—Lyle's forces.
At their main camp, they had hastily erected palisades and used magic to prepare moats.
General Broa, who had been dealing with the army of the dead from behind the palisades to prevent them from closing in, was not shaken by the return of his forces despite Lyle's absence.
At the ruins of the Central royal palace, some kind of object was still visible and combat was ongoing. If that was the case, then the fighting was still continuing—which meant there was a possibility Lyle was alive.
"But this number—"
The skeletal army clad in armor filled the entire field of view, pouring out of Central's walls one after another. Upon facing them, he could tell they weren't particularly strong. However, with ordinary attacks, they would simply regenerate.
If you blew them away with magic, they wouldn't regenerate, but there was no way to keep firing magic forever.
"Overwhelming numbers, is it? Well, I suppose it's a surefire method."
Baldoa rushed up to General Broa, who was breaking into a cold sweat. Maxim and Alette were with him.
"General Broa, I'd like you to dispatch a unit to rescue Lady Lyle!"
"N-No, but in this situation—"
Alette was trying to persuade Baldoa, but Baldoa was in no mood to listen.
When Baldoa said that, Maxim shook his head at General Broa. He had clearly tried to persuade him already, to no avail.
General Broa ran a hand through his hair.
"...The Valkyries are deployed, and combat is still ongoing. Besides, in this situation, whether a charge could even reach the palace—no, reaching it would be impossible."
Looking at Baldoa's face, General Broa understood that Baldoa was not making the right judgment. His emotions were running ahead of him.
The desire to save one's lord was correct, but that alone would not win the war. Baldoa clenched his fists in frustration.
"To just leave him to die—"
The moment those words left his mouth, several blue lights appeared. Two of them had suddenly manifested beyond the palisades.
When the three of them and the surrounding soldiers turned their gaze toward the light.
"Not good. A commander must always remain calm. If you panic, those around you will too."
The one who emerged from the light was Meizel, saber in one hand. He stroked his beard with his left, then brandished the saber gripped in his right.
The skeleton soldiers nearby were blown apart, scattering in pieces. From the other light, a woman stepped out.
"You there, ma'am — try to carry yourself with more dignity. There's a difference between being considerate of your husband and simply holding back. If you don't say what needs to be said, the man will never understand."
The woman with the staff — was Claire, Lael's mother. She raised her staff and swept the surrounding skeletons away with a magical wind.
Meizel channeled lightning along the edge of his saber and began to swing it.
"Ha ha ha — can't argue with that. Still, there are a bit too many of them. I suppose I should call for reinforcements after all."
Claire nodded in agreement.
"Yes. At the very least — we need to protect the place where Lael will return."
With that, a massive door appeared in front of the palisade. Soldiers began pouring through it one after another.
Baldoa ran forward in shock.
There, mounted on a horse, was Beil. Across the palisade, Baldoa and Beil were reunited.
"U-Uncle —"
Baldoa could not make sense of the sudden appearance of Meizel and Beil — both of whom should have been dead — along with so many soldiers and knights. Yet there before him stood the uncle he had once looked up to.
He looked every bit the noble knight he had been, before Ceres drove him mad.
"Baldoa! You've been well!"
The ones emerging from the doorway included the knights and soldiers who had lost their lives fighting alongside Lael, and even those who had fallen in battle long before that.
As soldiers gathered around Meizel, he cut down the undead that drew near.
"Beil!"
"Yes, sir!"
Beil rode up on horseback to Meizel's side, and Meizel thrust his saber into the ground.
"...As a parent, I have no face to show. But I want to be of use, at least. That child has been through so much because of me."
"...We feel the same, Lord Meizel. Everyone here shares that sentiment."
Claire lowered her gaze and gripped her staff tightly.
"...Lael, you've truly become splendid. I have no right to speak, but if even the smallest part of this could be of use to you..."
The ranks of soldiers appearing one after another cut down the skeletal warriors. Seeing this, the living soldiers of House Walt rushed forward.
Many of them had tears streaming down their faces.
"Dad! Dad!!"
A middle-aged soldier shouted at a young soldier.
