Chapter 412

Encrid lifted his head into the falling rain.

The pattering drops washed the blood clinging to his body. It felt like it was wrapping his exhausted form.

When he held Esther in his arms and fell asleep, he sometimes felt like this. It felt the same now.

‘What did Esther do?’

That had to be it. He could tell from the Count’s reaction and the demon’s words.

The rain didn’t stop. It didn’t grow heavier either—it simply kept falling, relentless.

Rainwater pooled on the ground, washing away blood and forming shallow streams.

He had cut through ten thousand wraiths and brought down the Count.

Put into words, it sounded simple, but it was anything but.

It was that significant. That monumental.

Encrid steadied his breath under the rain, then picked up the broken half of his Silver.

He moved his aching body and looked down at the dead Count’s corpse.

Audin, too, could finally move as the paralysis from the binding spell wore off.

“You’ve worked hard, Brother.”

“You too.”

A plain exchange. Audin trudged over and knelt beside the dead Count. He dropped to one knee, clasped his hands, and began to pray.

It was a priest’s duty to offer prayers for the dead.

Though his life may have been filled with sin, may he remain by the Lord’s side and be granted a chance for reflection.

“May he remain by the Lord’s side and receive His teachings.”

The god Audin believed in took pleasure in punishing sinners. His “teachings” were closer to personally beating them down.

The Lord’s fists and feet would aid the sinner’s repentance. That was what it meant.

“May he find peace there.”

Peace? Would he?

Encrid thought as he listened.

Ragna pushed himself up and staggered once. He didn’t groan, but his body was far from fine.

Even he had pushed himself too far.

His sword was broken, and most of the protective gear wrapped around his body was torn apart.

Fortunately, there was no one left to mock Ragna in that state.

Jaxson, too, had a hole in his abdomen. Yet his expression remained calm as he slowly pushed himself up from the ground with his hands.

“It’s over.”

The words carried a bittersweet edge. A rare glimpse of emotion.

Did he want to stab him himself?

Maybe.

The rain continued to fall. Encrid looked at Rem, who still hadn’t gotten up.

Rem looked back at him.

Why aren’t you getting up?

Encrid asked with his eyes. Rem, thinking for a moment, finally opened his mouth.

“Captain.”

“What?”

“Grant me the honor of being carried.”

It was a declaration that he couldn’t walk on his own.

“You can’t walk because of that?”

Unable to hold it in, Ragna spoke.

“Frail body?”

Jaxson added.

“It seems your usual training was insufficient.”

Audin’s concern struck like a bolt.

“I’m just giving the Captain a chance to thank me.”

Of course, no words could damage Rem’s thick skin.

Encrid didn’t fully understand, but he recognized one thing—Rem had pushed himself the hardest.

That was the truth.

Rem had used magic even before the combat formation was complete, and that meant forcibly borrowing someone else’s magic.

It was one of the most dangerous acts in magic.

It was akin to stealing and using another person’s invocation.

What Rem did was forcibly repurposing a totem the Immortal Madman had created for his own use.

Having pushed himself to use it, backlash was inevitable.

Moreover, he also served as the central coordinator of the combat formation. It was even more grueling than Audin’s role as the foundation.

Naturally, his body was screaming in pain.

He could have endured the damage and gotten up to walk, but Rem didn’t want to.

He figured he’d done enough to deserve being carried.

‘It seems like it’d be fun.’

He also wanted to recover quickly. He had seen Encrid’s final sword strike—the moment he cut down the Count.

‘If I recover quickly, I can spar sooner too.’

Rem, now tainted by Encrid, also wanted to cross swords with him.

And he wanted to do it properly, with a sound body. So he’d be carried.

Despite his calm tone, Rem’s eyes were blazing. His insistence felt like it could evaporate the raindrops.

“Do I look sound to you?”

Encrid asked flatly.

“More than me.”

Rem replied without shame.

Truly a mad bastard.

Even so, Encrid intended to carry him. He’d done enough to deserve that much.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to carry him himself.

“I’ll carry him.”

When had they arrived?

