A Resplendent Era (8)

Truthfully, whether capturing or killing, indoctrinating with magic was the easiest approach.

Unsurprisingly, even amid gasping breaths, the Demonic Tribe pursuing Edan employed magic.

However.

“Just stop him somehow, anyone! We just need to create an opening, however briefly!”

Crackle!

“Aaaarrgghh!”

“He’s using magic, making it difficult…!”

Even without donning aluminum foil headgear, continuously unleashing streams of sparks made little sense.

Thanks to that, his escape had been progressing successfully so far. And he wasn’t merely fleeing aimlessly.

Although there were at least eight visible Demonic Tribe pursuers, he figured dropping them one by one with electricity would eventually work.

Thud!

“He went into the alley on the right!”

“First get the faster one- Aaargghh!”

Edan tripped an incoming Demonic Tribe member, grabbed the back of their neck, and electrocuted them. Now there were seven.

He lacked the leisure to finish them off by snapping their necks, so he simply left the convulsing body on the ground. By the time they regained consciousness, he would have distanced himself considerably.

Moreover, if the police or elite mages joined the fray, he could not only hold them off but potentially counterattack. Capturing and interrogating one might even reveal their main base.

Of course, this was the result of Edan indulging in wishful thinking to the utmost – reality was far less accommodating.

“Police! Where are the police?!”

“Eeeyaaahhh!”

“Is this how they treat a foreigner who doesn’t even pay taxes here? Hey!”

Despite plaintively calling for the police as if he had forgotten his age, no response came even after circling the same streets thrice, reducing the Demonic Tribe numbers to six.

The Demonic Tribe had infiltrated human society quite some time ago.

While the specifics differed by nation and city, a common pattern emerged.

The first act of the Demonic Tribe upon successful infiltration of Antrim was mind-controlling the civilians with magic.

Though their Belfast dialect skills were rudimentary at best, their human targets likewise lacked adequate defenses, succumbing en masse to such spells.

“Everything’s fine, we’re just observing this place.”

“What exactly are you trying to do to me?!”

“You shall pledge lifelong loyalty to the Dark Lord, understood?”

“What… nonsense is this…”

“I’ll ask again, you shall serve the Dark Lord your entire life, understood?”

Perhaps their ambitious dreams of one day inciting a rebellion and devouring the city itself had been painstakingly shredded by Freugne not long ago.

Having witnessed the culmination of decades of buildup collapse like a demolished beaver dam, the Demonic Tribe had no recourse.

Some might label such actions reckless, but to her, it was a stark choice between ‘leaving her homeland only to pointlessly squander her efforts in a distant land before returning empty-handed’ or ‘trying something, anything.’

And on that fateful night, the Demonic Tribe collectively reached a resolution, indescribable yet accompanied by a nagging, swirling sensation within their minds.

Some were aware it was the Dark Lord’s doing yet remained silent. Others acquiesced to the surging resentment, while the remainder, unable to resist the psychic onslaught, attacked humans while screeching incoherently.

Unexpectedly, this operation proved quite successful.

While the Demonic Tribe appeared perpetually inept, constantly returning only to spew more empty threats like cartoon villains, they were not entirely useless.

If there was an issue, it was simply that their tournament bracket had been unfavorable thus far.

Conversely, in the absence of obstructive entities like the formidable Freugne from the Londinium chapter, their chances were reasonably favorable.

Bang bang bang!

“Reports are flooding in from all districts of Antrim. Witnesses claim seeing rioters, some even identifying them as the Demonic Tribe!”

“……”

“Commissioner? Are you inside? Commissioner?”

“……”

“No response, what should we do? He seems to be asleep. He has been complaining about fatigue lately.”

“But we should still wake him!”

“Last time we did that, he chewed us out…”

“Stop dithering! Is now really the time to worry about that?!”

“Y-Yes, yes. Commissioner, we’re coming in-“

“Commissioner…?”

“Ugh, aaaarrrggghhhh!!”

Discovering their deceased superior in the commissioner’s office was not an uncommon occurrence on a day like this.

In fact, this was relatively tame – there were instances where they outright obstructed matters.

[Riot breaking out in District 7! Requesting support!]

[District 10, can you not hear us? Is there an issue on your end as we-]

Boom

The telephone lines connecting the police stations ignited, along with the commissioner’s refusal to respond for the umpteenth time.

