In a world called Agrinion, where humans and demons coexist yet remain divided, a long history of conflict stretches back to the beginning—when one side first seized dominance over the other.
It began in the remote frontier territories, where autonomous rule had been granted. There, sporadic uprisings in the name of freedom marked the first sparks of rebellion.
A long and grueling struggle followed.
Through persistence and sacrifice, the resistance gradually expanded its control, eventually founding a sovereign nation. But the fighting did not end there—it only evolved.
On one side stood the demons, superior in individual power but fewer in number. On the other stood the humans, divided across many kingdoms, who boasted overwhelming numbers yet were entangled in endless power struggles, unable to unite against their common foe.
Over time, this unbalanced parity created a precarious equilibrium—one that neither side could decisively tip. And so, time passed in an uneasy stalemate that seemed as if it would last forever.
That balance was shattered by the arrival of a single young man, now known on both sides of the war by a shared title:
"The Hero."
Together with his companions, he set out to defeat the Demon King—and one by one, he toppled the proud warriors of the demon race.
Soon, a major human nation called upon the others to unite. Seizing the Hero’s exploits as the perfect opportunity, the fractured kingdoms declared a temporary truce and turned all their might toward a single goal: the annihilation of the demon race.
It was a thunderclap on a clear day.
For the demon army—focused on eliminating the Hero and already short on manpower—the sudden simultaneous offensives across multiple fronts were a devastating surprise. Unprepared and overstretched, they suffered a total collapse.
Town after town fell.
In the newly occupied territories, demons who failed to escape were captured and summarily executed—branded as "evil beings" and slaughtered without mercy.
It seemed only a matter of time before not just their nation, but the entire demon race, would vanish from the world.
That is where this story begins.
In the capital of the demon kingdom, Ipethsute, the Demon King and his closest advisors listened grimly to the latest—and most unwelcome—news.
The urgent report spoke of the fall of Baim, a key stronghold in the southwest.
“…What of the generals we dispatched from the capital to defeat the Hero?”
“All of them… along with the castle lords, were slain by the Hero…”
“…Gaslin.”
The King, having heard the full report, turned to the man who held the position of Supreme Commander of the military.
“You claimed that the only reason we’ve lost before is because they faced him one-on-one. You said that if a group of generals fought together, even the Hero could be taken down with ease. You insisted that three would suffice. And yet, I sent twice that number—just to be sure.”
His voice, while calm, was taut with controlled rage.
A Demon King must never lose his composure and resort to shouting in front of others. That pride, that restraint, was all that held back the fury behind his words.
The commander, a massive warrior whose body alone evoked the title, shrank slightly before answering:
“…We clearly misjudged the Hero’s true strength. I accept full responsibility… Your Majesty.” The man who had committed a grave blunder offered only a brief apology. Yet, it was clear to everyone present how he intended to take responsibility.
However...
“No. I am asking for an explanation, not for you to atone. Responsibility ultimately falls upon me, the one who made the final decision as king. Not upon the one who proposed the strategy in the first place. Gaslin, do you understand what I’m saying?”
In other words—suicide will not be tolerated.
Such is the current king who rules over the demon nation.
Of course, he is not soft.
His governing style—one that uses the full potential of his subordinates down to the last drop—is ruthless.
Unlike the former king, who weakened the military by forcing capable officers to commit ritual suicide over minor failures, this king is considered among the greatest rulers in demon history.
Such was the judgment the world had passed upon him.
The king continued:
“Gaslin, as Supreme Commander of the military, I ask again—do you have a plan to eliminate the accursed Hero?”
It is the duty of a subordinate to promptly respond to the king’s question. Especially now, having just been spared from a death that would typically be required to atone for his failure.
Yet Gaslin remained silent—haunted by the memory of failed strategies and countless lives lost under his command.
“Your Majesty, may I speak?”
The voice that broke the silence belonged not to Gaslin, but to his rival—Deputy Commander Aparishid Consilia.
With a nod from the king, the bearded man began:
“Why not recall all general-ranked warriors stationed in the provinces along with their assigned high-ranking magicians, and deploy them to form a single force for defeating the Hero?”
“So, an expanded version of Gaslin’s original strategy?”
“Precisely, Your Majesty. Regrettably, by all available accounts, the Hero and his companions clearly surpass any of our warriors in individual prowess. Given that reality, our only option is to rely on numbers. If three weren’t enough, then send ten. If ten fail, send twice that. As long as the Hero’s true limits remain unknown, we must challenge him with the full might we possess. And according to recent reports, many of our warriors have fallen due to the powerful spells cast by the woman called the ‘Silver-Haired Witch,’ who travels with the Hero. If that is the case, then we must match her with an equivalent force of our own magic users.”
