Chapter 4

Krieg Fort.

Charlo sat in his assigned encampment, staring at the map crisscrossed with battle lines.

After a month of relentless marching, he had finally arrived at the front alongside the Royal Army.

This time, the Emperor had dispatched his eldest son, Crown Prince Abner de Morris—a Seventh-Rank Knight—to lead the relief force. The Prince commanded the elite Rose Knights and the private armies of various nobles, totaling over thirty thousand men. Charlo and his modest force of twelve hundred were mixed into this grand coalition.

But what drew the most attention was the presence of the "Flower of the Morris Empire"—the Third Princess, Evelyn de Morris—and the Hero.

When Charlo first heard about the Hero, he let out a resigned sigh. Of course. In a high-fantasy medieval world with a Demon Lord, how could there not be a Hero?

The Hero’s name was Hayato, an otherworlder summoned by the Church of Holy Light. Upon hearing the name, Charlo nearly face-palmed. Ah, hell. It’s a Japanese isekai plot.

As for how a Hero summoned to the central continent knew a princess from the northern empire... The Third Princess possessed significant magical talent and had studied at the Central Magic Academy of the Magic Association. The Hero, cultivating both magic and martial arts, had naturally crossed paths with her there.

According to the records, every summoned Hero received a "Gift" from the Lord of Light—a unique Authority.

Every time Charlo thought about this, he felt a surge of indignation. Why didn't he get a cheat power like that? Was it just because he didn't go through the Lord of Light’s official immigration channels?

In the continent of Rodinia, an Authority was something only Ninth-Rank entities could hope to grasp. A peak Eighth-Rank powerhouse had to fuse their will with a specific law of the world during their ascension, embedding it into their very blood and soul to create an Authority unique to them.

Yet, the Hero—a mere mortal—was granted one instantly. With it, he could easily rival mid-rank combatants from day one. Furthermore, with an Authority, low-rank cultivation became as easy as breathing.

Take this Hayato, for example. When summoned, he was an ordinary human. In just over six months, he had reached the Third Rank in knighthood and the Second Rank in magic.

"Sigh. Whatever. He has his Gift; I have my System. Let's focus on the war."

Charlo sighed, pushing thoughts of the harem protagonist out of his mind and turning his attention back to the map.

Krieg Fort was the gateway from the Western Region to the Imperial Capital. It was built into the "L"-shaped angle of a mountain range, using the rock face as a natural rear guard. The Prague River, which bisected the Morris Empire, flowed nearby. A tributary had been diverted through the fortress, serving as both a moat and a supply line.

The walls were eighteen meters high, reinforced by double-layered Ninth-Rank defensive arrays. The Archduke of the West and the fifty thousand reinforcements who had arrived earlier were stationed inside the fortress. Meanwhile, the coalition army led by Prince Abner was camped at the mountain pass on the other side of the Prague River to provide a pincer threat.

Charlo had been assigned a defensive position on a slope: one kilometer wide, five hundred meters deep.

To his flanks were Viscount Simon and Viscount Balin. Behind him was Earl Ferrec. In front of him lay the positions of four Barons—the absolute front line.

"My Lord, the defensive line has been established according to your instructions."

A fully armored knight entered the tent to report.

"Good work, Davis. Sit down and rest for a moment; you've been running around all day," Charlo said with a smile, gesturing to a chair for his military commander.

"I'm fine, My Lord. I am not tired. Do you have any further orders? If not, I will return to inspect the perimeter."

"Rest first. The demons were repelled yesterday; they won't attack again so soon."

"This..." Davis hesitated, then nodded. "As you command."

The South. Near the Wall of Despair.

Light is usually formless and intangible.

But before them stood a curtain of light made solid. No, a Wall.

Ten thousand meters high. One thousand meters thick. Stretching for a thousand kilometers.

It was a miracle beyond mortal comprehension or logic.

Mortals called it the Wall of Holy Light. The demons called it the Wall of Despair, for it sealed away the source of their power.

For ten thousand years, nine successive Demon Lords had tried to shatter it. None had succeeded. Most hadn't even breached the human defensive lines to reach it. The closest anyone had come was merely seeing it, never touching it.

