[185] The Heavenly Demon Can’t Live a Normal Life ! Manhwa Recap

The wind howled across the frozen peaks of the north, a relentless mourning sound that seemed to echo the turmoil within the hearts of those left behind. In the quiet sanctuary of his thoughts, Kaiden reflected on Roman's words and came to the conclusion that he was right. As he accepted the reality, the truth was a heavy, suffocating weight, pressing down on his shoulders with more force than the iron armor he wore.

In his mind, he remembered the peaceful days of the past and thought Arcadia couldn't go back to how it used to be. Those days felt like a distant, flickering dream now. A time of laughter, of warmth that didn't come from a fire, and of a safety that they had all taken for granted.

But that world had been shattered by the ironshot boots of invaders. After the orcs invasion to fight monsters, they too had to become monsters. It was a paradox that noded his soul.

To survive a beast, one had to sharpen their own teeth and abandon the very virtues that made them human. The reality hit him hard against his soft nature, bruising his spirit in ways that no blade ever could. He had always been a man of empathy, of steady nerves, and a gentle hand.

But the world no longer had room for such things. Outside the stone walls, the landscape was a testament to the harshness of their new existence. Arcadia was as always covered in thick snow, a white crystallin shroud that buried the mistakes of the past and the hopes of the future alike.

It was beautiful in a lethal, unforgiving way. The city gate, which was damaged in the past battle, was rebuilt. The fresh timber and cold iron standing as a symbol of their defiance, even if the wood was still pale and unweathered.

It was a scar that had been stitched back together, functional, but forever changed. And the next day, a senior staff meeting was held within the fortress, the air thick with the smell of wet wool, old parchment, and the underlying tension of men who knew they were standing on the edge of a precipice. Kaiden stood at the head of the long scarred table, his breath hitching slightly as inside the meeting room he was explaining the overall situation.

His voice was steady, but there was a flicker of exhaustion in his eyes as he pointed to the map spread out before them. He said after Gra occupied the Luna fortress, he had left Kalot and 10,000 troops behind and headed east toward the elven territory. Numbers were staggering, a tide of green-skinned brutality that threatened to drown everything in its path.

From Graxar's perspective, with Luna having collapsed, if even the elves fell too, then there was no longer a force to stop the orcs. It was a domino effect of catastrophe. The fall of one kingdom would inevitably lead to the ruin of the next.

After the Luna Fortress was retrieved by Roman Ditri, if they wanted to face the orcs again, there was the problem that the blizzard was getting worse. Window of Opportunity was closing, frosted over by the shifting seasons. Moving in the snow for them was close to impossible.

As the horses would flounder and the men would freeze in their tracks before they ever saw the enemy. As the orcs had handled the white wolves, the snow field was the optimal battlefield for them. They were creatures of the frost.

Their bodies adapted to the biting chill that withered human strength. With a serious Kaiden then said, "If they fight a battle in the snowfield, they would surely be defeated. " His words hung in the air like ice crystals, cold and unmoving.

Roman was sitting across Kaiden with his hands crossed, his posture as rigid and unyielding as the mountains surrounding them. His eyes were dark pools of calculation, showing no hint of the doubt that plagued the others. He said the war was against time.

Every second they spent debating was a second Graxar used to solidify his conquest. At that moment, Graxar didn't knew that he had lost Luna, so it was the last chance to turn the tide of the war. The element of surprise was the only currency they had left, and Roman was prepared to spend it all.

Kaiden argued that there was no way to move through that blizzard. He gestured toward the window where the white out conditions made it impossible to see even the courtyard. Roman then directly looked Kaid in his eyes and told him to gather all the forces that Luna could mobilize.

There was a magnetic authority in his gaze, a demand for obedience that bypassed logic. And he would directly show them the way of survival that Luna must follow. The atmosphere shifted abruptly, moving from the cramped torchlet room to the biting exposure of the outdoors.

Then the scene changes into an open field inside the Luna fortress where the wind whipped the cloaks of the gathered men into a frenzy. Roman was standing in front of the Luna warriors, his figure silhouetted against the gray oppressive sky. He looked at the rows of weary faces, men who had seen their homes burn and their brothers fall.

He started speaking, saying that he knew that they had been working hard to overcome the environment of Arcadia, but that effort lacked desperation. The silence that followed was deafening. Kaiden and the soldiers eyes widened hearing his words.

A mixture of shock and burgeoning resentment bubbling beneath the surface. They had bled for this land. They had starved.

Kaiden asked if he was telling them that they had not tried hard enough. There was a tremor of indignation in his voice. To have their struggle dismissed so casually felt like a betrayal.

Roman's words were conflicting with the reality as the forces of Luna had risked their lives to save their home, but in the end failed. They had given everything. Yet Roman spoke as if they had merely been going through the motions.

