The massacre of the battle had ended.
The people had won against the demons.
But the price was heavy.
The battlefield slowly fell into silence.
The only sounds that remained were the distant footsteps of demons fleeing into the darkness, the agonized groans of wounded knights and civilians, and the heartbreaking cries of families mourning their loved ones.
The air was thick with blood and dust.
Some knights struggled to stand while others lay on the ground, breathing heavily, their armor shattered and stained red.
Then—
A wounded knight slowly climbed the pile of broken wall.
His armor was cracked, his body covered in blood, and in his hand he still held a broken sword.
Step by step, he dragged himself upward.
When he finally reached the top, his eyes widened.
There—
Elizabeth was kneeling silently on the pile of shattered stone.
Her body was drenched in blood.
And scattered across the ground before her were the torn remains of the General Demon.
For a moment, the knight could only stare in disbelief.
Then the realization struck him.
The General Demon…
was dead.
Then the knight shouted, "The General Demon is dead!"
His voice carried both relief and exhaustion.
Hearing his words, some of the surviving knights and townspeople felt hope rise in their hearts. A few even smiled weakly through their pain.
Others simply stood in silence.
The cost of victory had been too great.
The knight then turned toward Elizabeth and opened his mouth to speak.
But before he could say a word—
Elizabeth slowly began to rise.
Her body trembled violently as she struggled to stand, almost losing her balance.
Seeing this, the knight quickly stepped forward and caught her before she could fall.
"Hey… you need a healer," he said with a worried, exhausted voice.
Elizabeth shook her head weakly.
"It's okay…" she replied in a low, tired voice.
With the knight supporting her, she managed to stand on her feet.
For a moment, she remained still, trying to steady herself.
Then, slowly, she pulled away from his support.
Step by step, Elizabeth began walking down the pile of broken wall pieces.
Each movement was painful.
Her body swayed with every step as if she might collapse at any moment.
The knight watched her in confusion but did not stop her.
Limping heavily, Elizabeth walked toward a dark corner of the ruined street.
The broken buildings cast long shadows around her.
Her silhouette grew smaller as she moved away.
And above the shattered town—
the last light of the sunset faded into darkness.
Night had fallen over the town.
For the surviving people, the battle was over—but the suffering had only begun.
The few knights who still had the strength to stand moved through the ruined streets, carrying the wounded and gathering the dead.
"Look for the injured!" one knight shouted.
"Move the bodies carefully!" another called out.
"Here! Over here!"
Their voices echoed through the dark streets.
Nearby shelters were quickly filled with wounded people as the healers rushed from one patient to another. But there were too many injured.
Far too many.
Some died before the healers could even reach them.
Others died in the middle of treatment.
Even the experienced healers were horrified by the wounds they saw.
Stomachs torn open.
Faces half destroyed.
Arms and legs ripped apart.
Blood covered the ground.
"Here, hurry! He's bleeding too much!" one healer shouted in panic.
Another knelt beside a body and shook his head.
"This one… is already dead."
Nearby, a wounded man lay on the ground, his stomach torn open, his intestines spilling out.
"Please… save me…" he begged weakly.
Moments later, his voice went silent.
The healers moved desperately from one wounded person to another, their hands shaking with exhaustion.
The shelter floor slowly became soaked with blood.
The battle was over.
But its echoes still lingered everywhere.
Meanwhile, inside the Mayor's residence, a knight—still covered in blood, dirt, and exhaustion—reported the situation.
"Sir," the knight said, struggling to stand straight, "we lost three hundred knights. Only twenty remain."
The Mayor closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.
"And the townspeople?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.
The knight lowered his head.
"Only around two hundred are alive… many of them seriously injured. The dead… one thousand three hundred forty-three… or more."
Silence filled the room.
The Mayor let out another long sigh.
"…I see."
He slowly stood up.
"I will go there myself."
With a heavy heart, the Mayor left his residence and headed toward the battlefield.
When he arrived—
the horrifying sight before him left him speechless.
The Mayor slowly walked through the ruined streets.
The smell of blood filled the cold night air.
Torches had been lit around the area, their flickering flames casting long shadows across the shattered buildings and broken streets.
Everywhere he looked, there were bodies.
