Ghislain lost his balance and fell from the saddle of his black steed.
"Captain!"
"My lord!"
"Your Grace!"
The knights fighting nearby rushed over to support him.
One knight, flustered, asked, "What happened? Are you ill? Do you have a chronic condition?"
This wasn't the first time Ghislain had collapsed during battle. But it had always been after the fighting was over.
Never before had he suddenly collapsed mid-battle, coughing up blood.
Ghislain shook his head and said, "I'm fine… Go, finish the rest…"
He had shifted the flow of the world again while in an unstable condition. The backlash from wielding such immense power was overwhelming.
It was still a force he couldn't use frequently. He needed to elevate his skills further.
Fortunately, the war was effectively over. He could now leave the rest to his comrades.
As he struggled back onto his horse, Ghislain frowned, his mind racing.
'That holy power… saved him?'
The priests of the Salvation Church were beings who defied holy power. The higher their rank, the more they opposed its essence.
In his dream, the Saintess had been fighting those who stood against the goddess. That the holy relic she left behind would save Gartros was shocking.
Moreover, even for a fleeting moment, he had sensed a will within that holy power.
'It said… he must not die now?'
Why?
Ghislain now fully understood the Salvation Church's goal.
To find their king and the holy relics.
The holy relic had been found. All that remained was this "king."
Even if Gartros had lost his forces, he wouldn't abandon his mission. On the contrary, he would become more desperate to find the king.
'A king…'
If the person the Salvation Church sought was the adversary Ghislain had seen in his dream, they indeed deserved the title of king.
Ghislain had never encountered anyone that powerful in his lifetime.
'Could the holy relic… want Gartros to find the adversary?'
Otherwise, why would it save him? The thought made Ghislain's head spin.
The Saintess and the adversary were enemies.
He couldn't fathom what the holy relic wanted.
As he wrestled with his thoughts, Ghislain smirked faintly.
Nothing was certain yet. The will he sensed from the holy power had vanished so quickly that it might have been a misunderstanding.
'Either way, the holy relic helped Gartros.'
Perhaps there was a will he couldn't comprehend, or it could have been a simple protection mechanism for the wearer.
Though he was curious, frustration welled up. The Salvation Church might be in ruins, but a few thorny individuals had survived.
'Ernheart… Gartros…'
He would find them both and kill them, even if it meant searching the entire continent.
Ernheart's identity remained unknown, and Gartros was one of the continent's strongest.
If they went into hiding, tracking them would be a grueling task.
'No choice. I'll have to issue surveillance orders to all the kingdoms.'
He would send Lutania's officials to monitor everywhere. While there might be some resistance, the kingdoms would cooperate.
They wouldn't risk such chaos happening in their territories again.
After being hit hard this time, they would be eager to uproot the Salvation Church completely.
"Waahhhhh!"
Ghislain wiped his nose and surveyed the battlefield.
The soldiers' deafening cheers echoed all around. The Artrode Army was nearly annihilated.
They had been struck by magic first, unable to fight properly. Completely surrounded by the organized Rutania forces, they stood no chance.
Clop, clop.
Ghislain slowly rode his black steed across the battlefield.
No enemy stood in his path. Most had already become corpses strewn across the ground.
At some point, the battle had ceased. There were no more enemies left who could fight.
The surviving Artrode soldiers lay groaning in pain or had thrown down their weapons and prostrated themselves.
All except one.
Only Count Bipenbelt remained upright on his horse, his back straight.
Clop, clop.
As Ghislain approached, everyone gave way, clearing a path.
The only reason Count Bipenbelt was still alive was obvious. His commanding presence made him instantly recognizable as the highest-ranking officer. No one had dared touch him.
Such was the dignity and aura he exuded.
The two drew closer, their gazes locking. A brief silence followed before Count Bipenbelt spoke first.
"I want to know why I lost."
No matter what choices he made, the allied forces should have fallen into his strategies. After all, they were the ones chasing his army.
By all logic, they should have been at his mercy, yet they had been defeated one by one.
He was curious about how his opponent had moved.
But Ghislain answered with a casual expression.
"Because I was stronger and faster."
Count Bipenbelt paused for a moment before breaking into a smile.
"An honest answer."
"And because I knew you well, while you didn't know me."
Count Bipenbelt tilted his head. They could only have learned about each other through intelligence reports, could they not?
Yet his opponent spoke as if they truly knew him.
Ghislain smirked faintly.
