"This is…truly something," Geld let out a deep, incredulous laugh.
He had known Carrera was powerful. Everyone did. But what he had just witnessed went beyond expectation, beyond reason. It was annihilation on a scale that made strategy itself feel meaningless.
"I never imagined she could erase that many enemies with a single strike," Geld said, shaking his head. "At this rate, we'll never even get a chance to play our part."
He complained—but there was no bitterness in his voice.
Because the battle was not over yet.
Despite the devastation raining down from the sky, more than twenty thousand Imperial soldiers had survived. Their eyes were hollow, filled with raw terror, and yet they charged forward all the same—driven by desperation, instinct, and the certainty that standing still meant death.
They surged toward Geld's line like wounded beasts.
The numbers disadvantage was gone, but this was the moment when mistakes killed armies.
Geld knew that better than anyone.
"These men have nothing left," he thought calmly. "Which makes them dangerous."
Yet his expression did not change.
Perhaps it was the absolute composure of their commander that steadied them—but every soldier under Geld's command stood firm, silent, focused. No fear. No hesitation.
"Shields up!"
The order rang out, heavy and final.
The Second Corps moved as one.
In the next instant, an unbreakable wall was formed—layered shields locking together with mechanical precision. The Imperial charge slammed into it with thunderous force.
And stopped.
Not a single step back.
The impact shook the ground, yet Geld's formation did not bend. Instead, like a living fortress, they absorbed the force and pushed forward, grinding the enemy's momentum to dust.
The wall never collapsed.
And then—
"Charge! Slaughter every enemy of King Atem!"
The roar came from the right flank.
Shion had moved.
Her personal guard—those trained under her
brutal hand—answered instantly. Ten thousand majin surged forward, each acting independently yet in perfect harmony.
They were the Yomigaeri.
Every one of them carried Shion's Extra Skill: Mortal Fear.
Fear itself became a weapon.
The Imperial soldiers felt it crawl into their bones, crushing their will, stripping away courage and reason. Their strength faltered—not because their bodies failed, but because their minds broke.
Ten thousand terror knights descended.
Clad in navy-blue armor forged by Garm, the Yomigaeri cut through the battlefield like incarnations of death. Blades rose and fell with merciless efficiency.
Among them, three figures towered above all others.
The sons of Dagruel.
Gigantic bodies wrapped in overwhelming youki, they fused Shion's Mortal Fear with their own monstrous aura. Wherever they moved, violence followed—pure, unstoppable destruction.
Imperial lines shattered.
The Yomigaeri drew enemy attention with reckless abandon, trusting their death resistance. While the enemy focused on them, other majin struck from every angle, eliminating threats with cold precision.
Gobzo was among them.
"Ah—my head's gone all fuzzy again," he muttered calmly.
A sword had pierced straight through his skull.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
His head regenerated as he spoke, leaving the enemy frozen in horror.
"That's Gobzo-san for you…"
"That would've killed me."
His subordinates watched in awe.
On the battlefield, three massive whirlpools of destruction formed—Dagruel's sons at their centers. From there, the left side of the Imperial Army collapsed completely.
Even the Imperial Guard, fighting with desperation and rage, were overwhelmed.
Individually, their strength was comparable.
But skill?
Technique?
There was no contest.
The Yomigaeri fought like specialists—each movement honed, each kill deliberate. Whatever training Shion had subjected them to, it had turned them into weapons.
On the opposite flank, chaos reigned.
"No—how is this possible—!"
"Beast Master's Warrior Alliance—?!"
"I don't want to die—!"
The Beast Master's Warrior Alliance, alongside majin under the Beast King's banner, tore through the enemy ranks. Every one of them fought with ferocity born of loyalty.
They were repaying a debt.
"That…is a true monster," Alvis muttered.
"Indeed," replied Zor, the elephant beastman, with a grim nod.
Above them all, the aftermath of Carrera's magic still lingered.
A pillar of horror connecting heaven and earth.
More than a hundred thousand Imperial soldiers had been erased in an instant—yet the land itself still trembled beneath the residual power.
