The False Hero, Volume 12, Chapter 15

Chapter 15

----- King Edgar -----

“Tighten the line!” Edgar swings his Warhammer, crushing any fiend in its path. “Don't let a single one through!”

The king stands in front of his army, ahead of even his own personal guards, save for his two most trusted who guard his flank. The rest of his men form a line behind him, guarding his back and cutting down any fiends who run by their liege to reach the main army.

For better or worse, a warhammer isn't a weapon that can be used in a typical battle formation. If anyone were to get too close to the king, they would quickly become a victim just as much as the fiends trying to take him down.

A claw scrapes Edgar’s shoulder, failing to find a crack in his armor. Yet despite that, he can feel a slight pain, right where the Berserker’s swipe had struck him. It was barely more than a hearty slap on the shoulder from an overly excited friend, but that’s to be expected from one of the weakest fiends.

The problem is that Edgar is almost completely surrounded, with his only avenues of escape on the ground being to his left and right, where his two trusted bodyguards are keeping the paths open for him. Even with a weapon specialized in clearing crowds of weaker opponents, the swarm of fiends simply overwhelms any single person, no matter how powerful they may be.

One attack after the next seeks his fully-armored body, trying to take down the monarch of the most powerful kingdom on the continent. Striking such a blow early in the battle could even shift the tide uncontrollably into the favor of Chaos.

But a level 89 can’t be defeated so easily.

“[Bonecrusher]!” Edgar swings his warhammer in a massive arc.

The fiends clawing at his full plate are first crushed by the overpowering might of his weapon skill, then sent flying by the burst of energy that accompanies it. Even several rows of enemies beyond the first, the skill retains enough explosive power to crush smaller bones.

The swarm of monsters

A pile of corpses begins to grow around Edgar, fiends who had tried and failed to reach him. With every swing, more enemies fell, the bone crushing force of the warhammer pulverizing any weaker fiends caught in its path.

They fall seemingly without resistance, lacking even a hope of taking down a level 89 equipped with some of Lutz's most powerful enchanted items. Dozens fall every minute to just a single man with a warhammer, a rate that would demoralize any other army as the men in back watch their comrades in front walk into the circle of death that is King Edgar’s attack range.

Yet the fiends continue to willingly wade into their own demise without a shred of care.

“We’ve detected unusual movements across the entire enemy army.” Prince Rhys’ voice echoes in Edgar’s head. “The Archfiends are joining the battle, and their tactics have adjusted accordingly. All anti-Archfiend squads are to prepare for combat immediately.”

His son gives the news everyone knew would be coming. The Archfiends who lead the armies of Chaos nearly always give commands far from the front line, acting as their main strategist and tactician.

It is only when the fight tilts one way or the other that the Archfiends join the fighting themselves. If the tide turns in their favor, he will join to decimate as many as possible before we can organize a retreat. But if the tide turns in our favor, he will join to prevent his army from suffering a defeat.

In either case, Archfiends rarely join the melee unless one side gains a clear advantage, something that has yet to occur in the current battle. Yet they have already made their move, something which should come as a surprise.

However, it has long been assumed that they refrain from fighting in order to better control their army, like a general who must stay protected in the back of the formation to give orders effectively. With that knowledge, we were able to assume that the Archfiends wouldn’t stay out of the battle for long.

Some even believed they would be fighting on the front line from the start, as no Archfiend is needed to lead their army when the Lord of Chaos himself has taken the field.

Edgar crushes the skull of one of the regenerating Mutants. “They’re thinning out? There can only be one reason why fiends would choose to avoid me.”

The king brings his warhammer to a complete stop, seemingly for the first time since the battle began. The fiends have already retreated enough to form a ring around him, mimicking a dueling arena.

Many such arenas have formed across the front line, pockets of peace in a world-ending conflict. But peace was never the intention, a fact made clear when Edgar’s opponent stepped into that peaceful space.

“Duke Bradley de Reinhold.” King Edgar lifts his visor, the cool air rushing in. “No, you’re a duke no longer. A traitor deserves no such title.”

