"Looks like my guess was right about your weakness” Demon Lord Jortheus says
“Listen here, Mister Jortheus, how about you let us off the hook?” Ronin ask
“Why should I? This is effective practice for me. The kind of warfare I crave that the heroes lack.” He says
Ronin exhales, shaking his head. “Oh, come on,” he says, voice laced with mock disappointment. “Surely, you’ve got better things to do? I don’t know—organizing armies, conquering the world, that sort of thing?” He rolls his shoulders as if the conversation bores him, but his eyes flicker around, scanning for an opening.
Where is that Old Dwarf?! Do I need to finish things here and check on him too?
Jortheus chuckles—low and deliberate, the kind that slithers under your skin. “You think I want to conquer the world?” He steps forward, his eyes burning like soldering embers. “That’s petty. Shortsighted.” His voice drops to a whisper, intimate yet suffocating. “I want the heavens, Ronin. The gods watch over you humans, bless you, but never us. Tell me—what’s fair about that?”
“Do whatever you want, just let us go.” I reply, my tone flat.
“Mankind grovels for the gods’ favor, waiting for salvation that will never come. I refuse to be a puppet in their cruel design. I will forge a new order. If the gods deny us a place in their world, then we shall carve one out of theirs.”
“And you, Ronin, are a walking contradiction—half of the privileged, half of the forsaken. So tell me, which half should I destroy first?” he says almost making me gawk at his determination, his determined eyes, slicing throught the scene to meet mine is enough to tell me the isn’t a simpleton, but I can’t give up just yet.
"You’re as insane as any villain. So the gods ignored you—I feel bad for your people. But dragging everyone into your pity war? That’s a hell of a throne you’re building." I say
I try to stay composed, but every second Warzheil takes chips away at my patience. This guy’s patience is as unyielding as an old lion’s pride.
Jortheus ignores the remark, his smile unwavering, his voice steady yet charged with conviction. “You misunderstand me, Ronin. I am no mindless villain driven by hatred. I am a ruler—a guide for my people. I do not kill for sport or cruelty. I fight to prove a point—to carve our place in this world, as rightful as theirs.” His final words abandon their regal weight, raw and untamed, like a prideful wolf howling against the night.
His golden eyes gleam with something almost resembling kindness before his tone turns cold. “But order demands sacrifice. If you win, I will show mercy to those connected to you. If you lose, I will erase them before your eyes—swiftly, painlessly. A kindness, truly, sparing them from the suffering the world would otherwise inflict.”
Jortheus spreads his arms, his presence growing heavier. "This is the burden of leadership, Ronin. The will to make difficult choices. The strength to act where others hesitate. That is why I will succeed where the gods have failed."
This guy is not in his right mind for sure.
“So, a fight to the death? That’s the best deal you could come up with?” I say, throwing out whatever taunts come to mind, fishing for a conversation—buying time.
I’ve seen and killed plenty like him. The only difference is that this one happens to be a demon lord instead of a man. But what unsettles me isn’t his strength—it’s his indifference. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t rise to the bait. No arrogance, no wounded pride. That’s not how these so-called mighty beings are supposed to act.
The demon lord stares at me, his expression shifting from anger to confusion. “That’s strange, I have said these things to other humans too, even the heroes, they got very angry and vulnerable, Aren’t you going to yell in anger?”
“Why would I? The deal doesn’t sound half bad to me,” I answer, my voice calm.
Not bad? MY ASS. There is something off about this guy, no one can be this composed in a game of wits against me but this monster just don’t care about my comments, as if he knows I am trying to push him into loosing control.
“You are such an interesting being!. As a sign of acknowledgement, I will use my true form against you. This is truly the end.”
Wait wha..? Of course he would have a final form! Oldman don’t you have your final form too? Things are looking grim for me, all this time there has been this sharp smell in the air that feels like it makes my lungs burn. I really want to get this guy off me but he has latched on to me like a tick.
The air thickens, pressing against my lungs like molten iron as Jortheus' form begins to distort. Bones crack and elongate, his shadow stretching like an omen of ruin. Blackened horns jut from his skull, curved like a Taurus, their surface veined with glowing crimson. His Armor shifts with him, moulding into something grotesquely regal—designed not just for war, but for domination. He isn’t just transforming—he Looks like some final boss of a game.
