The moment the dispatch officer finished speaking, Brother Beleth burst into a run. Zepar and I followed right behind. From the rumble of footsteps behind us, the other Demon Lords had apparently realized what the officer's words meant and were rushing after us—just a beat too late.
It was raining. Every stretch of ground had turned into a quagmire of mud. We sprinted forward, kicking up muck with every stride. Our bodies were soaked through by the rain, but this was no time to care about that.
Cutting through the downpour and the mire, a unit was breaking away from our own lines. They were undead monsters.
"By all that's holy—Lady Barbatos!"
Captain Zepar's face, which you would have thought incapable of anything but a grave expression for the rest of his life, drained of color.
"We have to stop them right now! Just five thousand charging straight at the First Legion—have they gone mad?!"
"Then let's just attack them head-on!"
One of the Demon Lords who had caught up shouted. The rain plastered his eyes shut for a moment, and his face vanished behind a curtain of water. Captain Zepar roared.
"The enemy numbers thirty thousand and we don't even reach twenty! And you want us to charge an enemy that's already set up fortified positions? Go ahead and commit suicide—by yourself—"
Thunder crashed. Captain Zepar's voice was swallowed by it. Damn it, the weather was hellish. We had tried to seize some nearby city and rest in comfort, but the monsters had complained that "cities are uncomfortable," and the whole idea fell through. Beasts, the lot of them.
There was no point in more talk. We ran toward the undead monster unit. The monsters had come flooding out in a noisy cluster, chattering amongst themselves as though something had gone wrong.
Fortunately, the undead unit had barely made it past the edge of their fortified position before stopping. Out in front of the column, Brother Beleth stood squarely in their path.
He had been arguing back and forth with Barbatos for some time. The sight of a four-meter-tall giant and a young girl shouting at each other was quite the spectacle.
Or rather—was it really an argument? The girl was beating the giant one-sidedly. She pummeled his shins and thighs indiscriminately with fists and kicks alike. As we drew close, their voices cut through the roar of the rain.
"Move! I said move, you son of a bitch!"
"……."
"You bastard! Move!"
Appearances aside, Barbatos's combat stats were absurdly high. Each punch carried devastating force. Yet Beleth said nothing at all. He simply absorbed her blows in total silence, his expression unchanging. Without so much as glancing at the rain streaming down his face, he stared straight ahead.
"You—You—!"
Barbatos summoned her great scythe. It was her iconic weapon, the armament inseparable from her identity. Thrusting forward the blade of the Grim Reaper, Barbatos screamed.
"Now get lost, before I chop you to pieces!"
"……."
"You think I won't do it!?"
She looked ready to actually swing the great scythe. Captain Zepar hurriedly wedged himself between the two, spreading his arms wide as he spoke.
"A sortie is not permitted, Lady Barbatos."
"Have these bastards all gone collectively insane... What do you mean, not permitted? I'm the Legion Commander!"
"There is no army that fights solely with the intention of committing mass suicide."
From behind, Brother Beleth opened his mouth.
"If we're going to fight, we should at least fight properly. If we just charge in headlong, all we'll do is wreck the army like that little brat Zepar did. Your Excellency the Legion Commander. This is not the way."
"Indeed."
Captain Zepar picked up right where Beleth left off. His hair, thoroughly saturated with rainwater, hung limp and heavy. It wasn't just him, either. Brother Beleth, the other Demon Lords, and even Barbatos herself — all of them were drenched.
"Your Excellency has always been the composed one, hasn't he? Now is precisely the time to keep a cool head. A battle without a plan yields nothing."
"All plans are finished!"
Barbatos wailed.
"The great cause has crumbled! Our pride has been trampled and humiliated! Zepar, all that remains is a dogfight — what is left for a warrior who has lost his direction! Nothing but a killing machine! We slaughter those bitches looking down on us from over there!"
"Lady Barbatos...!"
"Right now, those sows from the Mountain Faction have shown up right before our eyes to pull off some insolent pincer attack!"
The girl's voice, shrill as a scream, rang out between the sound of rain and thunder.
"War is our pride! And those bitches are trying to crush it under their filthy pig hooves! Can you accept that! You Demon Lords — my dear sons of bitches! I'm asking you — can you accept it!"
"......"
No one could answer the cry filled with anguish. It wasn't that they disagreed. They all felt the same way. But if they agreed to it now, everything would be over — the dream of conquering the continent, and their lives.
Barbatos looked around, her chest heaving. When she realized no one was answering, her expression crumbled further. The face of Barbatos, once as unyielding as an impregnable fortress...collapsed.
Rain streamed down the girl's face. But whether it was truly rain, there was no way to tell. Before long, the scythe slipped from her grasp. Her weapon — never once dropped in even the most desperate of battles — plunged uselessly into the mud.
