The Demon King Overrun by Heroes Novel - Chapter 120

Chapter 120
## Chapter 120: The Black Mage’s Final Struggle

Byrif Krotinu was a man whose aspirations of being a sovereign dark sorcerer had been twisted when the Demon King enslaved him. As he looked at his own skin, which was currently erupting in grotesque, bubbling welts, a chill of anticipation ran down his spine.

The scenes of war transmitted through the eyes of his thralls were a spectacle of carnage. Gigantic surges of energy tore through the atmosphere, and brilliant incantations lit up the sky like a violent celebration. Across the gorge, his animated corpses were being forced back into the stillness of true death with alarming speed.

“Remarkable strength,” he muttered, unable to withhold a sliver of respect for the Empire’s prowess.

He was well aware that those very blades would soon seek his own heart, a thought that brought both terror and a sick sense of exhilaration. He fantasized about the glory of slaughtering those elite imperial champions with his creations. Imagine the power of adding such legendary figures to his ranks as undead puppets.

The Demon King had promised him this: the ultimate stage to validate fifteen years of necromantic labor and prove his personal worth.

“Members of the royal line are here as well.”

Though he wasn’t certain of their identities, he trusted the Demon King’s word. If he could manage to claim the life of an Imperial Prince, the entire Empire would fall into disarray. His reputation would become legendary. Even if a vengeful hunt was organized against him, he believed the Demon King would facilitate his escape from these cliffs.

The prospect made his pulse race and his mouth go dry with greed. “I shall show you a true nightmare,” he hissed.

Screwing his eyes shut, he synchronized his consciousness with the thousands of corpses under his thrall. A massive wave of collective will crashed into his mind, causing a stabbing migraine, but the pain only served to stoke his resolve. The challenge had to be this formidable for the eventual victory to taste sweet.

Byrif quickly analyzed the enemy’s formation. They were led by champions acting as a piercing wedge, driving through the center of his undead swarm.

“And that particular warrior is a monster…”

He watched as one of his connected thralls was obliterated in an instant. Even from his hidden position, the way the warrior manipulated space made the dark energy in Byrif’s chest throb with instinctive caution.

Deciding a frontal assault was futile, Byrif shifted his tactics. He would flank them and consume their support units from the periphery.

High on the canyon ridges, skeletal marksmen began raining down projectiles. These were not mere splinters, but bone sharpened into lethal bolts, accelerated by the height of the cliffs and infused with corruptive power.

“Archers on the heights!”

“Shields up!”

Protective barriers flared to life, but they were insufficient; several imperial soldiers were struck down.

“Scale the walls! Eliminate those towers!”

A contingent of knights, bolstered by sorcery, began the steep ascent. However, they were met at the summit by a terrifying sight: a company of headless riders led by a powerful Death Knight.

“…A Death Knight?”

“No, it’s a Dullahan!”

Before the knights could find their footing, they were trampled and sent plummeting back into the ravine by the charging headless steeds. This elite undead cavalry rode along the treacherous edges of the cliffs without losing a step, eventually diving down to slam into the imperial flanks.

The sounds of unnerving shrieks and skeletal neighs filled the air.

“Protect the sides!”

The imperial formation buckled. The screams of dying men were cut short as they were torn apart. These undead knights, constructed from reinforced bone and animated by a multitude of tormented souls, swung blades that wept spiritual energy. Armor was bypassed as if it were parchment, and the warmth of spilled blood did nothing to offset the supernatural frost emanating from the spirits.

A guttural, bone-chilling roar erupted from the Death Knight leader. Its headless subordinates responded with renewed ferocity. Corrupt energy surged outward, hungrily devouring the ambient mana and snapping at the living soldiers like a pack of wolves.

“Clear the way!”

The thunder of heavy hooves signaled a counterattack. Two elite squadrons detached from the main imperial vanguard, pivoting to meet the flank attack. They crashed into the Death Knights with the force of an avalanche.

The impact was deafening. Skeletal mounts were crushed, and the torsos of Dullahans were sent spinning through the air.

“Vile abominations!”

The Black Lion Knights of House Osrian bellowed their battle cries. These warriors moved like a force of nature, pulverizing the undead. The commanders of both sides met in a cacophony of steel.

The Black Lions held the advantage in the initial collision. Massive pillars of dark aura, standing nearly two meters tall, hacked through the necrotic energy to strike at the spiritual cores of the Death Knights.

—How dare you…

A distorted, raspy voice escaped the Death Knight. With unnatural coordination, it maneuvered its horse to parry the blow, creating enough space to exhale a cloud of corrupting mist against the approaching aura. A flurry of strikes followed—Death Knights and Black Lions became a blurred tangle of blades and malice.

The diversion worked. The Black Lion Knights were now occupied, slowing the overall imperial advance and thinning their rear guard.

“Everything is falling into place!” Byrif whispered, his body shaking with dark joy as he watched the carnage.

He was willing to sacrifice his prized Death Knights and a hundred Dullahans for this outcome. They were tools, and they were dying for a grander purpose.

“That man… he must be Fail, or whatever they call him.”

Even a hermit like Byrif had heard of the continent’s most formidable hero. The name had stuck in his mind even before he took up residence in these desolate canyons.

“The royals truly have taken the field.”

He had expected at least a few high-ranking “stars” of the Empire to appear. To counter them, Byrif called upon his masterpiece—the creature he had nurtured with the most care.

