381 – Wind on the Front Lines

Teeeaaar—!

With the sound of plastic ripping, a section of space buckled, and a dimensional gate opened. From the rift, black slime dripped.

Thwack, thwack.

The black things writhed. As if surveying their surroundings, they moved their bodies and slowly began to change shape. They were the Empire’s enemy, the demonic race.

They had long adapted to ‘humans’. In the early days of the Eastern Front, they were close to humanoid slimes, but now, they had differentiated into countless forms.

Behold. Behold those wretched creations.

Tick. Tick. Ti-tick.

“Ee. Ah. aaah.”

Blink. Blink.

“Deu. Ah-deu. Geu.”

A black body, sprouting haphazardly with grafted human parts. Imitating. These things, they imitated the form of humans, and seized it as their own power.

Not just humans.

Cre-e-eak. Flap, whoosh.

One entity, mimicking a wyvern, takes flight. Another, aping a mole, digs into the earth, while yet another, simulating a plant, sends down roots.

*Adaptation* – accelerating the evolution of any species by a factor of hundreds of millions.

“…Additional dimensional gate detected. Type is standard. But the location is unfavorable. Fifth Platoon, immediate retreat. I repeat. Fifth Platoon, immediate retreat.”

The scout relayed the signal to the soldiers deployed in the field. The dimensional gate had opened, blocking their retreat route. If the horde began to pour out in earnest, it would be disastrous.

Through the telescope, he saw the soldiers hastily retreating. They swung their swords, tore scrolls, casting off the demonic creatures, and ran toward the western stronghold.

But one of them was acting strangely.

A soldier, clutching his head as if in agonizing pain, staggered. He seemed to be succumbing to the brainwashing wave. According to Eastern Front combat doctrine, an allied soldier affected by demonic mind control must break free on their own.

Because.

“Hey, you alright?! We don’t have time to waste here. Hurry and ru… urgh.”

“You, you, y-you, demon, you, I’ll kill you.”

“Snap out of it, I, I’m an ally…!”

Even comrades who attempted to assist were ensnared and killed.

The soldier, completely consumed by psychic magic, clamped his hands tightly around the neck of the very man who’d tried to save him. Then, he gaped his mouth wide. From that throat, a black tentacle writhed forth.

When completely dominated by the demons’ *Illusion Magic*, the afflicted became a ‘Human Dimensional Gate.’ A human-factory, endlessly spewing out demons until death.

Even without physical contact with the demons, merely succumbing to their Illusion Magic meant infection.

No one knew how it was possible. The higher-ups spouted complex theories about the demons being ‘information lifeforms,’ but no one paid much attention. Knowing wouldn’t stop it anyway.

“Gack, gack, guuack!”

A muffled scream arose. Suffocated, choked, like something caught in the throat, but more desperate and agonizing than any scream he’d ever heard.

Another soldier had everything stolen from him. This time, it was physical infection. The demon transformed its tentacle into a black, viscous fluid, and forced it down the soldier’s windpipe. His stomach bulged grotesquely.

Could he be saved?

No.

“Uuurgh, aaargh-!”

And the demon consumed him from the inside. Like a plant sprouting in soil, the demon bloomed, using the soldier’s body as its pot. Horns and scales erupted, tearing through the skin.

Approximately five minutes later, he had become a tree.

The organic matter and soul of a soldier physically infected by a malignant information-lifeform, a Mazoku, are altered into the same information-lifeform structure as the Mazoku, producing more of them.

Had a deranged mage been present, he would have assessed the Mazoku thusly: a ‘virus’ in every sense of the word.

According to research… even in that state, the soldier’s consciousness remained. He was forced to feel the sensation of parts of himself transforming into a Mazoku. Even if miraculously rescued, he would suffer severe amnesia.

The scout lowered his binoculars and quietly mourned.

The Eastern Front is Hell.

—

The scout marked an X on his map. Marking the land lost just moments before due to the sudden manifestation of a dimensional rift. Such occurrences were commonplace.

This was the reason the war against the Mazoku continued endlessly, despite the Empire’s might.

No matter how thoroughly they were uprooted and killed, they endlessly appeared out of thin air. Even if a region was razed to the ground, one could not claim to have conquered it. For if a dimensional rift were to open there again, chaos would ensue.

Furthermore, their ability to attack both the mind and the body made them particularly difficult to combat.

War is, without saying, a wretched thing. And there is a limit to the stress a human can endure. Repeatedly witnessing comrades dying in horrific ways inevitably shattered one’s mental fortitude.

Then their minds would be consumed by the Mazoku, and they would live on as ‘human dimensional rifts’.

It wasn’t that the Mazoku, un-eradicated despite the Empire’s grandeur, were impressive. It was that the Empire had held the front lines against those Mazoku, those horrifying abominations seemingly created for the sole purpose of killing humans, that was impressive.

