A hush fell over the war-torn plain as Thalamik's silhouette emerged through the smoke. His steps were measured, boots hissing over scorched grass. Carmilla looked up first, her face etched with hope. Kourin, still kneeling beside Raymed's body, felt the world contract around Thalamik's quiet fury, as if the whole battle awaited the weight of his next word.
He did not hurry. He approached with an unreadable expression, his eyes colder than ice. Every ounce of grief and exhaustion clung to Kourin, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. She expected anger, accusation, the kind of rage that could only come from a comrade watching another fail.
Instead, Thalamik omitted nothing of the sort. Cold and cryptic, almost as if he is talking to himself. "Kourin… You should have replaced it as fast as you could."
His words hung in the air. Kourin felt something within her crack. She clutched Raymed's lifeless hand as if she could squeeze out a miracle. But there was no hiding from the weight in Thalamik's stare.
Her voice broke, a single, fragile thread. "I'm sorry."
She expected judgment, but Thalamik's gaze shifted, becoming even more distant. For a fleeting second, she wondered if he even heard her apology. He looked beyond her, beyond the battered bodies and shattered ground, as if communing with something that had no shape or name.
The moment shattered. With a roar like a hurricane, Focalors launched herself at them—her body twisted with rage, eyes wild and desperate, a demon clinging to life with monstrous stubbornness.
In a blur, Thalamik moved.
Twin daggers flashed from the folds of his coat—one black as void, one white as moonlight. He met Focalors' charge with almost nonchalant ease. She struck with an admirable strength, but his blades caught her claws, deflecting the attack with minimal motion. Sparks leapt from the contact, painting the air in streaks of silver and obsidian.
His mana enhances the blade, making it strong enough to withstand her claws.
He did not even look at her. "Carmilla."
"Rule of Stability, Plausibility, and Balance," she intoned. "Restore the scales of fairness upon this world."
Carmilla's mana swelled, pure and blinding.
"Personification of The Great Seal!"
The invocation's echo thundered across the plain. A pillar of divine radiance speared down from the sky, striking Focalors.
Light—pure, searing, absolute—wrapped the demon envoy, freezing her in place.
Focalors' scream was drowned in the symphony of celestial power.
Thalamik's eyes flickered, a satisfied glint betraying his approval.
He flicked his fingers. "Take it away, Besitulars."
At his word, the ground trembled as an army of demi-human wolves materialized. Their leader, a burly figure with mismatched fangs and a grin too wide for his face, saluted with mock cheer.
"Aye~ Aye~ Big Bro!!" Besitulars Gurathon called, slinging Focalors' immobilized form across his massive shoulder. The wolf-pack dragged the stunned demon away, their laughter carrying an eerie comfort—a reminder that, in Thalamik's shadow, even monsters could become allies.
Now, Thalamik knelt by Raymed's side. His daggers vanished as quickly as they had appeared, tucked away into realms only he understood. His right hand glowed with mana, burning brighter than before. The look he gave Kourin was unreadable—neither soft nor severe, simply expectant.
"Watch closely, Kourin. Carmilla." His voice was low, almost gentle, but every syllable carried command. "This is the trick behind Mana Infusion. Think of it as a blood transfusion for the soul. Control is everything—too much, and you shatter the vessel; too little, and the poison lingers."
He pressed his palm to Raymed's chest. A ripple of blue energy snaked from his fingers into Raymed's veins, mapping out the tangled web of contamination within. "Normally, you'd worry about damage. But now, the damage is a lesser price than letting him slip away. Prioritize flooding him with clean mana. Push out the infection."
Kourin's eyes widened in realization. "You're not blaming me…"
Thalamik shook his head, a small, sardonic smile ghosting his lips. "No. There's no need for blame. This is war; anything could happen. Focus on what you can do."
He withdrew, gaze locked on Carmilla and Kourin. "Only you can do it, Kourin. Raymed needs at least fifty percent of your mana to cleanse this level of contamination. I don't have the reserves. Nor can I heal as well as Carmilla. So I leave it to you. Carmilla, guide her."
He stood, coat swirling like a shadow's flag in the wind.
He turned his back, striding a few paces away.
"Thalamik!" Carmilla cried, understanding the threat rising behind the horizon. "Don't go at it alone! You can't win—"
He looked over his shoulder, a glint of mischief in his tired eyes. "Who said I was fighting alone? Just focus on bringing our hero back to life, Carmilla. The rest… leave to me."
He faced the battlefield, voice booming louder than the aftershocks that still rumbled through the earth.
