Antagonist Protection Service

The armed forces fought for hours.

It wasn't merely to rid of what felt like an infinite amount of ogres that had previously crashed down on them and attacked, but that and many times more.

See, there was not just one dark portal that appeared following the initial surprise, and not all of them spouted ogres like water, they were certainly not threats to heedlessly dismiss.

Ogres, imps, and even types of Lesser Demons that they had never seen nor heard of before, such as those which were simply gremlins, those which resembled dogs from hell, those which crawled and slithered along the ground like a revolting hybrid between a reptile and a zombie with rotting flesh.

Cutting them down, scorching them with fire, freezing them in ice and shattering them, purifying and smiting them with holy light, riddling them with arrows and magic bolts, and exploding them through all kinds of means.

On this tumultuous battlefield, divided into two halves and surrounded by the unending horde of Demons, the armed forces fought with all they had, but it was never quite enough.

All dark portals had been successfully chained and forced to close.

It was now just a matter of endurance. A war of attrition.

There were priests and mages who could heal, but magic energy stores did not last forever.

The more people were injured and were healed, the more mages casted spells, the more warriors expended their already limited magic energy through magic body enhancement, the faster it all ran out.

At the start, the armed forces were going strong, stronger than anyone could believe, but now, the tides were starting to change.

As more mages were unable to cast their expensive, wide-area culling spells, more Demons attacked, and as more Demons attacked, more healers exhausted their own magic energy, resulting in more of the vanguard being heavily wounded beyond repair, resulting in the Demons attacking with an even greater advantage.

What was at first a single snowflake grew into a snowball, and as it continued to roll, it only got bigger and more urgent.

Soon, no one would be able to cast spells, no one would be able to heal, and no one would even have the strength to swing their weapons or pull the strings back on their bows.

If the situation continued as it was, it was inevitable for an avalanche to break out and swallow them whole.

For the division on the other side of the foothill, they were likely to survive, not only purely thanks to the fact they had greater numbers of priests and mages, but also because the "safe" back of the armed forces were where all of the potion and supply-carriers were positioned.

They had the resources and the manpower to keep fighting, which was infinitely more than what the other division could claim, trapped inside the basin with seemingly no luck and no way out.

If there was a single silver lining, it would be the individual power level of each member of the division.

See, those positioned at the vanguard of the armed forces were naturally those with the most recognised strength; although they numbered fewer than those on the other side, their individual strength was greater, so at least it made up for a bit of the gap.

In particular, with the vanguard of the Black Fang on their side, certain fighters' presences gave the others a morale boost all on their own.

Furthermore, there were obviously less mages and priests at the front of the battlefield compared to melee fighters, so although they wouldn't be able to cast as many big spells or have access to as much healing, which they would naturally require, it at least meant they wouldn't be at as much of a loss when those few mages and healers were inevitably out of the fight.

Perhaps it could even be argued that they didn't require as much healing in the first place, considering their skills were more than enough to ensure they wouldn't get hit.

Of course, to rely on that was a pipe dream, and with the sheer amount of enemies they faced coming at them from all angles, it was impossible to avoid being wounded in some capacity, especially after fighting for so many hours without a moment of respite.

To fan the flames even further, the air thick with blood was gradually darkening with each passing minute, not just because of the naturally ashen skies and dark clouds of the region, but because the day itself was soon to end.

And that wasn't even the worst of it.

CRACKLE~!

The sky above, utterly veiled for a few hours at this point by sable clouds, flickered with ominous black lightning, a phenomenon undoubtedly not natural in the slightest.

Still, they fought, and fought and fought, until the number of Lesser Demons was substantially reduced.

They had no idea what was going on beyond the foothill, met with so much destruction so as to look unrecognisable and hidden beneath the countless disfigured corpses of both humans and Demons, but they could only hope that everything would be fine.

And, somehow, the situation certainly seemed to be heading in that direction, fortunately enough.

With the sheer tenacity of those professional fighters on the frontlines, they cut down the Demons before them not just one-by-one, but even multiple with each swing.

By the time the sky was almost completely black, the vanguard division was gaining ground, exterminating all the pesky imps that annoyed them by attacking from above and using the tempo swing to get back at the rest, slaying the hellhounds and other abominations that too were dwindling in number.

Eventually, not just the imps but the hellhounds were all slain, followed by the gremlins, and more and more and more, until, at some point, there was a sweeping realisation.

"...There's... no more..."

The final ogre had fallen, and with that, the vanguard had won the fight.

Before they had time to celebrate, they thought to immediately rush back to the top of the foothill, only to catch a glimpse of the last remaining enemies likewise collapsing to the ground.

Without hesitation, the soldiers erupted into cheers.

However, the rest of the adventurers and knights, whose instincts were far more honed, recognised that something was off.

"No... Wait, it's not over!"

Quickly, with those possessing the assigned authority again taking charge, the two divisions recombined and took a moment to catch their breaths and recover.

Ensuring everyone could drink some potions and get the support where they needed, the number of the fallen was too vast, the state of the battlefield too disordered to take count, and so they decided they would do so when they were on their way out and everything was over.

'Over'.

The instant some drained warriors dared to think as much, an explosive clap of thunder sounded, momentarily shaking the earth beneath their feet as everyone hurriedly turned to see what was going on.

Standing atop of the foothill decorated wholesale with blood and death, those keen-eyed within the armed forces could see it.

"What... Who... is that...?"

Over there, in the middle of the vast basin the vanguard had just been fighting for their lives in...

"..."

A single figure stood, his expressionless face unfamiliar.

❖─────★★☆☆☆─────❖

Standing in the middle of the deep, vast basin separating the foothill the armed forces were standing on and the unventured mountains that lay beyond, there was a single figure.

His straight hair was long enough to reach his waist, and just like his half-lidded eyes, it was pitch black, seeming to absorb all light as it were, similar to the surrounding environment and current looming sky itself. Contrasting that, his skin was unnaturally pale, white like a ghost or a ghoul.

"..."

For a moment, no one could say a word, and in fact, not a single sound was uttered.

The ominous figure emanated a strange, abnormal presence, but even without that it was clear from the slightly elongated ears that peaked through the veil of hair on each side of his head that it likely wasn't human.

He was undoubtedly mysterious, but more than that, his existence alone seemed to exude strength.

The figure wore no armour, but rather an old-fashioned, chic suit, with dark colours all over as if to match the mood and atmosphere of the region.

Perhaps that only exacerbated the tension in the air, however.

After all, who would possibly come to a battlefield such as this without a spec of protection?

Gulping down their nervousness at the patent fact that whoever it was down there staring blankly up at them was stronger than perhaps any one individual participating in the expedition at this moment, everyone knew what the course of action was without it needing to be stated.

Imperial Commander Vyckard, the officially appointed leader of this expedition, stepped forth.

Walking silently to the edge of the foothill, he placed one foot on the steep slope leading into the basin, followed by the other, and began to smoothly slide down, stepping over each mutilated corpse that blocked the path.

Briefly meeting each other's eyes, the chosen sub-leaders did the same, and one-by-one, the entirety of the armed forces, or at least those who remained of it, steadily descended into the vast basin.

Pausing and quietly stretching his arm to the side, the Imperial Commander signalled everyone to wait a short distance away before continuing.

By himself, he walked the remaining distance to the mysterious figure, stopping just a dozen or so metres shy of the tall individual who, upon closer look, had a surprisingly charming face, like that of a model.

"You are not like the rest of them. Are you our enemy?"

Watching the other warily, the veteran knight opened his mouth.