A window in the mansion lobby gave everyone a full view of what transpired.

Armand Calloway's dagger had produced a decently-sized blast when its mana was warped. Piers' warped attack had filled a hallway. The small container at the repository almost collapsed an underground basement.

The grand prize from the Harvester raid made them all look like firecrackers.

Castle Helmund was the largest building Simon had seen in Valtia thus far, easily outdoing Piers' ostentatious villa. Thousands of feet across, nearly as high–

And in an instant, its top half was gone. The warped mana expanded to a miniature sun of ruinous energy, crackling, pulsing, consuming. An ear-splitting roar swept through the capital, shattering glass with a wave of heated air. Tremors shook the city, causing its foundations to tremble, some weaker structures in the lower district collapsing entirely.

All while the mana-explosion persisted and grew. It gradually expanded to devour more of Castle Helmund, as if it was a Fell Beast sating a sliver of its bottomless, never-ending hunger.

Ripples of pressure assaulted everything that remained. Whatever sections the blast hadn't touched started to crumble anyway. Walls fell. Floors dropped onto floors, then dropped onto more floors.

Ten seconds. That was how long the cascade of destruction lasted. In the battle of which would endure, castle or explosion, it was Simon's warped mana which reigned supreme.

By the time it faded, Helmund's abode had been reduced to a dense pile of rubble.

Another gust swept through the city – in the opposite direction, new air filling the vacuum that had been left behind. The sun's deafening roar dwindled to nothing, but a repeating *thrum* pounded incessantly in everyone's heads, a raging echo reminding them of what they'd seen. Skin prickled as the temperature sharply rose like an abrupt change of seasons. People were beset with so many unpleasant sensations that it should have sent the populace into an uproar.

Yet it was the quietest the city had ever been. The daily clamor of living ground to a halt, people falling silent with terrified awe. Few spoke. Some forgot to breathe.

The streets were frozen in time, a still-life painting depicting the end of one era, and the beginning of another.

Simon focused on none of that. With thoughts that felt distant, he set about completing an all-important task:

Calculating the toll.

There are approximately 120 rebels in this room. I'll estimate that half of the Hurricane had family being held hostage, with an average of one family member per related rebel. It is exceedingly unlikely that any of them survived the blast.

60 innocent deaths.

Additionally, it takes a lot of people to manage a castle as big as Helmund's. There must have been servants staffed there. Potentially hundreds. I doubt most of them were fond of him. I'll estimate 250, then be charitable to myself and say that only half weren't allied with the Duke.

60 plus 125. 185 innocent deaths.

Furthermore, around twenty buildings in the lower district collapsed. Poor infrastructure. Some of the people trapped will be rescued. Many won't. No accurate numbers are available, so I'll just estimate it as 50 who will succumb to either starvation or injuries, betrayed by their own homes – their own safe havens.

60 plus 125 plus 50. 235 innocent deaths.

Hmm. Looks like the areas surrounding Castle Helmund were affected pretty badly too. Debris was sent flying, impacted buildings and people. Proximity pressure from the blast didn't help. The streets there are a write-off. I'll be conservative with my estimate because most of his neighbors were nobility, but I can't pretend the civilian casualty rate was any lower than 150.

60 plus 125 plus 50 plus 150. 385 innocent deaths.

Simon's teeth chattered, his fingers twitching. An unbearable howling abyss opened up inside him.

You're not here. None of this is happening to you. This pain is not your own–

A blade stabbed through his chest.

He fell to the ground as a rebel tackled him. The blade stabbed him twice more, piercing his torso with clumsy, uncoordinated motions. Simon glanced up to find a young man – roughly his own age – pinning him to the ground.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" The youth's eyes were watery, yet burning with rage. "YOU – YOU KILLED HIM!"

Simon vaguely recognized his voice from before. This was one of the first rebels to speak up today about their imprisoned family. He has a brother.

Had.

The youth held his blade aloft, hand shaking enough to splatter droplets of blood onto Simon's attire. Rather than plunging it down a third time, he seemed to be waiting for...something. A justification? An explanation? An excuse? Anything that would help the world make sense again.

"Yes." The transmigrator forced himself to look straight ahead, not averting his gaze. "I did."

*Shunk* went the sword as it ripped through his sternum. Two stabs became three, four, each new wound punctuated by the youth's grief-stricken cries.

Simon didn't make a move to stop him. Instead, he chose to peer around the room, gauging reactions. A few people were still staring out the window in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening. Others adjusted more quickly, their faces brightening with excitement like they'd been handed their victory on a silver platter.

But the rest were glaring at him with eyes of hatred. Several of them drew their weapons, preparing to join in a communal bloodletting.

This was our best chance, Simon wanted to say. By attacking Helmund in his castle, right now, I had the element of surprise and knew exactly where he would be. It let me detonate the bomb directly next to him – maximize our odds of success. Any other plan would have introduced too many unknown variables. Could've tried luring him somewhere else, but he's mana-sensitive, he can fly...there's no guarantee he falls for an ambush, or that he even gets close enough for the explosion to be effective. I had to strike first. Stakes too high. Failure wasn't an option.