"ARE YOU ALL FINE WITH THIS?" he shouted, his voice a thunderclap that rippled through the souls of all present—living and dead alike. "SOLDIERS OF HUMANITY, FEY, DEMI-HUMANS, SPIRITS?"
Mana swirled about him in a cyclone, the air so dense with power it threatened to smother every lesser will in its wake. Thalamik raised his right hand, flames of blue mana licking the sky.
"YOUR ENEMIES STILL LIVE! MANY HAVE DIED—ARE YOU CONTENT TO BE NOTHING BUT ANTS TO THEM?"
His words were more than rallying cries—they were not incantations. It's pure words towards the lingering souls in the battlefield. Magical energy began appearing from all direction as it tried to encumber Thalamik. It was as if the dead had answered.
"If you still have pride—if you still have will—then heed my call!"
He drew a breath that seemed to gather the very night. "I am the Fiend Kaiser. Bow to me and serve. I will bring you victory—and protect those who matter most to you. Be my fiends!"
"AWAKEN, MY FIEND ARMY!"
The bones of fallen demi-humans and humans stirred, clawing their way free from earth and mud, spectral figures shimmering to life on a tide of defiance.
Then his army rose. Skeletons armored in battered remnants, ghouls with burning eyes, spectral warriors whose very presence shimmered with the memory of pain and hope. Their cries—anguished, determined—rose as one.
The undead army surged forward. "GRUAHH!!!" Their battle cry was a chorus of old fury, new purpose. Thalamik's eyes shone with grim determination as he led them.
"ALL SOLDIERS—ATTACK!"
The tide of the undead swept across the plain, colliding with the remnants of the demon army belonging to one of the Demon Lord Envoy's left. The battle raged on in an explosion of fury and vengeance.
***
The grassland warzone had become a grave of steam and silence.
Vepar hovered above the battlefield, her form flickering between corporeal beauty and aqueous monstrosity. Wounds inflicted by searing spells and javelins of polarized mana closed without pause—her body rebuilding like tidal waves smoothing over scars in sand.
Killiar's limbs trembled, sweat tracing her blood-smeared jawline as her mana reserves hovered at a critical 20%. Trish's blade was dulled from overuse, and Lulu, her hands glowing faint with support enchantments, could barely maintain a levitation ring.
"I can't levitate no more..." Thierus muttered through cracked lips, the elf kneeling beside Oryba the lamia, who'd finally regained consciousness. "We've lost the skies."
But before despair could set in, a sound—inhuman and deafening—pierced the field.
A thunderous wail echoed across the plains.
The ground trembled as an army of fiends emerged from beyond the horizon—skeletons clashing shields, ghouls lurching forward with glaives, and banshees swirling like ghostly streamers in a blood-swept gale. They struck at Vepar from every angle, forcing her back momentarily for the first time in hours.
"What… What is that?" Oryba's tail coiled instinctively.
"An Army of Fiends?" Trish whispered, eyes wide in disbelief.
Lulu, breathing heavily, lit up with a radiant smile. "That could only mean—Thalamik is here!"
"Thalamik… as in The Fiend Kaiser?" Oryba's voice quivered.
The banshees screamed once more as the wind shifted.
From the far ridge, cloaked in the silhouette of the evening sun, came a figure clad in a billowing black coat. His silhouette shimmered with deathly mana. Two daggers—one black, one white—twirled effortlessly in his hands.
He walked, not ran. Every step was measured. Every breath is controlled.
"Killiar. Trish. Lulu. Senior Oryba. Senior Thierus," he intoned, voice laced with exhaustion and power. "I'll take it from here. Retreat, restore yourselves. This battle had been going on for five hours and thirty minutes. For Killiar, Trish, and Lulu, around four hours and thirty minutes… you've given more than enough. Rest before you return."
The air trembled as his mana surged. The very earth beneath them dimmed.
Then came his command.
"Come out."
A fissure opened behind him.
First to emerge was Black—the towering skeleton knight in ebon plate, dragging a massive greatsword behind him with a sound like thunder cracking over bones.
Next, Arcuest, Passete, and Visha—Thalamik's elite ghoul knights stepped forward with synchronized grace, their swords radiating a bleak violet glow.
Each fiend knelt before him, waiting.
Killiar, barely able to stay standing, narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure about this, Thalamik?"
Without turning, he replied, "Take them to safety, Teacher Killiar."
Killiar nodded and gave a final glance at the battlefield before retreating into the fog of fallen mana.
But Trish remained.
"Hey!" she called, panting.
Thalamik didn't turn. "What is it, elf?"
