The Demon King Overrun by Heroes Novel - Chapter 117

Chapter 117
## Chapter 117: The Meddlesome Dwarf

Following a day of rest under the local lord’s hospitable care, the task force wasted no time entering the canyon.

As a notorious forbidden zone of the continent, the atmosphere was thick with tension. It didn’t take long before the local fauna began to aggressively protest their presence.

*Kraaaargh!*

“Defensive positions!”

“Deploy the barriers!”

“Watch out, it’s toxic!”

The struggle was genuine, yet to Berge’s eyes, the density of the opposition felt lacking.

*‘They’ve thinned out considerably compared to my last visit.’*

The contrast from his mission to seize Baileaf was stark. To Berge, this was a satisfying confirmation that their internal sabotage was moving along perfectly.

*‘They’re holding up their end of the bargain.’*

Following his specific guidance, the allies within were rounding up the canyon’s beasts and resurrecting them as undead thralls. While this diluted the concentration of demonic energy across the region, it was a far more efficient strategy than letting the wild monsters be picked off in disorganized skirmishes.

*‘I wonder what their hidden ace is.’*

The Third Prince had clearly taken the counsel of Hillun Kagil and prepared a countermeasure. Yet, even as they breached the canyon floor, no secret weapon had been unveiled.

*‘Saving it for the endgame, perhaps?’*

It mattered little, so long as it worked. Berge felt a flicker of amusement wondering what they had tucked away.

Despite the looming threat of a black mage, the group’s discipline wavered slightly, though they remained combat-ready. Berge’s primary source of irritation, however, was the persistent shadow at his side.

Trista Jespain.

The man had been starstruck by Hillun Kagil from the moment they met. Now that they were officially on the march, he was practically tethered to the hero, his mouth running at full speed.

“Lord Hillun, please, tell me more of your time in the Tower of Beasts.”

“It was like trekking through a shifting ecosystem,” Hillun replied. “One floor would be a suffocating, humid marshland, while the next would open into a forest so thick you could barely breathe.”

“I can only imagine. It’s a tragedy I wasn’t born with the soul of a hero. Tell me, were the demonic entities truly as primal as the legends say?”

“Without a doubt.”

“And the climax? What was it like to face the Demon King?”

“The Beast Demon King was a master of psychology. He knew we expected a gradual increase in difficulty, so he left the lower reaches nearly empty, bottlenecking his entire legion at the peak.”

“Good heavens! And how did you prevail?”

“We didn’t. We were crushed.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Total defeat,” Hillun said flatly. “We lost half our numbers and barely scrambled away with our lives. I still carry the scars from that encounter today.”

Trista stood there, momentarily speechless.

“…But the Tower of Beasts was conquered, was it not?”

“On our second attempt, yes.”

“Ah, of course. When Akan’s band of—pardon, when the Royal Army mobilized. A second heroic feat achieved in record time.”

“The timing was the key. A Demon King’s stronghold doesn’t recover instantly. Our first failed raid had already gutted his main forces…”

Trista, nearly letting a curse slip regarding Akan, caught Rozel’s sharp look and pivoted his tone. While Hillun explained, Rozel looked away from the prince, letting out a sharp, mocking breath.

“You’d think that arrogant fool did it all single-handedly. Remind me, who actually caused the initial disaster?”

“It wasn’t Hillun’s fault,” Berge interjected.

“Oh, look at you, shielding your comrade.”

“He’s just being objective.”

In truth, Hillun had faltered. If he hadn’t folded so quickly against Drakson, the defeat wouldn’t have been so humiliating. But Berge found stating the facts far more productive than dealing with Rozel Charnt’s smug attitude.

“Stop!”

The command rippled back from the front. A signal flag cut through the air.

“What’s the hold-up?”

“Is there an ambush?”

Whispers raced through the ranks. In the narrowest section of the pass ahead, a massive obstacle stood in their path.

It was an army of knights.

A full battalion, numbering over a hundred.

Strangely, their armor was devoid of any heraldry or family crests. They had been meticulously stripped of identity.

“……”

The Third Prince suppressed a frustrated growl.

The knights weren’t alone. Behind them, hundreds of infantrymen occupied the path, dressed in non-imperial gear with their features obscured by heavy visors and cloth.

“Recognize anyone?”

“Hard to say. At this point, any of the other imperial siblings are prime suspects.”

The First Prince, the Second Prince, or even the First Princess—all of them had the resources to pull this off.

“If the line breaks, you’ll need to move,” Berge whispered. “The Third Prince needs the glory of the final kill. We can’t let a bunch of nameless guards stall us.”

“They aren’t just guards. Their posture is elite,” Hillun noted.

“You’ve been fed two Demon Kings and you’re complaining about being delicate?”

“Technically, I only handled one of them personally…”

“Please. You didn’t take that thing down alone. Who did you have to burn to make it happen?”

“……”

While Berge and Hillun traded barbs, the Third Prince’s column continued its slow advance. As they drew closer, the opposing knights locked shields, while archers behind them drew their bows.

