The Demon King Overrun by Heroes Novel - Chapter 104

Chapter 104
## Chapter 104: In the Name of the Southern Alliance

The monolith of the Demon King acts as a vacuum for every conceivable form of power.

Commonly, people imagine it fueled by the ephemeral weight of negative sentiment—grief, rage, hexes, and hopelessness—but those serve as little more than secondary additives.

The true essence is found in gore and vitality. There is no resource as exquisite or potent as the primal energy woven into the fabric of living beings. In disparate realms, the standard protocol involved driving mortals to their slaughter and refining that harvest into demonic points.

However, Aren presented a stalemate.

Invoking bloodshed is a herald of oblivion, and neither the common folk nor the celebrated champions of Aren would stand idly by while a Demon King orchestrated their demise.

In essence, the reliance on dark emotions as a primary fuel was a testament to the frailty of Demon Kings within this specific world.

The fact that such a method had become the status quo out of sheer survival suggested that the alternative—direct harvesting—was vastly more efficient.

Up to this point, three distinct skirmishes had unfolded.

While they lacked the scale of grand campaigns involving tens of thousands, the interference of monsters had significantly inflated the body count.

Furthermore, these casualties were not mere peasants; the majority were martial knights and practitioners of sorcery who had cultivated significant stores of mana and aura.

The more refined a human’s spiritual caliber, the more concentrated the life force that could be reaped from their marrow.

This was the catalyst.

The makeshift towers were saturated with malice.

The volume exceeded even his most ambitious projections.

It served as a grim indicator of the sheer ferocity of their struggle—a testament to how deeply they had loathed one another until their final breaths.

“Is the grotto containing the mineral vein currently held by the Southern Alliance?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“I believe a personal inspection is in order.”

Berge left Ernyan, Roger, and the elven contingent with the main body of the Southern Alliance and set off toward the Phillerium Mountains unaccompanied.

As he neared the subterranean entrance to the vein, his senses detected a multitude of signatures.

The alliance had fortified the mouth of the cave with a robust timber stockade and established a fully realized military encampment. The presence of at least a thousand troops signaled the immense strategic value the Southern Alliance placed on this mana stone deposit.

Pablo Barkat isn’t among them.

He was likely deeper within the earth.

The cavern housing the vein was accessible via several tunnels, and the central chamber was the theater where the Empire and the Southern Alliance stood at a standoff.

He bypassed the perimeter guards and slipped inside. From there, the descent was effortless. The tunnels were draped in shadow, and for a Demon King, the dark was a sanctuary.

He moved with supernatural speed. The sporadic clusters of soldiers he passed never even felt his wake.

“Was that a breeze?”

The chamber he eventually reached had been transformed into a subterranean bastion. They had erected barricades of timber and stone, excavated pitfalls, and etched complex runic circles into the floor.

The vaulted ceiling permitted the construction of elevated towers for sharpshooters, and several pieces of magical artillery were positioned for defense.

They had spared no expense.

The timeline has shifted.

In the past, it was the Empire holding this defensive line, but now the roles were reversed.

Would the Empire even manage to seize it back?

Berge incapacitated a knight stationed on the outer ring, stripped him of his gear, and concealed the unconscious man. Donning the helm to mask his features, he dampened his spiritual signature to an absolute minimum.

“Step aside, it’s time for the rotation.”

He stood his ground for a moment until a replacement arrived.

“About time.”

“To hell with this. A man of my talent shouldn’t be rotting on sentry duty. Can you believe the nerve?”

“The higher-ups prioritized knights over infantry for this push, so everyone’s pulling guard shifts.”

“You’ve got a strange lilt to your voice.”

The knight squinted at the heraldry on Berge’s breastplate.

“Are you from Torkan?”

“I am.”

“They deal with a lot of outsiders there, don’t they?”

“The docks stay busy with foreign trade.”

After a brief, rhythmic exchange to avoid suspicion, he peeled away from the tower. He navigated through a sea of warriors and mages, none of whom gave him a second glance.

“Wait.”

Except for one.

“You, hold on.”

Berge tightened his internal control, burying his power even deeper.

“Your essence feels familiar. It is… surprisingly untainted.”

Pablo Barkat narrowed his eyes in scrutiny.

“A knight of the Torkan Kingdom?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Your voice also strikes a chord. Remove your headpiece.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I gave you an order. Take off the helmet.”

Damn it.

He had infiltrated to observe, but to be compromised this early?

Should he make a break for it?

If he fled now, he would be branded an imperial infiltrator immediately.

As he weighed his options—

*Ding-ding-ding—*

A frantic bell tolled.