With that single act, victory had been decided.
The only remaining question was whether any hidden monsters still lurked among the enemy.
That was why none were allowed to flee.
Alvis, who knew King Atem's commanding presence, felt a chill at the thoroughness of this annihilation. And yet—
She understood.
"This is how a true king wages war," she thought.
"We brought twenty thousand troops to repay a favor," Alvis said quietly. "But we've done nothing."
"There was never a debt to repay," Zor replied. "Only loyalty to uphold."
"Then let us at least ensure His Majesty is not displeased. No deaths. No mistakes."
Zor roared.
"You heard her! Fight with the pride of those who serve the Beast King! Until the very end!"
The beasts surged forward.
By now, the outcome was undeniable.
The rear of the Imperial Army had been obliterated by overwhelming magic. Both flanks were collapsing under relentless assault.
They were surrounded.
Awaiting extinction.
At the center of it all, Momiji observed with calm, burning eyes.
Her mind was clear. Her resolve, absolute.
"It's time," she whispered. "With compassion, we will free them from suffering."
She signaled Gobua.
At once, the Fourth Corps moved as one, raising their youki in perfect synchronization. Through Gobua, the command spread via Telepathy Net.
Their demonic aura converged.
Momiji stood at the center, uniting them.
"Are you certain?" Gobua asked, tension in his voice.
Momiji laughed softly.
"If I cannot do this," she said, "how could I stand beside Benimaru as his wife?"
Her confidence silenced all doubt.
The bound youki compressed into a single, controlled force—dangerous, elegant, absolute.
"Then…begin," Gobua said.
"Yes," Momiji replied. "It is not as overwhelming as Carrera's magic. But it is enough."
She raised her hand.
"I will bloom a crimson lotus to deliver mercy."
"Heavenly Beast—Red Flame."
A red flower opened in the sky.
Oxygen vanished.
Flames descended like petals.
Enemies lost consciousness before pain could reach them.
Those who might have endured were exposed.
None did.
"Oh?" Momiji murmured. "How disappointing."
"It was inevitable," Gobua replied. "Their strongest fell in the labyrinth."
"And now?"
"Only their command center remains."
Momiji nodded.
"It will not last long."
Cheers erupted across the battlefield.
The annihilation battle had ended.
Not with struggle.
Not with sacrifice.
But with the overwhelming will of a king whose command reshaped the world.
Calgurio was drowning in reports—no, drowning was the wrong word.
He no longer needed reports at all.
The catastrophe was unfolding right in front of his eyes.
A world-ending magic had descended upon the battlefield, erasing entire divisions in an instant. The only mercy—if it could even be called that—was how fast it happened. Most died before fear could fully bloom, before regret could take shape.
Those who survived were the unlucky ones.
They staggered back toward the command camp with hollow eyes, screaming incoherently, their minds already broken. They had seen something that overturned the meaning of war itself. Worse still, in their hearts bloomed not loyalty—but resentment toward the Empire that had led them here.
"Retreat! Retreat now!"
The staff generals screamed until their voices cracked.
It didn't matter.
There was nowhere left to run.
How did it come to this?
Should I have chosen slavery…?
No—where did I make the mistake…?
Calgurio clutched his head, his thoughts spiraling out of control as he stared at the collapsing battlefield.
Then—
"What… what is that…?"
His voice trembled.
"What the hell is that?!"
The magic before him defied every law he knew.
Hundreds of thousands of soldiers—protected by layered barriers, sacred blessings, and cutting-edge anti-magic systems—had been erased as easily as brushing dust from a sleeve.
Nearly two hundred thousand men.
Gone.
With a single blow.
"It's only a matter of time," someone whispered. "Before we're all next…"
Calgurio's knees nearly buckled.
"Isn't there… a theory…?" one advisor said weakly.
"A forbidden one… magic that interferes with stellar gravity—"
"…Gravity Collapse," another muttered. "Gadra mentioned it once."
Calgurio remembered.