“Identify yourselves!”

The Third Prince brought his horse to a halt. A lone knight, face hidden behind a cold steel visor, stepped forward from the blockade.

“It is an honor to stand before you, Your Highness.”

“Is it? Your voice is masked and your face is hidden. Do you realize the gravity of obscuring your identity before a member of the imperial bloodline?”

“The situation demands certain… discretions. I ask for your patience.”

“I will grant it for now. Move your men aside.”

“That, unfortunately, is something I cannot do. Again, I ask for your understanding.”

The Third Prince’s eyes narrowed. The knight held up three fingers.

“We mean you no physical harm, Prince Martin. We only ask for three days. Stay here with us for that time, and no blood need be shed.”

“You expect me to simply forfeit the subjugation?”

“We only ask for a bit of breathing room.”

It was a transparent ploy. The canyon was a labyrinth of branching paths. For the other imperial heirs and their elite retainers, a three-day head start was an eternity—enough to ensure the Third Prince would find nothing but scraps at the end of the road.

“And if I refuse to play along?”

“Then we will be forced to serve as a wall until the time has passed.”

“Assaulting royalty is high treason,” Martin hissed. “And since this mission is by the Emperor’s own decree, your entire lineage would be put to the sword for this.”

“There is no treason here, Highness. Only monsters in a canyon.”

“Who sent you? My eldest brother? My sister?”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Perhaps I’ll just peel that helmet off and ask your corpse.”

“I would advise against it. It serves neither of our interests, wouldn’t you agree?”

“We shall see.”

Martin turned his horse back toward his own lines and immediately gathered his inner circle.

“Who do we think is pulling the strings?”

“They’re too disciplined for sellswords,” a commander noted. “That’s a standing army in disguise.”

“Then it’s the First Prince or the Princess,” Martin muttered. The Second Prince usually preferred the deniability of mercenaries, who were far easier to cut through.

“Is there a way around?”

“We could backtrack and take the long route, but that would cost us days regardless.”

They were at a perfect choke point. It was either break the line or admit defeat.

“We need to know who they are before we commit…”

“It’s likely one of the Lion Knight Orders,” Baron Beirip suggested. The lion was the mark of House Osrian, divided into the White, Black, and Red Lion Orders.

“What makes you say that?”

“I couldn’t feel the ceiling of that knight’s strength—the one who spoke to the Prince.”

A heavy silence fell. If the man outclassed the Baron, who led the elite of House Ainchile, it could only be the ducal knights.

“We aren’t stopping,” Hillun said firmly. “Losing three days is the same as losing the entire race.”

“But the casualties…”

“This is a hunt for a black mage. Blood was always the price of admission,” Hillun countered.

“A simple mage—”

“Baron Otto,” Hillun interrupted. “There is nothing ‘simple’ about this. If it were an easy task, I would have finished it alone without bothering to involve the Prince.”

“He’s right,” Rozel Charnt added, her voice sharp.

“Lord Hillun,” Martin said, looking at the hero. “Can you take that knight?”

“I am Hillun Kagil, Your Highness.”

“Then I’m counting on you.”

“I seem to recall trusting you once before and getting burned,” Rozel whispered with a smirk, audible only to Hillun.

“Watch your tongue, Lady Rozel.”

“Oh, I’m on your side. I find these blockades as insulting as you do.” She looked toward Martin. “Your Highness, if you give the word, I can turn that entire pass into a furnace.”

“I appreciate the offer.”

Martin thought for a moment, then signaled a nearby noble. “Cromwell.”

“Yes, Sire?”

“Bring out the specialized units.”

Cromwell looked stunned. “Your Highness? You mean now? I thought those were reserved for the undead legion.”

“We have Lord Hillun and Lady Rozel for the monsters. It’s better to let the heroes handle the supernatural while we use our resources to clear the path. We can’t afford to be exhausted before we even reach the target.”

“…As you command.”

“What exactly has the Prince prepared?” Hillun asked Trista.

The man gave a knowing, wicked grin. “Just watch. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when the noise starts.”

The Third Prince’s camp suddenly became a hive of frantic activity.

—

“…I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

Berge looked on with genuine respect.

“Was this part of Lord Fail’s plan?” Granada asked.

“Not at all. And frankly, I don’t have an opinion on it. I’m not the sentimental type.”

“Fair enough.”

The Third Prince had moved his frontline knights outward to block the enemy’s view while massive objects were rolled into position from the rear.

Cannons. A hundred mana cannons, designed to fire projectiles packed with unstable, refined magical energy.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it, Lord Hillun? A hundred of these should turn their front line into dust.”

“Impressive, Highness. But why mana cannons?”

“My brother suggested them after your advice,” Martin explained. “They’re one of the most effective ways to deal with the undead, aren’t they?”

“They are.”

There were three ways to truly kill the dead: erasing their essence through dimensional magic, total incineration, or physical destruction so absolute that no piece remained to be reanimated. Mana cannons were the pinnacle of the third method. They didn’t just kill; they deleted.

