Chapter 104
Chapter 104: Light Cleanup
Carrying the Elf Mage on his back, Dogajin raced through the forest.
Even if he were to lose the blessing of magic, the martial arts prowess of the Sword Saint was still intact. A slender elf was hardly a burden—
Or so it should have been.
The expression of the old beastman, rushing like the wind, was contorted in pain and regret, as if he were carrying a massive boulder.
“I… just leave me behind! I’m a hindrance…!”
The Elf Mage, bouncing around violently, gasped the words out.
“Not happening.”
Dogajin replied tersely, tightly closing his eyes for a moment before regaining his usual carefree demeanor.
“I’m not well-versed in magic, but something must have been done to that Prince of the Demon Lord, right?”
“…Yeah.”
“Information about the Demon Lord’s Prince is valuable. We should escape even if it humiliates us.”
—To be honest.
He wanted to rampage until he died. Watching the Sword Saints scatter, it felt too disgraceful to abandon even the fallen heroes and cowardly flee home.
But—regrettably, without the blessing of magic, he wouldn’t last a few seconds against the demon race. He might be able to take one or two down with him, but that was all.
In that case.
It would be better to return with at least some information for the future.
Even if it meant being labeled a coward— it was infinitely better than throwing his life away in vain.
Moreover, the Dogman Sword Saint retreated in the opposite direction after taking a moment’s pause. He probably acted as a decoy to let the Elf Mage escape—he couldn’t let his sacrifice be in vain.
“…!”
Dogajin clenched his teeth. He thought he had returned to his usual self, but if he let his guard down, rage and despair would overwhelm him.
(It’s frustrating…! Why are we… so weak…!!)
A master who has perfected his martial arts laments his own powerlessness.
—The absence of magical power.
No matter how much one trains. No matter how many skills one acquires.
With just a word or two from the demon race, one’s life could be snuffed out effortlessly.
As easily as a child crushing an insect for fun.
Efforts, resolves, the spirit of a warrior, all trampled on—!
“Leave me behind… there’s a risk of being detected…”
The Elf Mage, drained of strength, seemed to struggle just to form those words.
“I want to leave a message with you… though it’s just a guess, this is information about the Demon Lord’s Prince…”
“I’m not too confident in my memory, but go ahead.”
“That prince is a wind magic user… I don’t know the conditions, but it seems he uses a curse to bypass the protection of spirits and drain the magic power from his opponents… right before you’re robbed, it feels like a whisper in your ear—”
Dogajin listened intently, not wanting to miss a single word—
When suddenly, a chill ran through the air.
“…Not good, run!”
The Elf Mage gasped,
“[Scatter in pieces!]”
That voice belonged to Prince Emelgias.
At that moment, the air erupted. A storm of hundreds of blades of wind roared.
The Elf Mage on his back was instantly reduced to a ragged, bloody heap.
Naturally, Dogajin wouldn’t escape unharmed either. The Elf Mage had acted as a shield, allowing him to survive—barely.
“Gah… cough, hack…”
The flip side was that he hadn’t died instantly. His body was torn apart so badly that bones were visible amongst the splatter of blood as he collapsed. What had felt like the light body of the Elf Mage now felt heavy as iron.
(I can’t… die here…!)
He couldn’t let everyone’s deaths be in vain.
Even if he had to crawl, he had to escape and at least convey the information about the Demon Lord’s Prince—he could die after that…!!
He attempted to stand firm with sheer will, but then realized his legs wouldn’t move a muscle.
—The tendons in his heels had been severed by the blade of wind.
No matter how great a master he was, if his body wouldn’t move—there was nothing he could do—
“Why…!!”
With bloodied and half-peeled arms, he clawed at the ground, still trying to crawl forward, shedding tears of blood.
“Why… are we… so weak…!!”
He didn’t want to die like this.
If he were to be killed, he’d prefer it be at the end of an honorable battle.
To be struck down while trying to flee—hit with magic in the back and dying without putting up a fight—
Was this the fate of a warrior who gave everything to hone their skills?
How could such a thing be allowed…?
“Oh God…!! Why don’t you grant us… more power…!!”
With eyes wide open, Dogajin reached out to the dappled sunlight streaming through the leaves—
And then, he suddenly lost his strength and fell face down.
Blood loss from his wounds claimed the old Sword Saint.
†††
“Hmm, he’s dead, I see.”
Meanwhile.
Emelgias leaned casually against a spear, feeling the death of the Elf Mage at headquarters.
The connection had vanished.
The power he had taken began to evaporate.
