Chapter 15 — Thousand Spears Retorias
Retorias felt it.
Pressure.
Since ascending to the rank of Demon General, it had been an exceedingly long time since a battle against humans had made his instincts scream like this. Humans were fragile creatures—short-lived, predictable, and prone to desperation.
Yet now, surrounded by ruined stone and drifting snow, he found himself being driven back.
The elf's fists were terrifying.
Each blow carried the weight of a collapsing mountain. Every punch shattered multiple floating spears, their cursed forms exploding into black fragments before they could even fully reform.
And then there was the swordsman.
The dual-wielding warrior never gave him time to breathe. Unlike the elf's overwhelming power, this man was relentless—precise, efficient, and unyielding.
"Tch…!"
Retorias waved his hands sharply, forcing several layers of magic outward in an attempt to create distance. Demons excelled at spellcasting, but being dragged into close combat by warriors—especially ones like these—was nothing short of a nightmare.
Yet the moment he tried to retreat—
Lain was already there.
Like a thorn embedded in flesh, impossible to shake.
"Trying to run?"
The voice was right beside his ear.
Retorias barely managed to react.
Lain's left sword deflected a thrusting spear at point-blank range, sparks flying. His right blade followed immediately, cutting horizontally through the air with a shrill, tearing sound.
The defensive barrier shattered.
It didn't crack.
It tore—like wet paper.
Black blood sprayed outward.
Retorias staggered, clutching his chest, disbelief and fury twisting his elegant features. "You—!"
He never finished the sentence.
A shadow loomed overhead.
Kraft descended from the sky like a falling star, his body coiled with brutal momentum. His fist struck Retorias' back with a thunderous impact.
Boom!
The ground collapsed inward as Retorias was driven straight into it. Cracks spiderwebbed across the earth, and his body began to crumble—breaking apart into countless black particles that scattered into the wind.
The floating spears dissolved one by one, their curses fading with their master.
"…Such a pity."
The Demon General's final sigh lingered faintly before vanishing.
Thousand Spears Retorias had fallen. As for his subordinate, she had long run away amidst Retorias struggle.
Silence followed.
Wirbel struggled to his feet, every step sending pain through his battered body. He walked behind Lain, stopping a short distance away.
"Hey."
Lain turned, sheathing his sword.
"…Thanks."
Wirbel scratched the back of his head, gaze averted, clearly uncomfortable. "I owe you my life."
"No need."
Lain shook his head lightly.
Wirbel snorted, saying nothing more—but the debt settled firmly in his heart.
Northern men remembered such things.
Honor was not something easily forgotten.
---
After parting ways with Wirbel and his squad, the three continued onward toward the small town of Nirlace.
The road was quiet, blanketed in snow.
Elily swung her chipped iron sword at a tree stump, shouting out the names of her self-invented "special techniques," complete with exaggerated whooshing sounds.
"Watch where you're going," Lain said casually, hands in his pockets.
"I'm not a kid!" Elily protested. "I don't need—whoa!"
Her foot slipped.
She vanished headfirst into a snowdrift.
When she resurfaced, her face was completely white with snow, her nose bright red from the cold. She blinked twice—then burst out laughing like an idiot.
By the time they reached Nirlace, night had fully settled.
They picked an inn at random—clean enough, warm enough.
The moment the door opened, heat rushed out to meet them.
The lobby was crowded with adventurers, voices overlapping, armor clinking, mugs slamming against tables.
Lain walked to the counter and dropped two silver coins.
"Three rooms. And food."
"Only two rooms left," the innkeeper said, tossing the keys onto the counter.
"Two is fine."
Lain picked them up. "Kraft and I will share. Elily gets the other."
Dinner was hearty.
Roasted lamb legs crackled with grease. Stewed beef was tender enough to fall apart at a touch. A barrel of dark rye beer sat between them.
Elily attacked the meal with enthusiasm—lamb leg in one hand, spoonful of beef in the other, cheeks puffed out like a hamster.
"Mmm—so good!"
She chewed happily. "I've been living on rations for so long I thought my teeth would fall out. Real food feels illegal!"
Kraft cut his meat with slow, practiced elegance, like a noble at a formal banquet.
"Eat slower," he said calmly. "No one's taking it from you."
He pushed his portion toward her. "You're still growing."
"Thanks, sir!"
Elily accepted without hesitation.
Half an hour later, she slumped back in her chair, letting out a satisfied burp.
"So… sleepy…"
She mumbled, eyes closing. "This hero… must rest… tomorrow… slay dragon…"
Her head dropped.
She fell asleep at the table.
Lain lifted her like a sack of rice, carried her upstairs, dumped her gently onto the bed, pulled the blanket over her, and closed the door.
Back downstairs, the lobby had thinned out. A few patrons murmured quietly. Others drank in silence.
Kraft sat by the fireplace, staring into the dancing flames.
Lain sat across from him and raised his cup. "Finally some peace. Let's drink."
They clinked cups and drained them.
The rough beer burned its way down, leaving warmth behind.
"I've been meaning to ask," Lain said. "Why are you traveling?"
Kraft rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Many reasons. Some I've forgotten. Others… I haven't figured out yet."
"And your next destination?"
Kraft's fingers brushed the pendant at his chest. "The territory of Count Rejesius. There's a seal there."
"A seal?"
"Long ago, my companions and I sealed away a great threat. The seal was meant to last a thousand years." His voice was calm. "Lately, I've felt it weakening."
"So I'm going to check."
"And see old friends along the way."
"How old are we talking?" Lain smirked.
"Old enough to be underground."
Kraft chuckled.
"What about you?" he asked. "Why are you traveling?"
"I'm heading to the Land of Resting Soul."
Kraft paused. "I've heard of it. A human mage once mentioned it—Fla… something."
"Flamme," Lain said.
"Perhaps." Kraft nodded. "They say you can speak to the dead there."
"Maybe."
"So who are you going to see?"
"No one."
Lain took a sip. "I want to go home."
"Home?" Kraft frowned. "Which one?"
"Very far away."
Lain pointed upward. "No magic. No monsters. No heroes. Just ordinary people worrying about overtime and mortgages."
Kraft stared, then laughed softly. "Sounds dull."
"It is," Lain said with a grin. "But my parents are there. If I don't hurry, they'll worry."
Kraft looked into his cup.
"To be worried about…" he murmured. "That's a blessing."
After a moment, he spoke again—voice lower.
"My companions and I once saved nations. Defeated demon kings. Changed the shape of the world."
"Wherever we went, there were cheers."
He smiled faintly. "Now, those nations are gone. The monuments are worn smooth. No one remembers my name."
A deep, ancient loneliness clung to him.
"Then tell me," Lain said suddenly.
"Tell me about yourself. About your companions. The battles. The princesses."
"Let someone remember. When I go home, I'll tell them."
Kraft froze.
Emotion flickered across his face—then vanished.
"No need."
After a long silence, he said quietly, "When I reach heaven, the goddess herself will recount my deeds."
"Just don't meet that water goddess," Lain muttered.
"…What?"
"Nothing."
Kraft smiled faintly. "By the way, Lain… about you—"
"What?"
Kraft shook his head. "Perhaps this too is the goddess' will."
Lain frowned deeply.
Since when did Kraft start talking in riddles?
He absolutely hated riddles.
---
TL notes/ Aqua ain't that bad... She's irresponsible, immature and... Yeah. Hope Kraft meets a decent goddess in the afterlife.
Also, Got any Power Stones lying around? I promise I'll use them responsibly 😏