170. Einherjar
*
Defeating one Great Demon doesn’t magically wipe away all the threats in the north. Fernandez feigned calmness, grinding his teeth as he walked.
He looked like he could collapse at any moment. The reckless use of magic, the activation of divine power, the contamination and lingering effects of the demon, days of sleep deprivation, and intense battles. It was almost a miracle he hadn’t passed out yet.
But there was no time. Time was never on his side, and that hadn’t changed even after his return. Every hour he spent resting would inevitably lead to the deaths of sixty people.
“My lord. Then I…”
“Gather your subordinates.”
Fernandez pressed his tired eyes and spoke indifferently. Orion bowed his head without a word. Of course, he had to. His subordinates were Sadarkelisa’s minions, and the moment they realized he had betrayed them, they would stab him in the back.
“After that, I will come to see you, my lord.”
“Do so.”
Orion slowly stepped back and headed toward his workshop, where the sacrifices, his attendants, and his disciples were. Fernandez glanced at him briefly and then headed toward the port.
‘I’m going to die.’
He stumbled for a moment, his legs giving way. It wasn’t just fatigue. Cold sweat poured down his forehead and body like a waterfall. Click, click, click. His teeth chattered, and he struggled not to bite his tongue.
This place wasn’t safe. It wasn’t a place to rest and soothe his pain.
“Ugh… ugh.”
A short breath escaped his lips. His mind momentarily drifted. He was walking almost in a daze. His left arm trembled. Diemonica’s divine power was slowly repairing his body, reconnecting his nerves. It was a miracle, but it wasn’t a welcome moment.
The excruciating pain almost made him tear off his entire left arm. The trauma from forcibly shoving magic circuits into his body, the contamination from circulating hellish magic, and the spiritual and physical agony as the contamination was washed away by divine power.
“Friend. Are you alright?”
Fernandez raised his bloodshot eyes and looked at the wall. Loft was leaning against it, looking down at him.
“Where… huh. Have you been?”
“Circumstances dictate that I can’t show myself to the demons. Haha.”
Loft shrugged and lightly jumped up, approaching him. Fernandez glared at him with half-closed eyes, his gaze flickering. Loft let out a thin whistle.
“That was a very satisfying battle, friend. Your potential is becoming more and more terrifying.”
“People who fear me… huh. Were usually my enemies.”
“Well, are there any eternal allies in this world, friend?”
“None.”
Fernandez slowly placed his hand on the sword hilt as he looked at Loft. Seeing this, Loft clapped.
“Impressive. Truly impressive. Even in this state, you’re preparing for battle? I chose well.”
“What do you want to say?”
“This time, I think you’re heading in the wrong direction, friend.”
Loft waved his bony finger in the air. Blue spheres gathered and swirled around it.
“Do you know how many souls that pig has devoured? Most of them were the warriors of the great Einherjar.”
“I don’t care.”
“Haha. Listen. You’ll care.”
Loft pulled out a chair from somewhere and sat in front of Fernandez. Fernandez stood straight, planting his greatsword on the ground, and looked at him. His head throbbed from the pain, and his soul cried out.
“One day, Botan gathered our brothers and said he had read the future among the stars. That one-eyed fool declared that we should gather the souls of great warriors to prepare for the end.”
Loft hummed in a distant tone. As he gestured, a blue sphere burst, revealing the image of a one-eyed warrior holding a spear. An old man with a crow on his shoulder.
“The end… Ragnarok. The serpent devours the world, the wolf bites the moon, the world burns, is covered in ice, and the ocean swallows the land… Our brothers resolved to prepare for the end of the world. We incited discord among each clan, forever. Forever turning our spears and blades against each other.”
The image of countless warriors entangled in battle floated in the air. Occasionally, when warriors stopped fighting and reached out to each other, ‘gods’ appeared to punish them.
Mischievous words flashed in the air. ‘Cowards will fall into the abyss.’ ‘Only the greatest warriors will ascend to heaven and live forever.’
“Yes. We’re bastards. This continent could have been more peaceful. More people could have lived. But war is a forge, friend. How many heroes have been tempered in it?”
Winged women descended, lifting the fallen warriors from the battlefield and ascending to the sky. Loft chuckled as he watched.
“We called those gathered heroes ‘Einherjar.’ Weapons forged solely to kill demons, to face the end. If the wars on earth were the forge, the Einherjar were the armory. At least until a thousand years ago.”
