Chapter 62: The Last Cleansing

Still, nobody moved.

"Go."

He pointed the dark blade of Stormfront toward the outer passage leading to the surface.

"Get as far away from this cursed place as you possibly can."

A brave young man, his arms covered in bruises, slowly, cautiously stepped forward.

He looked at Kōya with deep, lingering suspicion. "Where do we go out there?"

"Absolutely anywhere."

Kōya’s answer was simple, offering no grand promises.

"Find a fortified village. Find a merchant caravan. Find other organized survivors. Find anyone who will willingly take you in."

He paused, looking at the young man’s terrified face.

"If anyone asks who freed you, you absolutely do not have to say my name."

The young man stared at him for a long, calculating moment.

Then, slowly, he walked past Kōya and through the open doorway.

One person immediately followed him. Then another.

Soon, the dark corridor began to echo loudly with the sound of shuffling footsteps.

Some cried quietly in relief as they passed him. Some looked back over their shoulders in disbelief. Some simply kept their eyes on the floor and walked as fast as their injuries allowed.

Kōya did not attempt to stop them.

He did not ask a single one of them to join his crusade. He did not tell them they had a moral obligation to repay him. He absolutely did not offer himself as their new, benevolent master.

He simply stood quietly aside in the shadows and let them leave.

More holding chambers were located. More rusted locks were melted. More heavy chains fell to the floor. More desperate people emerged into the corridor.

The massive fortress slowly, steadily emptied itself of its misery.

Kōya moved methodically from cell to cell like a grim specter of salvation.

Touch the lock.

*Crack.*

Open the door.

"You are free."

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until the very last holding chamber deep in the dungeons was opened.

A large, tightly knit group of survivors emerged together.

They hesitated near the main entrance when they finally saw the freezing rain pouring down outside.

The dark world beyond the fortress walls looked incredibly cold, unforgiving, and dangerous.

But it was still the world.

One elderly man, leaning heavily on a makeshift cane, stopped walking as he passed Kōya.

He lowered his gray head in a deep, respectful bow.

"Thank you, my lord."

Kōya looked at the fragile man.

"You do not need to thank me."

The old man raised his head, tears mixing with the grime on his face.

Kōya looked past him toward the open, muddy road leading away from the mountains.

"Just survive."

The man nodded solemnly. Then, he limped out into the rain.

Kōya stood under the archway and watched the very last group slowly disappear into the gray mist.

The massive, blood-stained courtyard gradually became entirely empty.

For the very first time in years, perhaps even decades, the massive iron gates of the Hero’s Lair stood wide open, completely unguarded.

Kōya let out a long, exhausted exhale.

It should have been over.

He had successfully killed the legendary Zeref. He had violently extracted what remained of his crucial memories. He had claimed the legendary Stormfront. He had systematically freed the remaining prisoners.

There was absolutely nothing left for him here.

Kōya turned his back on the Lair, preparing to walk down the road.

Then, he stopped dead in his tracks.

His dark eyes slowly narrowed into dangerous slits.

Something was tactically wrong.

The massive fortress behind him was entirely too quiet.

Not peacefully empty.

Quiet.

There were still distinct, heavy footsteps moving somewhere deep inside the upper levels.

Kōya slowly turned around.

Lyra stood huddled beneath a broken stone shelter near the main entrance, shivering in her torn clothes.

She was watching him intently.

Kōya looked quickly past her toward the gate. There were absolutely no other freed prisoners remaining. They had all successfully fled down the mountain.

Lyra was the only one left.

Kōya stared at the imposing, dark structure of the fortress. Then toward the black, ruined corridors leading to the upper barracks.

He understood the tactical reality immediately.

Zeref was dead.

But Zeref’s dark family was not. The fanatical people who had served him were not. The elite demons who had brutally operated and maintained this fortress for years were not all dead.

If Kōya simply walked away now, they could easily emerge from the rubble and rebuild. They could aggressively hunt down the vulnerable people who had just escaped. They could simply replace Zeref with another commander and continue the exact same brutal system under another name.

Kōya’s expression became absolute, freezing cold.

He looked directly at Lyra.

"Stay exactly here."

Lyra’s eyes widened slightly in alarm. "What?"

"I am going back inside."

"Why?!"

Kōya looked up toward the dark towers of the fortress.

"Because I haven’t completely finished."

Lyra did not have an answer for that.

Kōya began walking steadily back across the flooded courtyard.

Then, she called out desperately after him over the rain.

"Kōya!"

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

She looked absolutely terrified. Not of him. But of what she knew was still lurking inside those dark halls.

