Frieren: Reincarnated As a Demon

Chapter 181: The chief general is killed

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"Forget it. There's no point in playing with you anymore. Since you're going to resist to such an extent, I'm too lazy to talk to you any longer... At most, it's just a little extra effort to break the barrier."

Before Ludwig could finish his thought, Ash had already decided to give up trying to persuade him to surrender.

He had completely lost interest in him and didn't want to waste any more time here.

He was even a little dissatisfied with his ingratitude and simply stretched out his hand, shaking it lightly in the air.

The abnormal gravity instantly centered on Ludwig's waist and abdomen, freezing him in place.

His body twisted uncontrollably, and his limbs were compressed and broken.

"Gah—Gahhhh!!!"

Ludwig instinctively howled in pain, his heart filled with regret, but he couldn't even form the words to beg for mercy.

His cry was cut short.

His entire body crumpled inward, turning into a bloody mass in an instant, completely unrecognizable.

No—

At least his head was still protected by his helmet.

Even though his limbs and waist had been crushed beyond recognition, his face remained mostly intact.

Of course, this was intentional.

It was exactly what Ash wanted.

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As one of the Three Great Knights of the Northern Countries, Ludwig's fate was almost no different from that of his grandfather when he faced Macht of the Golden land.

He was easily killed, without even putting up a fight.

But the truly sad thing was—

Even though their commander was dead, none of the soldiers noticed.

By then, the kingdom's cavalry had already rushed in from the rear.

And when Ash kicked the lifeless mass forward, it was caught on the flagpole of a flag-bearing cavalryman.

At first, the rider recoiled in fear.

But then—

As they recognized the face, they realized who had died so miserably on their flag.

It was their enemy's military commander.

Without hesitation, they raised the flag high and charged forward.

However, on the battlefield—

The imperial soldiers only felt the ground beneath them shaking violently under the thunderous stampede of iron hooves.

By the time they looked back—

It was already too late.

Their formation had long collapsed.

The once-disciplined army had dissolved into panic and terror.

Some soldiers threw away their armor and weapons, desperately fleeing.

Others shoved their own companions aside, trampling them in their mad scramble for survival.

There was no order.

No unity.

Just fear.

But even as they fled, even as they abandoned everything to escape—

They could not outrun death.

The defeated soldiers were simply prey.

And the cavalry—

Were hunters.

Their weapons flashed coldly under the moonlight as they galloped through the ranks of the fleeing soldiers, cutting them down mercilessly.

Blood splattered the ground.

Limbs were severed.

Occasionally, some soldiers turned to fight.

But against the unstoppable tide of cavalry, their resistance was nothing more than a small ripple in a raging river.

The sound of shouts, screams, and clashing weapons gradually blended together—

A march of massacre.

In the distance, magicians conjured devastating spells.

Blades of wind.

Walls of fire.

Piercing shards of ice.

Magic rained down like a storm of destruction, efficiently slaughtering fleeing soldiers in waves.

Even what little resistance remained against the war beasts controlled by Linie was swiftly crushed.

And then there was Ash.

He wielded his magic without hesitation, without restraint—

Transforming the battlefield into purgatory.

Because in a place like this—

It was either you die, or I die.

And since they had stepped onto the battlefield—

They had to be prepared to die.

Just like that, as time passed, the already decided situation on the battlefield was completely settled before dawn.

When the two Lings were fully staffed, their combined regular army exceeded three million, including auxiliary forces.

Now, only 70,000 remained—either captured as prisoners of war or slain on the battlefield.

The first light of dawn struggled to pierce the heavy haze that hung over the land.

On the battlefield, silence reigned.

The lingering stench of gunpowder and blood filled the air.

Tattered battle flags fluttered weakly in the breeze, stained with mud and blood.

What was once a scene of glory and might had been reduced to nothing but ruin and desolation.

Broken limbs. Severed arms. Shattered arrows. Fractured blades.

Scattered across the ground, they reflected a faint, cold light—remnants of what were once sharp weapons wielded by warriors.

Now, they were merely silent witnesses to this catastrophe.

Corpses lay everywhere.

Some were piled together, others lay alone on the scorched earth.

Their faces were twisted in agony, their lifeless eyes still frozen in the fear and despair they had felt in their final moments.

The blood-soaked earth had turned a deep red, forming winding streams that slowly carried away the last warmth of life.

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Although the vast, blood-stained plain in the canyon was now concealed beneath the dim glow of dawn, the stench of death still drifted in the air, carried away by the howling winds.

The countless corpses painted a picture of hell—

But Ash felt nothing.

The prisoners of war who had been "fortunate" enough to survive moved with hollow expressions.

Their only task—

To carry the bodies of their fallen comrades, to piece together broken limbs on the spot.

There was no burial.

Because even if human magicians could not control the undead with the same precision as Aura, many still had the ability to manipulate corpses.

Of course, Aura's undead army was not strictly undead magic.

But at times, it resembled it.

The church strongly opposed such practices, condemning them as disrespectful to the dead.

But when war broke out—

Who still cared about morality?

Especially in this era, massacres had become the norm.

A strong soldier could always be used again.

Even if such acts were condemned, few nations would waste a large number of undead magicians, unless they had no choice.

But even though he had long since grown numb to war and death, Ash couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh as he looked upon the countless corpses.

"I yearn for peace... yet ever since I was born, all I've done is kill."

His words hung in the air.

The passing soldiers stopped in their tracks, staring at him in disbelief.

After all—

Considering what had happened last night, it was difficult to imagine that a pacifist would say such things.

But he was not lying.

He truly believed those words.

Reality simply refused to allow it.

Ash paid no mind to their reactions.

His gaze shifted toward Ludwig, whose remains had been retrieved and tossed aside nearby.

Shaking his head, he muttered to himself—

"I wanted to give you a chance... Such a pity, Ludwig."