Unfortunately for the knights in the pass, they were about to be the test subjects. Hillun approached Martin, looking concerned.

“Is this the right move? Those are almost certainly ducal knights.”

“You’re worrying enough for both of us, Hillun.”

“I have to. If you fall here, how do we claim the Demon King of Erjest? Or find Kaede?”

Martin let out a cold laugh. “It doesn’t matter who they are. They’ve branded themselves as bandits. They are traitors blocking an imperial decree. No one will shed a tear for them because, officially, they don’t exist.”

“Even so, these are your countrymen.”

“Years ago, we all participated in a purge at Arcaz,” Martin said, his voice dropping an octave. “My siblings and I. It was a competition of merit, just like this.”

“The mission was a success, I assume?”

“It was. But I lost over half the men under my command because of my eldest brother’s ‘tactical’ interference. He took all the credit, and I took all the losses.”

That had been the turning point for the Third Prince.

“I used to think there were lines we didn’t cross. But when we returned, the Emperor mocked me. He called me weak-willed. He told me I was a fool for letting my siblings walk over me.”

Hillun stayed silent as Martin continued.

“I realized then that the Emperor doesn’t care about family. He uses these successions to keep the noble houses in check by making us bleed them dry. He rose to the throne by killing every single one of his siblings. He fears the power of his subordinates more than anything else.”

“The nobility won’t tolerate that forever.”

“You’d think so, but they’ve clearly found a way to live with it.”

Hillun felt a chill. An empire where children were expected to murder each other just to balance the books of power.

*‘This place is absolutely insane.’*

“Anyway,” Martin said, snapping back to the present. “We blast them with the cannons, then we charge. It shouldn’t require much effort from you.”

“I understand.”

Hillun unsheathed his sword, his expression grim.

—

Callum, Captain of the White Lion Knights, watched the Third Prince’s camp with a heavy heart. The prince wasn’t backing down.

“Prepare for an engagement.”

“They’re actually going to fight us?” a subordinate asked.

“If you were in his shoes, would you tuck your tail?” Callum replied. The Third Prince was already on the verge of being discarded by the Emperor; failure here was the end of his life. He had to break through.

“We’re facing the White Hawks, the Blue Hawk Mages, plus Hillun Kagil and Rozel Charnt.”

“A frontal fight is suicide,” Callum admitted. The House Ainchile troops weren’t the problem, but two heroes of that caliber were a nightmare. “I’ll handle Hillun Kagil. When they charge, give ground slowly. Our only job is to burn the clock.”

Callum felt a surge of adrenaline. As a knight, the chance to test himself against a legendary hero was a rare gift.

*‘A man who has slain two Demon Kings… let’s see what he’s made of.’*

He drew his sword, eyes locked on the enemy’s vanguard.

Then, the movement began.

“Here they come!”

“Hold the line!”

They braced for a cavalry charge. But the knights in front didn’t move forward; instead, they split apart, revealing the massive steel muzzles hidden behind them.

“…You’ve got to be joking.”

“Gods above…”

“They know who we are,” Callum whispered, horror dawning on him. “And they’re going to use artillery?”

A hundred cannons were aimed directly at the heart of the ducal forces. This wasn’t a skirmish; it was an execution. It didn’t match the Third Prince’s reputation for mercy at all.

“Mages! Shields up! Full retreat!” Callum screamed.

But the sound of his voice was drowned out by the thunder.

*Boom! Boom! Boom!*

The canyon shook as the mana cannons erupted.

“Martin, you absolute madman—!”

The scream was lost in a rain of magical fire.

—

Mana cannons were the peak of magical engineering. Powered by mana stones and firing shells of condensed energy, they were weapons of terrifying power. However, they were rarely seen on the battlefield due to their instability.

The dwarves had invented them first, using their superior metallurgy and runic knowledge to create stable, reliable artillery. In human hands, however, they were as dangerous to the user as they were to the enemy.

But today, there were a hundred of them.

*Boom! Boom! Boom!*

The earth was torn asunder. The screams of horses and men were cut short as bodies were vaporized by the sheer force of the impact. It was a symphony of absolute destruction.

Berge watched the carnage with a critical eye. “Still pales in comparison to Roger’s craftsmanship.”

The fire rate, the projectile velocity—it was amateur work by comparison.

“Roger is one of the greatest masters in the Dwarf Kingdom,” Granada reminded him. “You can’t expect human smiths to match him.”

“I suppose.”

Suddenly, a massive *Kaboom!* echoed from their own side.

“Help! My arm!”

One of the cannons had failed to handle the internal pressure and exploded, taking its crew with it.

“Pathetic,” Berge scoffed. “Roger’s gear never did that, no matter how much he annoyed me.”

“That’s because…” Granada sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth the breath. To anyone else, Roger was a brilliant craftsman. To Berge, he was just a loud dwarf with a hammer.