Fishers of Men
Thanks to the demonkind’s so-called “mercy,” the soldiers of the Falcon Empire were able to retreat in one piece. Yet even as they withdrew, a thick undercurrent of fear ran through their hearts: What if they ambush us after all? They numbered only a few hundred, while the enemy host stretched from thousands into the tens of thousands. Should the demons change their minds, those who had left the shelter of the castle walls would be slaughtered without the slightest chance to resist. That grim reality drove them to retreat with obsessive caution—in truth, to flee for their lives. Fortunately, contrary to their dread, the demon race neither pursued nor ambushed them. As a result, the troops who had held Calvary reached Rop safely, right as the larger retreat was already under way. And from the lips of men who had survived by the skin of their teeth, the stories began to spread on their own.
Tales of the demon legions that numbered in the thousands upon thousands, and of their own desperate escape from the jaws of that overwhelming host.
“All enemy forces have completed their withdrawal, Legion Commander.”
“Excellent. Then we move out.”
Samson rose from his seat with a satisfied grunt after receiving the report. He threw open the tent flap and stepped outside, gazing at the troops assembled before him. Fewer than a thousand soldiers stood in formation—the entire force he had brought to capture Calvary. The number was frankly too small for a proper siege, and several of them still bore unhealed wounds from the previous battle. By any measure of actual combat strength, the situation was far from ideal.
Yet when viewed from a distance, Samson’s army presented an entirely different impression. Every soldier had a wooden frame strapped to his back, each one holding three or four blazing torches. Several more demons carried additional torches in their hands. Seen from afar at night, the small force would appear to number four, even ten times its actual size.
Through this simple deception, Samson had planted the illusion that the demon army was overwhelmingly larger than the enemy could ever hope to match. As a result, he had taken Calvary without sacrificing a single man.
Having achieved their objective without so much as a scratch, Samson and his soldiers withdrew into the inner citadel of Calvary Castle. There they rested comfortably and began to talk over the night’s events.
“We kept the torches lit right until the end, just in case, but nothing happened after all.”
“Of course not. They were the ones who delivered their own commander’s head on a platter. It was only natural.”
“I’ve seen it before, but the hero’s schemes really are something else. To think he could rout the enemy with such a simple trick.”
“Indeed. He’s a truly remarkable fellow,” Samson said with a broad smile. “His skill as a warrior is outstanding, yet he also understands how to secure victory in war. There could be no more dangerous enemy, but now that he fights at our side, I can think of no more reassuring ally.”
The demons nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring Samson’s own. Once more, the soldiers who had won the day deepened their trust in the hero who had masterminded the plan.
At the same moment Samson’s group took Calvary, similar “victories” were unfolding simultaneously across the Demon Kingdom. Overwhelming visions of the Demon King’s vast armies had driven the soldiers of the Racial Alliance into such terror that many abandoned resistance entirely. A few pockets fought with desperate resolve to the bitter end, but such places were few. In a situation utterly devoid of hope, only a handful could cling to honor—especially when those making the decisions were the officers responsible for their men’s lives. Common soldiers rarely found the will to throw their lives away for nothing, even less so when despair and death pressed against their skin like a blade.
Thus, at the very moment the demon forces had reached the limit of their offensive momentum and their direct combat strength was scraping the bottom, they managed to reclaim the majority of their lost territory. As an added bonus, the fleeing soldiers spread panic that shattered whatever fighting spirit the enemy still possessed.
Even so, a few castles continued to burn with defiance. The small contingents sent against them waited in mild frustration, reporting the situation and calmly requesting reinforcements. Since the entire operation had been built around deception rather than brute force, such delays were inevitable.
Among those feeling that stifling impatience was a certain woman already caught in a turbulent mood these days.
Elisa stared at Galilee Castle, now occupied by the elves, and automatically furrowed her brow in deep irritation.
“Honestly… those filthy elf bastards and their pointless pride.”
Despite the deception and surrender demands the hero had instructed her to deliver, the elven soldiers of Galilee kept the gates firmly barred, maintaining their obstinate stance. Elisa had followed the plan and waited for reinforcements, but she soon found herself seriously considering slipping inside alone to take the enemy commander’s head. In the end she shook her own head at the idea.
With my skill it wouldn’t be impossible, but there’s a chance it would only raise their morale. People can become braver than ever when death stares them in the face.
Deciding against any pointless action that might worsen the situation, Elisa gave her troops a brief rest and observed the castle’s surroundings. In that unexpected free time, her thoughts drifted back to the worry that had been gnawing at her lately—whether her mother, the person she loved most in the world, might share some special relationship with the hero.
I’ve already sent people to investigate, so something should turn up… but if Mother really does have that kind of relationship with him, what then? Of course she’s more mature and beautiful than I am, that’s simply a fact, but…
Her mother, Ilios, was nearly four hundred years old this year, yet her appearance remained breathtakingly youthful and lovely. It was hard to believe she was a widow with a grown daughter. Objectively speaking, a woman of Ilios’s caliber could make men lose their hearts at a single glance.
By contrast, Elisa carried a complex about how immature her own appearance seemed for her age. At first sight she gave off more of a younger sister—or even daughter—vibe than a romantic partner. As that thought crossed her mind, a bitter smile rose unbidden to her lips.
Haa… I can’t believe I’ve reached the point of feeling jealous of my own mother’s beauty…
A strange wave of self-awareness washed over her. Elisa let out a heavy sigh.
Just then—
“Lady Elisa! A report!”
“A report?”
Elisa tilted her head slightly at the adjutant who came running up in obvious haste. He immediately began explaining what he had just witnessed.
“A group of enemies has appeared on the western side path. From the looks of it, they’re trying to enter Galilee Castle.”
“What? They sent reinforcements all the way out here?”
Galilee was essentially an isolated island deep within demon-occupied territory. Elisa knew the enemy’s situation was too dire to spare forces for such a remote location, so the sudden appearance of new hostiles caught her completely off guard. Yet the adjutant continued in a cautious tone.
“It appears that way… but I cannot say for certain. Their numbers are far too small to be proper reinforcements.”
“How many are we talking about?”
“At most, fewer than a hundred.”
“Only a hundred?”
Certainly, a force that small meant little against the defenders sealed inside the castle. Still, the situation felt suspicious enough that Elisa decided she needed to see for herself.
“Guide me. I’ll judge their intentions with my own eyes.”
“Understood, Lady Elisa.”
Accompanied by her adjutant, Elisa reached the forest path where the supposed reinforcements were advancing. And there, among the group moving with careful stealth, she spotted a painfully familiar face.
That woman is definitely…
A female holy knight who appeared to be leading the party. Elisa recognized her at once. She was a member of the hero’s party that had once stormed all the way to the Demon King’s castle, an opponent Elisa had crossed blades with for a brief moment. And she was also one of the “traitors” who had provided the decisive catalyst that caused the hero to turn his back on the Racial Alliance and join the demon race.
As those facts resurfaced, a cold smile automatically curved across Elisa’s lips.