Krys stopped where the Demon Lord of nine thousand years ago had fallen, staring at the enemy arrayed before her.

The Double-Headed Eagle banner of the Thebes Empire, the Holy Cross of the Church, and the flags of countless nobles fluttered in the wind. The Magic Association had no banner, but she knew they were there.

There were no troops from the Balan Empire or the Silver Moon Empire. That was expected. It had only been a week since Belaire Keep fell. Even with forced marches day and night, they couldn't have arrived in time, especially since entering Thebes territory required diplomatic clearance.

"But even without those two empires, this lineup is despair-inducing enough..."

Clyris smiled bitterly. She looked behind her. The seven Demon Grand Dukes were visibly exhausted from days of relentless travel and fighting. The soldiers had stamina left for only one final charge.

Facing them...

Her senses screamed. She detected six Ninth-Rank Knights, seven Ninth-Rank Grand Magi, and five Ninth-Rank Archbishops. Eighteen Ninth-Rank entities in total.

Behind them stood hundreds of Seventh and Eighth-Rank powerhouses and over forty thousand mid-to-low rank soldiers. The formation stretched as far as the eye could see.

"And this is only half their force..." Gruen murmured, his voice heavy with hopelessness. "The garrison from the Magdeburg Line and the remnants from Belaire Keep are closing in from behind. This lineup... they could hunt a Saint with this force!"

"Nine thousand years ago, His Majesty Samuel fought his way here, only to be annihilated..." Lilith’s eyes were unfocused, staring into the distance. "To be buried alongside our ancestors... perhaps that isn't such a bad ending. We've done better than our grandfathers. At least, after nine thousand years, we have once again laid eyes on the Wall of Despair..."

"So, have you decided?"

Krys looked at them and asked softly.

The seven Grand Dukes and thousands of soldiers looked back at her. Though no words were spoken, their gazes were firm. They looked not at a terrifying army, but as if the path ahead were an open plain.

"Then... I will say no more!"

She turned her head, facing the encroaching human formation, and drew her longsword.

"Everyone! Target: The Wall of Despair—CHARGE!!!"

"ROAAAAR!!!"

Krieg Fort. The Front Lines.

BOOM!

The twelve-pounder cannons roared, sending iron spheres screaming through the air. They plowed furrows of vacuum and gore through the dense clusters of demons.

"Fire!"

At the squad leader's command, the line of musketeers pulled their triggers in unison. Dense clouds of lead slammed into the demon ranks.

The first row fired and immediately retreated. The next row stepped forward.

"Fire!"

Another crackling volley erupted, and a swathe of demons fell.

This row retreated, and the next stepped up. Behind them, yet another row waited. By the time the last row fired, the first row had finished reloading and stepped forward again.

Equipped with the final iteration of the flintlock musket, their rate of fire reached 3 to 5 rounds per minute, with impressive accuracy. For every ten meters the demons advanced, they paid a toll in blood.

From his vantage point on the high ground, Charlo surveyed the battlefield. He sighed with a hint of regret. "A pity the training time was too short. Line infantry tactics are the best we can do for now."

"Ultimately, they are still muzzle-loading flintlocks, not breech-loading rifles. And asking medieval people who were swinging swords a year ago to learn skirmisher tactics so quickly is impossible. Otherwise, we wouldn't have to use such rigid formations."

After a long while, as the demon offensive began to flag, Charlo saw his opportunity.

"Davis," he said sharply. "I will lead the assault team to press the attack. Take the cavalry and prepare to charge their flank!"

"Yes, My Lord!" Davis, who had been on standby, immediately saluted and spurred his horse away.

The Demon Lines.

"Report! Captain York, the front line is collapsing! The first position has been wiped out, and the second position has barely any soldiers left!"

A werewolf demon sprinted over, shouting to a massive tiger-man demon.

"What?" The tiger demon, York, was startled. "The humans are counter-attacking across the board, but the first positions everywhere else are still holding. How was mine breached so quickly?"

