I Was a Loner, but My Class Got Summoned to Another World…

Roland, along with King Halter, established clear boundaries and rules for the two camps.

They agreed not to interfere with the internal affairs of the half-demons, and in return, the humans would avoid entering their area without permission.

Guards of both races were stationed at the borders of the two camps to prevent misunderstandings or conflict.

Still, Roland didn't believe interactions had to stop entirely. To ease tensions, he proposed something different, and what better way to get to know each other than baseball. He figured a bit of sport could bridge the divided races.

Most knew how to use swords, so a bat would be no problem, as for running they were warriors who trained every day.

He explained the rules as best as he could remember, simplifying them where needed.

Nine players per team, one acting as the pitcher, another as the catcher, four infielders, and three in the outfield. The roles could be adjusted depending on skill level, but the basic idea was easy enough to teach.

The real problem was the equipment and field.

Roland solved that by making a small crystal radiate a ward that acted as a ball. As for the bat, Arvar his personal blacksmith, cooked up something in half an hour from an old mace that was decent.

The bases were marked using mana sustained by crystals, while the field itself was outlined by Roland's light magic. He wanted it to look appealing for the spectators, hoping they would see the game—and the teamwork—as a sign that the two races weren't so different after all.

As well as his own soldiers, many of which still had some doubt toward the half-bloods.

To make things fair, Roland proposed mixed teams—half-demons and humans together. That way, the game wasn't just a distraction—it was a symbol of their cooperation.

It would also serve as a test—to see if they could truly work together. If they couldn't manage cooperation in a simple game, then there was little hope for unity in a real battle.

The game was scheduled for the afternoon, once most of the camp had finished their daily routines. Roland didn't want to interfere with the structure and order people had come to rely on.

Before long, everyone had taken position—some seated near the high walls, others spread out just far enough to get a good view of the field.

Stella was in charge of keeping the ball within bounds using her wards, while Roland sat the game out to focus on the magical arrays he'd set up to enhance the visual appeal.

The two teams entered the field, each player wearing a helmet and light armor. Roland had insisted on a setup where no one could distinguish human from demon, going so far as to mask their identities with magic.

Namar, the illusionist, played a crucial role in this—skillfully concealing wings, tails, horns, and any other easily distinguishing features that might give someone away with his magic.

Once each group had lined up, wearing red or black to represent their team colors, they stood in silence for a moment, waiting for the signal to get into position.

To the crowd, they were simply players—no races, no names, just two teams about to face off in a game none of them had seen before.

Then, King Halter stepped onto the field, joined by Zavar, the half-demon commander.

Halter raised his hand first calming the crowd who was already excited for the game, then spoke clearly, his voice amplified gently by magic.

"Today is not about strength. It is not about blood or battle. It is about something far more difficult—trust. We who once stood apart now stand together. So let us see if we can play and laugh together too."

The human crowd of more than a thousand cheered as he stepped back and let Zavar take the stage, his expression was more serious.

"As you know this world lacks any entertainment, we ourselves have been persecuted and tortured as you have, we hope we can replace this mentality of survival, obedience and war into one of a few moments of fun… then maybe a simple game like this really can lead to understanding between us the half-bloods and you, humans. We will just have to see."

Unlike the previous speech, this one earned the cheers of the demons. Though they were fewer in number, their voices rang out just as loud—eager to prove they were no less part of this moment.

With that, the two leaders moved off the field, allowing the teams to take their positions.

Then came the first pitch.

The crowd flinched as the batter missed, the crystalline ball zipping past with a flash of light, caught cleanly by the catcher.

Cries and laughter were easily heard through the spectators of each side. Some clapped. Others squinted, trying to guess who was human and who was demon beneath the matching armor and illusion spells.

A second pitch.

This time, there was the sharp crack of wood meeting crystal, and the ball soared high into the air—its glowing trail making it visible to even those far in the back. Cheers erupted as one of the red-team players sprinted to first base as the outfield scrambled to intercept it.

