It was a fight that everyone watched without even blinking—Red Cloak Order knights, and even the regular soldiers.
Even if they couldn't catch every single movement, they could see the flashes of light, the lightning striking, and things being torn apart and bursting.
Most of the people watching had sweaty palms and dry mouths. Their lives—everyone still here—were riding on the outcome of this. If they said they weren't tense, they'd be lying.
Of course, it wasn't only because their lives were on the line.
'Do we win?'
They keep coming back to life no matter how many times we kill them.
'Still, Sir Cypress is here.'
Anyone watching could have had their heart shaken. The demon that had appeared behind the High Pontiff aimed for that.
It breaks the minds of the ones watching, brainwashes them, and eats into their bodies. Then it hits them from behind. Will is will—if the heart collapses, a knight's sword goes dull. It was the demon's winning tactic, and the way of the world.
—I'm going to chew and swallow all of you.
The demon whispered into the ears of dozens of soldiers. The whisper sounded like it was right at their ears, and the moment they heard it, the hairs on their bodies stood up and their spines went cold.
"Ah, fuck."
Several soldiers startled and whipped their bodies around. Some punched at empty air or thrust spears, and someone else slapped their own ear. Of course, nothing got caught by the gesture and nothing could be seen—only the demon's voice continued.
The demon poured poison into everyone's hearts with nothing but sound.
—Pick a side, even now.
The temptation was clear and direct. The demon spelled out exactly what they needed to do.
—Turn around.
—Your place is here.
—I'll give you gold and silver, treasures you'll never have in your whole life.
—I'll grant you everything you want.
—In my embrace, you'll dream comfortable dreams.
It granted delusions with nothing but a voice. Most of the soldiers pictured soft beds and greasy food and the like.
The demon couldn't work its tricks on everyone. The ones it targeted were those outside the holy domain Audin and Teresa had made. All of them heard the demon's whisper, and they suffered under its temptation.
As dozens of lines came one after another, one soldier bowed his head low and muttered.
What he mumbled didn't convey meaning all at once. He mumbled again, then lifted his head and delivered his intent in a clear tone.
"Fuck off. Seriously."
Not many soldiers looked around in shock. More of them clenched their teeth and only their eyes changed in the face of the demon's temptation.
They were the ones who guarded the Demon-lands. Seasoned veterans.
—How dare you?
At the soldier's words, the demon showed anger. It was a voice that could make you piss yourself just from hearing it.
"I said fuck off."
The soldier answered boldly and picked at his ear. The hand digging at his ear trembled. Few people could completely overcome the fear a demon gave.
Still, courage comes from knowing and acting. The soldier showed courage, not reckless bravado.
"Yeah. Fuck off already."
"It's in the way."
Not just one soldier—none of them were reached by the demon's words now. Instead, every soldier kept their eyes on the ones fighting up ahead.
"It's in the way, you crippled piece of shit."
The ones who fought on the southern front had filthy mouths. They didn't hold back curses even toward a demon. Honestly, when they dealt with monsters or demons that could understand words, they poured out curses even harder.
All of it was a byproduct of courage.
The demon had looked down on them.
They stood here by their own will. Not by coercion, pressure, or oppression.
If someone asked them why they were in the army, they only had one thing to say.
"Because there's someone I have to protect."
One of the soldiers muttered, putting all of that meaning into it.
"For the ones standing behind us."
Knights and soldiers had the same mindset.
Crang gave a snort of laughter at the demon's whisper. What a pathetic thing to do.
"So this is what demons are, running around like this. I offer my deepest respect to a guy who's proud to show everyone he's an idiot. Ah, was that too hard? My consideration was lacking. Fine, I'll say it easier. Be honest. Even among demons, you get treated like a crippled bastard, don't you?"
It was a biting tongue. Crang continued right after.
"Shut up and fuck off."
The demon, the Parasite Horse of Heat, was a part and a whole. Splitting its body, parasitizing, and dominating the host was its authority.
So the demon's anger now was real. The humiliation delivered through a part reached the main body as well.
—I'll make you thrash in pain your whole life, unable to die or live.
The demon whispered again. This one was only for Crang.
"Yeah. I'm definitely going to kill you too. Wanna promise with our pinkies? Youuu stu-piiid iii-di-ooot."
Of course, a demon's rage is different from a mortal's. Just because it was angry didn't mean it started spitting curses or rushing into reckless action.
The Parasite Horse of Heat acknowledged that its attempt had failed. It only swore to itself that it would absolutely keep the words it had forged with its own will.
'Alright, Enki. If you lose now, I'm going to end up unable to die or live for the rest of my life.'
Crang stood there with his arms folded, not moving at all. He could have a "chat" with a demon a hundred times over. If it meant he could win.
'Win.'
So all he could do was desperately hope.
