Path To Godhood Begins With Marrying Wife And Gaining SSS Rank Skill

Chapter 415:We Will Surrender

The sudden destruction of the demon camp startled everyone in the army camp.

The situation threw them completely off balance. At first, no one could understand what had happened. Scouts ran back and forth, while messengers shouted incomplete reports, and confusion spread through the ranks. It was not clear until the frontline troops returned and finally relayed what they had seen with their own eyes.

The commander of the place was the most stupefied among them all. For a long moment, he simply stood there, staring ahead, his mind blank. He did not know what kind of message he should relay to the center. This was not a small skirmish or a partial victory. This was something else entirely.

He did not hurry.

Fear of making a mistake held him back. Instead, he gathered a full squadron and personally advanced toward the demon camp to confirm the situation himself.

What he saw left him horrified.

The place where the demon camp once stood no longer looked like a battlefield. It looked like a scar carved into the world itself. The land was completely burned and pulverized, stretched across a vast area that went far beyond what the eye could easily measure. The ground was blackened and cracked, layered with hardened molten soil and deep fissures that still released faint heat.

There were no structures left.

Everything had been erased.

All that remained were dried, charred corpses buried into the ground. Demon bodies were fused with the earth, twisted into unnatural shapes, some half-sunken into craters as if they had been slammed there by overwhelming force. Their armor had melted into their flesh. Their weapons were warped beyond recognition, bent and broken like soft clay.

The air smelled of ash and burnt metal.

Here and there, bones stuck out of the ground, bleached white against the blackened soil. In some places, outlines of demons could still be seen burned into the earth, like shadows left behind by an explosion too violent to escape. The heat had been so intense that even blood had evaporated, leaving behind only dark stains baked into the land.

The soldiers slowed their steps.

Many of them swallowed hard. Some clenched their fists. Others stood frozen, unable to speak.

They walked deeper into the ruined land and finally stopped at the center. The commander looked around slowly, his eyes scanning the massive burned zone. The silence pressed heavily on his chest.

“What the hell is this?” one soldier muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“How?” another asked, disbelief clear in his tone.

“Just what happened here?” someone else said, turning in circles as if expecting the answer to appear in front of them.

No one replied.

After a long pause, another voice spoke carefully, “Does anyone know who that person was?”

The commander frowned and looked toward the scout who had spoken earlier. “We don’t know,” the scout replied. “Except for one thing. He had white hair.”

“White hair… White hair similar to Ray…” a soldier said slowly, his brows knitting together.

Another soldier’s eyes widened. “Yes. Now that you say it, he looks quite similar to Ray.”

“Might be his brother,” someone else added quietly.

The commander raised his brows in shock, his heart pounding slightly faster.

“So strong…” he muttered under his breath, unsure what else to say.

After a preliminary assessment, he wasted no more time. He turned back at once and ordered the message to be sent. Every detail was recorded carefully, every observation written down without exaggeration.

When the message finally reached the court, the reaction was immediate.

The moment the words echoed through the hall, a sudden silence filled the room. Nobles, generals, and officials froze in place, their expressions stiff with disbelief. Then, all at once, the silence shattered.

“Ahhh!”

“God bless the Frontier!”

“Finally!”

“We finally have some time to breathe free air!”

Relief spilled out uncontrollably. Some laughed. Some nearly cried. Tension that had been building for months cracked and poured out of the room.

At the center of it all, Alberetch sat upon his throne.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. His wrinkled face, worn down by endless worry and responsibility, finally showed a hint of joy. The tension in his shoulders eased, and a warm expression surfaced, faint but unmistakable.

He nodded slowly.

At that moment, the Prime Minister stepped forward and spoke with a relieved smile. “Your Majesty, it is time for celebration.”

Other ministers nodded in agreement, some already exchanging hopeful looks. The heavy tension that had filled the hall moments ago began to lift, replaced by cautious excitement. Whispers of relief spread across the court, and a few officials even allowed themselves to smile.

However, Alberetch shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Let us not be hasty.”

His voice was calm, yet it carried weight. The festive atmosphere instantly slumped, as if a cold wind had passed through the hall. Smiles faded, and the ministers turned their gazes back to the throne, confusion and concern clear in their eyes.

“This might not be the end,” Alberetch continued.

He rose slightly from his seat and looked around the hall, his sharp eyes scanning every face. “A part of the demon camp was defeated, not the entire Demon Army. This may not even be a fraction of their true strength.”

The words hit hard.

Murmurs stopped. Several ministers frowned deeply, and unease crept back into the room. It felt as if a fish bone had lodged itself in everyone’s throat, making it hard to breathe or speak.

“Next time,” Alberetch said slowly, “they may come with an even stronger force.”

The silence grew heavy.

Finally, one minister stepped forward and bowed slightly. “Your Majesty, what is your next decision?”

Alberetch closed his eyes for a long moment before speaking again. When he did, his voice was steady, but there was an undeniable exhaustion beneath it.

“We will move forward with the agreement,” he said.

The hall stirred immediately.

“We cannot contend with the demons,” Alberetch continued, opening his eyes. “So we will surrender to the Empire.”

“But—” someone started instinctively.

“No but,” Alberetch reprimanded sharply, cutting the voice off at once.

The authority in his tone left no room for argument. He looked down from the throne, his expression firm yet heavy with burden.

“Let us not drag the lives of innocent people into ruin for our selfish gains,” he said. “Power and pride mean nothing if the people suffer for them.”

He paused and then slowly closed his eyes again.

At that moment, he seemed far older than before. The weight of countless decisions, sacrifices, and years of rule pressed down on his shoulders. His posture remained dignified, yet the weariness was impossible to miss.

“The time of Frontier is coming to an end,” Alberetch said quietly. “Do not mourn because it ended. Rather, rejoice for the new era that is to come.”

The words echoed through the hall.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then the Prime Minister stepped forward, his expression resolute. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee.

“Your Majesty,” he shouted clearly, his voice filled with respect, “the world may forget, but the people will always remember your benevolence. You chose the lives of the people over power and greed.”

His words struck deeply.

One by one, the ministers followed. Knees hit the floor in unison as they bowed their heads toward the throne. Their voices rose together, loud and sincere.

“Hail the King!”

“Hail the Mighty Alberetch of Frontier!”

The sound filled the hall, reverberating against the tall pillars and high ceiling. Alberetch remained seated, eyes closed, listening to the voices of his people. His decision had sealed the fate of a kingdom, but it had also preserved countless lives.

And history would surely remember him as a man who chose his people over his throne.