The Night the Alliance Devoured Itself
Everyone around them was an enemy. The foes stumbled through the darkness and fog, lost in utter chaos. Watching them, a thick smile spread across the lips of Samson, the legion commander leading the Demon King’s forces.
As expected… It was obvious with a single glance that they couldn’t regain their composure, just as the Hero had predicted. Who would have thought they’d use the armor of those detestable Alliance bastards in such a way?
Unlike humans or elves, the demons possessed exceptional night vision that allowed them to pierce through the darkness. Thanks to this, Samson and his subordinates could easily slaughter the confused enemies. The foes, on the other hand, couldn’t recklessly attack the demon soldiers who wore the same uniforms—save for the black cloth on their shoulders.
Even if their identities were exposed, the demons could quickly hide, only to reappear elsewhere. That alone was enough to turn the situation into pure pandemonium. In this darkness, distinguishing faces was difficult to begin with, and in the heat of such a chaotic melee, no one had the luxury to try. It was nearly impossible for the enemy to perfectly tell friend from foe.
“Damn it! Soldiers of Galadia, gather on me! Odysseus is here!”
From time to time, commanders could be seen raising their voices, desperately trying to overcome the confusion and rally their troops. Each time, the soldiers would swarm toward a commander they could trust, attempting to reform their ranks however they could.
But then—
BOOOOOOM!!!
Every time they did, the Hero’s strike would fly toward them without mercy. The massive shockwave was so overwhelming that even Samson—who prided himself on yielding to no one in raw strength—felt a surge of awe. The enemies who had only just begun to gather were instantly shattered. The commanders trying to reorganize their men were slaughtered helplessly alongside them.
The Hero’s combat style was meticulous and thorough. He maximized his allies’ advantages while ruthlessly exploiting the enemy’s confusion. Watching this, Samson thought to himself that entrusting the overall framework of this battle to the Hero had been the right decision. A deep smile formed on his lips.
To be honest, I had my doubts at first, but he seems like a truly reliable guy.
The Hero possessed considerable martial prowess, a sharp mind, and the ability to use both to deliver certain victory to their side. Seeing him like this, Samson felt genuine joy at gaining another trustworthy comrade. He swung his favorite weapon, the bone sword, without hesitation.
Just because he was in command didn’t mean he could afford to fall behind in achievements. Burning with the competitive spirit of a true warrior, Samson began to rampage even more fiercely, like a roaring beast.
“Come on then, you filthy dogs of the Alliance! This Samson will take you all on!”
Samson swung his pure white bone sword, smashing the heads of his enemies. The Alliance soldiers watched in growing terror and confusion as he slaughtered their own troops while wearing their armor. In a situation where friend and foe were indistinguishable, the horrific slaughter unfolding before them looked as if their own comrades were attacking one another.
Many of the soldiers gathered here had been serving in different units and had only assembled today by chance. Whenever a commander raised his voice to restore order, a shockwave—presumably launched by the Demon King—would come flying from somewhere, annihilating both the officers and the troops around them.
In this situation, where no one could trust anyone except those from their own original unit, the soldiers were forced into an extreme choice to survive.
“Damn it! You filthy demon bastards! Die!”
“W-wait… wait! I’m not a demon—guuuurk!!!”
Soldiers ruthlessly cut down men with unfamiliar faces who screamed that they were not demons. That was only the beginning. Soon, they began swinging their blades at the Alliance soldiers beside them—men they did not recognize.
“Guaaaargh!”
“Aaaaaagh!!”
“Damn it! You filthy demon scum!”
“You’re the demon here! Just die quietly!”
Spears and swords clashed violently in the pitch-black darkness. At that moment, none of them could tell whether the person they were attacking was a real demon or if they were simply making a tragic mistake and killing their own allies. Yet even so, they had no choice but to attack anyone with an unfamiliar face on sight.
In the current situation, distinguishing enemy from ally was virtually impossible. To survive here, they had no option but to kill the “enemy” standing right before their eyes.
And so, on that battlefield of collective madness born from extreme confusion and terror, the Alliance army began a slaughter where they killed and were killed by their own.
The demon forces, having been warned by the Hero beforehand, simply hid within the darkness, quietly withdrew, and watched the carnage from a distance. They were physically exhausted from the intense fighting that had continued from the public duel to this night raid. At the same time, they mocked in their hearts the foolish sight of the Alliance troops murdering one another.
“Huff… huff… huff…”
“Damn it… you filthy demon bastards…”
A group of Alliance soldiers, utterly exhausted and wounded, barely managed to flee the battlefield. Behind them, the screams of comrades fighting against demons—or against each other—echoed chaotically, but they no longer had any strength left to help their allies.
“H-how many of us are left?”
“A-about a thousand, sir. I don’t know what happened to the rest.”
“A thousand… That means nearly half were wiped out…”
The casualties far exceeded anything they had imagined. Bellerophon, the commander leading them, couldn’t help but frown. Even so, he considered himself lucky. His unit had been positioned on the outer edge of the camp, which was the only reason he had been able to escape with this many men. If they had been stationed any deeper inside, they would have been swallowed by the chaos and suffered even greater losses.
Despite the bitter feeling in his gut, Bellerophon felt a sliver of relief. He gathered his subordinates and immediately ordered a retreat.
“We’re pulling back for now. If we stay here any longer, we’ll get caught up in it too. We’ll retreat to the nearest occupied territory—Dimodes.”
“Yes, General!”
Following Bellerophon’s command, the soldiers began making their way through the darkness. Although the thick fog and lingering shadows made marching incredibly difficult, they relied on the footsteps of their nearby comrades and somehow managed to advance without scattering.
Once dawn finally broke and their vision returned to normal, the march became somewhat easier. They picked up the pace and eventually reached Dimodes.
They were dead on their feet, looking like beggars after what amounted to three full days and nights of continuous marching. Overcome with the desire to collapse and sleep, they dragged their bodies forward toward the fortress of Dimodes.
But then—
“Huh?”
“What…?”
The unbelievable sight that appeared before their eyes the next moment filled Bellerophon and his soldiers with such shock that they wondered if they were hallucinating. No—this scene absolutely could not be real.
What they saw was a flag fluttering in the wind. A black flag symbolizing the Demon Kingdom. It was flying from the highest spire of Dimodes Fortress.
“Th-this… What the hell is this? Why is a demon flag here?”
“I-I don’t know either, sir. How could something this impossible…”
It was a sight they could see with their own eyes yet could not believe. Bellerophon and his men could only stand there, overwhelmed by shock and despair, before collapsing to the ground where they stood.
They had fled in such haste that they carried no food. The soldiers were exhausted from the grueling march. They had no strength left to attack anywhere. In the end, their only choice was to drag their weary bodies to some other nearby location without even daring to assault the fortress before them.
Yet everywhere they went after that, they found no welcome.
Every single place they reached already flew the demons’ black flag, and each was guarded by at least several hundred defenders standing firm on the battlements.