Strong warriors swung their weapons at each other on the vast prairie. In that eternal prison where no one was hurt, a giant watched over them. The one-eyed god Botan…
A shadow approached from behind him.
“Ah, my foolish brother. Botan, Botan… This fool. The moment he fell, the Einherjar were finished. The warriors became sacrifices to the demons, devoured, and we lost all the pieces to prepare for the coming end. And all that remained was…”
The warriors burned, torn apart, and perished. Loft’s eyes wavered. It was a gaze that felt like both pain and mockery. He stared blankly at the illusion floating in the air for a moment, then spoke in a dry voice.
“Only the devastation of the material world we created.”
The north, which had repeated wars since ancient times with the sole purpose of preventing the end, was now facing the coming winter, having lost most of its driving force.
Even if they didn’t perish immediately, the destruction looming in their future was inevitable. Almost all the clans hated each other, and under the guise of ‘tradition,’ men longed to die on the battlefield.
It was nothing but madness. Fernandez thought of the burning map of the north. The north, which had lost its cause due to the betrayal of the supreme god, was nothing more than a victim consumed by madness.
“Stop it.”
“The end?”
“Our mistakes.”
Loft turned his gaze to Fernandez. Fernandez maintained his composure despite the terrible pain radiating from his left arm.
“These poor souls… Our children…”
More spheres gathered as Loft gestured. The souls that Ksharlax had devoured and spilled upon his death floated in the air. Loft touched each of the spheres gathering in his hand.
“Help these young ones.”
“We have something more important than duty.”
“Ah, a deal. Fine. But look, what I can give you isn’t particularly useful to you… How about a favor?”
“A favor?”
“Whether you want it or not…”
Whether or not. I’ll stop Sadarkelisa. And that aligns with my goal. That’s not a fair deal, is it? Don’t you think so, friend?”
Loft chuckled and clapped his hands. The wind swept through the hall, tousling Loft’s spiky hair.
“Your friends, whom you’re so worried about, will be fine.”
“What have you done?”
“I’ve sped up the steps of our new friends a bit. They’ll arrive before it’s too late.”
Loft giggled.
“So, you don’t need to return to them. I’ve used a bit of the power left from devouring souls. Now, walk in another direction. Further north. Go deeper.”
“Where are you telling me to go?”
“To the hall of the Einherjar. The entrance to Valhalla.”
First, let’s stop by the quarry. Loft drew a map in the air and poked one corner.
*
Whoosh, thick cigarette smoke scattered in the wind. Kirhas was watching the battlefield from a high hill. A few remaining mounted warriors of Hazart Palan lined up behind her.
The enemies were charging, and the battlefield was barely holding the frontline. Her sharp eyes moved fiercely. Four demons. Considering the rest of the situation, the battlefield was evenly matched.
“Not as bad as I thought.”
The number of Hazart Palan’s warriors was clearly lacking. The legion brought by the enemy was twice the size of Hazart Palan’s warriors, but the warriors, with the ocean at their backs, were fighting desperately.
There was no chance of surrender or escape. The warriors gritted their teeth, roared, and threw themselves into the battlefield, covered in blood, only to die in the chaos.
-Thud.
Her horse snorted. Kirhas stroked its mane. Behind her, the mood was tense. The scouts pulled out with her were itching to charge, watching their brothers die.
“Damn it, I can’t wait any longer! Woman!”
A warrior stepped forward, leading his horse. At that moment, Kirhas’s left hand moved like lightning.
-Swish…
The warrior couldn’t move forward. Cold steel touched just below his throat. The chilling sensation made him shiver. Though she didn’t speak a word, her sheer presence commanded them.
“Not yet.”
The warriors didn’t understand the common language of the continent, but they could read the meaning in her actions and gaze. She tilted her head slightly, meeting their blazing eyes.
“Not yet. When the demons fully penetrate the frontline, and their mage completes the spell. That’s when we strike, at the most disadvantageous moment.”
Kirhas’s eyes could read the battlefield. It was her innate sense. She spun her sword and sheathed it. With steel-cold eyes, she watched the battlefield.
A demon finally reached the frontline. It roared wildly, cutting down the tribal warriors and rampaging. At that moment, a golden-haired figure charged toward the demon.