"Ah, aaah......"
In that moment, Brother Beleth and Brother Zepar grabbed their cloaks as if they had made a pact. They wrapped them around Barbatos. The cloaks fluttered like curtains, shielding her from view.
Beyond the red cloaks, the sound of the girl weeping could be heard.
"Hwaa, ah......huuuhk......"
The leader of the Plains Faction has always been the most steadfast of Demon Lords.
The greatest Demon Lord is the First Seat, Bael.
The most powerful Demon Lord is the Second Seat, Agares.
The wisest Demon Lord is the Third Seat, Vassago.
But the most steadfast Demon Lord — the one who always stood at the very front, whose banner never broke, whose footsteps never halted, whose war cries never ceased, who pushed at the backs of all Demonkin and led them toward the continent — was, now and forever, the Demon Lord of the Eighth Seat.
The Immortal King, Barbatos.
"Uuughh......hhuuhk, uuaaaang......"
That was why Barbatos must not cry. She could not be seen weeping. Before she was a single warrior, she was a Demon Lord who represented all Demonkin — those who had once longed for the conquest of the continent, and those who still did. If she shed tears in despair, it meant that every last Demonkin who had shed blood until now was broken.
"Hhuuhk......kuh, huaaaang......ah......"
Beleth and Zepar stared straight ahead, their cloaks shielding what lay behind them as though nothing were there. We did the same. We turned our backs to Barbatos. We simply gazed outward.
First Beleth and Zepar, then the rest of us Demon Lords, and finally the monsters. All eighteen thousand of them turned their backs. Rain poured from every direction. That's right. All we could hear was the damn rain.
Beyond that, nothing could be heard.
Nothing.
"How strange."
The 9th-ranked Demon Lord, Paimon, murmured. She was sheltering from the rain under a canopy. Paimon hated enclosed spaces and preferred canopies to tents — that way, she could still see the outside, like now.
"Sis, what's strange?"
Beside her, the 12th-ranked Demon Lord and Paimon's consort, Sitri, spoke up. Sitri was wiping her weapon, the Serpent Viper Sword, with a cloth. The 6th Legion could attack at any moment, so it was best to be ready.
"Barbatos. By now, he should have lost his reason and charged in, but…"
"Huh? His head's made of a block of ice."
Sitri tilted her head.
She had fought in the Crescent Alliance Army multiple times too. She had once served in the same legion as Barbatos, and back then, he had always led his troops with cool composure. Unlike the other units, filled with war cries and roars, Barbatos's hallmark was marching in absolute silence without a sound.
"People often misunderstand, but Barbatos is actually hot-blooded."
Paimon giggled.
"He simply uses his reason to achieve emotional goals, but at any moment, his violent and savage nature could burst forth. Just look at the fact that he's pursued the absurd dream of continental conquest for two thousand years. He's a very sentimental one."
"Oh? Sis, you know Barbatos pretty well?"
"…Because we were comrades."
And the most reliable comrades at that.
Marbas commanded the central army. Paimon led the left flank. Barbatos headed the right. That was the formation of the 1st Legion of the 2nd Crescent Alliance Army. Seventeen hundred years ago, they had boasted an undefeated myth, toppling two human kingdoms. Had the rear forces not cut off their supply lines, they would have advanced to the very edge of the continent.
After that, the Crescent Alliance Army abandoned the method of launching invasions with armies of a hundred thousand. Instead, a doctrine emerged of deploying only ten to thirty thousand troops and sourcing supplies locally. A hundred-thousand-strong army was a nightmare when you never knew when your own side would sever your supply lines.
In the 2nd Crescent Alliance Army, Marbas, Paimon, and Barbatos were surrounded deep within the continent and forced to retreat for a full three weeks without supplies. With no food, the Ogres ate the Orcs, the Orcs ate the Goblins, and they ate their own allies. And on top of that, knights came charging in from every direction like wolf packs, time and again…
The 1st Legion, which had swelled to a hundred and thirty thousand, dwindled to a mere twenty thousand after those three weeks. The greatest success had spiraled into the worst failure. The three Demon Lords who represented the martial faction came to harbor deep misgivings about the Crescent Alliance Army. What was the Crescent Alliance Army for? What were the sacrifices for?
The 5th-ranked Demon Lord, Marbas, founded the Neutral Faction. He believed that stopping the selfish struggles among the Demon Lords was the highest priority. Marbas was also the one who organized the Demon Lords' assembly, Walpurgis Night. His aim was a political solution.
The 9th-ranked Demon Lord, Paimon, founded the Mountain Faction. The conquest of the continent was an impossible fantasy. Therefore, they had to minimize the Demon Lord army's losses while compromising with the Human Realm and living on. She set out to broker a realistic compromise.