"You wouldn't understand. And there's no need to."
"True, what use would it be for a defeated man to know more? It wouldn't change the outcome. I was simply curious before my death."
"It's a bit of a pity to meet like this."
Ghislain's words were sincere. In a past life, few had been as reliable as Count Bipenbelt.
His bold strategic decisions and keen judgment had saved countless lives from the rift.
But his true identity had been one of the masterminds who brought calamity to the continent.
Regardless of whether he cared for the Salvation Church's goals, the fact remained that he had allied with them.
Ghislain slowly raised his spear.
"Any last words? I'll hear them as a gesture of respect for a worthy enemy commander."
"I have none. I did all I could. The rest will fall to those who remain."
"Straightforward. I like that."
Count Bipenbelt closed his eyes. He wasn't entirely without regret.
'If I had fought purely for war…'
Perhaps the outcome would have been different. Perhaps the continent would now be divided in a great struggle.
But prioritizing the Salvation Church's goals had led to significant losses. It would be a lie to say he wasn't disappointed by that.
But what could he do? It was all over now.
Count Bipenbelt cast aside his lingering regrets and calmed his mind.
Crack!
Ghislain's spear pierced Count Bipenbelt's heart.
"I'll see that your body is preserved."
"Thank you…"
With those words, Count Bipenbelt drew his last breath.
A suffocating silence fell over the battlefield. Countless eyes turned to Ghislain, every ear awaiting his words.
A faint smile crossed Ghislain's lips. He slowly raised his spear and spoke.
"Everyone, you've done well. The war is over."
"Waahhhhh!"
The soldiers raised their weapons high and roared in triumph. The fortress troops shouted even louder.
This wasn't merely the end of a single battle. It was a monumental moment marking the complete collapse of the Salvation Church, which had once darkened the continent.
Relief, joy, and hope for a new era filled every face.
All that remained was mopping up the remnants. It was no longer a war—it was a mere cleanup operation.
Of course, the massive task of post-war recovery loomed, but no challenge could compare to the horrors of the war they had endured.
Amid the cheering soldiers, someone shouted loudly.
"Long live His Grace the Grand Duke!"
Immediately, the Lutania forces and allied troops erupted in their own passionate cries.
"Long live Duke Fenris!"
"Our captain is the best!"
"Glory to Lutania today!"
"This day will be etched in history!"
"Honor to the courage of the allied forces!"
"I'm a superhuman too!"
"I've defeated a goddess…!"
The battlefield was filled with diverse cheers in an instant.
As the victory cries echoed, the long-suppressed emotions of the Lutania and allied soldiers erupted.
Old comrades embraced each other tightly, ignoring the clanking of their armor. They wept and patted one another on the back.
Some removed their helmets and tossed them into the air in celebration, while others fell to their knees and offered prayers of gratitude to the heavens.
Even the unfamiliar allied soldiers seemed like family at this moment.
Having traveled far from home and fought tirelessly, it would be a lie to say they weren't overwhelmed with emotion.
"We did it!"
"It's finally over!"
"A new era begins!"
The soldiers' shouts rang endlessly. Everyone hugged each other, patted shoulders, and exchanged words of congratulations.
The battlefield quickly transformed into a scene of celebration. A whirlwind of emotions, blending victory and camaraderie, enveloped everyone.
In this moment, they all became one, basking in the cheers of triumph.
Ghislain left the rejoicing soldiers behind and went straight to Jerome.
"How is he? Is he okay?"
Jerome was still unconscious. Vanessa, who had been tending to him, wiped the sweat from her forehead and replied.
"He's barely out of danger. The others were keeping his circle from breaking."
Ghislain gave a small bow to the mages nearby.
"Thank you. Because of you, my friend was able to survive."
"It's nothing. We are the ones who should be thanking Lord Jerome."
The mages spoke sincerely. Their eyes reflected deep respect for Jerome.
The first mage who had treated Jerome stepped forward and said.
"Lord Jerome risked his life to protect us. His sacrificial magic saved us all. It wasn't us who saved him; he's the one who saved all of us."
Another mage added.
"Lord Jerome's wisdom and strength are goals we should strive for our entire lives. Just being able to help him was a great honor for us."
The mages all bowed their heads. Their expressions were filled with gratitude, reverence, and even a hint of shame.
Seeing Jerome's miraculous magic had made them keenly aware of their own shortcomings.
Ghislain looked at the still-unconscious Jerome and let out a small chuckle.