I shouldn’t feel so out of it know me, but I feel like my left hand is tingly, as if reacting to something unseen yet familiar, Beneath the skin, under the hard crystalline scales, something stirs. Bubbling. Rising. Bubbling. Rising. Feeling strangely close to hunger.
“Now That-- is a being that look AND feel like a demon lord, not bad at all,” I blurts out
One last chance. Keep him talking—buy time.
Jortheus chuckles. “Oh? So you know how to appreciate beauty too? Consider yourself honoured; This is formally to fight against Heroes, But I deem YOU—a manaless--worthy of fighting this form of mine. Now, let’s get this fight underway.”
Without a word, Jortheus stabs his blade into the ground. The earth trembles. Then—shhkkk!—a vortex of jagged stone bullets erupts around him, spinning so fast they slice through the air with a shrill, high-pitched hum.
This is really bad.
Instinct takes over—I grab my spear, spinning it just like I did against Ava, deflecting the stone bullets. But it’s not enough. Too many. Too fast.
I twist midair, harnessing my previous momentum—rolling, spinning, forcing the spear to cut harder, faster. My muscles burn. Still not enough.
Damn it, stop spamming!
I dash forward, my spear a blur, carving through the relentless barrage, trying to halt his absurd onslaught. But each impact feels like deflecting a truck. My arms scream. My hair whips around, a tangled mess.
*Sound—crack.
A sharp, metallic screech. Sparks fly. My reinforced titanium spear is breaking under the sheer force of the attacks.
I underestimated him, and what I feared ended up happening, he was hiding his actual power! The book was right!
“I must admit, Ronin, I am utterly impressed by how well you are handling a staff with such skill and speed,” the demon lord says, his voice filled with admiration.
In the moon light I see a small ship approach from not too far in the waters of Kobe river. My ride is here, I need to end it while he thinks I’m using a staff.
As I close in, the demon lord staggers as if something inside him went missing, the ominous miasma exuding from his body disappeared. I get a feeling this might be the right chance to strike. I dart in, ready to capatalise on his reaction and vulnerability.
This could be my key to victory.
The plasma blade hums, heat distorting the air as I drive it toward Jortheus' torso. The edge meets his armor-like flesh—obsidian, reinforced by demonic power. Instead of cleaving through, the blade skids, sparks flying as if I’m trying to carve into solid rock.
I tighten my grip, forcing more power into the strike, I curl my left arm around his back to exert even deadly thrust from my spear. The blade presses in—burning, melting, and at last—cracking. A fissure splits across his chest, dark smoke hissing out like a punctured furnace.
I push forward, forcing him toward the shore, where the uneven ground will limit his footing. My head stays close to his torso, leaning inward to prevent his massive hands from curling around me. His eyes widen—not in pain, but in mild surprise.
“Not Enough!” he says as instead of grabbing he clutches my left arm and pulls it away from him, although the movement cam naturally to me, my hand must have been absorbing his power as I feel somewhat refreshed.
Just when I started to let the refreshing feeling settle,
I see a flash of movement the demon lord controls my movement , turning my back to the river using one of the crystal scale on my arm as handel—then ice-cold steel buries itself into my chest. I don’t feel it at first. Just pressure. Then, the pain blooms—sharp, deep, spreading like wildfire. My vision blurs at the edges. I try to gasp, but the blade must have punctured something vital—my breath won’t come.
“*Cough* Not bad, Ronin. You can even absorb, seems like whoever turned you into a half-demon knew his craft, creating a being as strong as you, a being who’s power shouldn’t belong with humans. I will ask one last time. Join me, and I will treat you well. Or else…” he says, clutching me by throat, raising me off my feet as he drags me towards the edge of the river.
I struggle to breathe but my lungs won’t move, his blade must have damaged my diaphragm.
Jortheus’ grip tightens. He’s stronger than I thought. What do I do? As I feel myself fading, I hear a familiar voice echoing in my mind. It’s my grandpa.
“Shar…! Always remember, one’s body can be the deadliest weapon or the weakest sapling. Turn your hands into your weapons.”
“Ronin, This time I used a special poison, deadly against bone demons, if your surrender……” The demon lord’s voice fades as I lose myself to the darkness slowly.
I remember my grandpa’s advice for some reason, I remember my self trying to figure out what that meant, yes, I tried using my hand as blade after that advice until I got used to the pain.
“My… hands?” I whisper, a glimmer of hope igniting within me.