"Who the hell cries on the battlefield?! If we lose here, what are you going to say to the young master?! ...If I caused you trouble, pay me back with that spear in your hand! You're my son, aren't you?!"
Meanwhile, knights who had reunited with old friends clasped hands.
Then Meizel raised his voice.
"Brave soldiers of House Walt! And soldiers of Lael! The fight is not yet over! I must swallow my pride and ask you — even just a little... will you lend your strength to me, Meizel Walt?! For the sake of victory!"
Over the barricades, one by one, knights and soldiers leapt out and took their places alongside comrades they had once fought with. Morale that had been flagging began to surge.
General Broa watched the scene unfold.
"This is no longer an ordinary battlefield."
As he murmured those words, Broa noticed a blue light appearing beside him—
—The Eastern Front Army, with Fonbeau as its main force.
In Count Rezno's camp, his son Balfeld was present. Baoris, who had been sitting, rose to his feet and approached his son.
"Y-you're—alive!"
Balfeld gave a slightly sorrowful smile.
"Sorry, Dad. I'm dead. I've just been given a little time. That's why I came to apologize. I'm sorry."
Tears streaming down his face, Baoris wiped them away.
"I've regretted sending you to your death. I always wanted to apologize. Sending you under someone like Ceres... I'm sorry."
As Baoris collapsed, Balfeld placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Dad... lend me your strength. We can't leave that thing alone. If we do, it won't just be the continent. The world will end. Please, lend me your strength—yours and everyone else's."
Baoris stood up. Then he gazed at the sky beyond Balfeld's line of sight, at a humanoid figure floating there.
"...Understood. Leave it to me. Oh, and Parcelena and Braubein are doing well."
Hearing that, Balfeld—the heir who had once been sent as a hostage from Count Rezno's house to the Banseim royal family—smiled.
"Good. Then I can rest easy."
In Fonbeau's camp, the king and his closest retainers had gone weak in the knees.
Before them stood the demon who had once chased them down and carved away their territories.
His name was Broad Walt—the Seventh Generation of House Walt.
"It's been a long time, boy. You've certainly grown impressive. I do have one question, though... why is your army making preparations to flee?"
Surrounding the Seventh Generation were soldiers of House Walt, glaring at all sides. He had no need for them, but they added to the intimidation.
"T-that's—"
The trembling king of Fonbeau was met with the Seventh Generation's gentle smile. His eyes, however, were not smiling.
"Surely you wouldn't dare say you plan to flee while leaving behind your grandson, who is the alliance's leader. But I'll say it just in case. ...If you run, I will chase you to the ends of the earth. I do hope that the speed of your legs when fleeing, which you so beautifully demonstrated on the battlefield, is still in fine form."
With those words, the Seventh Generation walked out of the tent and stood before the assembled army.
"Indeed! What a magnificent sight! As expected of my army."
The Seventh Generation gazed with satisfaction at the army he had personally trained and organized. Then, facing the soldiers, he spoke.
" —Elite warriors of House Walt. If you remain silent in this crisis, it concerns the lives of my grandson and great-grandchildren. I would rather not have the dead interfering, but I need your strength for my grandson —Laiel —who fights against a goddess."
Every soldier snapped to attention in perfect unison. The Seventh Generation nodded, then looked toward a young man who had led his horse forward. It was Grandfather Zell in his youth.
The Seventh Generation, mounted on his horse, addressed Zell.
"Zell, my grandson has been in your care. I need you to serve once more. Escort me."
"This is the young master's crucial battle, after all. I would be honored to accompany you, Lord Broad!"
The Seventh Generation rode through the center of the assembled ranks. The soldiers executed an about-face and fell in behind him. Directly ahead, an army of skeletons was closing in.
The Seventh Generation raised his rifle.
"Charge!"
As House Walt's army surged forward, the surrounding Fonbeau forces stood with mouths agape. Skeleton soldiers were sent scattering, blown flying —.
—Back inside the tent the Seventh Generation had left, the King of Fonbeau was in tears.
"Damn it! Damn it! This is exactly why I never wanted anything to do with House Walt! Those bastards torment Fonbeau even in death! How far do they intend to chase me?!"