"Captain, that despicable human noble has equipped his men with some kind of ranged weapon! Every single one of them is like a magic archer!" The werewolf held up a captured musket. "And they have even bigger ones that hit like arcane cannonballs!"

"This?" York snatched the gun, examining the thin "iron stick." He looked it over, baffled. He could only sense a faint residue of mana near the stock, and the markings on the barrel weren't offensive runes.

"Just this? Wallman, are you making excuses to lie to me?" York asked suspiciously.

"No! I would never dare lie to you!" The werewolf cried. "Go up and see for yourself! The brothers are all being killed by these iron sticks!"

"Fine! I'll go look!"

Carrying the "stick," the tiger demon hurried to the second defensive line.

Before he even saw the enemy, he heard music. A light, rhythmic drum and fife tune.

Then, as he crested the hill, rows of human soldiers marched into view, stepping in time with the music.

They wore light armor and indeed carried "iron sticks" on their backs. At their waists hung cloth pouches instead of swords.

Strangest of all, these were ordinary humans. The few knights among them were merely First-Rank, and the leader was only a Second-Rank. What could a cannon fodder army like this possibly do?

Yet, as the humans drew closer, the demons under his command grew visibly tense, as if facing a mortal enemy.

"Brothers, charge! Do not let the humans stop to form ranks!"

The werewolf Wallman shouted, leading the charge himself.

Immediately, the demons across the line followed suit, unleashing their innate talents and charging with reckless abandon.

Beast-type demons and Rock Demons thundered across the ground. Winged Demons, Blood Demons, and Succubi took to the air. Fire, Ice, and Thunder Demons altered the battlefield environment with elemental chaos, while Shadow Demons slipped through the darkness cast by their allies.

A charge of over a thousand demons was terrifying. Normally, a force like this could scatter a human army two or three times its size.

The earth shook. Massive Rock Demons stomped like living mountains, their ten-meter frames radiating oppressive pressure. Beast Demons weaved between their legs with agile grace.

The sky darkened as Winged Demons shrieked, raining fire, hail, and lightning from above.

"Halt! Anti-air formation!"

The opposing Second-Rank knight shouted an order. The humans stopped instantly, raising their guns toward the sky.

"Anti-air volley!"

The formation shifted. No longer a solid block, they formed a hollow square, five ranks deep on all sides.

"FIRE!!!"

A dense crackle of thunder erupted. Demons in the sky screamed as they plummeted to the earth, riddled with holes.

York saw it clearly. The ordinary humans pointed their sticks at the demons. A flash of mana flared in the hollow tube, and a projectile was spat out.

The projectile moved so fast he could barely see it. In the blink of an eye, it struck a Winged Demon a hundred meters in the air!

After several consecutive volleys, the sky was significantly clearer. However, the ground demons were closing in.

Suddenly, a whistling sound cut through the air!

A massive Rock Demon was the first to suffer. A ball of fire exploded against its chest, shattering its rocky armor. It toppled backward, dead.

Other demons were either blown apart by iron spheres fired from afar, crushed by the falling Rock Demon, or gunned down by the human iron pipes.

Finally, Wallman the werewolf, relying on his Fourth-Rank strength and tough demon hide, tanked the shots and smashed into the human formation. In a single encounter, he tore the Second-Rank commanding knight to pieces, throwing the humans into chaos.

Leaderless, the humans panicked. Their firing became disorganized. More demons closed the distance, tearing into them. The humans broke, fleeing in a disorderly rout, discarding helmets and armor.

But just as Wallman prepared to pursue and slaughter them, a dense roar of thunder struck again. A rain of explosive iron spheres forced Wallman to retreat.

York watched the demons withdraw from the field, finding it hard to convince himself this was a victory.

"To cripple a hundred-man unit of ordinary humans... we lost twelve Winged Demons, eight Succubi, five Blood Demons, six Rock Demons, and fifty-seven Beast Demons! Sixty were First-Rank, twenty-eight were Second-Rank!"

York looked at the "iron stick" in his hand, his expression bitter.

"Even against a human Knight Order of the same rank... the casualty ratio has never been one-to-one..."