"You better win, human," Trish said, forcing a grin. Her sword hung limply at her side.
He gave a short laugh, just enough to shake the tension.
"And…" she added, voice softer now. "I'm sorry I doubted you. See you later, Thalamik."
Her footsteps slowly disappeared into the haze as Lulu followed behind.
Only then did Thalamik lift his head.
Before him hovered Vepar, hissing, her form regenerating once more—but slower now. Less fluid. Less perfect.
Thalamik extended both daggers. They began to rotate—white orbiting black.
Only to sheathe them back.
"Let's begin…"
The air bent unnaturally around him. His body began to glow with a bluish color.
Veins like circuitry appeared on his hands as he put it forward.
"Alterity."
***
15 minutes after Raymed went to the frontlines.
I was with Diko and got an idea to fight the Demon Lord Envoy.
I forced Dwargo to comply, as it took around another 15 minutes.
But I know it wasn't enough.
Anything I do will never be enough.
I desperately went to Psytelier to ask for their help.
I knelt.
Not out of formality. Not for show.
But because my body had nothing left, my spirit was fraying at the edges. I could feel it, trembling beneath the weight of everything I failed to hold together. The blood on my hands wasn't enough. The knowledge in my head wasn't enough. Not for Raymed. Not for Carmilla. Not for anyone I swore I'd protect.
So I knelt there, broken, vulnerable, my forehead nearly touching the earth, as if surrendering myself to something greater—desperation, perhaps.
Then I heard her steps.
Suiko.
She didn't speak, not at first. No clever remarks, no high-minded logic. Just warmth—unexpected, unguarded.
She knelt beside me and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.
Warmth. That's what it was.
"You must have been through a lot," she whispered.
I didn't flinch. My tears spilled freely, soaking into her robes. My hands clenched against my knees. My breathing came in ragged bursts. All I could feel was the weight of everything I hadn't been strong enough to prevent.
What I want is something simple yet that doesn't seem attainable.
An endless request.
An endless quest to free myself from despair.
"I want to break through the limit from deep within," I choked out, unsure if I was even speaking to her or to the void of my self. "How far ahead should I go? How long must I keep struggling? When will I reach the level where I can finally protect those I care about?"
I didn't even know what answer I wanted.
I didn't see Suiko anywhere. What I saw was an endless void with only me in it.
She didn't give one right away.
I can feel her arms tighten around me.
No grand gesture.
Eventually, she pulled back. I felt her fingers rest lightly on my shoulders—reassuring, but steady.
"Arise, Thalamik." Her voice spoke to me as I gritted my teeth and broke the illusion of the darkness that had consumed me. The void that overtook me.
I snapped back to reality only to see myself in her eyes.
And I hated what she saw.
Hollow eyes.
A man trying so hard to be unshakable, only to realize he wasn't even standing anymore.
Why was I like this?
Didn't I promise I would achieve what I needed to achieve?
For my wife, my kids, my parents?
Then why am I here, feeling hollow, ready to give up, because I found an opponent I seemingly can't defeat?
Why did I feel as if I had already lost?
Why did I dare to feel like I was already at a loss even before fighting?
My composure returned as my grip on this cruel reality was reinforced.
Seeing this, Suiko smiled as if satisfied with my returning mental strength.
"I may not be able to help directly," she said, voice calm but strong. "But that doesn't mean I can't teach you." A small smile played on her lips—not pitying, not superior.
"But it isn't a technique meant to be learn quickly. Since a wrong step could cause your very own body to be destroyed."
We then went to the training grounds of Psytelier.
The Psytelier training grounds weren't like any battlefield I'd stepped into before.
White ceilings stretched into false skies above, and seamless tiles etched with arcane circuitry lit beneath our feet. It was an artificial domain crafted for those who knew how to bend logic and shape reality—a fitting place to study Alterity.
Suiko stood at the far end of the field, surrounded by floating glyphs and data orbs. Behind her, a wide monitor displayed real-time footage of everyone fighting the Demon Lord Envoys. Small, floating orbs hovered around the room—Psytelier's remote eyes, linked to the battlefield.
"Focus, Thalamik," Suiko called out. "Now listen, Alterity is not brute force. It's rewriting foundational law. You must deconstruct the world first, then reshape it."
I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes.
Right.
Deconstruct the world.
But how?
Two hours passed.
Sweat dripped from my brow as I tried again and again. Suiko explained every step. Alterity was a reality override: it created a localized dimension within a bubble, detached from causality, time, and physical rule. Within it, you could impose a new reality—your own system. A microcosm of rewritten laws.