The ground groaned and split. From beneath the sea of lesser skeletons, a gargantuan skull emerged, its empty sockets burning with crimson spite. A massive neck, a heavy torso, and tattered bony wings followed. The fifteen-meter monster looked every bit like a dragon of legend.

“…A Bone Dragon?” The imperial ranks wavered in shock.

Byrif let out a jagged laugh.

It was a Lesser Bone Dragon. While not a true ancient dragon, it was the apex of drake-kind—the former sovereign of the central Hupstraine region. After years of refinement, its living powers had been warped and amplified by necromancy. It was Byrif’s ultimate trump card.

The creature’s jaw unhinged, and the air began to swirl violently within its gullet. The ambient demonic energy of the canyon was sucked into the dragon’s core, which began to glow with a terrifying intensity.

“Die, every last one of you!” Byrif screamed from his hidden burrow.

An obliterating blast erupted from the dragon’s maw.

—

The creature was so immense it could easily be mistaken for a true dragon.

“Your Highness, fall back!” the personal guard shouted.

Ignoring the pleas and his own terrified horse, the Prince leaped to the ground and began sprinting toward the front.

“Your Highness!”

The knights scrambled to keep pace with him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Prince snarled, plunging his blade into the chest of a soldier who had turned to flee.

The man gasped, blood staining the Prince’s armor.

“I gave an order: move forward and bring me the head of that sorcerer.”

His voice was cold and sharp.

“You are to see this through to the end. I did not grant you permission to be cowards!”

His roar, amplified by immense mana, drowned out the sounds of battle. The soldiers froze, more terrified of his wrath than the monster before them.

Then, a new cry rose up.

“We follow the command of His Highness!”

One figure outpaced them all. The great hero charged, abandoning his mount to stand firmly on the earth. At that exact moment, the bone dragon unleashed its full power.

A streak of absolute darkness tore through the air. The sky seemed to turn to ink. Skeletons nearby were instantly vaporized by the sheer pressure of the discharge. The black beam traveled with inevitable force toward the center of the human line.

Soldiers reacted in desperation—some cowered, some used boulders for cover, others reinforced their auras, and a few tried to throw themselves in front of the Prince. Some even waited for the hero to be erased.

But the expected explosion never came.

A brilliant blue radiance flared within the darkness. It didn’t just resist the shadow; it cut through it. A colossal blade of light sliced the dark storm in half.

It was a sight pulled from the pages of an epic. A champion standing against the void, defending his people and asserting the dominance of man. The light was a solitary flame in the heart of an abyss.

The darkness split. The heavy, suffocating pressure was shredded. At the end of that path stood the dragon, still spewing its world-ending breath. Sensing the hero’s approach, the creature intensified its output. In response, the hero’s sword shone with an even more blinding intensity.

The light pierced the heart of the gale, driving deeper into the dragon’s open throat.

The breath faltered. The Bone Dragon let out a harrowing shriek. Its massive skeletal frame buckled and thrashed in a desperate attempt to survive.

“Go back to the dust.”

The command of His Highness was absolute.

With a final, sickening crack, the screaming stopped. The fifteen-meter behemoth crashed into the canyon floor.

—

Byrif sprayed a mouthful of blood across the floor.

The destruction of his masterpiece had severed the mental link, sending a violent backlash of demonic energy through his system. He felt as though his heart was being put through a meat grinder.

“This is impossible…!”

The physical agony was nothing compared to the mental devastation. Fifteen years of his life had been poured into that creature. He had survived the Empire and other heroes before. He had been so certain, especially with the empowerment granted by the Demon King’s elixir.

“How… so easily?”

The fight hadn’t actually been easy, but the conclusion was decisive. His dragon was gone. A single man had shattered its core and brought it down. The hero now stood atop the remains of the beast, letting out a roar of victory.

“You arrogant bastard…”

Byrif’s rage boiled over. Blood leaked from his cracked lips. If he was going down, he would take that hero with him.

But how? His greatest weapon was gone. He was cornered.

A flicker of madness entered his eyes. He looked at the remains of the dragon. Even in pieces, the bones were still saturated with power. Should he just give up?

“Never!”

He would rather burn everything he had built over fifteen years than let this insult stand. Byrif bit into his own fingers until they bled, using the gore to draw frantic runes on the ground.

“You will rot alongside the dragon you killed.”

As he forced his internal energy into the spell, he coughed up more blood. Outside, the discarded bones throughout the canyon began to vibrate in response to his suicidal surge of power.

—

A massive detonation rocked the canyon walls.

“What was that?”

A wave of pure, concentrated necrotic energy washed over the valley before anyone could answer.

“Duke Hillun!”

“The center of the canyon! Something has gone horribly wrong!”

“Move! To the center, immediately!”

“Brother, wait, we should assess the situation—”

“Assess what? Our brother is in the middle of that mess! If we wait, we lose our chance at the mage’s head. If you’re afraid, stay behind. I’m going.”

The Second Prince spurred his unit into a gallop. The Third Prince, left with no choice, followed.

“Lord Fail.”

“I have no answers, so don’t ask me.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m just as confused as you are.”

He wasn’t lying. Berge bit his lip in frustration. The moment the explosion occurred, he had tried to contact Byrif, but there was only silence. His gut told him the situation had spiraled out of control.

His instincts were proven right. When they reached the heart of the canyon, they found a massive, smoking crater.

Inside, the First Prince had the black mage by the throat, his face a mask of pure, uncontrolled fury as he shook the dying man.

“I’ll kill you! You dare… you dare do this to me!”