Chapter 54….
The death of Erebos.
What it meant was that the monster wave threatening the Principality had finally come to an end.
Of course, there was still the task of sweeping up the countless remaining monsters.
But even taking that into account, the fact remained—this was victory.
Yet no one burst out in joyful celebration.
Not the fainted mages, nor the knights.
They simply went about silently collecting the bodies of their fallen comrades.
Dante, with Arpeon in hand, slowly approached them.
‘…So many dead.’
Every order of knights had suffered heavy casualties.
There were more knights lying still with closed eyes than those still standing.
But among them, none had taken a worse blow than the Lumière Guard.
Out of their 27 members, only 2 had survived.
And even those two were so ravaged that their decaying bodies gave off a nauseating stench—it wouldn’t have been strange if they died at any moment.
It was the price of standing at the foremost line of defense and bearing the brunt of Erebos’s power.
Because of them.
Because they had endured.
It had ended with this much loss, rather than far worse.
Dante quietly walked up to them.
The two surviving knights of Lumière Guard, trembling uncontrollably, still raised their hands in a salute of respect toward Dante.
“Rest easy.”
Had they already accepted their own deaths?
Their eyes looked endlessly free.
But Dante had no intention of letting them die.
He laid them down, those who couldn’t even open their mouths to speak, and extended his hand.
Fwoosh—!
Blue flames flared to life.
Holy fire, burning away corruption.
From Dante’s hand it spread, passing into the two knights.
“Ah—.”
Their mouths opened—not in agony, but in warmth and comfort.
Just like when Dante had first accepted magic.
The holy flames devoured the corrupt power of Erebos that had eaten away at their flesh.
Though their ruined bodies couldn’t be restored, at least the steps leading them straight to death had been halted.
“Th-thank you…”
The two knights expressed gratitude with strained voices.
Dante gave a small nod, then summoned more power.
The flames spread further.
Not only to the survivors, but also to the bodies of those already fallen.
Fwoooosh—!
The dark space filled with light.
The fire burned away every last trace of corruption that had invaded the knights’ bodies—
—and then slowly went out.
“Haa…”
Pain stung Dante’s chest.
He had already pushed himself to the limit, and now the price of using even more power was catching up to him.
“…Are you alright?”
Isabella, who had quietly approached, asked softly.
“I am fine.”
He answered, though his appearance said otherwise.
His body was drenched in blood, his armor was little more than rags.
His muscles were torn and bleeding with every move, and his magic circuits had suffered severe damage from immense strain.
If anyone needed healing, it was Dante.
Yet he showed nothing.
It was still too soon to collapse.
After asking Isabella for a moment’s leave, Dante forced his steps toward the body of a knight.
Teonil Valentin.
He had died standing, his sword still driven into the ground.
Dante stood before him, silently gazing up.
With a body as towering as a mountain, Teonil had lived up to the name of the Lumière Guard.
He had closed his eyes as a shield protecting all.
“Rest in peace.”
Dante placed his hand on Teonil’s shattered armor.
Fwoosh.
A faint blue flame, much weaker than before, wrapped around his body.
The corruption was purified. His clenched mouth, locked in the endurance of agony, eased into peace.
Though death couldn’t be reversed, the flames bestowed honor upon his final moments.
The surrounding knights watched in reverent silence.
Dante offered his prayers with all the respect he could, then turned to Isabella.
“Let’s return. To Belladion.”
Snow began to fall, blanketing the world in white.
Winter.
And yet, it didn’t feel so cold—perhaps not only because the Principality was in the south of the continent.
The war had ended.
At last, the war that had dragged on for four years was over.
Though there was still chaos in exterminating the remaining monsters, compared to three months ago, this was heaven itself.
“…Time to go back.”
From atop Belladion’s walls, Dante spoke as he looked out.
“So you really are keeping your promise.”
Behind him, Milleon gave a faint smile.
Three months.
That was the period Dante had promised.
To defeat Erebos and return to his house.