To cast it, I needed to project Mana Roots. Mana Roots are like chains of magical energy that I embedded inside objects. For this I need to project it inside my body, stabilize them, then project it outside to make a field of Mana Roots. Then anchor it to my will.
Whenever I tried to push my Mana Roots outward into the laws of reality, the resistance was overwhelming—like trying to punch through steel with a bleeding hand. My mana trembled, scattered, and dissipated.
I watched the screen again. Kourin had entered the field. Focalors staggered back under her attacks. Raymed stood beside her, sword cracked, but his resolve was stronger than ever.
I tried endlessly and projected my mana roots simultaneously.
At some point, I didn't even care if it hurt.
I focused everything on shaping a fragment of world law.
The ground beneath me shimmered.
Reality bent. My domain started to take form.
And for thirty seconds—just thirty-I held it.
A white sky. A static field. No rules, no decay. My army of fiends flickered briefly into this half-formed world.
Then it collapsed.
Like a glass dome shattered by truth.
My legs gave out. I hit the floor with a grunt, breath shallow, arms shaking. Suiko was beside me before I could blink, tipping a bitter potion past my lips. The rush of liquid mana was nauseating—but necessary.
She exhaled softly. "You're still not ready. Your mana reserve is insufficient to maintain a perfect Alterity, nor is your control over the mana roots stable enough to project a perfect one. As expected, it isn't suitable for non-High Humans and people without Hicells."
A perfect Alterity...
It struck me then, like a whisper behind my ear.
I didn't need perfection.
I just needed the function.
My hand pressed against the ground.
Alterity is a domain born of rewritten logic.
Then, its strength and cost are defined by what law I enforce.
I don't need a sealed dimensional barrier
I don't need a whole world.
What I needed was a law.
Just one.
A law that would allow my friends to be sustained infinitely by mana, without decay. A fragment of Alterity. A conceptual rewrite anchored to reality itself. A patch, not a full replacement.
"A single rule," I whispered. "Unlimited mana. That's the only condition. No barrier. No time dilation. Just… Unlimited amount of Mana."
I closed my eyes again.
This time, I didn't try to build a whole world.
I stretch my mana roots and plant one rule deep into the soil of this world's logic. I ignored the dimensional seal and let the mana leak out, uncontrolled and unstable, but I tethered that single truth to my will.
And I felt it resonate.
My mana roared in response, like a fire finally given air.
My Imperfect Alterity had manifested in a small area.
"Thalamik…" Suiko murmured, eyes wide as she watched the formation stabilize. "That's…"
***
"Ugh—!!"
The scream ripped out of my throat before I could stop it.
It fucking hurt. Everything hurt. My bones were vibrating from the strain. My skin felt like it was peeling from the inside. My mana roots—those inner veins of power—were stretched far beyond their limit. It trembled as if it could snap at any moment.
But they didn't.
They were slowly… manifesting.
That meant Alterity was stirring again.
An Imperfect Alterity.
I staggered forward across the torn battlefield.
All around me, broken weapons and scorched earth.
In the haze of pain, one memory rang through like a bell.
Suiko's warning.
"You cannot use Alterity that way. It may seem fine initially, but using it like that will require a huge mana reserve. To maintain something like that, you need at least 200% of your own capacity to hold it for just two hours."
Two hours…
That's all I needed.
I clenched my teeth, blood dripping from my lips.
Then I raised one hand—and with a single motion, dismissed my Fiend Army.
They vanished like smoke scattered by the wind.
At first glance, that might've seemed like I was sacrificing them to preserve myself. But no. That's not how this works.
Mana reserves are determined at birth. A fixed limit, most say. But they don't factor in my Fiend Kaiser power.
The more Fiends I have bound to me, the more I command, the larger my mana reserve becomes.
So no. The issue isn't Mana reserve.
The issue is distribution.
I didn't build an Imperfect Alterity to consume my army.
I built it to sustain them.
The only rule I need in this flawed, imperfect Alterity… is one condition.
Unlimited Mana.
A loop of using the fiend's mana reserve to cast Alterity and then to resurrect them infinitely.
If I must pay in agony, then so be it.
I don't care anymore if it hurts.
I don't care if it's not perfect.
If it isn't elegant, refined, or worthy of some mythical title.
I don't need clarity. I don't need a guarantee.
What I need is time.
What I need is conviction.
My friends gave everything to stay alive this long.
So I'll give everything in the next two hours.
"HAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"I screamed with everything in my lungs, all my mana pouring through every cracked fiber of my being. Sparks appeared as everything went to a blur.
Then—
I saw her.