I open my eyes, barely able to see the demon lord’s shocked face. I glance at my left arm, now transformed into a blade, the crystalline scales glowing with energy, the yellow and red veins glowing. Slicing through his jaw and skull. He starts fading into particles.
“Imp—possible!, a half-human using Bone transformation?!--” the demon lord says as he fades.
The rush of cold air bites against my skin—I’m falling.
Warzheil’s voice cuts through the haze. What is he saying? Is he angry that I didn’t come to help him?
I want to listen, but he sounds distant.
I try to stay awake, but my eyes won’t listen.
I’m so exhausted… Maybe just a very short nap.
Warzheil watches Ronin kill the Demon lord. The sky flashes as heavens witness something unbelievable.
Warzheil grows in size, driving a massive hook into the cliffside. The rope, tethered to their ship, strains as he tries to slow its reckless descent down the river. For a moment, the boat jerks to a halt.
Seizing the chance, he catches Ronin—only to stagger under the unexpected weight. The impact forces him to his knees, but he quickly regains control, laying Ronin down before slashing the rope, freeing the ship.
The small ship shakes as the rope cuts off and then aligns itself with the flow of the river that’s heading west.
“Don’t you dare die now, you bastard! Not after all this!”
Warzheil grits his teeth, arms straining as he lifts Ronin’s limp form.
Even with his giant strength, it feels like hauling a mountain. His breath comes out ragged—whether from exertion or fear, he doesn’t know.
The crimson pooling beneath Ronin spreads like ink on parchment, and Warzheil swallows hard. “You don’t get to die on me, lad. Not after what you just pulled.”
After trying his hardest and some curses, Warzheil lifts Ronin and drags him to a dusty bed in a cabin under the steering of the ship.
The cabin is dark, dusty. Warzheil pulls away a dusty sheet from the bed, revealing a cleaner one beneath it.
It means little because as soon as Warzheil slowly sits Ronin on the bed and lie him down, his think shiny crimson blood starts flowing, ruining the clean sheet,
Ronin’s chest barely moves.
Every breath sounds like air being forced through a torn flute. Warzheil grits his teeth—if the lad stops breathing, there’s no coming back.
Warzheil removes Ronin’s mask, drags a bag full of some ration near his and puts his left arm in it.
The arm does its work.
The bag starts to empty out, but something is wrong,
"Damn it, his body should have started healing by now!" Warzheil yells, bashing his fist on the floor, watching as Ronin’s arm absorbed the rations yet failed to fully recover. The wounds closed at first, but then the process halted.
“Hang it there, Lad!” He says as he shakes the dirty sheet violently before tearing it to make bandages.
Warzheil tries to tears ronin’s suit but its very durable and doesn’t budge, so he takes out a knife and cuts it and notices blackening around the wound.
“Poison? This smells like…Medusa’s blood poison? No wonder he isn’t healing!” Warzheil yells in anger
“This will hurt a bit, lad.” Warzheil almost whispers to himself.
he gets ready to take out the short sword.
“1…2…and…Hmph!” Warzheil says as he takes out the short sword out of Ronin’s chest in a sudden motion, still dripping with black poison.
Blood splatters,
Ronin uncoils in pain, making a very tensed expression as he hisses in pain.
“Fuck that Demon Lord, using such deadly poison…especially deadly to bone demons no less.”
Warzheil doesn’t waste a second and opens a jar full of honey, presses Ronin down into a stable position before he pours it around and a bit inside the wound then roughly stitches him up.
“Damn it—damn it all!” Warzheil growls, his fingers trembling as he Takes out a medium box with some ointment in it, he presses a herbal paste into the wound. Ronin’s blood seeps through, dark and thick, unstoppable. Ronin’s breath comes in rough, uneven attempts to breathe.
“No. Not you. you’re not dying on me, lad!” He yanks the sheet, tearing it into makeshift bandages with his teeth. His hands won’t stop shaking.
Just when He thinks that Ronin has stabilised, He starts to cough out blood and the bandage gets red with blood.
“Shit, Scrolls, Yes--the scrolls in the basement!” Warzheil rushes out of the cabin and yanks open the hatch leading below deck.
Warzheil goes down and summons an orb of lightning which dimly lights up the area. There are many things, Weapons, scrolls, herbs, some clothes and even potions. But there is also a goblin inside, Holding a purple crystal, saying something as if speaking to someone. Warzheil wastes not a second and bashes its face into its skull. And picks up the crystal, before dismissively putting it in his back pocket in a hurry.