“So your plan is to throw everything we have at them—to crush them under overwhelming force.”
“If I may speak bluntly, yes, Your Majesty.”
“Hard to believe such a pragmatic plan came from you—the proudest man in this chamber.”
That could have been taken as sarcasm.
But Consilia, unbothered and without a hint of a smile, replied calmly:
“In the face of our nation’s survival, pride is but a trivial thing, Your Majesty.”
The king, now fully understanding Consilia’s proposal, turned his gaze to the Supreme Commander.
“Gaslin—your thoughts?”
“…I have nothing to add to the Deputy Commander’s plan.”
“So you agree. We can no longer afford to worry about appearances, is that it? Understood.”
As the king nodded in acceptance and prepared to give his approval, another hand rose to request the floor.
It was Damion Dudule, a persistent opponent of both Gaslin and Consilia. He had clashed with them many times during war councils, particularly over the constant redeployment of troops from provincial defenses to the central army.
And so, as expected, his words stood in stark contrast to Consilia’s:
“It goes without saying that the humans are currently invading from every direction. To pull both our generals and our already scarce magicians from the front lines will shatter our barely holding defensive lines. Even if we defeat the Hero, we’ll be left with nothing but the capital. A king without subjects rules over nothing.”
“I see… Consilia, can you address Dudule’s concern?”
The king turned back toward the earlier speaker. The deputy commander responded, his tone grave:
“Regrettably, I cannot. As Dudule says, if we implement my plan, our front lines will quickly collapse. All remaining civilians will likely be slaughtered. However, given the current state of affairs, I believe this sacrifice is necessary. If we continue as we are, the Hero will reach the capital in half a year. By then, if we keep sending small forces against him, we’ll only lose more troops without even scratching him.
And when the Hero reaches the capital for the final battle—should the city fall—it won’t matter how many provincial towns remain. It will all be over anyway.
Right now, our only option is to kill the Hero. If we succeed, the humans’ invasion will stall, and within a few years, we can reclaim what was lost.”
Naturally, Dudule raised his voice in protest:
“And what use are towns without people to live in them? Worse, if your plan fails, we’ll have no backup strategy—it will only accelerate our destruction!”
“We don’t have time to think about ‘next steps.’”
“That’s a short-sighted gamble. We bear the duty of ensuring this nation endures—not throwing everything away on one reckless play. We should focus on stalling the Hero and learning his weaknesses.”
As usual, the discussion spiraled into a fruitless debate. It seemed the war council would end, yet again, without resolution.
But then—
“Your Majesty, may I speak?”
The voice came from the lowest seat at the table.
The king’s gaze moved toward the speaker, seated quietly at the edge.
“Gwarany…?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Aldisha Gwarany.
Except for his burning red demon eyes, he looked entirely human.
And in truth, the blood flowing through his veins was that of the human race—descended from a woman once brought from the occupied territories as a slave.
As such, in a demon society that looked down on humans as “small, vile creatures,” his status was predictably low.
Why then, would such a young man—even one barely more than a boy—sit in on such an important war council?
Because in this world, he belonged to the bureaucratic class known as civil officials.
And among them, he possessed every required skill at the highest possible level—making him, in all but name, the top of his field.
That was why this brilliant youth, unsuited in age but not in merit, was allowed to sit at this table.
“If you have something to say, speak,” said the king.
Surrounded by cold, sharp stares from the pure-blooded generals—each gaze like a needle—Gwarany responded without hesitation.
“If I am granted ten thousand soldiers and two thousand magicians, I promise I can dramatically improve our current situation.”
The chamber fell silent.
Then, the silence broke—not with awe, but with laughter. No—mockery.
Consilia, ever the militant hardliner, was the first to respond, his voice tinged with scorn and anger:
“Gwarany. You’re a civil official. A glorified accountant. You dare speak of military matters? How dare you!”
Then came Gaslin, ever his rival, who added:
“Even we, who live and breathe war, are at our wits’ end. And you—who’s never commanded troops, never even lifted a sword on a battlefield—think you can turn this around? Don’t make me laugh.
I’ll grant you this—you’ve provided a bit of comic relief. But even if you were given ten times what you’re asking for, the Hero would crush you like an insect.”
Following their lead, dozens of other generals unleashed their own ridicule.
But Gwarany, unmoved, remained perfectly calm.
No emotion. No retort.
Seeing this, the king spoke again:
“Your claim is bold, Gwarany. And speaking it here, before those struggling on the front lines, means you must take responsibility if you fail. You understand that… don’t you?
Then speak.
What is this strategy that will ‘dramatically change’ our situation?”
Gwarany stood, bowed politely, and opened his mouth to speak.
“It is this…”
Comments
Post a Comment