For a heartbeat, the soldiers froze.
Whispers spread through the blood-soaked courtyard.
"He's alone…"
"Just one man."
"Rumors are just rumors."
"If we rush him—"
Hope is a dangerous thing.
With a collective scream, they charged.
Steel clashed.
A spear stabbed toward Gris's throat—he twisted, the tip scraping against the mask.
He answered with a horizontal slash.
Three heads flew.
Another soldier tackled him from behind, locking arms around his torso. Gris staggered—just for a second.
Then he drove his elbow backward.
Crack.
The man's face collapsed inward.
Gris turned, sword plunging into a stomach. He ripped it upward, spilling organs onto the sand, steam rising as the body collapsed screaming.
A shield slammed into his side, knocking him to one knee.
The crowd gasped.
Then Gris rose.
He grabbed the shield's edge, yanked the soldier close, and bit down through his throat with the jagged teeth of the mask, tearing flesh as he drove the blade upward.
Adam joined him, axes hacking—but even he stumbled when three men rushed him at once. A sword cut deep into his thigh. He screamed in fury, grabbed one attacker, and used the man as a shield while the others hacked uselessly into their own comrade.
Ed Grizzly bled heavily now, limping slightly, but still unstoppable. A spear pierced his abdomen. He roared, seized the soldier, and crushed him against his chest until ribs punctured lungs.
Limbs flew. Bones cracked. Blood painted the ground.
There was no technique to admire.
This was only execution.
"Berserker," the demon called calmly.
From the dust, Adam laughed.
They moved inside together.
Outside, Ed Grizzly crushed skulls like ripe fruit, his mace caving helmets inward, turning men into broken heaps with each swing.
Inside the stronghold, narrow corridors swallowed screams.
Two soldiers ran blindly through the dark, boots slipping on blood.
"To hell with this!" one cried. "I'm getting out—"
An axe spun through the air.
It split his skull clean open.
The second soldier froze, shaking, eyes wide.
From the shadows ahead, two demon masks emerged—one grinning red with hunger, the other black, fanged, and silent.
The scream never came.
More soldiers rushed in.
None came out.
Axes chopped. Swords cleaved. Blood climbed the walls. Bodies stacked until the corridor floor turned slick, shining red beneath torchlight.
The stronghold echoed with dying men.
King Marsh Brandston was no longer roaring.
He was panicking.
"This way!" he shouted, dragging a handful of guards down a side passage. "Protect me!"
They collapsed one by one.
Some fell clutching their throats, poison needles barely visible at their necks. Others turned—only to have their throats opened silently, blood pouring out in wet gurgles.
A presence moved like wind.
The Shadow.
Mira Noct.
No sound. No hesitation.
She wore a plain black mask—smooth, featureless, without visible eyeholes. She did not look at her victims.
She felt them die.
The king burst through a door—
—and ran straight into the demon.
Marsh screamed and threw a punch.
It landed.
The demon didn't move.
Gris grabbed Marsh by the head and smashed his face into the stone wall.
Once.
Twice.
Teeth scattered like dice.
A punch followed—so hard it snapped Marsh's head sideways, blood and spit spraying from his mouth.
Gris seized the king's arm, slammed it into the doorframe, and bent it backward.
The bone punched through skin at the elbow.
Marsh howled.
"P-Please—!"
Gris let go.
Instead, he turned to a chained war dog nearby.
The dog whimpered.
Gris knelt.
He gently petted its head.
Then he took the leash, walked back, looped it around Marsh Brandston's neck, and pulled.
The king was dragged screaming across stone—over bodies, through blood and broken weapons. His skin tore. His breath choked.
Outside, Marsh stared in horror.
"My… my whole battalion…"
Nine hundred ninety-eight soldiers lay dead.
The stronghold was no longer a fortress.
It was a cemetery that still breathed.
The battle ended at 4:13 a.m.
By 6:16 a.m., they reached Luzia.
The palace courtyard stirred with noise.
Julies—pale and weak—stepped onto the balcony.
Below him lay Marsh Brandston.
Barely human.
His face was swollen beyond recognition, lips split, teeth missing. His body was scraped raw, blood-caked and shaking uncontrollably. One arm hung at an impossible angle, bone exposed, fingers twitching uselessly.
Gris looked up.
"What do you want, Julies?"
Julies stared for a long moment.
Then he raised his thumb—
—and turned it down.
"I want him beheaded."
The Vice Commander rushed forward. "Julies—stop! If he dies, Lu will crown that madman. We don't know what he'll do!"
Julies didn't look away.
"I have nothing to worry about," he said quietly.
Ed Grizzly lifted Marsh's body and pinned it against the fountain's edge.
The water ran red.
Gris unsheathed his sword.
"I have my Staunch with me."
The blade fell.
A wet, final sound echoed through the courtyard.
The whining stopped.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then the silence broke.
Gasps rippled outward like a wave.
Soldiers lining the courtyard stiffened, some stepping back unconsciously. Servants froze mid-step, hands over their mouths. Nobles gathered at a distance stared wide-eyed, unable to look away—yet unable to move.
Some turned and retched.
Others dropped to their knees.
Whispers spread in trembling voices.
"He really did it…"
"The King of Lu…"
"Vanward has crossed the line…"
Blood seeped into the marble grooves of the courtyard fountain, mixing with water until it ran dark red. Ed released the body, and it slumped lifelessly—headless—before the eyes of hundreds.
Gris stood still, sword lowered, unmoving.
Above them, Julies remained on the balcony, the rising sun casting golden light behind him. His silhouette stood firm against the dawn.
The crowd looked up at him.
Some with fear.
Some with awe.
Some with absolute terror.
The sun climbed higher, bathing Luzia in warm light—revealing a city that had just witnessed the birth of something unstoppable.
The demon stood in that magnificent light, covered in blood.
Remembering the promise he had made—
If Julies wants, I would bring the whole world to him.
And everyone watching knew.
The war had begun.