The Assassination War (16)

“Enemies ahead!”

“Their numbers surpass our expectations. Should we contemplate a tactical withdrawal this time?”

“Let’s engage them first. If we advance a bit further, we’ll have the honor of being the inaugural forces to set foot upon Demon territory – you wish to relinquish that?”

“Still……”

“Getting cold feet?”

“…Well, you only live once. Let’s proceed!”

Eavesdropping on the external dialogue, Ulric sluggishly roused himself. It was time to clock in.

Gripping his railgun in his left hand, he ambled forth, his peripherals registering Erin’s similarly purposeful movements.

After briefly glancing her way, Ulric deftly reloaded before concealing himself and dashing towards the enemy lines.

“Uhrr, huhrrhk.”

“Hey, wanna ditch together? We could hideout in the woods until it concludes, then sneak back unnoticed?”

“Over there, I overheard every word. Go forth, you derelict bastards!”

“But, our current conditions render us unfit for combat. We’ve yet to fully recover from the previous engagement’s injuries……”

The destination swarmed with utterly demoralized Demons.

Even they harbored certain grievances:

Assassinating key operatives did not represent an exclusively Demonic domain – arguably, Freugne had initiated those tactics first.

With conspicuous absences at every post-battle debriefing, the genuinely unconscionable party consisted of those anticipating unwavering mental fortitudes under such circumstances.

Certainly, no matter how systematically Ulric culled their commanders, intelligent entities inevitably adapted through adversity.

“Here, the casualty roster.”

“…Again, you mean?”

“My meaning… Ah yes, I’ve itemized the specific details you might find intriguing on the subsequent pages. Have a look.”

The Demons commemorating those names shared a commonality:

They had persistently advocated more gradual advances, suggesting awaiting reinforcements while stockpiling ample provisions.

Not mere coincidental inferences – outright statistical correlations.

And with such objective substantiations, conspiracy theories practically begged to manifest.

“This represents divine judgment! Retribution upon the traitorous cowards succumbing to terror, colluding with those human vermin!”

“Our Sovereign utterly despises such defeatist inclinations! His previous exhortations advocating prudent advances merely served as smokescreen filters to identify the genuinely valorous talents – this embodies his true intentions!!”

“Precisely! As if mere human projectiles could selectively evade them all to solely penetrate their foreheads.”

Yet not long after, upon being apprised of those suspicious circulating rumors, their superiors intervened with official rebuttals:

“…Was this not a revised strategic directive?”

“No, think it through logically. What purpose could assassinating them serve amidst ongoing warfare? If exterminations were mandated, they would occur post-combat resolution – otherwise, the entire command structure collapses. Why initiate such senseless idiocy?”

“Then those deaths were……”

“Why overcomplicate matters? Mere coincidences, surely.”

“Those cannot be regarded as coincidences! They unmistakably represent malicious orchestrations!”

While the conspiracy theory about the Demon Sovereign targeting defeatists had not been universally abandoned, elucidating the current circumstances now necessitated novel hypotheses.

And as tends to occur with phenomena defying logical explanations, the newly emerging theories began escalating exponentially:

“…Ghosts! Spectral hauntings!”

“The lingering human souls, tormenting us. Yes, that must be it.”

“Wait, even granting that premise, why would human souls single out only those specific individuals for persecution?”

“How should I know? Or perhaps that very absence of discernible motivations itself constitutes proof of a haunting?”

“?”

Ghost stories began proliferating among the Demon ranks.

Eyewitness accounts circulated about human apparitions manifesting amidst their formations during combat engagements.

The projectiles retrieved from slain Demon corpses exclusively originated from recently developed human armaments – some even cautioned against provoking that railgun-wielding specter.

“No recourse remains. You may either languish here or retreat as you wish. We shall handle the remainder.”

And the Demon Sovereign harbored insufficient tolerance to passively observe such defeatist malaises indefinitely.

---

The Demons had endured relentless, compounded thrashings until this climactic pummeling represented a metaphorical bloodied cherry atop their traumatic tribulations.

Recalling their triumphant juggernaut towards Antrim’s imminent conquest would have provoked lachrymal anguish over their subsequent plummeting reversal of fortunes.

Yet their inferior combat prowess did not stem from lack of dedicated efforts.

If anything, their inability to accept their diminishing prospects relative to these biologically inferior vermin had only compelled them to struggle more tenaciously, if ultimately futilely.

Ultimately, the decisive differential emerged as Freugne’s omniscient maphaek advantage – a 24/7 cheat mode rendering their valiant resistances, while formidable, fundamentally inadequate.

Not that justifications proved unattainable:

Yet during warfare, diplomatic rhetoric pleading “We fought atrociously, grant us another opportunity” would invariably elicit dismissive rebukes about prolonging needless slaughter.

Nevertheless…

“All forces, prepare for deployment!”

“The battalion before us has inflicted the most casualties upon our brethren. We must sever this blight’s proliferation forthwith. Is that understood?!”

“Yes!!”

If that maphaek could be neutralized, or even temporarily reversed…

The power equilibrium would inevitably tilt back into their favor.

