A New Hero (3)
Ben had only tested what was in my cup, and before he could even confirm the presence of poison, chaos erupted—so there hadn't been time to examine the bottle. That left me with a sliver of hope.
Personally, I didn't think the bottle was poisoned.
When I first walked into the tent, Ed had already been drinking.
Which meant there was no poison in his cup at that time. In other words, the poison must've been added after Ed and I started talking—while we were both distracted.
Poisoning both cups without Ed noticing? That level of stealth was seriously dangerous, now that I thought about it.
…Anyway.
"If I recall correctly, there was only one moment when Ed and I both looked away from the table."
When we heard that snap.
Instinctively, we both turned our heads toward the sound.
But it was just for a split second. Definitely not enough time for an assassin to walk up and drop poison in both cups.
So how did they do it?
"They must've thrown it in."
The assassin had skill high enough to avoid being detected by Ed's sensing. That meant they were more than capable of throwing poison into a cup with deadly precision.
Still, aiming into a narrow-mouthed bottle would be much harder, and far riskier.
And since the assassin clearly avoids unnecessary risks, it made no sense for them to poison the bottle.
…Or so I figured.
"Let's find out."
I casually picked up the bottle.
Sure, drinking it alone without the host around made me feel a little guilty—but hey, he was going to offer it to me anyway, wasn't he?
Brushing off the guilt with that kind of shameless reasoning, I brought the bottle close and sniffed.
As expected—nothing.
A smile tugged at my lips.
"Seems they used one of those so-called colorless and odorless poisons."
Even poisons in solid form—whether made by condensing liquids or compressing powder—require certain ingredients to keep their shape.
People say even those are odorless, but… well.
"Anyone who's dealt with a lot of drugs, or has a ridiculously sharp sense of smell, would notice it."
That faint chemical scent unique to poisons.
But this liquor? Not even a trace of that subtle scent. Which meant…
I grinned.
"This drink's mine now."
I didn't have a cup, but that didn't matter.
Worried someone might walk in and interrupt me, I slightly lowered the cloth covering my chin and, without hesitation, tipped the bottle to my lips.
"He's dangerous."
"Hm…"
The assassin spoke with fervor.
Cruel sat silently, listening without any visible reaction.
But while his face was calm, his fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk, betraying a more complicated inner state.
After a long pause—after hearing everything—the man finally spoke in a slow voice.
"I understand. You may go."
"Yes, sir."
The assassin bowed and left. Cruel, now alone with his thoughts, did not look pleased. Understandably so.
If the commander of the Zero Legion really possessed that level of skill, it meant he had surpassed even that assassin.
And the assassin wasn't some run-of-the-mill killer.
True, his job class made him weaker in direct combat, but when it came to stealth and assassination—even Cruel had to stay on guard.
"What a pain."
The Zero Legion Commander wasn't just a rumor; he was real. And his power was no bluff. What could be more troublesome than that?
Cruel slowly closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
"The decision…"
…had already been made. He just felt a bit of regret about it.
With a slight furrow of his brow, he tilted his head back, then opened his eyes and sat upright.
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, one of his subordinates cautiously asked,
"What are your orders, sir?"
"…The command I received was 'to defend the Empire's territory.'"
And so, Cruel had intervened in the faltering frontline—and not only held the territory, but pushed deep into the Demon Realm.
The higher-ups seemed pleased with that.
But unless the orders changed to something like "expand our borders into the Demon Realm", there was no need to overextend.
"I was planning to claim as much land as possible while I had the chance, in preparation for a future demon assault—but it can't be helped."
That chance had passed.
Greed leads to ruin. Cruel was far too rational and cold-blooded to be driven by greed.
If their morale had at least been decent, maybe they could have risked a fight. But unfortunately, the enemy's morale was sky-high—and his own forces were scraping the bottom.
"What is that Zero Legion Commander?"
If his combat prowess were the only issue, Cruel might've taken the gamble.
But luck wasn't on their side—the man could sway the entire battlefield's morale just by showing up.
Going head-to-head in this state, in this mood, would only lead to one result: total defeat.
There were people in the Empire who could turn the tide—but not here, not now. That left Cruel with very few options.
"To defeat the Demon King's army with the Zero Legion Commander…"
He muttered grimly.
"…We'll need that guy."
"Ah…"
"But we don't have that right now. And a request for reinforcements would come too late."
Another hero of the Empire.
Cruel fell silent for a moment, thinking of someone who had become a hero even before himself. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"In our current situation, halting the battle is our best option. If we want to stop the 0th Corps Commander from intervening, that's the only way. But we can't just openly make a treaty with the demons, and there's no way they'll stand by and watch after finally getting the upper hand..."
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
His index finger tapped against the desk.
This too was the burden of the title "Hero."
A title earned for what one must protect, and yet one that so often held you back. Despite his grimace, Cruel eventually gave voice to the plan forming in his mind.
"We withdraw of our own accord."
"...Sir?"
"But anyone who chases us—kill them. Kill them so thoroughly that it's nothing like before. We must not, under any circumstances, look like we're being pushed back."
They would retreat without showing weakness.
Fall back just to the borders of the human realm—and make it clear they would not fight unless provoked again.
"If we retreat now, won't it look too obvious? The demons will surely realize."
"That's why I said: anyone who comes after us—make sure they die."
"..."
"They'll understand once they're crushed trying to pursue a retreating army."
They won't think, Oh, they heard the 0th Corps Commander was coming and fled.
They won't see it as a rout or a hasty fallback due to some emergency.