The trauma of being hunted down in the past came flooding back, and this time the man himself had appeared.
No one around the king could bring themselves to scold him. They felt much the same way.
Then, a blue light suddenly appeared.
The King of Fonbeau, thrashing about on the floor in a panic, let out a scream.
"Not again! Who is it this time?! Feinz?! That legendary demon?!"
Before the king — who called the Sixth Generation a demon — the king's own father, the previous sovereign, appeared in his youthful form.
A warrior who had once fought Feinz himself.
"...What's with that appearance?"
The surrounding dignitaries also widened their eyes in a different kind of surprise than the one they'd shown at the Seventh Generation. He was the man who had lost to Feinz, yet still cut an impressive figure as a king. Many of the dignitaries had looked up to him in their youth.
"F-Father..."
Before his aged son, the former king folded his arms. Standing like a guardian statue.
"At a time like this, you've gone and lost your nerve! At your age, you should have children of your own! Where are the grandchildren! Why aren't they here?!"
The King of Fonbeau averted his gaze.
"N-No... my sons each have their own affairs to attend to."
The former king drove his fist into the King of Fonbeau. He had seen through the fact that the current king was scheming something.
"You've been up to your cunning little tricks again, haven't you! What do you think you're doing at a time like this, you fool! Enough! Gather your soldiers at once. Know that this battle will become a legend told for generations to come! Hey, you there, young man!"
The former king called the knight commander — a man wearing magnificent armor with streaks of white hair — a young whippersnapper. The knight commander also straightened his posture.
"Y-Yes, sir!"
"I have soldiers I've brought with me as well. Place them under my command immediately. As if I'd stay silent when Feinz himself is upon us! Show them the pride of Fonbeau!"
The tent erupted into a flurry of activity.
Laiel main camp. Rear.
"Hook, step, right straight!"
Blown away by the right fist Mireia threw was Ralph, who had been trying to round up the Central Court Nobles and flee.
Behind Mireia, Miranda and Shannon watched the scene unfold.
Both of them were completely dumbfounded.
"Y-You! Who the hell are you?!"
Ralph screamed at Mireia, but he was holding his left cheek with his hand, legs trembling, unable to stand. She had hit him with considerable force.
Mireia pulled out her gun with a smile and fired near Ralph's right ear.
"Y-You!"
"Oh my? It's so cruel of you to forget your Mireia-chan, who used to scold you when you misbehaved. As your grandma, it makes me so sad I might lose my aim this time."
The gun in Mireia's hand and her tone made Ralph recall that the person before him was his grandmother, Mireia.
"G-Grandma, you died, and besides, you look so young—ah!"
Another bullet grazed past Ralph's body. Mireia loaded her two guns.
"Using your daughter to climb up the social ladder? That's just fine. You are a Court Noble, you know. I'm not particularly angry about that part."
"Uh, um... Grandma?"
The usually bold Ralph now looked pale. Both Miranda and Shannon huddled together, watching. They were terrified.
"But you know, in the end, you've lost everything now, haven't you? That's a failure, right? ...I don't like your nerve to try and use your daughter to brush that fact under the rug. And as someone originally of the Landed Nobility, I find it unforgivable. Driving your own daughter away... Grandma is so sad."
Mireia pointed the barrel of her gun at Ralph's temple. The onlookers tried to restrain her, but the threat kept them at a distance.
"P-Please forgive me, Grandma!"
"That's fine."
However, Mireia's expression suddenly changed to a cheerful smile. But the words that followed were:
"However, if you want to crawl back from here, show me your resolve. Don't fight from the shadows like this. Take up a weapon and fight on the front lines. It'll be fine, Grandma will help you. At the very least, if you don't do that much, these children won't forgive you either. And... fulfill your noble duty, you scum!"
Mireia fired a shot into the air, intimidating the Court Nobles who tried to flee.
"You're not planning to just latch on like parasites without doing anything, are you? When it's time to risk your life, you'd better risk it properly. I hate people who try to suck the sweet juices for free so much I could—kill them."