It was Dunbakel and Teresa. The two ran over, catching their breath.

Dunbakel stepped forward.

“Fine.”

Rem didn’t insist. He didn’t care who carried him, after all.

Dunbakel carried Rem on her back, and Encrid roughly tidied up the surroundings. The rain continued to fall.

Encrid and the group began walking toward the allied camp.

The path they had carved through the wraiths wasn’t as long as it had seemed. While breaking through, it felt like they had come a long way, but on the return, it was a short distance.

The enemy forces were silent, and the allies were even quieter. They were the ones returning along that silent path, the path they had carved with their own hands.

Everyone watched them.

But Encrid and his group paid no mind to the gazes of others.

Krang approached them.

He was soaked by the rain, but he didn’t look like a drenched mouse.

He wasn’t smiling, nor was he intoxicated with the thrill of victory.

From his expression alone, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Only his pupils trembled. His demeanor and expression were composed, but the emotion visible in his eyes was not hidden.

—

Just before the Count died, the soldiers fought both the wraith soldiers and the wraiths trying to possess their bodies.

They fought and fought, endured and endured.

‘When will it end?’

The limits of their stamina.

‘Maybe it’d be better to just die.’

The limits of their mental strength.

As their stamina and mental strength reached their limits, the wraith soldiers, who knew no fear, surged endlessly.

They attacked indiscriminately, whether Kingdom soldiers or the Count’s soldiers.

Before the wave of wraiths that made no distinction between friend and foe, the two divided armies mingled and fought.

Even those who fought valiantly had their limits.

Amidst it all, the soldiers saw horrifying nightmares and illusions.

“Die, die, die, die, die.”

But those were neither nightmares nor illusions. They were visions of those fighting Count Molsen.

Esther’s spell had exerted its influence, intertwining with the Count’s spell, causing a bizarre phenomenon.

Most of the soldiers present saw Encrid’s battle through their eyes.

Markus saw it too.

‘Win.’

He sent his support.

Aisia also saw it, clenching her fists.

‘I should be there too!’

But she couldn’t leave her post. Even if some shepherd who’d rolled in from nowhere was holding the line, if she left, the Prince would be in danger.

Unlike Aisia, Dunbakel and Teresa ran as soon as they saw the situation. They were the ones who needed to be there, whether as meat shields or to strike from behind unexpectedly.

Andrew couldn’t bring himself to move. Esther still hadn’t risen, and he judged that guarding this position was his duty.

So he could only watch.

The soldiers didn’t even have the strength to cry out that they were alive.

“Gasp.”

Most soldiers collapsed, exhaling heavily. Even those who had endured sat down where they were.

They lacked the strength to shout in victory. Their bodies grew wet under the falling rain.

If anything, the rain was a blessing.

It felt as if the lingering aura of the wraiths clinging to their bodies was being washed away.

And that was true. That was what Esther had done.

When Esther opened her eyes in reality, it was after she understood what had occurred.

The Count had tried to summon the Spell world to this land, but was that even possible?

No. It was an event born from the intervention of demonic power, but in hindsight, it was a foolish act.

Even if he had succeeded, the idiot mage would have been possessed and, enthralled, repeated his idiotic deeds.

Like creating Chimeras, he might have turned all the kingdom’s people into test subjects.

Or done something even worse.

That’s what the whispers of a demon are like.

Unable to dismantle the spell crafted with demonic power one by one, Esther used most of her mana to make it rain.

In the process, the soldiers’ consciousnesses likely glimpsed the Count’s form.

Esther saw it too.

The madman who cut down the Count and tried to slay the demon as well.

Esther felt the need to explain just how dangerous a demon was.

Krang watched Encrid’s battle, murmuring to himself.

His palms weren’t sweaty. He simply waited quietly.

There was nothing he could do here.

So did he feel powerless?

No. He had his own stage.

This moment was simply a time when his friend had to step forward.

So trusting and trusting again was all Krang could do.

‘I believe.’

His belief was not betrayed.

His trust was rewarded.

As the rain poured down, the wraiths crumbled. Krang stepped forward through the surviving soldiers. He walked out silently.