"They'll just assume this useless stretch of land, devoid of even a ray of sunlight, wasn't worth drawing swords over."
"..."
"That's the message we need to send."
They couldn't make a formal agreement, but an implicit understanding—an unspoken truce—was still very much possible.
As an Imperial Hero, he technically shouldn't be doing this. But Cruel wasn't the type to be bound by titles.
More important than rules was ensuring his debut as a Hero didn't end in ruin.
"Of course, this all depends on the 0th Corps Commander staying out of it. But since he came as reinforcements because the Demon Army was struggling, I think we're safe. If things go back to normal on their own, there's no reason for him to step in."
"Well… yeah. I've heard that the 0th Corps Commander almost never joins battles personally."
"Exactly."
The higher-ups only cared about results. They didn't ask how things happened—only what happened.
And if the troops under Cruel's command were defeated and forced to allow the demons into the human realm again, the higher-ups would surely start questioning whether he deserved the title of "Hero."
That can't happen.
Not after everything he'd done to get this far.
Quietly biting his lip, Cruel opened his mouth to give the next order—
But no words came out.
"C-Commander!"
Someone burst into the tent, pushing aside the flap.
His face was pale, his breath ragged, his clothes caked in dirt. Cruel silently rose from his seat.
He waited for the soldier to catch his breath and report, calmly putting his gauntlets back on and strapping his sword to his waist.
There was no scolding for the sudden intrusion.
After all, it had been his own order—that in urgent or critical situations, anyone could rush in with news, no matter what.
So instead of reprimanding the man, Cruel prepared for battle in silence, waiting—
"The Demon Army is advancing! The vanguard is… the 0th Corps Commander…!"
Clatter.
Before the report was even finished, Cruel had grabbed his helmet and stormed out.
The plan had collapsed.
The situation was dire.
Even before taking in the full scope of the battlefield, Cruel's eyes darkened inside his helmet, already grasping the truth.
There was no need to see more.
The sharp metallic tang of blood stung his nose, even though the battle had barely begun. The front line was crumbling like paper. And over it all—the screams.
And laughter.
Whose screams? Whose laughter?
"…Hah."
A bitter laugh escaped him.
Cruel clenched his sword and stared out at the battlefield.
At the very least, none of the soldiers under his command were mad enough to laugh while slaughtering.
Of course—it was the demons. Cackling as they tore through the field, as if venting all the frustration they'd bottled up until now.
It's over.
The momentum had fully shifted.
War is ruled by morale.
Even when outmatched, if morale is high, soldiers can fight like madmen. But even in a favorable battle, if morale is low, things can turn sour fast.
And right now, morale was rock-bottom on the Empire's side.
This can't go on.
He clenched his fist tighter.
It couldn't end like this. Not after coming so far, not in such a pitiful retreat.
He had to do something.
—But what?
To turn this situation around...
With every sense razor-sharp, Cruel turned his gaze to a single point.
In the chaos of the battlefield, there was one space—a space so quiet it seemed completely cut off from the rest of the world.
And there, standing alone—
—was a demon.
"Hehahaha, ahahahaha!!"
The dagger spun freely in the figure's hand.
Like a street performer's trick, it flipped from a normal grip to a reverse one, sometimes even dancing across the back of the hand. That mesmerizing motion drew the gaze of more than a few—and those who so much as hesitated became the next victims.
How many had already fallen that way?
From the spot where the dagger struck, blood would erupt like a geyser. The faint moans of comrades—no longer even able to scream—reached the ears of the others still nearby.
The black demon before them never killed quickly.
Whether by severing tendons, slicing off hands, or gouging out eyes, it methodically removed all chance of retaliation, then tore them apart slowly—laughing the whole time.
And if by mistake it killed someone too quickly, it would shred the corpse with glee, putting its cruelty on full display.
"D-demon…"
The trembling voice escaped someone's lips like a groan.
It had probably come out without the speaker even realizing.
Voices of weakness on the battlefield were poison to morale. Even so, no one had the heart to scold him.
Not even the soldier who had spoken.
Because deep down, his barely suppressed emotions were screaming in agreement with the word that had slipped out.
Yeah. Demon.
If that thing doesn't count as a demon, then who—or what—does?
His hands were shaking. His legs refused to move, as if rooted to the ground.
The demon's back was fully exposed as it hacked its latest victim apart, completely defenseless. And yet, the soldier couldn't bring himself to lift his weapon.
Pointing it would've been easy.
Just raise it, aim at that unguarded back.
But if he did...
I'll end up like that too.
No. He couldn't. He was terrified.
He had no confidence that he could handle the consequences of attacking.
He wanted to run—but even that was impossible.
His instincts screamed that if he so much as turned his back, the demon would be on him in an instant.
Caught between fight and flight, paralyzed, the soldier squeezed his eyes shut. His pale lips trembled uncontrollably.
Someone, please…
—Save me.
A silent cry surged up from his chest and stopped just short of his throat.
And then, it happened.
Clang!!
"...Huh?"
The sound of something shattering rang out—and a powerful wind swept through the field.
He closed his eyes against the sudden swirl of dust, and when he opened them again…
A familiar suit of armor filled his vision—one he had only seen from afar before.
The soldier's arm, still clutching his weapon, slumped in relief.
"Ah… Ahhh…"
He was alive.
That single, overwhelming relief gently uncoiled the tension in his frozen body.
Barely managing to hold up legs that threatened to buckle, the soldier stared straight ahead at the figure now standing before him.
The Empire's newest hero. The star of the battlefield. The rational commander.
Cruel.
He had arrived.