Merely possessing foreknowledge of the enemy’s positions, deployments, and strategies conferred immense advantages.

A sighted combatant infiltrating a village of blind inhabitants represented a proverbial akin to encountering one’s estranged father, or Cao Cao’s entrance into the Xuchang region.

Conversely stated, the fact that the Demons had managed to sustain protracted engagements despite operating under such handicaps…

“Kkkkhaak.”

“Huh? Whuh?”

“The enemy! They’ve somehow reversed their encirclements from the rear–kkhuhuelk!”

“Commander, orders! Direct us!”

“Which is to say, uh, how should we proceed……”

The consequences of temporarily alleviating that debilitating handicap proved self-evident.

As Erin’s embattled unit disintegrated in real-time…

The crimson-masked Demon Slayer Ulric industriously squeeze-fired his railgun, contributing further chapters to the burgeoning mythologies.

Their opposition’s waning morale had recently rendered combat increasingly unsatisfying.

Unrelenting defeats and rearguard retreats felt unavoidable, but the consequent dearth of competent commanders had reduced Ulric’s workload proportionately.

Assessing the situation as sufficiently resolved, he began incrementally withdrawing while mentally calculating when to resurface before his commander – only to pause, glancing around bewilderedly before muttering:

“…No one else remains?”

The frontlines stretching into the horizon mere hours prior had vanished, the previously teeming fortifications lying abandoned.

Outright routs represented anomalous occurrences within Freugne’s meticulously orchestrated battlespaces.

Retracing the surrounding footprints while concealing himself, Ulric broke into a sprint – refraining from neutralizing any Demons along his path to avoid unnecessary delays.

And after traversing some distance…

-Bbbang!-

“Damn, seriously? This is where my ammunition gets jammed.”

“Kkkyaaahk! Kkkyaaaahhhh–”

“Just perish already!!”

He spotted Erin embroiled in combat at that remote locale.

With every approaching stride, the Demons steadily closing in behind her came into sharper focus.

‘Where did our forces go?’

Upon closer inspection, they seemed to have abandoned her as the sole survivor amidst a pile of casualties.

As a long-range sharpshooter, her isolated predicament felt grimly inevitable, evidently unable to withstand much longer.

Among Ulric’s mission directives had undoubtedly included ensuring Erin’s safety to the extent feasible.

Prioritizing self-preservation on the battlefield remained understandable – barring literal cloning abilities, shielding her from that remote Demon encampment would have proven impractical.

But if rescue proved viable, that mandate necessitated intervention despite potentially compromising his identity.

“Dieee! Kkyaaaahhhh!!”

“Ugh–”

Ensuring Erin avoided needless cranial injuries, Ulric revealed himself, bludgeoning an approaching Demon’s skull with a rock he had earlier procured – his railgun risked malfunctioning from excessive trauma.

He had endured reprimands from his commander over that very occurrence previously.

While harboring no aspirations for camaraderie, Erin represented his sole source of solicitous concern and acknowledgment.

In essence:

At minimum, he did not actively wish for her demise.

Cornered within the remnants of a partially demolished warehouse, Erin emitted disconcerted gasps as Demons collapsed one by one around her – until Ulric’s reveal prompted stifled shrieks of shock.

“You, weren’t you supposed to retreat with the others?”

“We’ll discuss that later.”

Demon extermination had long become second nature to him. Not long after, their corpses littered the surrounding vicinity.

Yet upon surveying the situation, concealing this particular incident as an exclusively Demon-centric occurrence proved impossible.

Reinforcements – whether from allied troops or adjacent battalions – would inevitably arrive if they persisted briefly.

After some contemplation, Ulric’s gaze gravitated towards the visibly flustered Erin.

Ah, right.

“…Why that look?”

“Fortuitous, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Huh?”

“We’ll attribute this accomplishment to your efforts.”

“Pardon?”

---

Londinium.

The pinnacle of Keres Tower, Freyja’s office.

“A letter has arrived from the frontlines.”

“For whom?”

“Your daughter, it seems. She appears unharmed judging by her own inscriptions. Here, please accept it.”

Edan delivered the missive that the receptionist had requested he convey to Freyja instead.

Evidently, she had redirected it to Keres Tower rather than their residence during this tumultuous period.

While Erin’s battalion had garnered some newspaper accolades for their prospective ‘heroic’ designations, such distinctions invariably harbored inherent perils.

Despite her apparent adaptations precluding overt protests, Freyja’s maternal apprehensions remained inescapable as Erin’s guardian.

As someone formerly plagued by a chronically melancholy daughter, Edan could empathize acutely with such paternal disquietudes.

And upon unfurling that letter brimming with anxious trepidations, Freyja:

“…Eh?”

“What ails you?”

“Ah, um.”

“May I have a look as well?”

“…….”

Wordlessly, Freyja extended the letter towards Edan with a tremulous hand.

Not long after beginning his perusal, Edan too froze stock-still akin to a marble statue.

While predominantly comprising personal ruminations, the conclusion read:

[Ah, and I debated whether to even mention this part.]

[But it seems I’ve inadvertently become designated as an authentic hero, or something approximating one.]