---

Amidst the darkness and fog, the enemies were lost in confusion, scrambling in every direction.

Observing them, Samson, the Demon General leading the Demon King’s Army, began to wear a deep smile.

“Indeed… As the Hero said, they’re so disoriented that it’s obvious. Who would have thought those vile Racial Alliance idiots would utilize their armor in such a manner?”

Unlike humans and elves, the Demon Races possessed exceptional night vision, allowing them to pierce through the darkness and spot their enemies.

This enabled Samson and his subordinates to have their way with the confused foes, while the enemies hesitated to attack the Demon Race Soldiers, who wore similar attire, aside from the black cloth draped over their shoulders.

Even if one’s identity was discovered, they could quickly hide and reappear elsewhere, turning the situation into utter chaos.

It was difficult to distinguish faces in such darkness, and in the heat of battle, there was hardly any time to do so, making it nearly impossible for them to differentiate between friend and foe.

“Damn it! All soldiers of Galadia, gather here! I, Oedipus, am here!”

Often, commanders raised their voices in an attempt to rally their allies amidst the chaos, and each time, their soldiers hurried to gather around what they deemed a reliable leader to form some semblance of order.

But then…

-Kwaaaaang!!!

With every strike, the Hero’s single blow soared toward that direction.

Even Samson, who prided himself on unmatched strength, was taken aback by the massive shockwave, causing the regrouped enemies to instantly disband.

In the process, the commanders attempting to regroup their soldiers met a grisly demise without being able to do anything.

The Hero’s fighting style was meticulous, maximizing his allies’ gains while thoroughly exploiting the enemies’ chaos.

Watching this, Samson felt he made a wise choice to entrust the overall framework of this battle to the Hero, and a satisfied smile spread across his face.

“Honestly, I was a bit skeptical at first, but he seems quite trustworthy.”

With significant combat strength and a sharp mind, the Hero actively utilized these qualities to ensure a definitive victory for them.

Witnessing this, Samson was delighted to have gained a trustworthy comrade, and without hesitation, he began to wield his favored weapon, the longsword.

Though he was in command, he couldn’t afford to lag behind in feats.

Fueled by a sense of rivalry as a warrior, Samson surged forth with the ferocity of a roaring beast.

“Come at me, you filthy Alliance dogs! I, Samson, shall wake you up and face you!”

*

Swinging his pure white longsword and smashing the enemies’ heads, Samson painted a grotesque picture that only deepened fear and confusion amongst the soldiers of the Racial Alliance.

In a situation where one could not distinguish between friend and foe, a dreadful massacre was underway.

To the ordinary soldiers belonging to the Racial Alliance, it appeared as though their own allies were attacking one another.

Moreover, many gathered here were those who typically served in different locations but happened to assemble in one place today.

Whenever commanders raised their voices to restore order, shockwaves, presumably launched by the Demon King, would immediately fly in from somewhere, mercilessly exterminating both the commanders and their soldiers.

In this state, practically no one could be trusted aside from those officially recognized as part of their unit.

The soldiers were ultimately forced to make drastic choices to survive.

“Damn it! You filthy Demon bastards! Die!”

“! J-just a minute… I’m not a Demon… Gahhh!!!”

With faces they had never seen before, the soldiers who were shouting in denial were promptly cut down.

Starting from there, they began swinging their swords at the unfamiliar soldiers standing next to them.

“Urrggh!”

“Ahh!!”

“Damn it! You filthy Demons!!”

“You’re the one who’s a Demon! Die quietly!”

In the impenetrable darkness, spears and swords clashed violently.

At that moment, they had no clue whether their target was a true Demon or if they were mistakenly attacking their own allies.

Nevertheless, given the circumstances, the soldiers could only attack anyone with an unknown face, as distinguishing friend from foe had become virtually impossible.

In order to survive in this chaotic scene, one had no choice but to kill the ‘enemy’ right in front of them.

Thus, in the midst of extreme confusion and fear, the soldiers of the Racial Alliance began a brutal massacre against each other.

And,

Watching the scene that the Hero had described beforehand, the Demon Races’ forces hid in the darkness, stepping back to observe the chaos unfold.

Worn out from the intense battles ranging from open warfare to this ambush, they felt a deep fatigue and simultaneously laughed at the foolishness of the Racial Alliance troops killing each other.

*

“Heh… Heh… Heh…”

“Damn…! Those filthy Demon bastards…”

A group of soldiers from the Racial Alliance, exhausted and injured, had barely managed to escape.

Amidst the cacophony of their comrades screaming as they battled against the Demons or each other behind them, they had no remaining strength to assist their allies.

“How… how many are left?”

“A-about a thousand. I’m not sure about the others.”

“A thousand… that’s nearly half of us gone…”

The damage was far beyond what they had imagined.

Led by their commander Bellerophon, they couldn’t help but frown automatically, yet deep down, he felt somewhat lucky.

At least positioned on the outskirts of their camp, he managed to drag out this number of soldiers.

If he and his troops had been any deeper within, it was clear they would have suffered even greater losses amidst that chaos.

Thus, despite the filthy circumstances, Bellerophon found a sliver of relief, quickly gathering his remaining subordinates and preparing to retreat.

“Let’s fall back for now. If we stay here any longer, we too shall be caught up. First, we will retreat to Dimode, the nearest stronghold.”

“Understood, General.”

Following Bellerophon’s order, the soldiers began to carve a path through the darkness.

Though the thick fog and lingering shadows made navigating difficult, they managed to press forward, relying on the footsteps of their nearby comrades to stay together.

As dawn began to break and their vision normalized, marching became somewhat easier, and they hastened their pace, ultimately managing to reach Dimode.

Exhausted and looking like beggars after marching day and night without rest, they were consumed by the urge to collapse and rest, dragging their weary bodies towards Dimode Castle.

But…

“Huh?”

“Uh?”

In the next moment, an unbelievable scene unfolded before them.

Bellerophon and his soldiers felt a fleeting thought that they might be seeing things…

No, the sight before their eyes was so shocking that they couldn’t believe it was real.

What they saw was a fluttering flag.

The black flag symbolizing the Demon Kingdom.

It was hoisted on the highest spire of Dimode Castle.

“This… What the hell is this? Why is the Demon flag here?”

“I… I don’t know. How could something so absurd happen…?”

Even seeing it with their own eyes, they couldn’t fathom the scene before them.

Consequently, Bellerophon and his subordinates were left paralyzed in shock and despair.

Having hurriedly fled, they had brought no food with them.

Moreover, their soldiers were exhausted from the long march, and they had no strength left to launch an attack.

Ultimately, their only option was to drag themselves to a different location without even attempting to assault the castle before them.

However…

They quickly found no welcome wherever they arrived.

Everywhere they ventured bore the Demon flag, guarded by hundreds of soldiers staunchly defending the strongholds…

 

---