As everyone scrambled to grab their weapons, Mireia turned to Miranda and Shannon.
"You two, this should make your future a little more secure. All you need is to earn Lyl's love, and you can compete with anyone. And... you lot, serve these children with your lives. Betray them, and I'll kill you. Hold them back, and I'll kill you. Remember that. The women of House Walt will chase you to the ends of hell."
Mireia smiled at Miranda and Shannon, while the others received her sharp, piercing glare and her low, threatening voice.
"…Big sister, Great-Grandma is scary."
When Shannon said that while clinging to Miranda, Miranda replied.
"You're right. She's scary to me too."
Then Mireia looked a little sad.
"Oh, you two are so mean! I went out of my way to win over allies for your futures!"
She huffed with such a cute air of indignation that you could almost hear the sound effect.
——Cartaffs.
A man with light-blue long hair was sitting seiza before a woman so small she could pass for a young girl.
"I… I'm sorry I'm late! There were all sorts of matters that piled up on my end as well."
The small woman took the prepared chair and snapped the fingers of her left hand. Even from the outside, it was obvious she was irritated.
The moment she snapped her fingers, magic erupted from the ground one after another, blasting apart the skeleton legions. Flame, wind, water, earth—they burst from the ground as though detonating.
"Hmm~? So you prioritize that side over me, do you?"
Watching this, Ludmilla thought to herself.
What a troublesome woman.
The Cartaffs soldiers around her were using the reprieve to regroup while the newly appeared small woman blasted the skeleton army away with her magic.
"Well, you know… everyone's gathered now."
"…Hey, why hasn't Fredrichs come over here? I think Feinz and the others could show their faces too."
She snapped her fingers once more, and this time an even larger spell erupted from the ground.
"Ah, they're busy with things too… L-look! There are spots that are undermanned!"
The small woman slowly rose to her feet.
The long-haired man with glasses jumped up and stumbled backward.
"I'm sorry! I'll call them right away!"
But the small woman just let out a sigh.
"Ah, never mind. You go lead your own vassals and subordinates. Once we clear out these small fry here, I'm heading to Fredericks and Feinz. And Lyle, right? Defeating Banseim and founding an empire—that's impressive. I'll help out a little too, in my own way."
The man—the Fourth Generation—let out a breath of relief. Ludmilla thought.
*(In my own way? With that power!?)*
The undead legions were being blown away by magic, with a single spell scattering and incapacitating vast numbers at once.
To think that the small woman called *that* "in my own way"—Ludmilla shuddered.
"Thank goodness. I was worried you might oppose defeating the kingdom."
"Why would I? Well, I did say back in my time that I didn't have the power to do it. But… if it's within reach, it's only natural to grab it by any means necessary! This is my chance to vent centuries of resentment. My blood is within reach of the world! …This is getting interesting."
The small woman's eyes burned with strong resolve as she showed her determination. This time, she snapped the fingers of her right hand, and magic rained down from the sky.
"Ahahaha, let's really liven things up! Watch closely, Banseim—my blood is going to finish you all off!"
Ludmilla turned to the Fourth Generation.
"Looks tough. Well, with everything going on."
As she spoke, the Fourth Generation ran a hand through his hair and said:
"Isn't she cute?"
Then he smiled. Ludmilla thought.
*(Well, I suppose they suit each other. I don't like this kind of couple, though.)*
As she was thinking this, the small woman addressed her.
"And you over there."
"What is it?"
"...If you're going to be a bride of House Walt, you'd better brace yourself. I had to struggle too, you know."
"...Huh?"
Ludmilla couldn't fathom how this small woman—who was right now wielding magic to send reanimated corpses flying—could claim to have struggled.
Beside her, the Fourth Generation tilted their head.
"Is that so? I thought it felt fairly homely?"
The small woman covered her face with her hands.
"Homely? That place? My mother-in-law made my life miserable! Well, whatever. I'll check whether you're worthy of being a Walt bride. Follow me."
"Wait, ah!"
Ludmilla was pulled along by the hand, while the bewildered Kalthafus soldiers trailed behind her, utterly at a loss—.