Knights.
Townspeople.
Even pieces of demons scattered across the battlefield.
The Mayor's expression grew heavier with every step.
Nearby, healers continued their desperate work while the wounded cried out in pain.
Then the Mayor suddenly stopped.
Ahead of him lay something massive.
The torn remains of the General Demon.
Its body had been completely destroyed, as if it had exploded from the inside.
The Mayor stared at it in disbelief.
"Who… killed this?" he asked quietly.
The knight standing beside him hesitated.
"I… I'm not completely sure, sir," the knight replied.
The Mayor slowly turned toward him.
"What do you mean you're not sure?"
The knight swallowed nervously.
"When I climbed the broken wall… I saw someone there."
"Someone?"
The Mayor frowned.
"Yes, sir. A girl."
The Mayor's eyes narrowed.
"A girl killed the General Demon?"
The knight shook his head slowly.
"I didn't see the fight… but when I reached the top… the demon was already dead."
He paused for a moment.
"And she was the only one there."
The Mayor remained silent.
"Where is she now?" he asked.
The knight looked toward the dark streets.
"She walked away, sir."
The Mayor frowned even deeper.
"Walked away?"
"Yes. She was badly injured… I offered to call a healer… but she refused."
The knight pointed toward a shadowed street.
"She went that way… then disappeared into the darkness."
The Mayor looked into the dark street for a long moment.
His expression slowly became serious.
"A girl… who killed a General Demon…"
He muttered quietly to himself.
"Who are you?"
The Mayor turned to one of the knights beside him.
"Tell my overseer to arrange food for the people," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," the knight replied before leaving quickly.
Then the Mayor stepped forward and raised his voice so everyone nearby could hear him.
"I'm sorry… to all of you," he said.
His voice was heavy with guilt.
"I could not do anything. I am truly ashamed and deeply saddened."
He paused, looking at the wounded people and the dead bodies around him.
"I promise I will provide everything necessary—food, shelter, and materials to rebuild your homes. Please… forgive me for failing you."
Slowly, the Mayor knelt down.
He lowered his head and bowed deeply until his forehead touched the blood-stained ground.
Some of the nearby people watched him with gratitude.
But others felt something very different.
Anger.
Hatred.
While they had been running for their lives… watching their families die… the Mayor had been safe inside his residence with his own family.
Some people clenched their fists.
Their grief slowly twisted into dark thoughts.
Meanwhile, in a dark corner of the street, Elizabeth sat slumped against a wall.
Her body was still bleeding, her breathing weak.
Then—
The voices returned.
The same nightmare.
Burning souls screamed in her mind.
"Avenge us…"
"AVENGE US…"
"AVENGE US!"
Elizabeth's eyes suddenly snapped open in horror.
She looked around wildly.
Then she saw a wounded little boy standing in front of her.
He had bandages wrapped around his arm and head.
The boy looked at her with worried eyes.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly.
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise.
"…Yes," she replied weakly, her voice barely audible.
"But you're injured," the boy said. "You should go to a healer for treatment."
Elizabeth didn't answer.
Instead, she slowly pushed herself up with the help of the wall.
Her body trembled as she tried to walk away.
But after only a few steps—
Her legs gave out.
She collapsed onto the ground and lost consciousness again.
When Elizabeth opened her eyes again, she found herself lying in a small room.
She looked around in confusion.
How did I get here?
Then she heard a sound.
The door creaked open.
A woman entered the room.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties. Bruises covered parts of her face, and she carried a bowl and a cup of water.
Elizabeth tried to sit up.
"Please don't get up," the woman said quickly with concern.
"You were unconscious for two days. Your injuries haven't healed yet."
Elizabeth blinked in surprise.
"…Two days?"
"Yes," the woman replied gently. "My son found you unconscious in the corner of the street."
Elizabeth slowly tried to move again.
"I should leave now," she said weakly.
The woman shook her head.
"Please, just lie down. Let me repay the favor."
Elizabeth frowned slightly.
"I didn't do anything for you to repay."
She spoke quietly, her voice strained with pain.
The woman looked at her calmly.
"I saw you," she said softly.
"I saw you moving forward… fighting the demons."
Elizabeth remained silent.