***
Enkrid found it strange, nothing more, that the High Pontiff kept moving his mouth. Why was he so careless every time they fought?
It was the moment his thinking accelerated and he caught the High Pontiff's weakness.
'He doesn't have much combat experience.'
There was more than enough of a gap in that experience to dig into. That was why.
The moment the High Pontiff said, "Carry it out," Enkrid was already behind him.
That his movement resembled Jaxon's was probably the fault of the one who taught him.
Through the demon's muttering about gifts and whatever, Dawn dropped—thunk—down behind the High Pontiff's back.
Kwa-ga-gak!
'Hard.'
Dawn scraped the High Pontiff's back. But it didn't cut. He wore a thin armor on his body, and its toughness was beyond expectation.
'And that was a sword strike with Will in it.'
He was fighting with accelerated thought. The High Pontiff was someone capable of the same kind of trick.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
Steel fragments bounced off the ground and charged like snakes. Enkrid slashed Dawn diagonally downward and struck the High Pontiff's weapon, then used that force to fling his body to the side—and in that opening, Cypress's sword stabbed into the High Pontiff's throat.
Thk!
The difference in experience showed clearly. The fight looked like it ended in an instant. It felt empty on the surface, but in reality it was the result of meticulous calculation.
Enkrid formed a plan in the middle of fighting, and carried it out.
'I'm the bait.'
His attack was for checking the enemy's defense and drawing the eyes. In the meantime, the real attack was Cypress.
There was no agreement and no promise, but the moment one side stepped out first and showed intent, the rest only needed to follow.
If Cypress hadn't followed, they could have used the next move.
'Easier than Balrog.'
Enkrid thought that, and the moment Cypress drove resolve in, Cypress felt things had gone sideways.
Bang!
With a blade embedded in his throat, the High Pontiff used the back of his hand as a weapon and threw a punch from inside to outside—aimed at Cypress's abdomen. Cypress drew in his good leg. His foot caught the High Pontiff's fist.
Crash! Krrrk!
Noise mixed together and dust rose. Cypress flew to one side, then barely regained balance and stopped.
He drove resolve into the ground as a support, leaving a long gash carved into the earth.
"Blegh."
He spat blood. Enkrid registered their exchange. Even with his view blocked, for a knight, grasping the situation without seeing wasn't hard.
'He didn't die.'
He doesn't die even with his throat pierced? Does he have an immortal body?
Enkrid frowned and focused. Through the dust, he could see the flesh at the back of the High Pontiff's neck tangling, twisting, and clumping together.
—Where do you think you're going.
It was the demon's trick.
"That was close."
The High Pontiff was calm. Like he wouldn't have had any regrets even if he had died.
"This is something."
Cypress, who had coughed blood, muttered as he set one knee to the ground and straightened his waist. He looked like he was barely holding on.
"This won't do."
The High Pontiff spoke and stretched both hands out.
"Huh?"
"Huhhh?"
In time with that gesture, some of the ones watching behind were pulled forward. They literally flew through the air and dropped in front of the High Pontiff.
Then they were ground up like they'd been caught between maces the size of a human body. It also looked like lumps caught between millstones.
Kwa-ddeu-deuk.
Bones, flesh, and blood were crushed together and clumped.
"Kyaaaak!"
"Aaaah!"
Instruments filled the battlefield and poured out harmony. An orchestra filled with screams.
The number of people that flew overhead was over a hundred. Heat rose from their bodies, and they twisted, were crushed, and rolled on the ground.
That just like that became another weapon for the High Pontiff.
In one hand, a steel-fragment whip. In the other, a flesh-fragment whip.
A weapon stained dark red where blood and flesh had clumped together. At the same time, some of that flesh wrapped around the High Pontiff's body and became armor.
A mass of bone and flesh, covering his whole body except his face, rippled and gave off a bizarre wave.
Aaaah—.
It was a sight that would make even a fairly bold person shudder with goosebumps just from looking.
Even seeing something like this, Rihinstetten's army didn't run. That was what Enkrid and Cypress noticed first too. They still stood behind the High Pontiff, unable to take their eyes off him.
"You're being vicious. Tyrant of the south."
Cypress said. The fear the High Pontiff had made took root in all of them. No one could disobey the High Pontiff's words.
Even if the comrade who had been talking with you just a moment ago became part of the High Pontiff's weapon, they stayed silent.
The High Pontiff gripped the flesh-fragment whip and stretched his left hand forward. The glove dyed dark red stood out. It was part of the armor made from his own soldiers.
"Carry it out."
The High Pontiff said.
No matter how many times you kill them, they rise again. From far away, Enkrid heard Rem's auditory hallucination.
"Hey, aren't you gonna hurry up and finish this?"
Even as this happened, Enkrid kept aiming for the High Pontiff's gaps, but this time he couldn't.