Click, clatter.

The scout swallowed a white pill from a vial in his pocket. It was a concoction made by a military Illusion Mage, meant to dull one’s sensitivity to stress.

He walked across the blighted land. More of the earth was charred or petrified than remained untouched, thanks to the frequent bombardments from the crimson Mazoku Towers.

It would take about half a day to return to the nearest garrison. He felt hungry. He needed to replenish his energy, even if just a little, along the way.

Then, by chance, right there on his path, stood a tree laden with an abundance of bananas, flaunting itself. How fortunate! That would be enough to fill him up. No, enough to burst! Loads of them!

“… Ah. Right. Burst until I die, I suppose.”

He would end up like that soldier he had just witnessed.

The scout slapped himself hard on the cheek. That was a Mazoku in disguise, or a illusion spell cast by one. Judging by how obvious the lie was, it seemed to be a low-ranking individual.

High-ranking Mazoku who had survived for a long time in this world were exceedingly cunning, after all.

Therefore, on the Eastern Front, one must always eat meals within safe zones, and when it was unavoidable to replenish nutrients in the field, one had to consume the food one had brought along.

He pulled an apple from his pouch.

“… … … ….”

Red. A ripe apple. And green leaves.

The texture was firm, and it gave off a sweet smell. But something was off. There should be a stem between the leaves and the fruit, but it was nowhere to be found on this apple.

Blink. He closed and opened his eyes.

Twitch. Twitch.

The exquisitely ripened apple had vanished somewhere, and in its place, a grotesque thing groped through the veins of the pouch with its slender feelers. A minor scouting unit of the demonic horde.

*Thwack.* He crushed it with a clench of his fist, then flung the apple-filled pouch to the dirt. He ground it beneath his boot, without mercy. *Thwack. Thwack.*

*Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.*

—

The detection-trooper returned to the nearby garrison.

Turning, he counted heads… Ten comrades, their pupils dilated from prolonged use of stress suppressants, and one illusion mage, stationed to ward off the demons’ enchanting spells.

The soldiers who’d retreated at his signal were nowhere to be seen. Gone. He prayed they’d reached another stronghold, but cold logic suggested otherwise.

Likely, they were all dead along the way.

A middle-aged man, rattling his magical manacles, swilled down liquor and stared at him. He was the illusion mage of this very garrison.

A death-row inmate, dragged to the Eastern Front on charges of abusing hypnosis on a noble’s wife.

“Back from the dead, eh? A veteran, through and through. Got a secret, perhaps, hm?”

The detection-trooper paid no heed to the mage’s mocking tone. He had no heart left to be nettled by such trivialities. He asked, matter-of-factly:

“…Mage. Any word?”

“Word of what?”

“The Princess. Word of when Her Highness, who departed for the capital, would return. Have you received anything?”

“Heh, heh heh… Still searching for that wench? The simpleton who abandoned the Eastern Front in her feverish bid to become Empress, only to have her little sister snatch the throne?”

Instead of words, the detection-trooper displayed his intent through action. He drew his blade.

“Whoa. Still believe in the wench, I see?”

“She is not one to do such a thing.”

“You speak as if you’re the Princess’s husband.”

Indeed. Rumors had been circulating along the front lines for some time: Elaine, the Princess, had deserted the Eastern Front.

But that could not be true. The detection-trooper refused to believe it.

He remembered.

He remembered the image of Elaine, wreathed in a tempestuous crimson whirlwind, single-handedly tearing through the demon horde when he was certain he was surrounded and doomed. He remembered the look in her eyes. Eyes that bore the weight of an obligation as vast as a mountain.

She was iron, forged in the shape of a human.

From that moment on, the detection-trooper had become Elaine’s disciple. He believed she would someday become Empress and save this land.

Even if, in truth, she *had* abandoned the Eastern Front. That fact did not invalidate all that had come before.

Elaine was the hope of the Eastern Front. No, *was* the hope. The Azure Gale Knights she led effortlessly butchered demons, pouring twenty hours of each day into battle. It was through that effort and dedication that the Eastern Front had been maintained.

But when Cisel Yurensto, the strongest knight of the Eastern Front, defected, and Elaine left her post for the imperial succession struggle—the front began to waver.

As did the hearts of the people.

The mage scoffed.

“Aye, he’s a stalwart one, that he is. But you know one man alone can’t turn this war, eh? Look at this land. No matter how many you kill, the monsters just keep spawning. Not even if the Black Dragon Emperor himself returned would it be enough.”

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

“I know you cling to hope. Heard about your…superior being possessed by the Mazoku. Heard it all. But it’s time to face reality. There’s no stopping the Eastern Front from collapsing, no humans eaten by the Mazoku returning, no end to this damn war.”

He exhaled a heavy pessimism, then gulped down more liquor.

