“The Demon King’s army has broken through our defenses!”

“Hold the line!”

“Damn it—ugh!”

The Demon King’s advance swept forward like a tidal wave. Krata’s forces were powerless, scattered by the overwhelming push.

“Just a little further and we’ll reach the capital! Keep pressing!”

At the vanguard, Geshkafor bellowed as he directed the troops. True to his command, the Demon King’s army soon had Krata’s capital in sight.

‘Easier than expected.’

From the center of the formation, Clay watched.

‘Though ease is not always a good sign.’

Krata’s knights had thrown themselves into the fray, but they were no match for the strength and coordination of the newly established Four Generals.

With the enhancements provided by Lin Siart and Goltche, even the rank-and-file had gained powerful new bodies that made the army’s backbone unyielding.

‘Tia.’

There was also Tia and the elves. The elves scouted the ground, supplying information the gargoyles alone could not. And Tia, wielding the power of a saintess, suppressed the strength of Krata’s priests, who otherwise countered the Demon King’s forces.

‘Naiad—you’ve stepped forward as well.’

At Tia’s side was Naiad, the Spirit King of Water. She healed the wounded among the Demon King’s army with her waters, while drowning Krata’s soldiers in torrents that slowed their charge.

ROAAR!

A massive shadow swept across the enemy, followed by a blast that ripped the earth apart.

Beatrice.

Krata’s archers shot volley after volley skyward, but their arrows could not pierce a dragon’s scales. Instead, they only enraged her further. Flames rained down, reducing soldiers to ash.

『Demon King, it is overwhelming.』

At Clay’s waist, Syltanaro spoke.

『Krata’s troops can’t muster their strength. At this pace, we’ll reach the capital within half a day.』“Indeed.”

But Clay didn’t relax.

“The Guardian Knights have not yet moved. No doubt they’re preparing to meet us within the capital.”

『If they stand in your way, I shall cut them down at once.』

“I’ll count on it.”

Even so, Clay kept his eyes on the field. There would be no carelessness—not until the very end.

And when the Demon King’s army finally reached the capital, Clay was confronted with a sight that defied all expectations.

♧

“Demon King.”

Before the capital of Krata, right at the foot of its great walls—

A soldier ran up to Clay and reported.

“There are no troops defending the capital.”

Silence.

The city was quiet, as though deserted.

“The elves scouting ahead also sent word—no enemy at the gates, either.”

Strange. Clay looked around.

‘The army from Ezer hasn’t arrived yet.’

He knew Ezer’s forces were still engaged against Krata’s troops in the west.

‘Did they all move there?’

Impossible. Even if the western front demanded numbers, there was no reason to strip the capital bare. To leave the stronger Demon King’s army an open road made no sense.

『Clay.』

Beatrice swooped down from above, having surveyed the inside of the walls. Her face was unsettled.

『There’s truly no one inside. It seems they evacuated.』

That was the simple answer—but then, why withdraw the garrison as well? Abandoning the walls meant the capital would fall instantly.

‘Did they relocate entirely?’

Had they abandoned the capital altogether, retreating deeper into Krata? He shook his head.

‘No.’

The capital held a demon pit—a magul—from which uncontrollable demons could emerge. Lutan never left because he needed to contain it. The capital was also where his strength was greatest. There was no reason for him to leave.

‘If he were going to abandon it, he would have done so long ago.’

He would not suddenly give up all of Krata now.

“Geshkafor.”

Clay addressed his vanguard commander.

“Break open the gates.”

There was no other choice but to see for himself.

Bowing, Geshkafor rushed forward.

Thud! Thoom!

Hoisting a battering ram himself, he smashed it against the gates. Enchanted wards flickered, but with no defenders to interrupt, Geshkafor relentlessly battered until—

BOOOOM!

The gates shattered into splinters.

As Clay prepared to step forward, Selimia moved first.

“I’ll go ahead.”

“You?”

“There’s no need for you to enter a danger zone first, Demon King.”

Having grown oddly closer to him during their journey to Hanumayer, Selimia shrugged and slipped through the broken gates with Geshkafor.

Soon her voice rang out.

“There’s nothing! It’s safe to enter!”

No traps. No resistance.

Suspicion gnawed, but Clay nonetheless advanced, leading his army inside.

They had taken Krata’s capital without a single drop of blood spilled.

‘What is this?’

Not a soul in sight.

‘It doesn’t even look like an evacuation.’

If the people had fled, they would have taken their belongings. Yet the homes were still full of objects of daily life, as though their owners had only stepped out for a moment.

“Clay.”

Naiad fluttered to him.