The woman then offered the bowl to her.
"I brought some soup. Please have some."
She hesitated for a moment before asking,
"If you don't mind… are you a knight?"
Elizabeth slowly moved her injured hands.
Pain shot through her body.
"…No," she replied quietly.
Seeing her struggle, the woman gently picked up the bowl and spoon.
"Let me feed you."
She lifted the spoon toward Elizabeth.
Elizabeth paused for a moment.
Then she slowly opened her mouth.
As the woman fed her, a faint memory appeared in Elizabeth's mind—
Her mother feeding her when she was a child.
No words.
Just the memory.
When the soup was finished, the woman helped her drink some water from the cup.
Elizabeth drank slowly.
As she lowered the cup, her eyes fell on a small family picture nearby.
Next to it lay a broken sword.
The woman noticed her gaze.
"That broken sword belonged to my husband," she said quietly.
"He was a knight."
Her voice trembled slightly.
Elizabeth looked at her.
"…Was?" she asked softly.
The woman lowered her eyes.
"He died two days ago… in that battle."
A tear slowly rolled down her cheek.
Elizabeth looked at the picture again.
She recognized the man.
He was the knight who had helped her earlier… the one who offered his hand when she was surrounded by demons.
Elizabeth said nothing.
The room fell silent.
After a moment, the woman stood up.
"You should rest now," she said gently.
"I'll leave some clothes here for you. They're my best ones."
She placed the folded clothes beside Elizabeth and gave a small, tired smile.
Then she quietly left the room.
The room became quiet after the woman left.
Only the faint sound of the wind outside could be heard.
Elizabeth slowly turned her head again toward the small family picture.
Her eyes lingered on the man in the photo.
The knight.
The same knight who had extended his hand to her during the battle.
The one who had said nothing, yet stood beside her against the demons.
The broken sword beside the picture confirmed it.
A heavy feeling slowly formed in Elizabeth's chest.
She stared at the image for a long time.
Then her eyes slowly lowered.
"…I'm sorry," she whispered softly.
The words were barely audible.
For the first time since the battle ended, her expression weakened.
Her hand slowly tightened around the blanket.
Memories of the battlefield flashed in her mind—
The knight offering his hand.
The chaos.
The screams.
The bodies.
Elizabeth slowly closed her eyes.
Outside the small house, the town was still grieving.
But inside the room, the silence felt even heavier.
After a moment, Elizabeth slowly looked again toward the broken sword.
Her gaze became distant.
Elizabeth slowly lay back against the bed, her body still weak from the wounds.
But her mind remained awake.
The next morning, when the woman entered the room, Elizabeth was gone.
Only a small piece of paper lay on the bed.
The woman walked closer and picked it up.
Written on it were two simple words:
"Thank you."
The woman looked at the empty bed, worry filling her eyes.
"Poor girl…" she murmured softly, her voice filled with sadness.
The day passed slowly.
Then night came.
Deep in the darkness, a group of people quietly approached the Mayor's residence.
There were no guards.
Most of the remaining knights were still in the streets helping the wounded.
The group slipped inside the building in silence.
Their faces were filled with anger and grief.
They searched through the rooms one by one.
Finally—
They found the Mayor's chamber.
Inside, the Mayor and his wife were asleep.
The door slowly creaked open.
Several men rushed forward and grabbed them before they could react.
Rough hands clamped over mouths.
Cloth was shoved into the mayor's mouth before he could scream.
His wife's eyes flew open; a muffled cry died in her throat as another man pinned her wrists above her head.
They struggled—wildly at first, then desperately—but hands and knees held them down like iron.
The mayor's face turned purple with rage and terror.
His wife's eyes were already wet, wide with understanding.
One of the men leaned close to the mayor's ear.
"You should feel the same horror we felt," he said, voice low and steady.
"The same pain."
Another man climbed onto the bed.
With a single violent motion he tore the wife's nightdress open from neck to waist.
Fabric ripped like paper.
She thrashed, legs kicking uselessly, tears streaming sideways across her temples into her hair.
The mayor roared behind the gag—muffled, animal, helpless.
Every muscle strained against the hands pinning him, veins bulging at his neck, but he could not break free.