“Abel…”
Kirhas bit her lip slightly and watched her. Abel alone confronted the demon, even overwhelming it. Such incredible strength. She was the pillar holding the crumbling frontline together.
So, the frontline wouldn’t completely collapse. Whenever she appeared at the core of the faltering frontline, the situation miraculously stabilized. So, they had to trust her and wait.
‘Thirty minutes.’
The attrition rate would decrease arithmetically. As soldiers fell one by one, the gap would only highlight the numerical disadvantage against the enemy. So, thirty minutes. Kirhas’s intuition judged that was the maximum time she and the tribal warriors could hold.
-Boom…
Then, a red flash erupted from the rear of the battlefield. A man with two demons began emitting red light, striking the ground with his staff. The spell had begun. Kirhas’s eyes gleamed.
Now.
“Let’s go. Follow me closely. If we pierce the enemy lines, we’ll prevail.”
Kirhas spurred her horse down the hill. The warriors, startled by her sudden charge, soon roared and followed her.
A hammer and anvil aren’t complete just by delivering a shock to the enemy’s rear. The time the anvil holds the frontline, the time the shock destroys the enemy’s rear, the time the enemy reacts to the assault, and the time their counterattack forces emerge—all these timings must align perfectly for this high-level maneuver tactic to succeed.
In a situation where the command couldn’t establish a plan in advance or adequately train the troops, this tactic relied solely on Kirhas’s personal judgment. It was a dangerous acrobatic feat with a disconnected frontline and cavalry who couldn’t communicate.
Even the cavalry was severely lacking in numbers. To deliver maximum impact to the enemy’s rear, they had to strike diagonally and retreat swiftly.
If they carelessly tried to penetrate the enemy lines and got caught in their formation, they’d be overwhelmed by the numerical disadvantage and perish in the heart of the enemy.
So, Kirhas had to lead the charge. The Great Wilderness’s finest field commander. From a trot to a gallop, and then to a full charge. Kirhas’s horse picked up speed. The enemy began to turn at the sound.
-Thud thud thud!!
Under normal circumstances, such a charge would be impossible. Horses are timid animals, afraid of sharp weapons and humans. But Kirhas’s control, her presence, gave the horses courage.
Kirhas skillfully held the reins with one hand and drew her sword with the other. In the blur of speed, she swung her sword with calm precision.
-Slice.
The horse’s speed and Kirhas’s movement were perfectly timed. A clean strike. A warrior’s head soared into the air, spraying blood as it rolled to the ground.
“Charge!!”
The warriors following her poured into the enemy’s rear. For infantry, a cavalry charge is a disaster in itself. The enemy was trampled under hooves, limbs crushed and torn apart.
“Don’t stop!!”
Kirhas shouted fiercely as she thinly sliced through the enemy lines. Enemies blocking her path were split in half, spraying blood. Kirhas slaughtered her way forward.
The enemy’s rear, the mage, and two demons. The other demons were engaged on the frontline and couldn’t return to support the mage. This was the perfect moment she had been waiting for.
Then, the mage’s staff flashed red again—
“Ugh… huh?”
Her body was flying. Kirhas curled her legs, trying to steady her flickering vision. Time seemed to slow. She saw the horse she had been riding shattered and fallen.
Was it the demon’s attack? Or magic? Kirhas was confused. She couldn’t stop here, if she fell now… Abel would fall too… and Your Excellency would be disappointed.
-Boom!
“Ugh!”
Time flowed again. Kirhas tumbled to the ground, barely regaining her posture amidst the shock. Men with weapons approached her, their eyes gleaming with malice.
‘The warriors…?’
The cavalry who charged with her…? She quickly scanned her surroundings. The charge itself was perfect, but the cavalry’s training was lacking. Most of them were buried in the enemy formation, dying.
‘It’s a failure…’
Kirhas clenched her sword hilt, gritting her teeth. There were too many enemies.
*
“Isn’t that our sister, brother?”
On the western side of the battlefield, in the forest. Fabiano spoke as if spitting out the words. Though the distance was considerable, Demonica’s vision could distinguish facial features even at this range.
“Hmm… it is.”
-Rustle.
Bushy men emerged from the thicket. Their massive frames were covered in dirt, dust, and leaves, looking shabby. The largest man stroked his chin as he watched the battlefield.
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