant losses.
While there were a few battles along the way, the damage the Demon King’s forces sustained was almost negligible compared to the territory gained.
And as she experienced these utterly hollow yet enormously profitable successes, the Demon King began to seriously reflect on her life until now.
To think we would reclaim our Demon Kingdom’s territory this easily. Then what in the world have all of Our efforts until now been for…
Of course, the greatest reason the Demon Kingdom had been able to endure the alliance’s relentless assaults was the Demon King’s own performance. Yet watching her long-cherished “dream”—something she had believed would never come true—succeed in such an absurdly effortless manner, she could not help but feel a certain emptiness.
At the same time, separate from that lingering discomfort, her favor toward the hero—the one who had made all of this possible—rose even further. That was an added bonus.
When we return, we must give him an even greater reward. The specifics should be decided after asking the hero himself…
The Demon King had promised to grant suitable rewards for great achievements. As she thought about the reward for the hero, her face—hidden beneath her helmet so no one could see—flushed slightly without her realizing it.
For some reason, she felt more anticipation regarding the hero’s reward than seemed proper, and that fact left her feeling puzzled.