I Was a Loner, but My Class Got Summoned to Another World…

The factory made a loud sound as it collapsed under the weight of its own destruction; fissures ran across its stone walls, and chunks of concrete and large bricks that had been holding it together fell from the ceiling.

The blood-crystal furnace did one final scream from underneath it all like dying beasts, while the top floors' mana veins, which contained corrupted mana, split open the building as Roland's last strike tore through the cores holding everything together.

The red mist above faltered, its thick veil thinning as the first sunrays of dawn forced their way through in fractured stone.

Azragor staggered back, his ruined hand still bleeding, even after he had healed it.

His remaining arm was clutching a shard of blood crystal jagged enough to serve as a weapon, the only thing he could find to help aid him as the hero broke through the destruction.

The demon general's grin was far gone, replaced with the twisted snarl of what seemed to be a cornered beast.

"You think this ends here, hero?" Azragor spat, dark energy flooding the red crystal in his grip. "Even if I fall, the mist will rise again. We will smother this world in an eternal night!"

Roland surged forward, his cursed blade's edge screaming with pure darkness energy.

The heroes' strike shattered the crystal, even before Azragor could unleash it fully.

The backlash of this powerful hit erupted in a violent shockwave that ripped through the chamber, causing both of them harm.

The demon general was thrown against the wall, his bones cracking beneath the impact, but before Roland could finish him, the collapsing ceiling crashed down between them, separating them for a mere moment.

Through dust and falling debris, Roland caught one last glimpse of Azragor dragging his battered form into the shadows, with a hate-filled gaze that looked back at him with what seemed like a promising retribution.

Then he was gone.

The factory finally gave way, and fire and ash quickly spread, making even Roland have to abandon his pursuit.

Roland was forcing himself through it all; he was currently trying with all his might to sheath the cursed blade.

His hands trembled as the quiet, insidious whispers of the bloodlust blade tried to claw themselves within his mind.

Its dark temptation lingered, urging him to pursue the demon general or to find someone to kill.

It seemed the blade had yet to find enough souls to feed upon as it reveled in slaughter.

He bit down hard on his molars, his teeth grinding, as his fingers cracked as they tensed around the blade's handle.

It wasn't until the fire almost touched his hand that Roland let go of it; the pain from the head around him finally became apparent.

If it hadn't been for it, Roland thought he would have burned alive and still only felt that he needed to kill something.

Roland quickly cast a shield around himself and placed the sinister blade back into his storage.

His breath was ragged, and Roland even staggered to move from the building, hoping it would not explode as he slowly got out of harm's way.

As the first true rays of sunlight in years broke through the dark mist that was only being produced by one factory, Roland sighed.

He looked further into the distance, piercing the sky and casting the battlefield in gold.

It was such a rewarding sight to see the lost capital of humanity regain a crucial part of it.

Roland noticed that all the humans were still alive and lingered around, lifting their heads to see what he was looking at. Their eyes were wide, some falling to their knees in tears as warmth touched their faces.

Roland did not share their relief, though.

His hands still shook from holding on to the blade for so long; it was to the point that in his chest, the gnawing emptiness of the blade's hunger remained.

Roland did not know if this was temporary, but he needed to get rid of it. For a moment, he feared he had lost too much of himself in the fight. But then a familiar voice called his name, a firm, steady, grounding one that had helped him through so much.

[You kept a good part of your promise, hero… but you still have work to do. That last red mist factory needs to fall. I am not sure I can dispel the blade's psyche from you—it left quite a mark. But we can work on that later.]

Roland nodded along to Elios's voice, that was until another familiar voice called out to him.

A second voice entered his mind, this one lighter, teasing even.

[Did you two forget me? I am still here, helping your companions tear through the last of the red mist factories. So just take it easy and deal with that crazy storm in your head. Hell, I can even feel it through this communication we have going on…]

Norelli barged into his mental communication with his light spirit as always before speaking again.

[Even if my minions die under the sun, they'll tear apart enough of the place so that your companions can finish the job.]

Norelli's smug tone was as infuriating as it was reassuring this time, but it did not stop Elios from reproaching the crazy vampire scientist, Norelli.

Somehow, hearing their banter about sacrificing his creations to sunlight steadied some of Roland's doubts.

The vampire was fighting in his own way, putting faith in him as least for now was all Roland could do as he let himself fall to finally rest his worn-out body, he could feel the stain he delt to his muscles and bones, he did not even notice that his armor was torn in several areas, his skin exposed and healed by Elios without Roland noticing when.

The hero finally exhaled slowly, his breath catching in the smoke-filled air.

Around him, the factory continued to crumble and burn away, the machinery inside collapsing into molten ruin that would never be able to be fixed.

Roland could still hear each shattering red crystal as the flames consumed them, their energy devoured like coal in a furnace.

Out in the distance, the crimson haze above finally thinned until sunlight broke through it all, bathing the battlefield in radiant gold.

The only conclusion Roland could draw was that the other group had destroyed the remaining factory, liberating this region from the vampires' tyranny.

It was then that the prisoners, who until now had wept in silence, finally raised their voices. Songs of joy and disbelief carried across the ruins as they basked in the warm sunlight for the first time in months.

Roland, however, could not allow himself to relax. His mind remained heavy with both doubt and the blades' lingering influence.

One thought in particular kept coming back to him.

Azragor had escaped.

That truth festered like a wound upon his pride. He was certain the demon would return stronger than before, and when he did, he would go after Stella and the others to exact his vengeance.

Roland turned his gaze to the horizon, west, north, and east.

Each direction still lay under the grip of the red mist, each still enslaved by the vampires' dominion. He had only freed a portion of their territory. They had been given far too much time to expand, and half the world was likely in their grasp already.

But it was fine. They had carved out an important foothold here, a starting point from which the fight could continue. In the weeks to come, Roland hoped more allies would rally to their cause, and more strength would gather for the battles ahead.

For now, his next step was clear. He had to head west to the nomad fields, where the Earth Spirit's power awaited.

Roland looked around once more before letting himself sink to the ground.

Above him, the sky cleared to a soft blue, sunlight spreading over the battlefield now freed from its crimson veil.

For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to bask in the quiet joy of having done something meaningful, something that mattered in this broken world.

Liberating this place felt like victory, even if unease still gnawed at his heart.

Stella, his wife's safety and the others lingered in his thoughts.

Still, his body was too heavy to rise again just yet.

He could not close his eyes even if he felt like he could sleep for decades, not while that vile demon might be near.

But he did not need sleep.

Elios's energy flowed through him, mending Roland's torn flesh and restoring drained stamina, preparing him to stand once more and finish off the remnants of their enemies.

It was then that he heard the hurried steps approaching.

"Roland!"

Stella's voice in the distance felt urgent, that was until she saw him get to see her; it was then that relief appeared on her face.

She kept running towards him, her cloak trailing behind, and fell to her knees beside him. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly as though he might vanish.

"You're alive… thank the spirits," she whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to him.

Pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, she added, firmer now, "It's over. The others are sweeping the grounds and cutting down what demons remain. This mission… It's finished."

Roland let out a slow breath, the weight on his shoulders easing for the first time in what felt like ages.

He returned her embrace, drawing strength from her warm hug. The battle was over, the mist was gone, and for a fleeting moment, peace had settled in one part of this world.