Chapter 332: Lingering Regret

It seems all my friendly ties left in this world are about to abandon me.

The familiar sensation of stabbing someone, one I thought I’d grown used to, still lingered at my fingertips, tormenting my mind. Deon, oblivious to the surging sea of blood engulfing the world around him, simply shed silent tears. His head, lowered as if to check Stigma’s breathing, left damp patches on his chest.

A thought suddenly struck me.

“If only I had been his priority…”

……

“Then… would things have turned out differently?”

…Of course not. Rememver didn’t answer, but the conclusion was obvious.

The path I’ve walked is littered with corpses of those who prioritized me. What a ridiculous assumption.

They died whether they prioritized me or not. Death was the only outcome either way.

‘They died simply because they got tangled up with me.’

Even if Stigma Primiero had valued me over honor, he still would have died. Probably trying to protect me.

Deon Hart, you cursed wretch.

Despair welled up inside me.

‘I should have just died back when I was first thrown onto the battlefield.’

Why did I fight so hard to survive, only to come back and torment so many? What did everyone around me do to deserve this?

My mind, already frayed by the approaching end, was further rattled by this blow. Yet, paradoxically, my expression remained eerily calm.

……

Rememver watched Deon’s red pupils, trembling like they might shatter at any moment. In stark contrast, Deon’s face was disturbingly calm. How long had it been since he’d last noticed his own tears? A bitter feeling welled up in Rememver’s chest as he watched Deon, lost in thought and silently weeping, seemingly oblivious to his own tears.

The bitterness intensified as he gazed at Stigma Primiero’s corpse.

‘I knew it was coming, and I thought I was prepared, but…’

Facing it now, it’s hitting me harder than I expected.

But with Deon teetering on the brink, Rememver couldn’t afford to succumb to his own dark feelings. As the adult in the room, he spoke softly, trying to pull the boy back from the abyss he was clearly falling into.

“Don’t you still have things to do? We don’t have time to linger here.”

“…You’re right.”

His voice came out cracked and weak.

Finally seeming to realize his own state, Deon Hart quietly cleared his throat and stood. He glanced at Rememver, a look that was both a question and a subtle nudge to continue. It was a gaze that held a hint of composure compared to the intensity he’d shown when facing Stigma.

After all, Rememver’s goal wasn’t to fight Deon Hart or die by his hand. Quite the opposite, his need to survive meant unnecessary conflict was the last thing he wanted.

“…I’ll bring you the history book soon.”

As expected, Rememver changed the subject entirely, steering clear of any talk of fighting.

Against this slightly softer backdrop, his voice continued.

“The information you provided was a great help. Thanks to you, it looks like I can finish it sooner than expected…”

……

“…I hope you’ll receive it ‘personally’.”

He knew what Rememver was hinting at, but he couldn’t commit to something he wasn’t sure about. Deon turned away without a word.

There was no pressure for an answer. Instead, as Deon turned towards the familiar mountain path, a calm voice trailed after him, as if it were nothing of consequence.

“The path ahead is clear, you should reach your destination quickly.”

Deon hesitated.

The tone was casual, but the words were anything but. Deon turned back. His red eyes, filled with doubt and suspicion, locked onto Rememver’s silver-blue gaze. The question that followed was laced with clear mistrust.

“…To the Demon King’s castle?”

“To the Demon King’s castle.”

“…So, all those things you packed for me when I went to the Demon Realm before, you knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

The cookies, the pocket watch, the white gloves, even the seeds from the Human Realm.

Actually, even ignoring the other things, the seeds were a dead giveaway. Unless you knew I had a gardener connection in the Demon Realm, there’s no reason they’d be in my luggage.

And you denied it when I asked back then. Rememver chuckled at Deon’s sullen look.

“Being a scion of a high-ranking noble family in Esperance opens doors to connecting with… certain capable individuals.”

Not only major Demon Realm cities that trade with the Demon King’s castle, but even infiltrating the castle itself, while difficult, isn’t entirely impossible.

Back then, revealing my hand to Deon Hart, a person of significant interest for various reasons, would have been problematic if discovered, so I had to feign ignorance and deny everything. Rememver didn’t bother with excuses now.

In the end, Deon was the one who backed down.

“…I’ll gratefully accept your… consideration for now.”

“Think nothing of it.”

I look forward to seeing you again.

The old man offered a forlorn, hopeless farewell to the young man turning away once more.

***

“Hey! Why are we fighting in the Human Realm of all places?!”

Commander Trober of the 9th Corps, his waist deeply gashed by an axe and his neck scratched, roared in frustration.

“Can’t we have a proper brawl in the Demon Realm?!”

The Human Realm’s restrictions are cramping our style! Can’t even have a decent fight. What’s the point of all this?

Commander Belitan of the 6th Corps calmly swung his axe again, answering Trober’s outburst.

“There’s no guarantee we won’t be fighting all the way back to the Demon Realm, even with the ceasefire. And if we fought there, we’d turn the Demon Realm into a wasteland.”

Because the Demon Realm has no such restrictions.

To minimize damage, isn’t it better to trash the Human Realm, which is someone else’s territory? The Human Realm will be ours soon anyway, and these restrictions mean we can’t really wreck it too badly.

“But more importantly…”

Belitan gestured with the tip of his axe towards Commander Lirinel of the 11th Corps, who was locked in battle with the Commander of the 2nd Corps.