He digs through scrolls and potions, filtering out a few before sprinting back to Ronin.
he uses a scroll to summon a healing pixie.
“Heal my friend here.” Warzheil says
“Oh, he seem in pain, don’t worry, I will……arrgg” the pixie recoils and fall down on ground, suffering as soon as it gets into Ronin’s Anti-magic barrier.
“Anti-magic, artifact?” the pixie says as Warzheil gets it away from Ronin.
“Insane Dwarf, do you not know how fatal anti-magic artifacts are to us pixies? Yet you did not take it off him before summoning me!” The pixie disappears before Warzheil can say anything. Warzheil’s tension turns into desperation as he gets confused in which way to go, shuffling for a second before checking on Ronin’s condition again
Ronin’s breathing seemed to have slowed down, as if a lion down to its last breath, still rough as he struggles, His chest is loosing the strength to lift.
In a rush, Warzheil lifts the bed such that Ronin’s legs are higher than his head, which helps in breathing.
“Potions are made with herbs!”
“They should cure his condition! They must.” He thinks as he slowly drips one of them into Ronin’s mouth.
Ronin coughs weakly, but then starts drinking it a drop at a time.
“Ronin, don’t you dare give up. Hold on!, just for a bit longer you hear me?!. Ronin!? Damn it!” He says as if trying to awaken Ronin.
Warzheil had seen death before. Too many times. But not Ronin’s. Not today. He’d be damned if he let the lad slip away. He tries to do whatever he can to avoid the old past from returning.
Ronin’s condition improves a little although his breathing is still rough.
Seeing ronin take so much time while Warzheil’s blood throbs in his head makes him feel impatient.
Warzheil’s gaze darts around the room, then lands on a wooden bowl. An idea snaps into place.
He pours the potion one at a time into the bowl and brings it near Ronin’s left hand, it gets absorbed in mere seconds.
One of the potions cause Ronin to vibrate a little as if paralysed, which makes Warzheil to hold his head as if it’s all over, But Ronin’s breathing finally stabilises.
Warzheil exhales softly, letting the tension settle down.
“I should have been there sooner. He you had to face that monster alone while I was off cleaning up scraps and drinking old booze. Some friend I am.” Warzheil says, pinching, his nose and coughing as his eyes got wet.
"Just hold on a bit longer Lad. I’ll get you to Sil—she’ll know what to do."
He pats Ronin’s shoulder lightly as he gets up relieved and tries to get up, but stumbles, his knees almost lost their strength.
“He actually beat that monster… And Jortheus didn’t even use his ‘Black Orb’ technique. If he had….” Warzheil thinks.
“It will be dawn by the time we reach near Newin town. I have locked the steering in mana mode, so it should hold. I need to make sure Ronin’s condition doesn’t worsen.” With this though in mind, Warzheil takes care of Ronin.
Throughout the night, Ronin’s breath would get strained, rough but better than before, his wound however is still as fresh. Warzheil sits with two wooden poles, carving them into hand supports to stand with.
Warzheil starts to feel sleepy, an idea pops up in his mind, he uses another scroll, this time summoning a black giant bird a bit bigger than size of his face, it tilts its head to look at Warzheil with its violet eyes.
“Kraaww..kraawwww” it screeches loadly.
“Cursed bird, tone it down! Awake me on the first ray of light.” Warzheil says
“Kraww-Kraww” the bird says.
“That’s not reassuring.” Warzheil says
Not believing in the bird, Warzheil tries to stay awake but soon the clutches off sleep takes him.
He falls asleep Only to snap awake
“Huh? Time? The time!! ” he says, as he stumbles before rushing to the cabin door and busting it open.
The sun had risen, and the shore area is about to end before the cliffs start again. He has no time to tie Ronin behind his back without missing the shores.
“That damn bird! I shouldn’t have trusted it!” he cusses, and starts gently tying Ronin behind his back.
**********************************************************************************
If we Stick with the ship longer, it will lead us to the vortex at he meeting point of rivers, I will need to climb the cliff somehow.
I tie Ronin to my back using ropes.
I tries to gigantify but it fails, Now I know first hand why his anti-magic power is so deadly, it even suppressed the mana in my blood.
Feeling weakness from the loss of mana I power through it, Ronin must have had It hard, this is my redemption, my responsibility.
I grip the two smaller hooks, step to the ship’s rear, and swing. The hooks catch. The ship drifts further, the current pulling hard. One slip, and we’re both dead.
my muscles stiffen with each pull, threathing to crash us into the water. I use both the hooks as climbing tools.