Standing just ahead of me. Her back was towards me. Her silhouette cuts the wind like a blade.
The black coat fluttered behind her. A familiar one. One I knew well.
It was hers.
Hale's coat.
The very one she said she wore the day she faced Berith and Eligos. The day she stood on a hill of corpses, outnumbered, outmatched—and still walked away, because her will refused to kneel.
Months ago, Addison gave it to me along with a couple of her notes.
She said Hale left it for me.
Said I could use the notes to unlock her family's technique.
I hadn't had time to learn it yet, so I didn't bring that to the battlefield.
But today I used her black coat.
Because Hale wasn't just my instructor.
She was a warrior I admired.
And there she stood now—whether memory or mirage—her white ponytail flicking in the wind like a banner of war. She turned, meeting my eyes with a genuine smile showing her teeth.
"Will you be able to keep up with me, Thalamik?"
I laughed.
Through cracked lips, through pain and blood—I laughed.
"Don't make me laugh, old hag," I spat. "Keep up? I'll surpass you anywhere I go."
What is the meaning of fighting back?
What does fighting back mean, even though we know we will lose?
If Raymed were to be asked that question, he would probably say the meaning is that to 'never to lose hope'.
The important thing is that we fight so everyone can have hope or bring hope.
I can't argue that what he said isn't correct.
He is the personification of 'Hope'.
I can never have his kind of mindset, yet I will always support him.
So, if I am asked why I am still bothered to fight,
It's because if Raymed is the Hope—
Pain dulled.
Doubt faded.
Then, I am—
.
.
.
—The Determination.
I opened my eyes, my stance straightening.
"My soul is forged from endless grief.My body is of fiends, and my breath of death.Across countless battlefields, I marched with the fallen.Not even once mourning,Not even once rejoicing.The Kaiser lies here alone, raising the dead beneath a shattered sky.Thus, I require no salvation.
To keep marching towards our goal is the definition of my drive.
This soul is made of infinite undead."
"UNLIMITED UNDEAD WORKS."
A dome of twisted law unfolded from my body, spreading outward.
A ten-kilometer diameter of rewritten reality.
The dead returned.
Skeletons surged from the ground, howling with fresh rage. Ghouls sprang into the air, eyes glowing like green torches. Wraiths and banshees descended in spectral howls.
The ones I had recalled… they came back stronger.
They didn't bleed.They didn't stop.They respawned.
Again and again.
Every time one fell, another took its place.
The field turned black with armor and bone.
***
The battlefield seemed to hush for them alone—Carmilla's healing spell hovered like trembling fireflies over Raymed's chest, and Kourin's own cyan-and-gold mana flared in ragged bursts, as though unsure it was welcome.
Carmilla steadied her voice. "Let me keep the channels open. You pour everything you can spare—don't hold back."
Kourin nodded once, throat tight.
Fifty percent?
No—he needs more.
I'll give everything.
She drew a breath so deep it hurt, and let her core unravel.
A bright ribbon of light unspooled from her palms, flooding into Raymed. At first, it was like water against a dam. Kourin clenched her teeth and pushed.
I am not losing you.
I can't lose you.
I won't let you go.
The ribbon thickened, became a torrent. Carmilla backed it up by using her healing magic while also helping to stabilize the mana infusion glyphs made by Thalamik to help keep Raymed's channels from bursting.
Carmilla's glyphs flared brighter as Kourin's mana surged—not fifty percent but almost 95% of her own mana reserve. Nearly the entirety of her reservoir. Cyan-gold light poured from her palms into Raymed. The Demon Contaminated Mana from the Demon Lord Envoy can't hope to fight the sheer volume of the mana infused.
In a traditional sense, it also would mean Raymed's body is in trouble.
Yet this body is of The Chronic Eater.
The body of a person that casually drains Mana residue, so it is pretty resilient when receiving mana, even in a situation where it is supposed to be highly dangerous.
Kourin's vision tunneled; the world wobbled on the edge of blackout.
I beg of you, Med...
She braced one trembling hand against Raymed's cheek and leaned in.
A soft sensation that explained how affectionate she had become towards him.
She moved from his lips and whispered softly to his ear.
"It's time to wake up, my hero," she breathed.
Only Carmilla caught the moment; her eyes widened, but her healing weave never faltered.
The torrent reached critical mass. Sparks of pale red lightning crackled across Raymed's skin, muscles twitching like a forge had lit beneath them.
His back arched; one ragged breath tore free, and light finally returned to his eyes.
'Hope' has returned and risen once again to fight against an 'unbeatable' opponent.