“As expected, securing their cooperation will be difficult…”

“No, after all this progress, are you really giving up now? This isn’t the first or second time we’ve done this.”

“But this time is different! No matter how hard I try to cover it up, there’s a limit to what I can do-“

“Don’t you know who’s next if we’re all apprehended? It’s too late to turn back now. Once aboard this train, we must see it through to the end!”

The Demonic Tribe in Antrim weren’t merely relegated to menial labor.

Willingly or not, they had certainly co-opted mentally unhinged local collaborators.

Despite such obstruction, some police officers did respond to the reports but were utterly outmatched with their standard-issue batons.

Against human adversaries, these might suffice, but against flesh-rending Demonic Tribe, these people’s sticks degraded into mere mold, proving ineffective for maintaining order.

If only the police faced problems, it would have been fortunate.

As if by prior arrangement, the homes of prominent mages, pro-communist politicians, and promising officers across the city simultaneously echoed with screams of terror.

Any single instance would warrant cautious investigation, but occurring simultaneously overwhelmed Antrim’s law enforcement capabilities, straining them to the breaking point.

“Abandon all hope! No one will come to your aid!”

“If you surrender now, perhaps we’ll show mercy…?”

“You expect me to believe that after nearly blowing my head off?!”

“Tch.”

Ultimately, Edan found himself engaging in a solitary, lonely battle.

Around the time he abandoned all hope, the stress was manifesting as real-time acute gastritis for Edan.

The overwhelming numbers could not be disregarded, so without aid, his only recourse was to swiftly flee while dealing periodic countermeasures.

However, Edan did not head towards the bustling downtown area.

For one, he was not so callously inhuman as to calculate the Demonic Tribe would be too preoccupied slaughtering others to pursue him. Nor was he delusional enough to expect they would simply release him amid the bloodbath unfolding in central Antrim.

And while initially startled by his first Demonic Tribe encounter, he fared better than anticipated.

The result was this circuitous wandering through Antrim’s alleys.

Unbeknownst to Edan, his instinctive maneuvers – striking the Demonic Tribe at corners before fleeing – resembled tactics from his gaming experiences.

“How dare you deceive us after we offered reconciliation?! You lack even basic integrity!”

“Die!!”

Crackle, crackle!

“Pikaaahh!”

Now there were five. The battle progressed smoothly.

---

Freugne, too, had her thoughts.

While the available information was scant, she could roughly assess the situation.

The Demonic Tribe mentioned luring Edan. That implied Edan had at least evaded this chaos unscathed.

And judging from the commotion outside, it seemed to be Edan either fleeing from or battling the Demonic Tribe. She surmised that reuniting with him would enable their joint escape.

In truth, even disregarding such rationalizations, she had no alternative.

Whether the plan had leaked, a key figure within the organization had betrayed them, or someone had been mind-controlled by the Demonic Tribe to divulge information, she did not know.

The conspicuous absence of passersby was peculiar, but even if there were, she could not peer into the future anew. Doing so would render her comatose on the spot.

And falling asleep on a rain-soaked winter street was tantamount to suicide – at present, she yearned to lean against something, anywhere, and close her eyes.

“Haah, huh…”

‘Just a little longer, I just need to endure a bit more.’

In reality, reuniting with Edan would not resolve every issue.

He was likely already being pursued, so her presence might only become a burden.

Yet the reason she persisted was simple: remaining stationary would undoubtedly become a greater burden.

Footsteps gradually approached from behind.

Now intermingling with her own, their number was indiscernible. Perhaps she was merely mishearing echoes or imagining non-existent sounds, weighed down by fatigue.

And finally.

“…Huh?!”

“Un…cle.”

Upon spotting him, Freugne’s face lit up with delight.

Edan’s ragged, breathless expression transitioned from perplexity to surprise, then outright shock.

Wait, shock?

“Get down!”

“Huh?”

Freugne belatedly noticed a shadow looming overhead and glanced back slightly.

Only then did she belatedly grasp the situation.

The Demonic Tribe had not been pursuing from behind. One had overtaken and awaited her from the front.

Under the faint streetlight, the Demonic Tribe’s blade glinted ominously.

Freugne’s eyes remained open until the very last moment, her vision abruptly awash in crimson.