“This magic freak can’t unleash her full power in this environment. The Human Realm is actually better for us.”

“That’s what I’m saying! It’s a bigger problem!”

Sure, Belitan benefits since she’s the enemy, but the 11th Corps Commander is our ally! If she can’t fight at full strength, it’s obviously a disadvantage for us!

Trober pressed hard on his bleeding side to stanch the flow, dodging the axe, and grit his teeth in frustration.

“Damn this Human Realm!!”

Damn Human Realm… Human Realm… Humans…

A booming voice echoed across the noisy battlefield.

What a set of lungs. Commander Idelia of the 4th Corps glanced towards the source of the booming voice, finishing off the last remnants of the routed 10th Corps as she thought to herself.

‘Still, Lirinel… her magic power seems to be seriously depleted.’

Considering all the magic she’s been throwing around in this fight, and teleporting the Lofty Knights all this way, it’d be weird if she *wasn’t* running low.

Her six eyes darted around, picking out fleeing members of the 10th Legion. With each flick of her fan, projectiles shot out, piercing their vital spots.

One of her eyes focused on Lirinel.

‘…Yep. It’s definitely dropped—I can feel it now.’

Idelia’s six eyes were perfect for multitasking. She could fight her own battles while keeping tabs on the overall battlefield situation.

Now that she’d figured out their biggest threat was weakened, her gaze shifted to the Commander of the 12th Corps, locked in combat with the Commander of the 5th Corps.

‘Myers looks like he’s almost out of magic too.’

He’s barely stronger than the 9th Corps Commander at this point.

His magic wasn’t much to begin with, but it feels like he blew it all on that attack against the Lofty Knights. At this point, he probably can’t even cast a decent spell… Oh.

‘That’s it.’

The 12th Corps Commander’s heart was pierced by the 5th Corps Commander’s hand. Idelia turned her back on the now-routed 10th Corps and started walking towards the 1st Corps front lines to reinforce her legion members, muttering under her breath.

“Things are going smoother than I expected.”

Since almost every legion focused their attacks on the 1st Corps first, their numbers have thinned out considerably. A little nudge from me, and they’ll be finished.

Her steps felt light.

Meanwhile, Commander Derniban of the 5th Corps withdrew his hand from his enemy’s heart and then gripped the spear shaft piercing his own shoulder. The spear came out with a sickening sound.

The pain was intense, but he barely registered it. He had bigger problems, like the gaping wound across his chest that was still gushing blood. What was a little hole in his shoulder compared to that?

As befitting legion commanders, their fight was intense.

Derniban, with his body built for close combat, primarily used ranged weapons. This meant he was deadly at any distance, a nightmare for any opponent.

He’d nimbly dart back to draw his bow, then suddenly lunge forward, slashing with razor-sharp claws. Myers matched him blow for blow, using his spear shaft to flick stones and discarded weapons, waiting for Derniban to close in before switching to a spear thrust.

Since their goal was mutual annihilation, they resorted to every trick in the book, from kicking up dirt to blind each other to using nearby enemy legion members as human shields.

After a long, grueling stalemate, the fight ended in a flash.

He’d noticed his hands were getting strangely cut up—it must have been part of Derniban’s plan. Otherwise, there’s no way he could have countered so perfectly, like he was waiting for it. It happened the moment Myers thrust his spear into Derniban’s shoulder.

*Thunk.*

[…Ah.]

He’d finally landed a solid hit, but the spear wouldn’t budge. Realizing the shaft was slippery with blood from his own hand, Myers made a snap decision: ditch the spear and back off.

He’d made the calculations and reacted in less than a second, but it was already too late.

*Snatch.*

A hand shot up the spear shaft and clamped onto his wrist. Razor-sharp claws dug into his flesh, preventing escape, and in the next instant, another hand plunged into his heart. It was all over in a heartbeat.

[*Cough.*]

Blood gurgled up.

Staring at the arm that had just impaled him, reality seemed to blur. Perhaps it was the overwhelming futility of it all, more than the pain itself.

…A hollow laugh escaped him.

[No wonder Dahar’s gonna be pissed….]

He was a lousy commander who couldn’t even avenge his adjutant properly. Dahar had every right to be furious.

Derniban lifted his head at the unintelligible murmur. Their eyes met—Derniban’s calm even in death, Myers’ unwavering even as he killed.

[…But,]

Derniban spoke.

[Weren’t you supposed to drop the honorifics?]

[…My adjutant told me to.]

He’d been nagging about it for ages.

He always nagged me to drop the honorifics—said Myers was just as good as any other legion commander, and my politeness just showed a lack of confidence. When I pointed out that other legion commanders used honorifics, he’d scoffed, saying they weren’t using them out of politeness, but because they were cowards.

[I don’t know why you follow Deon Hart… but you’ll probably regret it.]

[…….]

[No. You *will* regret it, mark my words.]

[…Is that a curse?]

[No. This is a promise.]

Because neither Deon Hart nor the Demon King are to be trusted.

[Then you’re wrong.]

[……?]

His narrowed eyes, filled with doubt, widened suddenly, as if he’d just understood something in Derniban’s gaze.

A trembling voice escaped him, laced with disbelief.

[You… no way…]

Knowing full well…

Derniban didn’t answer, just yanked his hand free. Blood spurted from the wound, and his body went limp, collapsing to the ground.