The plan worked.

The crowd was engaged with the game, cheering with every player that was able to hit the ball or advance, and even more importantly, so were the players.

They weren't thinking about race anymore—only about winning, playing, and laughing.

They had been promised wine—a rare commodity that few had the privilege of tasting these days.

Especially since the top player would receive a special bottle, personally gifted by King Halter himself.

Roland could already hear someone in the crowd shouting, "Come on, Red! You got this!"

As for the spectators, many had begun placing bets—not with money, but with food distribution tokens. It gave them something to look forward to, a little excitement in a world where a proper economy had yet to return.

Roland found himself enjoying the game more than expected. It was genuinely entertaining.

The glowing ball against the evening sky made for a beautiful effect, and both teams gave it their all—fighting not for race or pride, but for victory.

He still didn't know exactly how he felt about the half-demons. He had killed so many demons already… but the hybrids, they were different. They were just surviving, the same as the humans were.

Nahira was one of the first to change his perspective.

Her body bore signs of suffering—scars etched deep, horns broken in a way only other demons could have inflicted. Her wings looked healed, rebroken, and healed again… to the point where they seemed permanently useless.

She had once possessed magic, but it was gone now.

Roland knew what it felt like to be powerless.

To lose that strength and feel vulnerable. He recognized that same look in her eyes.

She still held that captivating aura expected of a succubus—but it felt muted, subdued beneath the weight of what she'd endured through torture.

He turned his gaze to Stella, catching the small smile lighting up her face. She looked absolutely thrilled watching the game—especially when the batter struck a homerun. She quickly expanded the barrier to keep the ball from flying too far, her hands glowing as she cast.

It was rare to see her use her mana so freely… and to truly enjoy it.

The game ended with the red side claiming victory. Those who had won their bets erupted into cheers, while the losers accepted their mugs of beer with good humor. The winners were awarded their promised wine—a luxury in these times.

But in truth, there were no real losers here—just two teams of mixed blood and no real teamwork, doing their best to play a game most had never even seen before.

It was only when the players removed their helmets that the crowd finally saw who they had been cheering for. There was a moment of stunned silence, as many realized they'd rooted for someone they might not have, had they known their race.

And yet… the excitement, the hope, the pride they had felt during the game—it didn't vanish.

Instead, it made them acknowledge the truth: for that brief time, they hadn't seen a demon or a human. They had simply seen someone worth cheering for.

Both leaders—King Halter and Zavar—approached Roland to offer their thoughts after the game. The two seemed well-acquainted by now, casually exchanging comments as they drew near.

"It was a nice breather," Halter said. "At least before the next big fight. You've earned yourself a drink for coming up with this idea."

He held out a glass of wine, but Roland gently raised his hand in refusal.

"Sorry… but could you drink in my stead? It's not that I'm being rude—I just don't like alcohol."

It wasn't that he couldn't drink. It was that he wouldn't. Alcohol had been what killed his parents… and no gesture of goodwill would change how he felt about it.

Halter studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Seems you have your reasons. I won't pry. But just so you know—Stella loves this stuff."

He gave Roland a wink before turning to speak quietly with Zavar, clearly amused by the way his daughter was now glaring at him from across the field.

"Looks like they'll be friends," Roland said, glancing at the pair.

Stella was seated nearby, resting and trying to recover mana through passive absorption.

"I hope so," she murmured. "He needs someone to talk to—and I doubt it'll be one of the knights or the people. He needs someone at his level, at least."

Roland nodded. He understood exactly what she meant.

"Well then, let's start planning ahead," he said. "There's a battle tomorrow—our first real fight with the half-demons as allies."

Stella didn't move.

"You're turning into a workaholic," she said, eyes still half-closed. "Come sit here and keep me company. We need rest, too. Your mind breaks otherwise."

"Fine," he muttered, walking over. "But don't ask for anything other than kisses—I won't yield this time!"

"Don't worry, I am too tired right now, we will have that later in your tent, just hold my hand."