The man above the wife paused only long enough to meet the mayor's eyes.
Then he forced himself on her.
Her muffled scream vibrated against the cloth stuffed in her mouth.
The mayor's body jerked violently with every thrust, every sob, every wet, broken sound she made.
His eyes—wild, bloodshot—never left his wife's face.
Tears carved clean tracks through the grime on his cheeks.
The other men watched in silence.
Some looked away.
Some did not.
The room filled with the ugly rhythm of violence and despair.
Outside, the town remained silent.
No one knew what was happening inside the residence.
The hatred born from the massacre had begun to take its own shape.
The violation ended abruptly.
No warning. No words.
The man still straddling the mayor's wife lifted the knife from his belt.
The wife's eyes met her husband's for one last instant.
Tears streamed sideways across her temples.
Her lips moved silently—perhaps his name, perhaps a prayer, perhaps nothing at all.
The knife flashed down.
A single, practiced stroke across her throat.
Her body convulsed violently beneath the weight of her attacker—spine arching, limbs jerking in short, frantic spasms as blood surged from the wide gash.
The spray hit the headboard first, then the mayor's face, warm and coppery.
A wet gurgle escaped her ruined throat, bubbling with each failing heartbeat.
The mayor's muffled scream tore against the cloth gag—raw, animal, useless.
His body thrashed harder than ever, wrists and ankles grinding against the iron grips holding him down.
Veins bulged at his temples; his eyes locked on his wife's face as life drained from it in seconds.
Her convulsions slowed… stuttered… stopped.
One final tremor rippled through her, then stillness.
The white bedsheet beneath her turned crimson in widening rings, soaking through layers until the stain reached the mayor's side of the bed.
Blood pooled under her head, matting her hair, creeping toward the pillow like spilled ink.
The man climbed off her body.
The mayor's eyes were wide, unblinking, red-rimmed.
Tears carved clean tracks through the blood and grime on his cheeks.
Behind the gag, his mouth worked soundlessly—sobs, curses, pleas—none of them audible.
The room was quiet now except for the mayor's ragged, muffled breathing and the soft drip of blood from the mattress edge to the floor.
The man stepped closer to the Mayor.
His face was filled with anger.
"It's nothing compared to what we went through," he said coldly.
The Mayor struggled helplessly, tears running down his face.
But the men holding him did not loosen their grip.
He raised the knife again.
The first stab went into the mayor's left cheek.
The blade punched through skin and muscle with a wet crunch.
Blood sprayed in a hot arc across the man's face.
The mayor's muffled scream vibrated against the cloth.
The man didn't stop.
He stabbed again—forehead, right eye socket, jaw, temple—each thrust deliberate, mechanical, fueled by hatred.
Blood splattered in rhythmic bursts: on the man's cheeks, his lips, his eyelashes, the wall behind him.
The mayor's face dissolved under the onslaught—skin peeling back, bone glinting white then red, features collapsing into a pulpy, unrecognizable ruin.
After thirty or forty strikes the man finally paused.
His chest heaved.
The knife dripped steadily onto the mayor's ruined chest.
What had once been a face was now a cratered mask of shredded flesh and exposed teeth.
The mayor was already dead—eyes glassy, body slack—but the man stared down at him anyway, breathing hard, as if waiting for one last twitch of defiance.
There was none.
One of the others stepped forward with a short axe.
Two clean swings.
The mayor's head came free with a wet pop of tendon and bone.
Another two swings for the wife.
Both heads rolled across the blood-soaked floor, coming to rest against the leg of the nightstand.
The men looked at the bodies for a moment.
None of them spoke.
Their anger had been unleashed, but it had not brought them peace.
Without another word, the group left the residence and disappeared into the night.
The house that had once been a place of authority was now quiet and lifeless.
Far away from the town—
In the forest, a small fire burned quietly.
Beside it sat Elizabeth.
Her body was still wrapped in bandages, her movements slow and painful.
She sat silently, staring up at the night sky.
The stars shone faintly above the dark forest.
The wind moved gently through the trees.
But Elizabeth's mind was not calm.
The memories of the battle… the screams… the dying voices… still echoed inside her.
She remained there in silence, the firelight flickering across her tired face.
Alone beneath the endless sky.