Chapter 509: The Demon Race
TL: Rui88
“Marshal MacDonald, as a human, you must have also heard the legend that is widely spread among the human kingdoms.”
Aldridge’s voice grew low, his expression more solemn than ever before, a look MacDonald had never seen in all their decades of acquaintance.
MacDonald looked at Arvis. Aldridge’s junior colleague wore the same grave expression as his senior.
“There are many myths widely spread among the human kingdoms.”
MacDonald said, waiting for them to elaborate.
This time, it was Arvis who spoke. “The war between humans and the Demon Race!”
“The myth of the ancient war between humans and demons?”
MacDonald asked in surprise.
“Yes, that is the one.”Arvis nodded in confirmation.
“Does this myth hold some special meaning for your Scholars’ Tower?”
“It holds great significance not just for our Scholars’ Tower, but for the Gabella Empire, and for all of humanity. To put it bluntly, this myth… concerns the very survival of our race, of humankind.”
“This… this… what you mean to say is?”
Aldridge added with emphasis, “The Demon Race…the mortal enemy of us humans. Their…or its…threat still exists!”
“The Demon Race?”
MacDonald stood up. “This evil race, so ancient it is almost mythical, is real?”
Wait, MacDonald realised, weren’t they supposed to be discussing myths?
He slowly sat back down. For a moment, he even felt a sense of absurdity. The Demon Race, the survival of the species…wasn’t this the stuff of heroic adventure novels?
Regarding the myth of the war between humans and demons, the various versions in the human kingdoms were all largely the same:
In ancient times, the terrifying Demon Race invaded this continent through the Gate of Sealing in the Far North.
The Demon Race was a dreadful people; they enslaved humans, brutalised humans, and even used humans as food. They were an evil existence with whom reason and peaceful coexistence were utterly impossible, and their combat prowess was formidable, possessing many incredible powers.
Faced with such a great threat, the humans of the continent finally set aside their disputes and united to resist the demonic invasion. After decades of arduous struggle, they finally drove the Demon Race from the continent, forcing them to flee back to the other side of the Gate of Sealing…to a terrifying region known to humans as the Endless Abyss.
The name “Gate of Sealing” came later. This “gate” was originally the passage through which the demons entered the continent. After the demons were driven back into the Endless Abyss, the Lord of Light manifested in response to the devout prayers of humanity. The Heavenly Father showed the world His mighty power; the passage connecting the human continent and the Endless Abyss was sunk into the sea, and the Far North was covered in thick ice and snow that never melted, becoming a dead zone for life…even for the Demon Race. Thus, the passage, now impossible to find, became known as the Gate of Sealing.
The war between humans and demons was a timeless topic in the human world.
The hero who defeated the demon king and saved the world…many stories of this kind were created based on the prototype of the ancient human-demon war myth.
Many epics that have been passed down to this day also came from this war, which had no clear historical record.
But reason told him that these two highly respected scholars had not invited a high-ranking imperial general like himself here to discuss themes for novels or poetry.
Arvis’s next words surprised him even more. “Not only is the Demon Race real, but magic and wizards are also real.”
Arvis paused slightly, then lowered his voice. “For instance, Prince Antonio’s mother.”
MacDonald’s eyelids twitched. “The prince’s mother… was really a witch?”
He had always thought this was just a rumour fabricated by others…such as the Dias Family…to tarnish Prince Antonio’s reputation.
Magic and wizards were real, and the person he served was the son of a witch.
MacDonald’s hand, holding the teacup, froze in mid-air. His entire body stiffened.
Aldridge and Arvis did not speak further. They knew this information was very sudden for MacDonald, so they waited for the old marshal to process it himself.
To their surprise, MacDonald took only a few seconds to digest the information. He let out a soft breath, then took a sip of tea.
Arvis asked, “Well? Marshal MacDonald, now that myth has walked into reality, what are your thoughts?”
MacDonald’s tone was as normal as ever. “There is still so much I do not know. What I want to know most right now is…the Demon Race, humanity, Prince Antonio, and his witch mother, is there any connection between these things? Oh, and please rest assured, though I am surprised, my loyalty to the prince has not diminished in the slightest.”
Both Aldridge and Arvis inwardly marvelled. He was truly an old imperial general who had fought on the battlefield for half his life; his mental fortitude was too strong. They had hoped to see the old marshal in a state of discomposure, but now that hope was dashed.
Aldridge looked at MacDonald and said, “Marshal MacDonald, we scholars of the Scholars’ Tower generally believe that a myth is the collective memory of a people. It is unlikely that a myth arises from nothing. In the long process of its transmission, it may have been embellished, it may have been exaggerated, and it may have become vastly different from its original version. But as long as one follows the clues back to their source, there is bound to be a historical event that actually occurred. That is the origin of the myth.”
Arvis explained, “It is like a mighty river. Where it flows, many tributaries will join it, but no matter how large the river, it will always have a source, even if that source is perhaps only a small lake.”
MacDonald nodded gently, indicating that he understood what the two scholars were saying.
…
Harper, his face full of reluctance, led his troops onward to the south.
The injuries on his face had not yet fully healed; it was still swollen, and nearly his entire face was smeared with ointment.
Having a face in such a state stuffed into an iron helmet, in a tropical climate like Horn Bay’s, was an experience that was anything but pleasant.
After the last rout, his superior, Simon Fedotov, had replenished his forces and then immediately ordered him to continue serving as the vanguard to clear the way for the main army.
“The honour you lost with your own hands, you shall reclaim with your own hands.”
This was Fedotov’s admonition to Harper. Harper was very grateful for the family he was born into; otherwise, Fedotov would have had his head long ago.
This time, the vanguard did not separate too far from the main force personally commanded by Fedotov. If the vanguard encountered any situation, the main army behind could immediately rush to their aid.
But even so, Harper’s heart was still filled with trepidation.
The reason was none other than the deep psychological trauma the last battle had left him with.