The 8th-ranked Demon Lord, Barbatos, founded the Plains Faction. He could no longer trust his allies. So he gathered only those Demon Lords who could trust one another. Under Barbatos's charisma, they united like a knightly order, and from the 3rd Crescent Alliance Army onward, they operated as an independent legion. From radical, they had become even more radical.
Fifteen hundred years passed.
Those who had once gathered in a single legion were now commanders of the 2nd, 1st, and 6th Legions respectively, each walking their own path. And on top of it all, Paimon herself had marched forth to sink her teeth into her own allies' throats…
"'The rearguard Demon Lords in the 2nd Crescent Alliance Army did the very thing I'm doing now.'"
Paimon mocked herself. Who could have imagined it would come to this?
She recalled Barbatos's girlish laughter and was suddenly overcome with self-loathing. Barbatos had done nothing wrong. Paimon knew that as well. The reason the Crescent Alliance Army kept failing was never because any single Demon Lord had done well or poorly. It stemmed from the desperate survival instinct of every Demon Lord—the fear that if the Alliance Army succeeded, they would lose their reason for existing…
Which meant the Crescent Alliance Army could never succeed.
Paimon had been certain of this fifteen hundred years ago. The race that would ultimately seize victory on the continent would not be the Demonkin. It would be the Humans.
By the time that became apparent, it would be too late. The best she could do was flatter and sacrifice herself to earn the Humans' permission for a single self-governing city on the continent where the Demonkin could live… Paimon believed in her beauty and charm. Winning over Humans was child's play.
But it was humiliating. No single race should hold absolute superiority over another. All races had to strike an exquisite balance. And each side had to respect the other's word… That was precisely why a ceasefire treaty was necessary.
For now, only the 1st and 6th Legions would sign a pact with the Habsburg Empire. This would be the opening fanfare. The other Demon Lords—and the Humans—would come to realize that each side was "a party that could, if it came down to it, enter into a treaty."
"'The era of fighting to the death until one side is annihilated is over. No—I will *make* it over…!'"
Paimon believed in the selfishness of Humans and Demonkin alike. She had been cruelly betrayed by it once before, and paradoxically, that made her trust it all the more. Both Demonkin and Humans would go to war, yet if things turned against them, they would be perfectly willing to sign a treaty. Slowly, ever so slowly, Demonkin and Humans would grow accustomed to one another.
It might take a thousand years.
Like the two-thousand-year history of the Crescent Alliance Army, another two thousand might be needed.
"'That's fine.'"
Paimon had steeled herself for exactly that. She had already lived two thousand years. Living another two thousand held no terror. Above all, she now had hope—of a world where Humans and Demonkin lived as equals.
The first step toward that world was to crush Barbatos.
"'Barbatos. You are far too extreme. Not just to Humans—you inspire terror in the Demonkin as well.'"
Paimon had secretly hoped Barbatos would lose his composure and attack rather than sitting still. While letting him remain quiet would still yield some results, wiping out the Plains Faction's forces once and for all was far more tempting.
She gazed forward from beneath the tent. The torrential rain obscured her view, but she knew Barbatos was out there beyond it.
'I won't kill you out of respect for what we once shared… but I'll make sure you can never rise again.'
Yet that day, Barbatos did not attack.
The rain simply hammered the encampments of both armies with relentless fury.
Paimon sent a deliberately provocative letter to draw Barbatos out. It was laced with mockery—an ultimatum demanding he sign a ceasefire agreement within two days, with vague but ominous consequences for refusal.
Paimon's scheme was straightforward. First, the Third Princess would notify Barbatos that she would agree to a ceasefire immediately if he withdrew from their territory. Barbatos would never accept. The Third Princess would then stage a 'demonstration' to pressure him into withdrawing.
A demonstration in name only—it was an actual attack. Barbatos's Sixth Legion would have no choice but to fight back.
At that point, Paimon's First Legion would enter the fray, ostensibly to 'encourage' a ceasefire. The justification would be peace. The reality, of course, was a pincer assault aimed at driving Barbatos's Sixth Legion to the brink of annihilation.
Finally, they would force the ceasefire agreement on the Sixth Legion once it had lost all capacity to fight.
A textbook political war.
Paimon waited with ease. There was no loophole in this strategy for Barbatos to exploit. All she had to do was wait a day or two, then launch the armed demonstration.
But Paimon had made a mistake. Someone had already seen through her scheme long in advance—and, unfortunately, that someone belonged not to the Mountain Faction but to the Plains Faction.
Just as the Demon Lords had been caught off guard, never dreaming that a Demon Lord would attack another Demon Lord head-on, Paimon had let her guard down, never imagining that any Demon Lord could see through the possibility of one Demon Lord directly attacking another. It was only natural. Without the ability to foresee the future, it was practically impossible.
The price of that complacency would prove immense.