“Will you head straight to the royal palace?”

“Hmm.”

He turned a questioning glance on her.

“Did Tia say we should?”

“Eh? N-no, nothing like that.”

Naiad shook her head quickly.

“I only meant—the road to the palace is completely clear.”

“I see.”

“…Does it bother you?”

She bit her lip.

“I mean, me working with Tia.”

“I know you did it for victory.”

“Even so…”

She couldn’t help but worry.

Clay’s gaze softened briefly.

“It’s fine, Naiad. Truly. My mind is on something else right now.”

His eyes shifted back toward the silent capital.

“Then… should I send Tia into the palace first? To test what lies ahead?”

“No.”

Clay’s reply was firm.

“There is no more time to waste.”

He could have taken time to carefully uncover what had happened.

But if this was merely a ploy to cloud his judgment, then hesitation itself could become poison.

‘There’s a limit to what Lutan can scheme.’

Clay would not allow him the chance to slip away. Without delay, he strode forward.

“Everyone—move to the royal palace.”

And so he advanced toward the true objective of this war.

♧

“I knew you would come.”

Before the palace gates.

Clay found himself facing a single man.

“Lutan.”

The Emperor of Krata, supreme leader of both his nation and the Holy Alliance, stood before him. A white-bearded elder, he calmly smoothed his whiskers as the wind stirred them.

“Should I say it’s good to see you? You’ve changed greatly.”

His eyes swept Clay’s body. Selimia bristled, about to rush forward, but Clay raised a hand to stop her.

“Where are your protectors, Lutan?” Clay asked.

A faint smile, a questioning tilt of the brow.

“Does that matter?”

“It does.”

Clay needed to know why Lutan still exuded such confidence.

“Because today, I intend to kill you.”

“Ha ha ha ha!”

Lutan threw back his head in laughter, then fixed his gaze on Clay.

“You would kill me?”

“Yes.”

“For not helping you when you were executed?”

“Hardly.”

It was not that Krata had failed to help Clay. Krata had been the one to propose and drive his execution.

“At this very moment, the Empress of Ezer is here. She can correct your lies if you dare spout them.”

“The Empress of Ezer…”

Lutan’s eyes shifted—and landed on Tia, standing rigid and grim-faced.

“Tia de Mezelef,” he declared, stretching out his arms, “Empress of Ezer, servant of the Holy Alliance.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Tia had stayed silent through Clay’s words, but at Lutan’s she flinched, her voice sharp with disgust.

“All of this—everything—happened because of you. Even the Holy Alliance only moved as you willed it.”

“Ah. And now you would place all the blame on me?”

Lutan’s tone hardened.

“You say I did this? That every choice was mine? No, Tia—the one who made Clay what he is… was you.”

“Stop twisting things.”

“If you had trusted him, none of this would have come to pass. At the very least, he would never have become the Demon King.”

“You’re the one who killed him.”

“You’re the one who spoke the words of judgment at his execution.”

“Because of you!”

BOOOOM!

Light erupted from the air, a searing beam that shot down upon Lutan.

“How ill-mannered.”

Even as the light pressed him down, he spoke with disdain.

“You deny your own deeds, and so you drag others down with you.”

“You have no right to speak.”

Hatred twisted Tia’s face.

“You held my nation hostage. You forced my hand, left me no choice. And now you say the choice was mine alone?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet, “Look, Tia de Mezelef.” He gestured around them, “Was Krata ever truly a nation so strong as to inspire your fear?”

Before the advancing Demon King’s army, Krata had collapsed pitifully.

“Most of our lands lie in ruin. Even our capital could not hold.”

His eyes pierced hers.

“And yet, was this truly the nation that compelled you to kneel?”

“Back then, it was!” Her voice cracked, “But why bring it to this? You let Yaphenon and Marfane fall, you squandered the power of the Alliance! Did you do it on purpose? To make me regret my choice?!”

It was madness. Yet Lutan had made madness real. If he had moved properly, there would have been no way for Clay to consume the Holy Alliance so quickly.

“Keuk keuk keuk.”

Lutan’s lips curled into a smile.

“I was merely foolish.”

“…What?”

“I simply failed to do my duty.”

He tilted his head.

“Does that satisfy you?”

“!”

Tia’s expression broke. His mocking words left her with no care for his motives—only loathing.

“You—!”

She raised her hand again, power surging.

“Demon King?!”

But Clay had already launched forward, kicking off the ground, Syltanaro in hand.

“Demon King!”

Cries of alarm rang out from his army, but Clay did not slow.

“Lutan.”

His voice was low.

“Where is your master?”

(End of Chapter)

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