“Incursion!”

“Imperial banners at the gates!”

“Those persistent wretches are back!”

The camp devolved into a beehive of activity. Pablo Barkat spat a curse and sprinted toward the front. Berge exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders.

A stroke of luck.

The timing was impeccable. He had wanted to witness the collision of these two powers firsthand anyway.

Blending into the surging tide of knights, Berge moved toward the front lines.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
*Clack—*

Pablo Barkat snapped his visor shut.

*Rumble-rumble-rumble—*

The very foundation of the mountain trembled. The confined acoustics of the cavern magnified the sound into a deafening roar.

“Cavalry? In these tunnels?”

“That’s impossible.”

Mounts were assets of speed and impact, but they were traditionally hindered by enclosed environments.

Especially in a cramped, slick cave system and a sealed-off cavern.

Horses were prone to panic; deploying them in such a place was considered tactical suicide.

Pablo shared this skepticism. He assumed it was merely a few riders creating an artificial cacophony through the cave’s natural echoes.

But then—

“They’re insane!”

“The madmen are actually charging!”

Swinging around the cavern’s bend, nearly fifty heavily armored knights appeared, maintaining a flawless wedge formation as they accelerated.

It was a display of equestrian mastery that defied logic.

Pablo was staggered that they had navigated horses this deep, let alone found the gall to initiate a full gallop. However, shock quickly turned to a desperate need for defense.

“Unseal the gate!”

“Your Highness, no!”

“Those timber walls won’t hold against a momentum like that. I’ll break them myself!”

The heavy doors groaned open. Pablo rushed to the center, his Black Wing Knights flanking him with raised tower shields.

“Your Highness.”

“Hold the line! That is…”

Pablo ground his teeth together.

Lances dropped into position. Aura ignited. Fifty distinct signatures began to resonate as one.

They fused, manifesting into a singular, overwhelming entity.

The knights closed the distance in heartbeats. Magical snares went off to no effect. Archers on the ramparts rained arrows down.

But the united aura acted as an impenetrable shroud.

“…the Crimson Dragon Knights.”

“Merciful gods!”

As the distance evaporated, the crest on their plate became unmistakable.

A vibrant dragon, depicted in mid-roar, rendered in the color of fresh blood.

The elite vanguard of the Jespain Empire.

“You imperial mongrels…!”

Pablo flared his aura to its zenith. His greatsword, stretching nearly five meters with extended energy, drew a roar of approval from the alliance ranks.

“We stand with the Prince!”

“His Highness is with us!”

The alliance infantry, who had been trembling moments ago, found their courage again.

Pablo lunged forward, his blade leading the way.

The collision happened.

———!

The earth groaned and buckled.

Warhorses shrieked.

The timber barricades splintered into kindling.

Soldiers were tossed like autumn leaves.

And Pablo Barkat was forcibly driven back.

“Gugh…!”

His protective aura fractured. Fibers in his muscles snapped under the strain. His vision swam with burst capillaries.

Yet, somehow, Pablo remained upright.

His retainers fared far worse. The Black Wing Knights were no match for the fury of the dragon.

*Kraaa—*

*Cough—*

Members of the Black Wings were hurled backward, coughing blood.

The defensive line was shattered. Hundreds of imperial foot soldiers surged through the breach behind the cavalry.

“You bastards…!”

Pablo lashed out at a passing knight.

*Clang—*

A wall of crimson aura intercepted his strike.

“So, you are the renowned Pablo Barkat. It is a privilege to test my steel against yours. I am Hailo, Commander of the Crimson Dragon Knights…”

“I don’t waste my breath on the names of dead men—shut your mouth!”

He could not afford another setback. Pablo bellowed his defiance.

The total war for the mineral vein had truly begun.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The Crimson Dragon Knights…

The Empire had finally committed its grandest asset.

The dragon was the sacred emblem of the Jespain royalty.

It was a crest reserved exclusively for the five pinnacle knightly orders.

They were the direct agents of the Emperor’s will.

The most formidable military force within the empire’s vast borders.

Relentless, potent, and utterly superior.

With the Crimson Dragon Knights executing a synchronized charge, the outcome was telegraphed—the wings of the alliance would be clipped, and the dragon’s roar would signal their end.

The struggle is decided.

Pablo Barkat fought with the heart of a lion, but the Crimson Dragon commander was his martial equal, and the Southern Alliance—already reeling from the initial shock—was being buried under the sheer prestige and weight of the knights’ reputation.

The disparity in raw capability was too wide.

There was a reason it was called an Empire.

A reason it had dominated for centuries.