I almost fall, one hook loses its hold, the strain on my single hand almost makes me want to yell and cry in pain but I tough through it. I finally reach at top of one of the cliffs, but there are higher cliffs on these parts of the land.
These are the main plains of the kinlan continent.
I feel wet on my back, a strange warmth to it, I untie Ronin, realising what that warmth means.
Ronin’s wound had opened up. It takes some time to find bandage in my dimensional pocket, tightening the stitches, applying fresh herb and finish patching him up with them.
But this time the bleeding stopped it less effort. I hear a strange screeching voice, high above me
,a familiar voice.
It’s a Bawarian.
A messenger bird species. For the right treat and a scent to follow, they can deliver voice message using mana. And I happen to have some meloberries which are their favorites.
Kade’s knowledge is finally being put to use. By me no less.
I take the small orange berries out of my dimension pocket and extend my palm, which attracts it almost immediately as if it was looking at me for a while.
The bird almost half my size lands on the ground infront of me as I pour the berries on the ground.
Most Bawarians in these plains know Kade and treat him as their guardian and provider as he is blessed with nature’s affinity.
“Do, you know Kade?” I ask, on which the bawarian spreads its giant wings and makes a high pitch screeching sound.
It’s a sign Bawarians make to those they know, which means it know me.
“Birdy, please return to Kade as soon as possible and deliver him this message..” I continue “Kade, I have returned, I have a friend with grave injury, which he got because of me, I am near the wester coast of the river, trying to climb the cliffs, come fast.”
The Bawarian doesn’t waste another second after eating its treat it flies off.
I brace myself for another climb, but my muscles are sore from the previous climb. I move away from Ronin, as potions with magic properties get steralized near him, and take out a blue potion out of the dimensional pocket and chug it down, it tastes barely sweet with a hint of a freshness in the mouth, and then I feel my strength return.
I climb again, this cliff is not so hard, but the 3rd one is very big, I climb, scaling with precision.
I would have slipped normally but with ronin on my back I cannot afford a mistake.
Sweat trickled down my face, stinging my eyes, blurring my vision as I reached for another handhold. The cold wind howled around me, its touch like a thousand needles raking against my skin.
Each step reassured me—this exhausting climb would soon end. My heart pounded like a war drum, every pulse a relentless reminder of fleeting time. I clung to the ledges just as he clung to life. I couldn’t stop. Not when Ronin’s survival depended on me. If I failed now, my friend’s sacrifice would be for neigh.
After minutes of grueling climbing, I was just inches from the top—then a sharp snap. My right hook shattered. Time slowed. The world tilted. The abyss below yawned, pulling at me.
A shadow moved above. A hand shot out.
“Hold on!” Kade’s voice.
I grabbed hold on instinct.
“What are you lot looking at? Help me—they’re both heavy!” he barked.
More hands reached down, and the pulling force multiplied.
At last, we reached the top of the cliff. I lifted my head, letting nostalgia wash over me. I had missed this place. But there was no time for reminiscing—Ronin needed immediate medical attention.
“Ah! He’s a demon!” One of Kade’s men recoiled.
“A demon?” Suspicion darkened Kade’s face.
“He’s not a demon. He has a story,” I said firmly. “We need to get him to Sil—only she can help.”
Their hesitation irritated me. I raised my voice. “What are you waiting for? Get moving!”
“You heard the old man,” Kade ordered. “Give him a horse. Wyran, you’ll sit with me.”
The young soldier didn’t question it, nodding as he dismounted and joined Kade.
“Isn’t he just a kid? You desperate?” I muttered, setting Ronin on the back of a Greizer—a rare breed of horse capable of manipulating gravity for speed.
As soon as Ronin was secured, the Greizer grew restless. Of course—it had just felt its mana suppressed.
“K-Kade, I can’t feel my mana around this guy,” one of the men stammered.
“Calm down,” I said. “This guy is different. I’ll explain everything, but first, we need to get him treated.”
The Greizer flicked its silver mane, its powerful form reminiscent of a warrior’s helmet. Normally, I’d use mana to guide the beast, but with Ronin suppressing all magic, I had to rely on old-fashioned riding.
I gripped its mane. “Easy, friend. It’ll be over soon.”
**********************************************************************************
In the heart of the Demon Lord’s domain in Saktar continent, where countless demon alliances schemed against the world, Jortheus’s eyes snapped open.
