After the Fall of the Demon Race, Reincarnated as a Demon Girl - Chapter 10

War—like a beast lurking in the dark—tears mercilessly at this once-peaceful land.

Every time conflict flares, the people are displaced, their lives plunged into misery.

On the grasslands, the clashing of steel and the roar of battle drown out all else, mingling with desperate cries that echo endlessly across the horizon. Even the air seems to tremble, whispering an unending lament.

The flames—those relentless embers of war—devour villages and towns, reducing prosperity to ashes.

Under the night sky, the firelight paints twisted yet resolute faces: warriors determined to defend their homes, innocents struggling against suffering. Thick smoke blots out the stars, and the flickering flames are the only light in the darkness.

…..

“Hertis, we don’t have time to linger here. We need to hurry to the first border line, cross the grasslands, and enter the demon territory!”

Anrude’s voice was urgent.

His black robe was now tattered, his golden hair tousled by the wind. Slowly, he dissipated the magic at his fingertips, surveying the scattered corpses of gargoyles—the fifth squad of demonic stone sentinels he had cleared here.

“These children and elders are slowing us down! We must end this war as soon as possible!”

Inside a crumbling wooden hut, Allegea and Hertis sat amidst a humble yet warm firelight, its glow stubbornly pushing back the cold and shadows outside. They were carefully tending to the last surviving children and elders of the village—the most innocent and vulnerable victims of the war.

Allegea nearly shot to her feet, her anger boiling over, ready to rebuke Anrude for his callousness. But before she could speak, Hertis’ firm hand settled on her shoulder, gently pressing her back down.

“Leave this to me.”

His voice was low, steady, and resolute. His eyes held an unshakable conviction. Allegea met his gaze and saw trust and understanding in those deep pupils.

So she stayed, continuing to heal the survivors with holy light, while Hertis stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him. He strode toward Anrude.

“Perhaps you’re right. We shouldn’t waste time here. Saving two or three people now won’t compare to slaying the Demon King and saving countless more.”

“Then why—?”

Anrude was taken aback. If Hertis agreed with him—if he, the backbone of their group, shared the same view—why were they still lingering?

“Look.”

Hertis pointed toward the village path. Anrude’s gaze followed his finger—and instantly flinched away.

Bodies were piled like tragic monuments. Blood seeped into the earth like a river of sin. The air reeked of iron and sorrow, suffocating.

“Hah… So what? Killing the Demon King will end this tragedy! A little sacrifice now will bring peace to the world!”

Anrude clenched his eyes shut, trying to erase the haunting images from his mind.

“Do you smell the despair? Do you hear the wails of infants and the cries of the people?”

Anrude nodded. He had seen it too many times—the corpses of villagers slaughtered by demons, strewn across the land.

“Have you seen the soldiers charging bravely at the border? What do you think drives them?”

Anrude hesitated.

“…For their country? No—for their families, I suppose.”

“Yes. To protect the peace behind them. To keep their loved ones safe from war. That’s the reason for most of them.”

Hertis glanced toward the second border line, where he had met many soldiers. Their motivations were small, simple—to drive back the demons, defend their homes, and fight for freedom.

“Anrude, this might be hard for you to grasp, and I’m not sure I can explain it well. But this is the force that sustains a person. Without it, it’s easy to lose one’s moral compass. And when that happens… a person becomes no different from a demon.”

Anrude shook his head. It was hard to understand.

He had been a wanderer, taken in by the Archmage near the Tower of Sorcery and made his ninth disciple. But before he could settle into that position, his seniors had cast him out.

He didn’t understand family. He didn’t understand why it mattered so much.

“Hertis, we’ve traveled together for two years. I know your character. If what you say is true… then maybe I should try to understand.”

“Without these emotions, one is no different from a demon…”

Anrude murmured, staring at his palm as if imprinting the words into his mind.

“But Hertis, we still can’t afford to waste time here. We can slow down, but the border can’t wait. If the demons break through the first line of defense, it’ll be too late to turn things around.”

Hertis nodded. He couldn’t argue with that.

“We leave at dawn. Trust me—we’ll have enough time. Because we will keep winning.”

“First, let’s find these people a safe place.”

Hertis jerked his thumb toward the hut behind him, where the villagers still needed their help. Anrude nodded and followed.

…..

“No different from a demon…”

Renith shook her head slightly. It had been over two hundred years, yet Hertis’ words resurfaced in her mind now.

Since that day, she had meticulously documented the lives of hundreds of criminals captured by the empire. From their records, she noticed a pattern:

Looking back from the end, most who strayed into crime came from broken homes, filled with strife and neglect. That absence led them astray, blurring the lines of morality.

And along the way—when border guards received news of their families’ deaths, some abandoned their posts to drown in drink; some threw themselves at the demons in a suicidal charge; and a rare few even joined the demons, turning their blades on their own kind.

Outwardly, they were no different from demons. They had walked the same path of extremes—only wearing human skin.

Hertis had been right. Those who lacked this core emotion could become “demons.” But they were the minority.

Through her travels, Renith had come to understand the truth of this emotion—a heart of “protection.”

It could stem from family, from friendship, even from love for something greater.

Those who lost this anchor became like kites with severed strings, adrift in the wind.

Standing on the village path, gazing at the dim stars, Renith touched the horns on her head and whispered:

“But if a demon gains a heart of ‘protection’… how are they any different from humans?”

The moment the words left her lips, she chuckled and shook her head.

“Without realizing it, I’ve started to sound like Hertis… He really was something, wasn’t he? Melting even ice without notice. The old me would’ve abandoned this village without hesitation and marched straight for the capital.”

As nostalgia washed over her, the Codex in her hand flickered twice. Filof’s voice echoed in her mind.

“Lady Renith… everything is ready.”

“It’s about time. Assuming Schubert’s intel was correct.”

Renith glanced at the last page of the Codex, where a mechanical clock-like pattern was etched. As long as the magic in the pages remained, the timepiece would continue to function.

The hour hand now pointed to 4:30.

Outside the tavern, the lowing of cattle and the intermittent cries of a child signaled the return of the tavern’s proprietress.

After leading the livestock to the back, the woman dragged the child inside by his collar, locking the door behind her. Without pause, she shoved him into a hidden cellar beneath the kitchen, then slipped in herself after ensuring no one was watching.

Once the child’s cries faded, Renith approached the back door. A gust of wind magic shattered the lock, allowing her to slip inside unnoticed.

Drawing a short wand from the Codex’s dimensional space, she channeled magic into its tip. With precise movements, she traced faint, nearly imperceptible runes onto the floor behind the counter.

Filof emerged from the Codex, refining the markings.

A magic circle.

For Renith to deal with a Transgressor effortlessly, this was necessary.

Once the circle was complete, Renith pulled up her hood. “Pseudo-Divine Art: Lightfold” bent the dim moonlight around her, merging her with the shadows. She strode to the seat she had occupied earlier and sat down.

Filof’s voice echoed through the tavern.

“Sacred Codex 17—Fire Magic: Exploding Flame.”

The moment the incantation ended, Filof retreated into the Codex.

Magic gathered in Renith’s palm, condensing into a searing sphere of heat. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled it at the tavern wall facing the village path.

The moment the fireball made contact—

BOOM.

The explosion tore through the night. A shockwave of scorching air hurled tables and chairs aside, sending debris flying. Windows shattered, glass shards glinting like deadly rain in the firelight.

The blast rippled outward, shaking nearby buildings to their foundations. Flames roared through the wooden structure, devouring everything in their path.

The rebellion had begun.