Tick-tock, tick-tock…
Time flows swiftly.
As summer fades and autumn begins, Raniel unfolds a newspaper. Checking reports from the various battlefields, he notices that another name now appears more often than his own, and he can’t help but chuckle at the thought.
Boom! The scion of dragons, Belnoa van Dragonik.
Whoosh! The tumult, Chloe.
A two-person legion.
The two have been moving stealthily with just a handful of companions, engaging in guerrilla tactics across the battlefields. Just like the unit led by Kyle and Raniel in the past, they are fulfilling their roles as heroes admirably.
With a smirk, Raniel gazes at the name the Demon Lord’s Army now uses for these two.
Clang! “The Black Nightmare, Belnoa.”
Whirlwind! A superhuman shrouded in a black storm.
All beasts related to dragons kneel before Belnoa. The infamous wyvern brigade has lost value due to Belnoa’s presence, and the Demon Lord’s Army, stripped of air supremacy, continues to flee.
Zap! “The Witch, Chloe.”
A flicker! A mage unconstrained by common sense.
Trying to counter with equal or higher spells, their opposing spells are crushed under her sheer force, earning her the title of witch.
The battlefield has rapidly expanded because of these two. Although Raniel leads the way, the two are already trailing closely behind him.
With a satisfied smile, Raniel folds the newspaper.
Glancing back at his junior comrades, he marches forward once more. Just a step ahead of them.
And so, time flows again…
Autumn passes, yielding to winter.
The fallen leaves crumble into dust, only to be blanketed by snow. On a bone-chilling winter day, Raniel opens the newspaper once again.
Chloe and Belnoa’s remarkable exploits.
The achievements of the Ashen Mages led by Resti.
And in bold letters trailing behind them, the name of a hero who had begun to significantly stand out in the past few months. Raniel confirms the name of the freshly emerging hero.
Crash! Annihilation, Lac von Grace.
The name Annihilation befits him, as Lac’s achievements over the last few months have been nothing short of explosive. He volunteered single-handedly to reclaim Kremphelia, charging headfirst against the advancing forces of the Demon Lord’s Army. He annihilated their troops and returned without a scratch.
Then, he launched a surprise attack on the Demon Lord’s stronghold near Kremphelia, only accompanied by the saint, inflicting a blow close to annihilation in just one night…
The flood of texts speaks of Lac’s outrageous feats. Raniel chuckles. Lac is no longer simply known as a protector. His method of safeguarding has transformed from defense to offense.
Bam! Annihilation. To strike and eliminate.
Lac always takes the lead, returning unscathed. His fellow knights began to call him the symbol of victory, just as they once did for heroes past.
Ah! “You’ve grown.”
Raniel smiles.
Lac von Grace, Belnoa van Dragonik, Chloe, Resti Elenoa—his pupils’ exploits now stand proudly alongside those of heroes from the past.
The world now calls this the golden age of humanity…
After centuries of struggle against the magical forces, humanity has never managed to overwhelm them to this extent. They have thwarted disasters multiple times, defeated calamities, and even inflicted wounds on the Demon Lord.
Now is the time.
It’s time to end this grueling war once and for all.
The world, the people, the historians, the knights, the commanders all shout in unison, calling out the heroes’ names. The name of the hero leading this era: Rania van Trias.
Hmm. “I think so too.”
She sets the newspaper aside and rises from her seat.
If not now, this chance won’t come again.
As she lifts the tent and strides forward,
After months of aggressive advances, Raniel has finally reached this point. The depths of the Phantom Territory. She lifts her gaze to the sky.
Gasp! A red moon rises in the heavens.
From the crimson sky, snow begins to fall.
Though the snow isn’t entirely white. The snow, touched by magic, is dark and stained red. Amidst the pouring crimson snow, Raniel slowly lowers her gaze, looking ahead at the vast expanse of forest below.
In the heart of that forest lies a massive gaping hole.
A gigantic hole, as though a meteor had crashed.
An endless black vertical shaft.
It’s a passage leading to the abyss; Raniel utters the name affixed to that shaft.
Echo! “The land for those who do not believe.”
The destination of all filth, Alkeia.
Humanity has reached the abyss.
The time has flown—six months have passed.
2.
The promised six months have flowed by.
With the Alkeia extermination battle just ten days away, the main forces at the respective frontlines began to gather at a single location. Among them arrived first the oldest hero of the current era, the commander of the Eastern Front.
Pop! “It feels like ages since I last saw you. Well, it’s not like your face pops up often.”
The coward, Destel.
Now the longest-living hero of the current generation, he plops down across from Raniel.
Thud! “Looks like you’ve really expanded the territory.”
“I said I would reach here within six months.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Destel smiles bitterly as he looks ahead.
Sitting before him is the entity referred to as humanity’s greatest force, Rania van Trias—or rather, the Ashen Mage Raniel.
A being of absurd might.
Though he was always out of the ordinary, he now seems incomparable. She’s dubbed a mage defying the gods themselves.
Control? What’s that?
“Is the operation going smoothly?”
“Smoothly, but it’s a living hell.”