While he was making the flesh-fragment whip, the High Pontiff watched Enkrid and Cypress's movements. The demon did too.
—You'll pay the price for refusing my offer.
Somehow, that bastard looked like he was just a guy who talked too much.
'Feels like Kraiss's kind of demon.'
It couldn't happen, but if Kraiss became a demon, it would look exactly like that. A demon that played tricks from front and back, all mouth, running wild.
'But it's dumber than Kraiss.'
Even as he loosely sorted out his thoughts, Enkrid's eyes swept over the High Pontiff's whole body, and thoughts kept chaining in his head.
If there was such a thing as intelligence used only for battle, Enkrid was an outstanding talent in that part.
'Agonize. Find a way, somehow.'
While the High Pontiff made the flesh-fragment whip and Cypress got back up, Enkrid thought. He accelerated thought and searched for the road to victory.
"There are parts where calling you a genius wouldn't be a waste."
He'd heard that kind of praise. It was something Luagarne had said.
Even before the troublemaker platoon, Enkrid survived to the end with truly miserable skill. One reason was because he had something different.
That something was always knowing instinctively where to fight and how to fight.
It was just that his body didn't follow, so he couldn't carry it out properly—but after he became a knight, it was different. He had limbs that moved when he wanted, and Will that didn't dry up and overflowed.
'One hit.'
He had to take the neck in a single stroke. If the conclusion was reached, what did he need?
'Change in nature.'
A sword strike that knocks it away at a level the enemy can't keep up with. Even theory surfaced, but now wasn't the time to recite it.
'Fast and heavy.'
He tuned the change in the Will flowing through his body to match that. He reassembled it into the optimal shape to reach the conclusion.
Had Cypress told him to listen to what his body was saying?
He replayed that advice too. Lightning sparked in his head. Thought linked, and he grabbed the edge of inspiration and sprinted.
'A sword that's fast and heavy.'
Will changes. It can change. If Uske is Will that doesn't run dry, then what points to a different stage just by the fact of having it is Indules.
'Will's change.'
Enkrid felt the Will swirling through his body and breathed will into it.
'Change.'
The way I want.
Will was both the catalyst that led Will, and everything.
As Enkrid accelerated the change inside his body like that—
"I swear. Until I kill you, my body is not mine, and my will is not mine either."
In that time, Cypress opened his mouth. He was a knight of resolve. The process just like this existed as the basis of his epithet—somehow doing it, anything.
Each time he fought while burning his lifespan, he staked everything. For example, Enkrid's Will was Uske, but Cypress wasn't. He increased his total amount of Will through endless oaths.
What did his action now mean?
That Cypress lives the present through repeated oaths and vows.
"I should have expressed my thanks to Sir Audin."
Thanks to Audin's work, Cypress had stored up even a little stamina. Without him, he wouldn't have even made it this far.
Audin had guarded the front-line unit so Cypress could conserve strength. If he hadn't awakened the holy relics and blocked the disease, there would have been no rest, running around killing the nearby monsters and coming back.
Cypress continued.
"Even if I live one day, I live the way I want. Sir Enkrid."
A faint light flowed in his resolve. The light flowing from the sword was everything he had.
Enkrid silently watched his back. A shadow lay over his back. It looked truly big and broad. In the past, it would have been a figure he could only watch from the sidelines.
"Fast and heavy."
It was a mutter he spat out while focusing and focusing again. His will flared and spoke for his desire. Will roiled and whipped madly through his body.
The Will that had been swirling ran up both arms and settled on the sword. Power born from will took form and coated itself over the blade.
"Fast and heavy."
Enkrid repeated it once more. He no longer even held Cypress in his sight. The only thing in his eyes was the High Pontiff, wearing armor made of flesh.
—Where do you think you're going.
The demon whispered, but no one, including the High Pontiff, answered.
The High Pontiff, recognizing his earlier mistake, shut his mouth and focused. He too accelerated thought and staked everything on this clash.
Whoosh.
The flesh-fragment whip moved as if alive, whipping around the air all by itself.
'Subjugation.'
The High Pontiff reduced the nature of the Will he possessed to one thing. He had lived over a hundred years with a habit of putting everything he touched into his own hands and feet.
His words were coercion and oppression, and the weapon he held was a symbol of subjugation.
If he laid a hand on something, it all became his. If he opened his mouth, everyone had to kneel beneath his feet.
'Everything I touch is mine.'
The name of his engraved weapon was also "Subjugation."
Cypress detonated his oaths and crossed his limit. This was probably the last kind of feat he'd do in his life.
With the High Pontiff holding his ground, the two charged and collided. The process of striking, tearing, dodging, and cutting continued.
In the end, Enkrid's Dawn cut the High Pontiff's flesh-fragment whip and severed his left arm, and Cypress and Enkrid's swords pierced the demon's form at the same time and took the High Pontiff's head.