A purely theoretical spell.
The most dangerous category of nuclear magic ever conceived.
A magic that could annihilate a nation, not a battlefield.
Abandoned as impossible.
And yet—
"One being," Calgurio whispered.
"A single monster…"
No.
Not a monster.
A king.
A realization struck him with suffocating clarity.
We touched something we were never meant to touch.
"I'm impressed, Calgurio-sama," one advisor said, half-mad with awe.
Calgurio snapped.
"That spell is theoretical! Gadra claimed it could kill even the Storm Dragon if perfected!"
"Exactly," the advisor replied quietly. "That's how powerful it is."
The command tent descended into chaos.
Some broke down completely.
Others laughed hysterically, already retreating into madness.
The chain of command shattered.
And yet—
Calgurio remained standing.
Less than two thousand soldiers remained in the main camp. Panicked. Disorganized. Broken. Even if they fled, they would be slaughtered.
Power.
He needed power.
The Empire had always forgiven everything—as long as you were strong.
But those without strength?
They were crushed.
"How… weak I am," Calgurio whispered, tears spilling freely now.
"How utterly incompetent…"
Nearly a million soldiers had died believing in the Empire. Believing in him.
"Sir! Another report—! The battlefield is engulfed in flame! Nothing can survive that heat!"
"It's over…" someone muttered. "The Empire has lost."
Silence fell.
Then Calgurio spoke again, voice hoarse but clear.
"We will offer surrender."
Heads snapped toward him.
"It's a gamble. But it's the only chance left. If they don't accept, we die anyway. At least this gives meaning to what's left."
A pause.
"…Agreed," another general said quietly. "If nothing else, we buy time for the others to escape."
Calgurio nodded.
Too late.
Far too late.
"Kufufufu… surrender?"
A calm, amused voice echoed inside the tent.
"That won't do. You'll have to entertain me for a bit longer."
A man stood there.
He hadn't entered.
He hadn't announced himself.
He was simply there.
Dressed in a pristine butler's uniform, smiling pleasantly—yet the pressure he radiated was suffocating.
Calgurio understood immediately.
This being was on a different plane of existence.
The guards lowered their weapons instinctively.
"My name is Calgurio," he said, forcing composure. "I command this operation. May I ask your name?"
The man smiled wider.
"Oh? How polite. I am Diablo—a loyal servant of King Atem."
The name alone carried weight.
Calgurio felt it then.
This demon's presence was denser than any dragon's. His aura eclipsed even the Demon Lords Calgurio had known. And worse—
He had entered without releasing a shred of it.
This is our only chance, Calgurio thought desperately.
If I can stall him—
"Kufufufu… are you thinking of buying time?"
Diablo asked lightly.
Calgurio froze.
"There was someone who escaped, yes? You plan to distract me while they flee."
Diablo's eyes gleamed.
"A beautiful sacrifice. Unfortunately—"
He snapped his fingers.
"—it's meaningless."
Two bodies fell to the ground.
Dead.
"Th-The Single Digits…?!" Krishna gasped.
Despair flooded the tent.
The strongest assassins in the Empire—killed effortlessly.
The second-in-command screamed, "Draw your swords! Kill the intruder!"
The guards obeyed, ignorant of the abyss before them.
"Kufufufu… do you truly believe you can oppose me?" Diablo asked.
"There are over a thousand of us!" the officer roared. "No matter how strong you are—!"
Calgurio closed his eyes.
A single strong being can destroy an army of a million.
He finally understood what Emperor Rudra had always sought.
"Your words," Diablo said softly, "came far too late."
He snapped his fingers again.
The tent vanished.
Outside—
Corpses lay piled like fallen leaves.
Every soldier—dead.
Peaceful.
As if their souls had simply… been taken.
"This," Diablo said, "is what strength is."
He snapped his fingers one final time.
Krishna and the remaining officers collapsed.
Calgurio's world shattered.
"Uwaaaaaah—!!"
He screamed as his emotions finally broke apart—
And in that scream, the Empire's war truly ended.