“My lord?”

Markus called him, but he didn’t stop. Krang only halted after facing Encrid, who was returning, then paused briefly before speaking.

“Praise him, for the hero who saved us.”

His voice was soft and low.

Markus, who had followed Krang, agreed with those words.

He wasn’t the only one.

Aisia, limping as she followed, also nodded involuntarily at those words.

Looking at Encrid, Krang took a deep breath and tightened his abdomen.

His voice had been too quiet, after all.

“Praise him! For the hero who saved us!”

His voice spread. It was one of Krang’s specialties—a shout fueled by all the strength in his abdomen.

“Woo.”

One soldier raised his head, weeping. Raindrops fell, wetting his face.

“Woooooh!”

“We’re aliiive!”

“For the hero!”

“For the Madman Company!”

Their shouts mingled, turning into indistinguishable words.

It was a cry that seemed to spread the rain wider for a moment. That intense fervor.

At the center of that fervor, one old commander was dissatisfied with the disjointed shouts.

Had they not seen?

The Count transforming into a demon, and our hero who cut him down.

The commander shouted with all his heart.

“Everyone, follow me!”

Many soldiers followed him. Wasn’t he the one who had shown command that allowed them to endure even as wraiths swarmed?

He, too, was undoubtedly a hero to them.

“Demon Slayer!”

Demon Slayer.

Spread far and wide the majesty of the one who slew the demon!

At the commander’s words, the surrounding soldiers joined in the shout.

“Demon Slayer!”

Their cry quickly spread to the surroundings.

“Demon Slayer!”

“Demon Slayer!”

The rain continued to fall. At first, it had responded to Esther’s mana, but this was rain that was meant to fall.

Meaning, dark clouds had gathered, so there was no bright sunlight.

Yet everyone saw something shining.

If the one who killed the demon, eradicated the wraiths, and ended the war didn’t shine, then what would?

“Demon Slayer!”

A title that would make the demon, who hadn’t actually died, grind its sharp fangs in frustration if it heard.

Encrid listened blankly and said,

“I didn’t kill the demon.”

“Technically, ‘Noble Slayer’ would be more accurate.”

Rem stated the fact.

“‘Demon Minion Slayer’ would be correct.”

Audin also spoke.

From a religious perspective, the opponent’s identity was clear. That’s how Audin saw it.

“Who cares?”

Ragna flatly stated his opinion, dismissing the nonsense.

Jaxson, as usual, remained silent.

Dunbakel briefly considered whether throwing Rem off her back would lead to severe retaliation later, then gave up the thought.

Teresa privately agreed with Audin’s words.

Only then did Krang show a gentle smile.

They were all individuals who could rightfully be called heroes, Encrid included.

And he had already learned just how mad these bastards were on the way to the capital.

‘Consistently insane.’

He thought with a laugh.

Encrid nodded calmly. He hadn’t read Krang’s mind, but he believed he was the most sane.

“Thanks, you craziest bastard.”

Because of that, Encrid almost panicked at Krang’s words. Even after the Count died and a demon appeared, Encrid had been ready to charge immediately, but this was something he couldn’t help but be taken aback by.

Who’s the craziest?

“You’ve become a national hero.”

Krang continued, bowing his head. It was the utmost courtesy shown by a prince destined to become a king.

The surrounding soldiers were all watching.

Encrid was at the peak of exhaustion.

He didn’t have the mental capacity to care about princes or anything.

“Enough.”

So he grabbed the Prince’s shoulder and lifted him up. He’d done his job. The praise made his chest swell with pride, and Krang’s attitude wasn’t bad either.

But one thing needed to be clarified.

“Why am I the craziest?”

When there’s that bastard Rem?

Krang burst out laughing at his friend’s words.

“Hahaha, let’s go. Let’s eat, drink, and rest. We can bankrupt the Royal Palace’s treasury if we have to!”

Amidst the cries of “Demon Slayer,” shouts of “We’re alive!” and “We won!” echoed.

The enemy soldiers, once of the Count’s army, quietly laid down their weapons.

The civil war was over.