"At this rate, you're going to be the King of Mages one day."
Jerome, with his natural charm and character, had been popular even in their previous lives. But now, it seemed he was even more admired than before.
His selflessness and sense of responsibility had even moved the usually selfish mages.
"Still, don't overdo it. If it's dangerous, just run."
Ghislain murmured, shaking his head as if resigned.
He knew Jerome's personality wouldn't allow for that. That was precisely why Ghislain had trusted and relied on him.
Thanks to everyone playing their part, the war had come to an end.
Though Gartros had escaped, it would be impossible for him to rebuild his forces as before.
Ghislain was determined to track him down and kill him, even if it meant assembling a search team to comb the entire continent.
"It's time to return."
They would head back to the Kingdom of Sardina to discuss post-war arrangements and prepare for the next steps.
But he wasn't planning to leave immediately. They would rest here for a few days and wait.
To escort the captured spies.
"Yulian should take care of it quickly."
And to await the return of another friend.
***
"Huff, huff… How could this happen…"
Count Kalmund, commander of the Artrode Army's 3rd Corps, clutched a deep wound on his chest, panting heavily.
As expected, he had located a separate detachment of the allied forces.
The 3rd Corps had maintained their distance, intending only to delay the enemy. The goal was to avoid direct confrontation while applying psychological pressure.
Even the mere threat of striking from behind would fatigue the enemy. If a decisive battle seemed imminent, they could withdraw and widen the gap.
Then, a single figure emerged from the enemy's ranks.
"Damn it… Prince of Turian…"
Kalmund groaned, staring at the man before him.
Cold, emotionless eyes devoid of any feeling.
This man had come alone.
Thinking it was an opportunity, Kalmund immediately sent out his priests and knights. Even Leonard, the leader of the Revolutionary Group, volunteered to join the attack.
The result was horrifying.
The priests were decapitated in moments. The knights were annihilated.
Leonard fled faster than anyone else at the first sign of defeat.
And then came the massacre.
While the Prince of Turian slaughtered his way through their ranks, the allied forces arrived. The disarrayed 3rd Corps was overwhelmed in an instant.
"Ugh!"
Kalmund coughed up a mouthful of blood. Despite being guarded by his escort knights, he had ended up wounded and collapsed.
His escort knights, who had tried to shield him, were all cleaved in two.
Such inhuman skill. Against that extraordinary power, human strategies and tactics were utterly meaningless.
"We were… fighting against a monster…"
The strongest of the Artrode Army were Gartros of the 1st Corps and Idun of the 2nd Corps. Perhaps if both of them had fought together, they might have stood a chance against this man.
It was impossible to know without trying, but that was Kalmund's impression.
The man before him slowly raised his sword. Meanwhile, his soldiers were being crushed and slaughtered by the allied forces.
"We're going to lose this war…."
He felt it instinctively. The man before him was an existence beyond reason.
It was already difficult enough with Duke Fenris, but the Prince of Turian defied all logic with his strength.
Slash!
Kalmund's thoughts went no further. The man's sword had already severed his neck.
"Haa…"
Yulian exhaled deeply after cutting down Count Kalmund.
Annoyed by the enemy's movements, he had charged in alone and broken their formation.
Even for someone as strong as him, facing so many enemies alone had drained a significant amount of mana and left him exhausted.
As a result, he had let another dangerous figure escape.
"The report?"
Yulian asked briefly, and Dark No. 28, perched on his shoulder, replied.
"They said you don't need to go. Don't worry and just chase him. They'll handle the rest. Jerome will probably be there first."
"Got it."
Yulian nodded slowly. Originally, he had planned to strike the 3rd Corps and then head to the rendezvous point.
But with Leonard fleeing, he had contacted Ghislain to clarify the situation.
Fortunately, it seemed his absence wouldn't cause any problems for now. Ghislain, Jerome, Parniel, and the allied superhumans were more than capable of eliminating the remaining enemies.
"Let's move, then."
At Yulian's command, Dark No. 28 spread its wings and flew ahead.
Yulian spurred his horse in the same direction.
Once again, the leader of the Revolutionary Group, Leonard, had managed to escape.
He would remain a threat. This time, Yulian intended to eliminate him for good.
[T/L: I need your support, dear readers. I will give discount to all those who will buy the rest of the chapters all together, so please support me the reader on my webnovel platform and read ahead chapters on my ko-fi page "RevengerScans" : https://ko-fi.com/revengerscans ]