The scout… exhaled a silent, weighty sigh. It sounded like the expiring breath of a man worn down to nothing, or the death rattle of someone fading away.

Is that so.

Is there… no hope?

It felt as though his heart was emptying. He’d been clutching at a thin thread of hope, but now his grip was slowly loosening. Then perhaps, it would be better to let go and be at peace…

—

It was then.

Bee-beep. Bee-beep. Bee-beep.

A rhythmic noise erupted from the mage’s communication orb. It was a top-priority signal, a commander’s order to be carried out instantly.

“…Has she returned? The princess?”

“Decipher the signal. Now. It must be executed immediately.”

“Don’t rush me. I heard you. So… ‘Do not be alarmed’…”

Do not be alarmed?

The mage let out a mirthless chuckle. What, pray tell, could there be to not be alarmed about? This place was teeming with soldiers who had fought the wretched Mazoku their entire lives. Their nerves were already frayed beyond repair.

“What, is Her August Imperial Highness planning a naked inspection tour or something? That’d certainly be cause for alarm. Utter alarm.”

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

“Alright, alright, no need to be so serious. Can’t even crack a joke… huh?”

The mage, already shrinking back and waving his hands, realized the scout’s silence was of a different breed altogether. He was staring, mouth agape, rendered speechless by something immense.

The mage, too, turned his head. And there.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A gargantuan golem, easily reaching a height of one hundred meters, stood in towering majesty.

“⋯⋯⋯⋯?”

“⋯⋯⋯⋯?!”

What in the hell is that?

-『Meteor』, Operational Rate 70%. Stable. All systems nominal. Commencing extermination of Mazoku concentrations. Initiating Booster Drive!

Kuaaahhh-!

The colossal golem, visible even beyond the mountain peaks, swung its arm. Consequently, black motes rose into the heavens, scattered far and wide. Surely those are the Mazoku.

Disguises and absorption be damned, when the size difference is this vast, even Mazoku seem powerless to act. They’re flung skyward like kernels of corn exploding from a popper.

“…I-Imperial secret weapon? Something like that?”

“…”

As the two blinked in bewildered unison, a pillar of holy energy plunged from the sky.

*Guuu––!!*

Again, the Mazoku are cleaved apart. Even from this distance, the browning smoke is clearly visible. The mage was so startled he rebooted his mental defenses, wondering if he was under hypnosis.

“…That’s, an augmentation of the church of goddess? What, how much money did they give them? To influence those maniacs, the empire’s vault must have been exhausted…?”

Soon, an army materialized beyond the horizon.

The banners were dizzyingly numerous, and it seemed an impossible number of factions had assembled in one place. In particular, the flags of Elaine and Irid, fluttering side-by-side, caught the eye.

What. Hadn’t Elaine been pushed out of the Imperial succession? Weren’t the Imperial heirs supposed to be on terribly bad terms?

At this point, both the mage and the scout began to tremble.

“No, no. Calm down. Don’t get carried away. It could just be a show. Don’t get your hopes up!”

“…”

Presently, several human figures began to rush forward at incredible speed. Looking at their faces, they seemed young. Generously, in their early twenties. As mercenaries, they’d barely be cutting their teeth.

And yet, this movement.

*Tap. Tap!*

They’re jumping once more in mid-air…?

“Our swordsmanship squad gets more kills, so acknowledge that swordsmanship is the best, and humbly surrender, spear squad!”

“Like I said, the frictional heat from the scabbard or something like that is, physically speaking, a waste!”

*Rumble rumble.*

Only after they had rushed past did the mage finally snap to his senses. They can’t go like that. They need to receive mental shielding procedures. At the very least, they have to bring potions to resist the Mazoku’s hypnosis.

Isn’t this world dismissive of illusion magic? Those youngsters probably wouldn’t even know the first thing about mental defenses. Someone must inform them!

“W-wait! You’ll be in danger if you go like that! Illusion magic is…!”

“Woah, if we get hit by this, the academy’s reputation will be in shame.”

“If somebody gets hypnotized and miss a step, you know that your name will be engraved directly onto the Academy’s Dormitory bulletin board.”

“…”

Why…?

The scout beside him could barely endure it even after taking medicine, gaining experience, and enduring all sorts of hardships, so why were these young ones so unaffected by the Mazoku’s illusion magic?

“C-calm down, calm down is…”

The mage barely suppressed the cheer that threatened to erupt from his throat. His pessimistic and cynical nature was making its last stand.

“──『Subtract』.”

But then, that girl soaring through the sky, launching a violet beam that made every illusion mage quake in their boots.

The mage threw his hands up in the air, embracing the scout beside him.

“We’re alive! Goddamn it, we’re alive, you son of a b*tch!”

“Mage, try to contain your excitement…!”

It was different.

This time, it was truly different!

Those who survived the Eastern Front finally saw a clear beacon of hope.