‘Envy’ Emelgias.
That is his title. A half-joking term compared to the ‘Lustful’ or ‘Lover’ Diagias, as Emelgias never hides his grievances.
However, surprisingly few know its true meaning.
Emelgias has made a pact with the demon of jealousy, Ziria. There’s no need to explain his powers. Gaining strength through envying and resenting others.
But Ziria’s magic has its quirks.
Driven to jealousy to the brink of madness, one must deeply wish for it—this allows him to drain power from the targeted individual.
Even if he takes, he doesn’t take it all completely. No matter how much he longs for it, what he desires can never be entirely obtained.
That’s what makes it all the more frustrating.
The flames of jealousy intensify, bringing power. Whether the opponent resists or not, if even a little bit of power is drained, Emelgias grows stronger while the opponent weakens. Their resistance diminishes, allowing Emelgias to take even more power until they are stripped bare—
Gradually, just like a snake suffocating its prey.
However, taking power from enemies is not very respectable among demons, so very few among his kind know the essence of his magic, while outside, it is deemed a ‘fearsome weakening spell.’
That explanation suffices.
Because if the target dies, the source of the power is lost, and everything taken vanishes. Even if you’re using underhanded methods to take, ultimately, you can’t keep what you seize—even if somewhat can be gained in the process.
(I could’ve let that magic user escape, but appearances can be troublesome.)
Emelgias mused inwardly. He could’ve let the elf, who would supply power as long as he lived, go, but if the attacker managed to flee and escape, it would reflect poorly on the prince.
Thus, he had no choice but to take care of it reluctantly— the other Sword Saint who fled in a different direction was being pursued by his subordinates.
“[—Your Highness.]”
A voice echoed in his ear.
“[We’ve located the black dog. Currently tracking.]”
Although the figure was invisible, an oddly resonant “voice” came from the forest.
“[Good. Finish him off. Don’t let your guard down.]”
Emelgias replied with a similarly strangely resonant voice.
“[Understood.]”
The short response came back.
This was the bloodline magic of the Izanis Tribe.
Named [Voice Transmission Spell]. It’s a magic to relay voices, as the name suggests. It has an especially great compatibility with the wind magic favored by the Izanis tribe.
On the battlefield, it allows instantaneous voice delivery to distant allies. If it’s blood relatives, they can track the blood connection, making accurate exchanges even while in motion. (It only transmits voices, so each party speaks to each other.)
A versatile bloodline magic that has historically supported the Izanis tribe, known for producing exceptional strategists. However, it is often seen as “the power of a lackey” by normal demons due to its relatively mundane nature.
High-ranking demons, including the Demon Lord, and the Night Elves highly regard it.
In any case, the greatest feature of this [Voice Transmission Spell] is that it does not merely transmit a voice, but also gives it a magical outline.
Carried by the wind, it is delivered.
Voices imbued with magical power—that is, the very incantations spoken.
Typically, the range for curses or attack spells is about fifty paces. The magic released by a caster becomes subject to the influence of other magic and magical power in the world, slowly morphing and deteriorating.
However, the [Voice Transmission Spell] reinforces the magic imbued in the voice. The outlined spell is less susceptible to the influence of other factors.
As a result, it allows one to launch a blade of wind magic to the very edge of the visible world. An extremely long-range attack far surpassing even the archery of the Night Elves.
Unfortunately, even if the spell hits a superior opponent, it is often negated in the end; and if one uses it on an inferior adversary, they risk being scorned as “weak,” “spineless,” or “feeble,” so it hardly finds opportunities to shine.
Though Emelgias is adept at applying it effectively as a finishing touch to his jealousy spell, other Izanis tribesmen have reportedly used it for its original messenger purpose, as a final blow to fleeing enemies, or to hunt small animals and birds.
“…Your Highness, I’ve extracted the information.”
A night elf hunter in a shadow cloak approached him.
“There’s blood on your face.”
Glancing at the face of the night elf, Emelgias tapped his own cheek.
“Oh, my mistake.”
Noticing the splatter of blood on his cheek, the night elf wiped it off with his sleeve.
“So?”
“Ah! There was nothing particularly beyond what we’re already aware of. He was quite stubborn, so in the end, we managed it with some drugs. Nothing too hard.”
A wicked smile spread across his face.
“However, it seems the fortress’s forces have begun their retreat. They seem to have had some sort of diversion to distract us.”
“Oh? That’s quite the wasted effort.”
Emelgias wore an insidious grin, reminiscent of the night elf.
“Young one. What shall we do?”