Without showing any emotion to his face, Roman replied in the positive, his expression a mask of chilling indifference. In his mind, he questioned Luna and the North Sea ice palace from his previous life. What was the difference between them?

He compared the two in the cold laboratory of his memories, weighing their strengths and their failures. The only conclusion he made was that in Luna, peace was guaranteed by the power of the world tree and Isabel. They had lived under a canopy of divine protection, never truly learning how to stand when the light faded.

He then said when the cold was first started, they might have been desperate. He paced slowly in front of the ranks, his boots crunching rhythmically on the frozen ground. But since Queen Isabella was born, Luna had become complacent.

They had traded their edge for comfort, their vigilance for a soft sleep. That was the base of the problem. He was peeling back the layers of their society to reveal the rod of dependency beneath.

The people of the Luna Kingdom had become accustomed to the blessings and warmth of God unprepared for extremes. They were like hot house flowers, beautiful and delicate, but prone to withering at the first sign of frost. They had only learned the church law that simply conformed, following rituals without understanding the survival instincts those rituals were meant to supplement.

With a cold voice, he said, as a result, Luna was thrown into chaos by the disappearance of the queen Isabela. Their foundation was a single person, and when that pillar was removed, the entire roof had caved in, Luna couldn't be called a normal country, as it couldn't even defend itself just after their queen's disappearance. The warriors shifted uncomfortably, the truth of his words stinging more than the cold.

Roman then stated that as he had taken the Luna Kingdom under the command of Dimmitri, he would teach them to become self-reliant. He was no longer just their temporary leader. He was their architect, and he was going to teach them the technique called the Seielin's martial arts.

The name sounded strange to their ears like a whisper from another world. That martial arts were not simply a method of moving on the snow, but concealing one's presence, erasing traces was also possible using the techniques. It was the art of becoming the winter itself, invisible, inevitable, and deadly.

He further added that they could even learn how to identify the enemy's position in a blizzard where even the visibility was limited. It was a sensory transcendence, a way to see with the soul when the eyes were blinded by white. He then stated that it was much more precise and perfect than Luna in every way.

As the days turned into a blur of grueling physical labor and mental conditioning, the soldiers began to change. As Roman was teaching them such a technique, one of the Luna warriors asked Kaiden if Roman was an angel of God. The question was whispered with a sense of awe as they watched Roman move through the waste deep snow as if it were nothing more than a paved road, and others also started gossiping, their voices a low murmur that competed with the wind.

They saw his power and could find no earthly explanation for it. Hearing the question, Kaiden turned back and said he was not an angel of God. He knew better.

Angels were messengers of mercy and Roman Dmitri was something much more visceral. In his mind, he recalled the first moments when he met Roman Dimmitri. He thought of the blood, the intensity, and the sheer force of will that seemed to radiate from the man like heat from a forge.

He thought for a moment, too, he had the same illusion, wanting to believe in a divine savior. But as time passed, he understood that Roman was not an angel of God, but the warriors fighting spirit. He was the personification of the will to survive, the raw, unadulterated drive to conquer one's surroundings.

He then told the Luna warriors that Roman himself had entered the realm of transcendence. He was beyond the limits of normal men, a beacon of what they could become if they followed his path. The preparations were swift and brutal, leaving no room for hesitation.

The scene changes after 2 days. The sky a bruised purple as the sun struggled to rise. The heavy castle gates were opened and Roman was departing with the Luna warriors for the confrontment with the orcs.

They moved like shadows across the white expanse, their movements fluid and silent. A sharp contrast to the clumsy soldiers they had been just a week prior. Far from the fortress, nestled deep within the jagged peaks.

A different kind of darkness reigned. In heavy snowy mountains, there was a cave entrance guarded by two giant orcs. Their tusks yellowed and their breath coming in foul smelling plumes of steam.

They stood like grotesque statues of flesh and muscle, mocking the purity of the snow. Inside the cave, the prisoners from Luna were held captive, huddled together for warmth in the damp, freezing dark. The air was thick with the scent of fear and unwashed bodies.

An orc entered the prisoner room and stated that their lord Graxar had captured the Luna fortress. His voice was a guttural rasp that seemed to vibrate in the very stones of the cave, and the Arcadia was practically in their hands. The boast was punctuated by a cruel laugh that echoed off the damp walls.

Hearing the news, the prisoners were devastated. Their last flickers of hope extinguished like candles in a storm. Among them was Gyro, one of the guardian knights of Luna, who had previously went ahead and attacked the orcs, defying the orders.

He sat in the corner, his armor stripped away, leaving him in nothing but rags. Jurro felt like the whole world around him was collapsed. He was devastated.

The weight of his failure was a physical pain in his chest. He blamed himself for everything and thought he had pushed his motherland off the cliff. His impulsiveness, his desire for glory, had led his men into a trap and left his country defenseless.