"What exactly are you going to do?"

Kōya glanced back over his shoulder, his dual-lit eyes completely empty of mercy.

"End it."

Then, he disappeared into the darkness of the fortress.

The great, iron-banded doors remained wide open behind him.

For several agonizing seconds, absolutely nothing happened.

Lyra stood completely alone beneath the freezing rain, hugging herself for warmth.

Then came the very first sound.

A distant, panicked shout from deep within the walls.

Then another, cut abruptly short.

The sharp, ringing clash of heavy metal striking stone.

A massive, blinding flash of violet-black light suddenly illuminated a high, distant stained-glass window.

Kōya was moving.

Fast.

A squad of heavily armored demons rushed him aggressively through a narrow, stone corridor, hoping to overwhelm him with numbers.

Their jagged weapons came from every conceivable direction.

Kōya smoothly ducked beneath the very first swinging blade.

Stormfront flashed violently upward. The heavy Lightning Sword struck the demon’s weapon aside, shattering the steel.

His left hand immediately followed the opening.

The golden Hero Sword cut a devastating horizontal arc completely across the narrow corridor.

A perfectly controlled, concussive wave of pure Heroic Power struck three elite demons simultaneously, throwing them violently backward into the stone walls.

Kōya stepped aggressively forward, closing the distance.

One desperate demon tried to attack him blindly from behind.

His Demonic Mana reacted instantly, entirely on its own.

Viscous, dark energy wrapped aggressively around his right arm. He turned on his heel. Blocked the heavy strike with his forearm. Countered with a devastating, point-blank palm strike.

The attacker crashed brutally entirely through a solid stone wall, collapsing the masonry.

Another large group of armed guards emerged frantically from the adjoining barracks chamber.

Kōya looked at them, his eyes burning.

"You are not leaving this place."

They roared and charged him.

The narrow corridor violently erupted.

Shattering steel. Blinding blue lightning. Suffocating darkness. Searing Heroic light. Exploding stone.

Kōya moved seamlessly through their ranks rather than attempting to overpower the entire fortress with one massive, exhausting blast.

He fought with terrifying, surgical precision.

A heavy blade came singing from his left blind spot.

He caught the demon’s wrist. Violently twisted it. The demon lost its balance entirely.

Kōya struck the stone floor directly beneath the creature’s boots with Demonic Aura.

The stone violently shattered. The demon fell screaming through the broken section into the dark abyss below.

Another attacker standing further down the hall launched a volatile fire spell.

Kōya calmly raised the broad flat of the Hero Sword.

The spell collided harmlessly with its golden edge, dissipating into smoke. The kinetic impact blasted thick dust through the corridor.

Kōya slid backward slightly, his boots carving fresh lines through the stone.

He quickly looked down at his arm.

A small, shallow cut from a stray blade. A thin line of blood.

He casually wiped it away.

Then, he moved again, hunting.

The systematic slaughter continued methodically through the upper levels of the fortress.

It was not one enormous, apocalyptic battle like his duel with Zeref. It was dozens of smaller, brutal, calculated engagements.

A chamber completely filled with armed demons. A grand staircase collapsing violently beneath their heavy feet. A desperate ambush from behind a broken wooden doorway. A running skirmish across a narrow stone bridge above a ruined dining hall.

A large group of officers desperately trying to flee through the eastern escape passage.

Kōya flawlessly intercepted them at the exit.

A desperate demon threw a heavy iron spear.

Kōya smoothly moved his head aside. The spear struck a stone pillar directly behind him, embedding deeply.

He reached out and grabbed the vibrating wooden shaft. Pulled it violently forward.

The demon stumbled off balance. Kōya stepped in, his elbow striking brutally against the creature’s chest plate, caving it in. The demon crashed into the opposite wall, dead.

Another charged blindly with a war axe.

Stormfront flashed in the dark. Searing blue lightning tore violently across the chamber, cutting the demon down.

The demon screamed in agony.

Absolute silence followed.

Kōya continued his relentless march.

He absolutely did not unleash the overwhelming, apocalyptic power he had used against the Demon Peer.

He didn’t need to waste the energy.

This was not a battle of gods. These were merely remnants. Terrified soldiers. Cruel guards. Loyal servants. The cowardly killers who had remained safely hiding behind the thick walls of Zeref’s domain while the battle raged.

Kōya’s physical body was already severely exhausted from the ordeal.

His breathing became noticeably heavier with each skirmish.

His arms began to physically ache from the constant weight of the heavy swords.

Several of his deeper wounds reopened, bleeding fresh onto the stone.