The green-haired female demon standing by—Emelgias’s direct subordinate—asked seriously.
“Let it be. No further incursions are permitted. Securing that fortress is sufficient.”
Emelgias shrugged disinterestedly.
—If they break through that fortress, an open plain leads straight to the capital of the Defteros Kingdom.
This nation should not yet be brought to ruin. The repercussions on the surrounding nations are too significant; alliances could easily falter. It would be better to deliberately leave them be and let them gather strength.
Yes, the Demon Lord’s army’s incursion ended yesterday.
“Such a needless death. I had intended to spare them if they managed to escape.”
For the next battle. The Defteros Kingdom needed to hold on for just a little longer.
“Well, it did provide a good share for military exploits. You’d agree, right?”
With a joking tone, Emelgias inquired, and the demons around him, along with the night elves, snickered in response, nodding along.
“And what about that hero?”
“Well, as of now, he is still alive. But perhaps the drug is too effective; he seems to have lost it completely, repeating only ‘I want to go back, back to everyone.’”
“Oh? Is that so?”
Although he initially showed little interest, Emelgias’s expression suddenly brightened as if he had just thought of a brilliant idea.
“…In that case, as per his own wishes—”
With a malicious smile.
“Let’s let him go back.”
†††
—From the fortress, a column of humans was being expelled.
Most were injured soldiers. Supporting each other, or lightly injured individuals carrying the heavily wounded, they retreated at the fastest pace feasible.
In front of the fortress.
The Sword Saint “Unicorn” Barbara stood alongside the remaining Sword Saint Hessel, and the Priestess Charlotte, watching with nervous expressions.
“…It’s quiet.”
Licking her dry lips, Barbara murmured.
Surrounding them were completely armed priests, ready to respond to any pursuit from the Demon Lord’s army… However, contrary to initial predictions, the beastmen and ogres maintained only a loose semi-encirclement and didn’t move at all.
“…Do you think they managed to do well?”
The fatigued Priestess Charlotte replied to Barbara’s muttering, gripping her staff as if in prayer, gazing into the forest where the heroes had disappeared—
“Perhaps, the Demon Lord’s Prince was slain and there’s chaos in their ranks?”
Trying to lighten the mood, Hessel patted Barbara’s shoulder with a large sword, speaking lightly.
“If that’s the case, he might pop out unexpectedly soon—”
As Barbara smiled while listening to Hessel’s teasing, a sudden chill ran down her spine.
It was a feeling that could only be described as intuition.
The instinct that had saved her life countless times on the battlefield.
The feeling that arises when one’s life is in danger.
Startled, she glanced at the forest, and at the very edge of her vision, a speck as small as sand.
With a whoosh, something from the forest arced towards them—
“Watch out!”
Pushing Charlotte aside, Barbara swung her sword.
It was a spear of the demon race.
She sliced it midair. It made a deafening clang that echoed endlessly.
Then, as it rolled away, something was lodged in the tip.
Something— no, it was… something she realized immediately, but she didn’t want to understand…
“Ah… ahhh…!!”
Charlotte’s eyes widened as she gasped for breath, unable to take her eyes off what had rolled to her feet.
From the half-smashed neck of a hero—
“No… no! NOO!”
Charlotte screamed with all her might.
“[Weak little allies!]”
But that scream was abruptly drowned out by a grating voice.
“Who goes there?!”
Though they could hear the voice, the figure was nowhere in sight. Hessel and Barbara both entered a battle-ready stance—
“[I am Emelgias, the Fourth Prince of the Demon Lord, Emelgias Izanis.]”
The voice seemed to emanate from the severed spear itself.
“[Since we had the misfortune of a human stumbling into our ranks, I return this to you. It seems they were quite eager to go back.]”
“You bastard—!”
Hessel’s anger flared, but the voice remained unchanged.
“[Humans of the alliance, know your place. You will not win. All of you will die needlessly.]”
In a disinterested, mocking tone, he laughed.
“[You should just scurry back with your tails between your legs and prepare for the next invasion! I look forward to seeing you all again on the battlefield. I can’t wait to see how many of your heads I can add to my collection! Hahaha—]”
Barbara plunged her sword into the spear.
A precise thrust shattered the spear’s handle.
However, the magic remained unharmed, and the irritating laughter echoed on—
The Priestess, weeping as she cradled the hero’s head.
Hessel, shouting “Damn it!” as he raised his sword.
Barbara gripped her sword, trembling, only able to shake with rage.
Out of anger. Out of hatred.
…For their powerlessness, unable to do anything.