Then, suddenly, breaking the silence, the orc threw a human hand at them, which startled the prisoners. It landed with a sickening wet thud on the dirt floor, the fingers curled in a final frozen spasm of agony, calling them slaves. He told them to eat that if they wanted to live.

The cruelty was casual, a reminder that they were no longer considered people in the eyes of their capttors. saying that the orc left the room while closing the door. The heavy thud of the latch sounded like the closing of a coffin.

The warriors started murmuring among themselves, cursing at the orcs, but couldn't say anything loud. Their defiance was a weak, fluttering thing, hampered by hunger and cold. Then, silently, Gyro stood up and started walking toward the hand.

His movements were slow, deliberate, and devoid of the hesitation the others felt. He picked up the hand and sat down facing the door, his eyes fixed on the wooden planks with a terrifying intensity. His fellow soldiers were wondering what he was doing and stepped forward to see what he was doing.

They expected him to eat, to succumb to the orcs twisted game for the sake of survival. But Gyro turned at them with a grim face and said even if he dies, he planned to take a few of them with him. There was no madness in his eyes, only a cold crystallin resolve.

Saying this, he started removing the flesh from the hand and started sharpening the bone. The scraping sound of bone against stone was rhythmic and haunting, a macabra prayer for vengeance. The prisoners were looking at them in an awe, watching their fallen knight transform his despair into a weapon.

As he worked, his mind drifted to the choices that had brought him here. In his mind, Jerro questioned himself with only 30 reinforcements from Dimmitri. If he hypothetically had waited for Dimmitri, could he had reversed the situation?

He played out the scenarios in his head, a thousand different battles fought in the theater of his regret. But he came to the conclusion that there was no reason for Dimmitri, with whom they had no contact, to sacrifice himself for Luna. He was a stranger, a lord from a distant land.

Why would he spill his people's blood for a kingdom that had nothing to offer? And so there was no hope form the start. He felt a bitter resentment toward the heavens, a feeling of being abandoned by the very forces they had served.

He then remembered the god asking what he wanted. It was a silent cry to the empty air, why it was them who had sacrificed themselves for the salamander continent had to suffer such a fate. They had been the shield of the world, and now they were being discarded like trash.

He sigh in disappointment, the sound of a soft puff of air in the freezing cave. He tightened his grip on the makeshift shiv. He then looked at the sharpened bone in his hand, and with a murderous look, he thought that his life as a snowfield swordsman was over.

He would never again wield a mastercrafted blade or wear the polished silver of the guardian knights. This was his end, a jagged piece of bone and a desperate heart. He then looked at the door and hid behind it, blending into the shadows.

In his mind, he thought the last thing he had to do was not blame God, but dying like a human should. He wanted his final act to be one of agency, an assertion of his own existence against the monsters that sought to erase it. The sound of footsteps approached, heavy and rhythmic.

As the door opened, the jumped forward with the bone in his hand like he was prepared to die. He put every ounce of his remaining strength into the strike, his eyes wide and burning with hate. But the one who opened the door was Kaiden.

The bone stopped inches from Kaiden's throat, the air whistling between them. Gyro barely managed to hold himself from stabbing him, his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. They both looked at each other with surprised face as both of them thought the other person was dead.

The shock was so profound that for a moment, neither could speak. The rescue was a whirlwind of movement and hushed commands. Kaiden, leading the group, had rescued the prisoners from the cave and carried them out of the caves.

He moved with a newfound grace, his feet barely leaving a mark on the treacherous ice. Gyro was still wondering what was happening, his mind struggling to catch up to the reality of his salvation. He was staring at Kaiden, thinking the Luna should have already been destroyed.

The logic of the world had been overturned, and he felt as though he were walking through a dream. Kaiden, with a cheerful face, then told Gyro to get a hold on himself, as the war was not over. There was a spark in Kaiden's eyes that hadn't been there before, a fire caught from a greater flame.

Gyro then asked what he was talking about. With a charming face, Kaiden said Dmitri's reinforcements subjugated the orcs and Luna had been recaptured. The words were a miracle, a divine intervention that arrived not from the heavens, but from the iron will of a man.

Hearing the news, Gyro couldn't hold back his tears. They tracked hot paths down his grimecovered face, freezing in the air as they fell. He was really happy that Luna had not perished, as the heavy burden from his chest had lifted.

The crushing guilt that had threatened to suffocate him dissipated, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude. He wondered where Roman Dmitri was as he wanted to express his heartfelt gratitude. He looked around the snowy landscape, searching for the man who had accomplished the impossible.

High above the valley floor, tucked away from the chaos of the liberated prisoners, a lone figure stood silhouetted against the white. Outside the cave, Roman was standing on a small cliff with his bare sword, observing the whole situation. He stood motionless, the biting wind tugging at his hair, his eyes scanning the horizon for the next threat.

He did not seek their thanks or their praise. He simply watched, a silent sentinel over the kingdom he had claimed and the warriors he had forged.