It was a vow made to Milleon, but also to himself.
“A promise is a promise.”
Thankfully, it had all been resolved in time.
“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind finishing off the rest of the stragglers too.”
“That would be unwise.”
Milleon shook his head firmly.
“Lady Lucia is becoming more and more blatant in her movements.”
“Sir Patrick brought word of this?”
“Yes.”
Milleon sighed before continuing.
“Unknown individuals are secretly seizing control of your house. Not only attendants and servants, but even members of the knight order, and some of the Marquis’s own relatives.”
His voice grew heavier.
“Many have gone missing.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“My father is still at the contested border with Caldion?”
“Yes. And the situation there is said to be tense as well.”
Milleon, perhaps frustrated, nervously brushed back his long silver hair.
“…We can’t delay.”
“We may need to depart today, if possible.”
Dante nodded.
“Then tell Aina to prepare.”
Lucia’s brazen maneuvers.
He didn’t know what they were for, but Dante’s instincts screamed warning.
“As you command.”
Milleon no longer called himself Dante’s guard or teacher.
Now he was simply a knight serving his lord, Commander of the Acrassion.
That was why he answered with a knight’s salute, not a noble’s courtesy.
With silver hair still gleaming despite years of war, Milleon departed.
‘He’s changed a lot.’
Back at the house, Milleon had been a young knight, talented but inexperienced.
Now he had become a warrior no one could look down on.
Still as blunt and stiff as ever, though.
‘At this rate, he may soon earn that title.’
The House Aquites’ First Knight.
Another year or two, and it would be possible.
The four years of war had changed not only Dante and Milleon, but many others.
One such was—
“We’re coming too.”
—Acrassion.
“What do you mean?”
Dante frowned, and Zeonhac shrugged.
“We’ve already gotten His Highness’s permission. Acrassion will follow you.”
Dante turned his gaze toward the survivors before him.
Excluding Milleon and Elaine, nine remained.
All had survived, except Yulian, who had fallen to Nergar.
Even the gravely injured had recovered enough to move.
Zeonhac was saying that they would follow Dante.
“The war’s over anyway. We’d only be a burden here. If we go with you, won’t your house find a place for us?”
The words sounded light.
But Dante knew.
He knew how much thought and hesitation must have gone into that decision.
So he couldn’t refuse.
No—he didn’t refuse.
For Acrassion had become more than comrades.
They were people he could entrust his back to.
They were family.
“Prepare.”
“…What?”
They hadn’t expected permission so quickly.
Zeonhac and the knights all widened their eyes.
Dante chuckled softly.
“We’ll leave after speaking to His Highness the King. I’ll only take those who are ready, so be quick.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
He simply turned and walked away.
Noise stirred behind him—knights rushing to pack for departure.
Suppressing the smile rising to his lips, Dante headed toward Isabella.
The setting sun painted Belladion red.
Dante took in the sight of the fortress burning with light.
Three years. No—four.
The roads he had walked countless times now felt strangely unfamiliar.
‘It’s time to return.’
Memories he had set aside surged back.
His house and his father.
His title as heir, and his half-siblings.
And—
‘My stepmother.’
Lucia.
Clench—
He couldn’t even guess at her schemes.
It hadn’t happened in his previous life.
‘Or… had it?’
His memory was faint.
At fourteen, Dante had been too young.
He had cared only for wielding the sword, and for the thought of entering Rittergut in a year’s time.
The affairs of the house, Lucia’s machinations—those were far too heavy for a boy to worry about.
But this time was different.
His body might be fourteen, but his mind was not.
‘I won’t let her try anything.’
Anger, hatred, disgust—emotions he thought had faded boiled back up.
If Lucia had stood before him now, he might have cut her down without a moment’s hesitation.
“…Haa.”
Dante exhaled, calming himself.
‘That can wait.’
Lucia’s judgment could come later.
For now, there was something far more important to focus on.
“She’s waiting inside.”
The Sword Queen, Isabella Everhart.
It was time to part ways with her.