Yet he said nothing, because it would have meant nothing. The fact that he'd seemingly assassinated Duke Helmund was irrelevant. For many members of the Hurricane, killing Helmund had merely been a means to an end; a goal that would allow them to rescue their family and see their loved ones safe again. They'd even been willing to sacrifice their lives and humanity just for the tiniest sliver of hope.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

And he'd robbed them of that hope. Sacrifices were made, but those who were sacrificed had no say in the matter. It was not his choice to make, yet he made it for them.

O&U and Senator Shaw were the monsters of my story. I think I just became one of the monsters in theirs.

Which was why he'd stayed.

In truth, after stealing the large mana-container, his plan didn't require him to be on-premises at Hurricane HQ. If he'd wanted to avoid the brunt of their ire, he could've hidden himself where they wouldn't find him.

But Simon would never have forgiven himself. Killing someone's family then trying to skirt the consequences was the epitome of cowardice. Even if it meant nothing to them, they deserved to hear his apology.

That was more grace than he had ever been afforded.

I can't run from this. His pain, their pain – he needed to feel it. Thankfully, his attacker had intervened before he could retreat into himself. Dissociating here and now would've been an insult to everyone who'd perished as a result of his decisions.

And it would be an even greater insult if he didn't finish what he'd started.

With a reluctant grimace, Simon grabbed the youth's wrist before they could stab him for the ninth time. He was currently at half of his max HP – letting it drop any further would be irresponsible. Gently but firmly, he pushed the boy away, slowly rising to his feet.

"I'll accept your condemnations later," he said, addressing the room as a whole. "For now, we still have a job to do."

"You think that some of the hostages may have survived?" Bastian inquired. From what Simon knew, the Swordsman didn't even have family imprisoned, but the hope blooming on his expression was agonizingly desperate. "Could they yet be saved if we extricated them from the ruins of Castle Helmund?"

"Maybe," Simon lied. "But I wasn't talking about them."

Excitement and fury gave way to dread. Faces paled as the implication set in.

"No." Bastian shook his head, as if doing so would deny reality itself. "You don't mean...the Duke is alive?"

"My tracking magic is still active. It would've broken upon his death otherwise." The same had happened with Piers. "He's stuck under what remains of Castle Helmund, but yes, he's alive."

Simon wished he could be surprised by that. Despite how astonishingly powerful the grand prize turned out, he'd figured Duke Helmund would survive it anyway. You didn't get to be hundreds of years old if you were that easy to kill.

Despair rapidly swept through the Hurricane. Victoria knelt down, covering her face with her hands. Cyna looked at the floor with a blank expression, posture sagging as if the greatsword strapped her back suddenly felt incredibly heavy. Marlene opened her mouth, attempting to fulfill her duty as leader and re-establish order, but no words came out.

The blood-soaked youth chuckled – a hollow, empty noise. "Then what was it all for?" His voice sounded hoarse. "You killed my brother, and for what?"

"To level the playing field."

Simon pointed out the window, directing their attention to the ruined castle. "If Duke Helmund was in tip-top condition, he would've already disintegrated that pile of rubble and come flying after us – but he hasn't. Consider what that means."

A spark of life alighted in Marlene's gaze. "Piers was vulnerable to Fell mana," she said, speaking progressively louder. "Strong as the Duke may be, he should be no different in that regard. The explosion you triggered...was it empowered by Demonic essence?"

He nodded. "I warped the contents of the mana-container. Should cause the same effect as when I sliced Piers' throat. In addition to whatever injuries Helmund sustained, his self-healing has been crippled – and I wouldn't be surprised if he's experiencing even worse side effects than that. If anything, due to how much stolen mana he's absorbed, his body should have a more adverse reaction than his son did."

"Then we're on a time limit," Cyna muttered. "Piers would have recovered if we didn't strike him down as soon as we could."

"Also correct. The playing field won't stay level. We have hours at most before the wrath of a walking natural disaster is visited upon us."

Simon raised a finger. "Here's your first option: you ignore Duke Helmund and wait to die. Everything you've struggled for until now will be rendered meaningless. I suppose you could try taking revenge on me in the interim, but I assure you, it won't go well. Or..."

He raised a second finger. "You heal my wounds, gather your weapons, and fight. I'll be setting off to slay Helmund in no less than ten minutes. You're all welcome to join me. Whether the Duke lives to menace the Severed Isles another day, whether the survivors last long enough for us to rescue them, whether you live long enough to enact your vengeance on me – that's up to you."

A chaotic debate sprang up among the Hurricane. In spite of the myriad opinions being thrown around, though, Simon could already tell which way the winds were blowing. While some rebels would refuse to consort with a traitorous, family-killing Demon, most would begrudgingly fall in line. They simply couldn't pass up the opportunity to finally put an end to things.

Which meant the transmigrator would have a small army as backup when confronting Duke Helmund. He wasn't sure exactly how useful the rebels would be, as even a weakened Helmund was going to be a nightmare to deal with, but their assistance should still increase his odds of success.

And success was all that mattered right now.

It was an essential truth that he'd come to learn over the years. What was the difference between right and wrong? Between bravery and recklessness? Between genius and delusion?

Whether or not you won.

The victors wrote history, and Simon very much intended to be the victor here. He didn't have a choice. The morality of his decision was contingent on triumphing over Duke Helmund.

If sacrificing hundreds of innocent lives resulted in killing the Duke and saving Valtia, then he could deem his actions as necessary. But if not? If he couldn't ensure that the ends justified the means?

Then he was little better than a mass murderer.

Death would be far preferable to that.

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