Raniel exhales a sigh while slamming documents down on the table. Her eyes reflect exhaustion. Seeing this, Destel can’t help but burst into laughter.
Even though there’s a greater distance than before, it doesn’t feel as far now. The person before him isn’t some special being but just a fellow human.
Whoosh! “I anticipated that, so I arrived a bit early. Thought I’d lend a hand.”
Destel, seasoned in paperwork.
He had not sat in the role of Eastern Commander for years absent-mindedly. As he picks up a stack of documents to check, Raniel suddenly opens her mouth.
Ping! “Do you regret saying you’d participate in the operation?”
This refers to the Alkeia extermination battle.
When she relayed this mission to Destel long ago, Raniel had clearly warned him about the risks involved. Furthermore, she had added that he didn’t have to participate if he didn’t want to.
Boom! “Once the operation begins, all forces will concentrate in one place. Thus, gaps will inevitably arise. This will be an opportunity for the Demon Lord’s Army.”
He could take on the role of filling those gaps.
Raniel had suggested it. If he didn’t wish to gamble with his life, he could step back from the operation. And Destel had…
Gulp! “I regret it. I regret it.”
He answered that way.
“I’d probably regret not being here even more.”
The same response as back then.
Raniel smiles wryly. This echoes the answer she gave to Destel in the past regarding his question. While Raniel chuckles, Destel slams the documents onto the table.
Shush! “Hey, do you know what I’ve been hearing lately?”
Destel says somewhat indignantly.
“The next-generation heroes all have tales of glory to share, but all I have left is the name ‘coward.’ How is that fair? I mean, really?”
He expands a finger.
“Galahal single-handedly pushed the Gletus to the brink and saved the next-generation hero. Plus, he’s gotten the title of ‘most heroic hero’ attached to his name. Just look at the dozens of fairy tales that have sprung up around him.”
One more.
“What about Kyle? He beheaded a Black Dragon. He even wounded Death’s Blade. And that’s not all—rumor has it he split the Demon Lord in half!”
Waving two fingers, Destel continues.
“They’re outrageous, yet I’m here being bad-mouthed—am I really that pathetic?”
He feels the world is deliberately trying to belittle him.
As he mumbles that, Raniel shrugs. Even if he talks like that, she knows it’s mostly half-joking.
Cha-ching! He could change that perception if he wished.
But Destel purposely refrains from correcting any misunderstandings.
He acts as if that level of recognition is just fine for him.
In a crucial moment, scared, he’ll run away, telling himself the world shouldn’t have too much expectation from him, a mantra he has repeated again and again.
“Well, that’s not entirely untrue.”
Raniel chuckles wryly.
“Those two are indeed outrageous.”
“Having you say that, the most outrageous of them all, just makes it worse.”
Grumbling, Destel continues checking the documents. Then, suddenly, he halts, his fingers freezing over the paperwork.
Snap! “I know I read the operation plan, but…”
Destel exhales a sigh.
“This—are you sure this is okay?”
He raises a document.
That document bears the name of a certain superhuman.
Clang! “Sword Demon, Draka.”
A superhuman bound by a contract of servitude.
Raniel once put a leash on this uncontrollable superhuman. The bondage was a servitude contract that Draka willingly entered into, which robbed him of his individuality.
Zing! Stolen by a star.
Plop! Sealed by providence.
Ordinarily, there’s no way for Draka to reclaim his individuality. That’s the nature of servitude contracts. But Raniel knows how to loosen that hold.
Grin! “You really plan to take the leash off?”
Destel pointed at the papers.
Are you truly thinking of loosening Draka’s leash?
“Not completely.”
Raniel lightly taps her neck.
“I’ll just return some of his individuality.”
Destel makes a grimace.
A look suggesting discontent. Almost as if questioning whether such a thing is necessary. Raniel gives a bittersweet smile and speaks up.
“Since we’ve come this far, controlling him holds little meaning. This is where the Sword Demon has most desired to shine.”
Crash! The slaughter of Gletus.
That alone has been Draka’s wish. For that single desire, Draka has sacrificed his own life.
Hmm… “And…”
Raniel unconsciously gazes up at the sky.
The sky hidden by the tent. Yet, she sees beyond that, to the stars adorning the sky. To the values once held dear by the first Guide at the creation of those stars.
Whoosh! “You never know…”
A vengeful spirit. A human who has sought revenge.
“Maybe he’ll create a variable.”
3.
The second arrival was Kalt.
After retrieving Draka from the North, Kalt arrived on the battlefield with him. The moment he opens the carriage door, a thick scent of blood wafts through.
Thud!
With the scent of blood trailing behind him, Draka steps forward.
He resembles a marionette with severed strings. Just before entering the tent, Draka halts. His head creaks as he turns.
His gaze is directed beyond the horizon.
A massive vertical cave carved into the heart of the dense forest. The moment Draka looks at the vertical shaft, his eyes momentarily turn red. However, it lasts only a moment. The restored Draka walks into the tent.
At that moment, upon entering the tent,
Draka lifts his head.
With hollow eyes, he encounters the only human seated within the tent—Rania van Trias, staring straight at him.
The master of the contract.
She poses a question toward the broken human.
What is it you desire?