“Betrayal is all about perspective, Edgar. You know the truth now, do you not? The Goddess has been dethroned, as I nearly did to you. Am I a traitor for siding with the new ruler of this world? Or are you a traitor for defying the god who now holds our destiny in his hands?”

“The Goddess will always be the only divine we worship. Look at what this new god has wrought upon this world. An endless war, their once-human soldiers now disfigured into monstrous fiends to be used against us. Is this your new god, Bradley? A brutal despot, willing to use any method to gain control of our world? And you wonder why we stand against you?”

“Are you speaking of our new god, or of yourself two decades ago when you stole the throne from your brother? He would have made a far better king than you, yet you cut him down and seized power for yourself. And why? Because you were furious that you, the first-born son, were inadequate.” Bradley shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder how much easier taking the throne from him would have been.”

“A better king for whom? The nobles like you who manipulated my brother into making a claim for the throne? I was the crown prince, not my younger brother. It was you and your ilk who fanned the flames and risked our entire kingdom for your own selfish ends.”

“Oh, drop it already, Edgar.” Bradley gets a tired look. “Everyone knew the king was going to crown your brother. It simply wasn’t official at the time of his … sudden death.”

“Hollow remarks made in a drunken stupor. But you know that already. You were there, at the party. What did you do after? Meet with your faction to begin planning the civil war?”

Bradley shrugs, giving up the charade. “Essentially. Your brother may have been quite a competent ruler, unlike you, but he lacked the obnoxious iron will that makes negotiating with you such a chore.”

“So you were seeking to control him, as I suspected. Then it’s good that I fought a civil war to keep the crown where it rightfully belongs–my own head.”

“I may have failed to take the throne from you once already, but in the end, the crown will still belong to me.” Bradley pulls a sword from his waist. “As brutish as it may be, I will be taking it from you myself.”

Bradley’s sword shimmers with a faint blue, the blade lined with glyphs of unknown origin. Power seeps from his weapon, the depths of which even Edgar can’t see without putting the blade to the test.

“Tell me, Bradley. How did you feel when falling to your knees to beg your god for the power to stand against me?”

“You think too highly of yourself, Edgar. Defeating you was part of the bargain, but in the end, you are a mere stepping stone to my inevitable rise as humanity’s rightful ruler. And when it comes to begging for help, you’ve done your share to the very hero you nearly killed upon his arrival.”

“The two of us have already made amends for our past, and unlike you, I don’t have to sell my soul when making a deal with him that benefits us both. Yet you still speak as if you will become king if you win this war. King of what, Bradley? A ruined world, oppressed by a wrathful god?”

“Spare me your foolish vision of what our new god has planned for this world. What purpose would a god have, if there were none left to worship him? Those who submit will need a ruler, one who will convey our god’s will to the new kingdom that will be born from Orakio’s ashes. This world isn’t ending, Edgar. No, not even close. This is simply a new beginning, and I will be the one who stands at its head.”

“You want the crown so badly that you’re willing to betray over two thousand years of our people’s history and turn your back on the very Goddess who protected us all that time. How disappointing, Bradley. You failed to install a puppet two decades ago, and you failed to dethrone me with the help of the three traitorous heroes.” King Edgar lifts his warhammer from the ground. “And today, you will fail to take the crown from my head.”

In turn, Bradley casually holds his weapon out, taking a stance that can be called amateur at best. “I’m right here, warrior-king.”

“Stay there, and this won’t take long.” Edgar closes his visor.

Around the two warriors, the brutal bloodbath continues, with both men and fiends fighting, shouting, and dying. A distant sound, even if the fighting is only a few, long strides away.

Because for the two standing within the peaceful center of the makeshift arena, it may have well been coming from a distant battlefield.

“Your ambitions end here, Bradley!” King Edgar takes a powerful step forward, pulling his massive warhammer along with him.

“With your death, Orakio will finally belong to me.” Bradley doesn’t even change his casual stance.