Faced with such absolute power, the alliance was folding rapidly.

The Southern Alliance’s critical error was their hesitation to deploy their finest troops against the Empire—stymied by internal petty rivalries—only to be crushed by the legendary status of the Crimson Dragons.

The Empire had ruthlessly capitalized on that friction by sending in their primary shock troops.

Naturally, this was just one engagement. For the alliance, it was a single defeat following several victories, with many opportunities to reclaim the territory.

They won’t surrender this position easily.

Nevertheless, a seed of doubt took root.

In the timeline before his return, the permanent loss of this vein to the Empire had marked the beginning of the end.

This moment could be the catalyst that led back to that same ruinous conclusion.

The deployment of the Crimson Dragons proved the Empire was acting with lethal intent and had no plans to retreat.

If the losses continued to mount, the alliance would eventually shatter. Just like the last time.

That outcome…

Does not serve Berge’s purposes.

The conflict must be prolonged.

It must grow more bloated and more savage.

The more protracted and agonizing the war, the greater the harvest for him.

The atmosphere of this slaughterhouse was intoxicating.

The hatred, the bitterness, the curses spat between enemies.

The symphony of agonizing screams.

The fountain of spilled blood.

The fading light of extinguished lives.

It was all magnificent.

To sustain this masterpiece, the scales had to remain balanced.

And Berge was currently wearing the colors of a Southern Alliance knight.

He unsheathed the standard-issue blade.

He masked his presence and dissolved into the chaotic swirl of the front line.

He made his way toward the center of the storm.

“Fall!”

A streak of light cut through the air. The Crimson Dragon commander recoiled.

Pablo pressed his advantage as the commander retreated, delivering an even more savage blow. But blades from the commander’s subordinates nipped at Pablo’s flanks.

In that brief reprieve, the Crimson Dragon commander regained his footing.

“You gutless cowards!”

“There is no cowardice in victory, Prince.”

“Does the name of the Crimson Dragons mean nothing to you? Is there no honor?”

“I didn’t realize you were so concerned with our reputation. Do not worry—history will not blame us for teaming up to take down the South’s greatest hero.”

In a vacuum, Pablo was the superior combatant compared to Hailo.

But the Dragons fought as a pack, and Pablo was forced to abandon his finishing moves to defend his life.

“Silence!”

Pablo exploded in fury. Or perhaps it was a calculated mask.

Trading flesh for a killing blow.

He threw himself forward like a charging beast.

——!

Overwhelmed by the raw power, the Crimson Dragon commander was forced back. As expected, the supporting knights lunged for Pablo’s exposed sides.

Pablo twisted mid-air, channeling every ounce of strength into his grip.

*Scraaaape—*

Red energy tore through his plating and bit into his skin.

A wave of nauseating pain hit him.

But it wasn’t a death blow. He clamped his jaw shut and drove his weight forward.

The tips of their swords met again.

*Clang—*

But this time, the dynamic shifted.

The desperate, all-out lunge knocked aside the commander’s hurried parry.

His chest was wide open.

Pablo’s eyes ignited with triumph.

A single thrust.

That would be the end. Even if it didn’t kill him, it would be a mortal wound that would break the Empire’s momentum.

“Think again!”

Another blade cut into the trajectory. A Crimson Dragon knight had thrown himself into the path of Pablo’s sword.

The knight couldn’t hope to stop Pablo, but the momentary resistance cost him the window of opportunity.

That heartbeat was all the Crimson Dragon commander needed to recover his stance.

“You persistent curs…!”

Pablo’s eyes turned a frantic shade of red.

The feeling of a guaranteed victory slipping through his fingers made him want to retch.

In that exact moment—

*Crunch—*

A blade of shimmering white light erupted through the Crimson Dragon commander’s chest from behind.

“…What?”

“…Huh?”

Pablo’s pupils contracted in disbelief.

Crimson lifeblood began to coat the white steel.

“For the glory of the Southern Alliance! Long live Prince Pablo Barkat!”

The knight who had delivered the lethal backstab let out a rallying cry.

His eyes shifted toward Pablo. Their gazes locked.

Red eyes?

Through the narrow slit of the visor, he caught a glimpse of an unwavering, blood-red stare.

Was there a warrior like this in their ranks?

“Imperial scavengers! By what right do you claim this earth? This land belongs to the Southern Alliance, is held by the Southern Alliance, and shall be kept for the Southern Alliance—it is the will of the heavens!”

The knight’s voice boomed across the cavern.

Heavenly will?

*Rooooar—*

The alliance troops, seeing their greatest enemy impaled, erupted into a deafening, revitalized cheer.