He was on his throne.
His generals stood frozen, their faces betraying disbelief—even the most composed among them.
“The King… died?” an aged swordsman murmured.
“Watch your tone, Zygrid!” A dragon-newt snarled. “His Highness teleported here! How dare you think the Almighty King—”
“No…” Jortheus interrupted, his voice laced with frustration. “The old sword is right.”
Silence fell.
“I can’t believe it,” Jortheus muttered. “I had the upper hand. Then… his hand transformed. Just like a Bone Demon’s. His ability to absorb vitality was already a surprise, but to think… a half-human could use bone transformation?” His fist clenched. “I lost to a mere human who wasn’t even a Hero? Muraaagh!”
With a furious kick, his throne shattered into pieces.
A new voice rang out.
“I don’t believe it! My husband… lost? To a normal human?”
The throne room’s crimson-lit corridor brightened as a regal figure approached.
“N-Nyxia, my love—”
Jortheus’s words caught in his throat. His wife’s expression was unreadable, but her golden-cracked irises burned with intensity.
The court fell into a suffocating silence. The generals averted their eyes. Were they afraid? Their trembling gaze said yes.
“You dare return in defeat?” she asked. Her voice was calm, but the storm beneath it was unmistakable.
Then, she exhaled. Her expression softened, her noble demeanor reasserting itself. “Explain.”
Jortheus swallowed. “I misjudged him.”
His voice was quieter now, almost reverent.
“His name was Ronin. Half-demon, half-human. He fought on par with our magic arts. Curses didn’t affect him.”
Whispers rippled through the court.
“Even curses?” one of the larger generals rumbled. “That makes no sense. The magic arts of the Unbidden Plains are unmatched!”
Jortheus shook his head. “He had an anti-magic artifact—one that outright erased any magic used directly on him. I thought I could overpower him, but he was nothing like an average human.” His eyes darkened. “He had the gaze of a veteran. He baited me, tried to get under my skin, and I almost lost control.”
The queen listened intently.
“Then he did something I’ve never seen before. A martial art unknown to our kind. I summoned demon needles—hundreds—but he deflected them all. With a spear. Without mana.”
“A martial art and an artifact no one has seen before?” Nyxia mused, her disbelief evident.
Jortheus nodded. “And then… his hand transformed. I hesitated. I lowered my guard for a fraction of a second.” His fists clenched. “A human using bone transformation—the legendary ability Rare to even the Bone Demons.”
The weight of his words crashed over the court.
A pause.
A long, heavy pause.
Then, the old demon with two swords on his left wait, one on his right, A demon with four hands but one on the right missing steps forwards.
“No matter what it takes, we’ll hunt that human down and bring you his head, my lord—”
“No.” Jortheus cut him off. His voice was sharp, absolute.
The old demon hesitated.
“Do not throw your lives away,” the Demon Lord commanded. “If he survived the Vortex—though it should be impossible—do not act in haste. He is like an apex predator. Against him, even I felt like nothing more than a noble from another race.” His crimson eyes burned. “Do not fight him alone. Not unless we secure one of the lost Martial Treasures from the human kingdoms.”
A massive demon general—Gumdhar—growled. “A human? Besting the king?” His voice rumbled like shifting boulders. “I want to meet him.”
The queen turned to Jortheus. “So, dear… what do we do now?”
Jortheus stared at his own hands.
“…We are not as strong as we thought.”
But something was different. His power had changed. His muscles burned with newfound strength. His magic pulsed stronger than before.
“I feel stronger,” he muttered, flexing his fingers.
His wife nodded. “Krysana is negotiating with the Forest Folk King as we speak.”
“It’s not enough,” Jortheus said, his voice growing cold.
He raised his hand. With the flick of a wrist, like a noble issuing a casual decree, he spoke:
“Pass this order to all demon races and alliances. Inform the Lich.”
The court waited.
“We launch full-scale attacks on all kingdoms—except the dragons. Loot their treasures. Take everything. I am now stronger compared to the heroes, killing them takes priority. And if you do find that strange human, I will deal with him personally.”
The air in the throne room thickened as the decree set in, his voice full of threat and menace as his gaze pierces through the air into void, thinking of Ronin as the scenes haunt him.
The generals moved. Orders would spread like wildfire.
Jortheus turned his gaze toward the unseen horizon.
“Ronin…” he murmured.