The Demon King Overrun by Heroes Novel - Chapter 130

Chapter 130
## Chapter 130: Pursuit

“I’ve located it. At last!”

The hunt was finally over.

He had pinpointed the coordinate at the Erjest Mountains’ loftiest peak. Nestled nearby, within a secluded hollow that defied casual observation, sat the target.

It was a structure that seemed a complete defiance of the natural wilderness.

A spire of deepest obsidian stood in sharp, grim relief against the endless white of the alpine snow.

The Demon King’s Tower.

Specifically, the bastion of the Flame Demon.

Lines of Frost Orcs were moving in a steady rhythm, dragging heavy magic cannons into the heart of the fortress.

‘They’re fortifying the interior with artillery. Clever.’

Daphne Philiain acted quickly, recording the visual data into a memory orb to prevent any lapse in recollection. He then precisely updated his hand-drawn navigational charts.

‘But this specific location…’

A nagging sense of recognition pulled at him.

He realized he had been here before.

This was the very basin he had scanned toward the end of his initial search when he first scaled the Erjest range.

Back then, the ground had been vacant. Now, the tower loomed large.

How was that possible?

‘Did my eyes deceive me the first time?’

‘Can the structure actually relocate?’

‘Or was it masked by some artifice?’

The answers eluded him. If he had simply overlooked it, it was a lapse in his usually impeccable senses—though he knew he had been hyper-vigilant during that trek. As for the second theory, history suggested it was impossible.

For a thousand years, the lore of the land held that once a Demon King’s seat was established, it remained rooted until the master’s demise and the subsequent collapse of the magic. It was an absolute rule of the world.

‘That leaves only one conclusion…’

The tower had been veiled through temporary means, likely through a sophisticated blend of high-tier sorcery and the natural contours of the mountain.

‘The Third Prince…’

There was no sign of the royal captive. Throughout his time tailing the orc battalions, he hadn’t caught a single glimpse of the boy.

‘The winged demon isn’t here either. Nor is the Dark Spirit Sorcerer.’

They were absent from the base. Where could those monsters have gone?

‘Time to withdraw.’

Confirming the tower’s existence took precedence over the prince’s immediate rescue.

There was a reason the Hilderan Kingdom had remained paralyzed after the kidnapping of their crown princess. There was a reason the Jespain Empire hadn’t retaliated for the loss of their Ninth Princess, or Hilderan for their Thirteenth. They weren’t weak; they were blind.

They couldn’t commit their vast legions and wealth to wander the treacherous Erjest peaks without a target.

But the board had been reset.

With these coordinates, the Empire could launch a hero’s strike team without delay. Preparations were likely already underway in the capital.

“Your Highness, hang on just a while longer in that den of monsters.”

The rescue was now an inevitability.

The Third Prince’s reputation would undoubtedly be shattered after being a prisoner, but that was of no consequence to Daphne. His own name—the man who unmasked the Demon King’s lair—would be celebrated across the continent.

A predatory grin spread across his face.

Then, he vanished into the freezing mist.

This occurred forty-eight hours before the arrival of the winged Berge.

—

“He’s escaped.”

The word tasted like ash.

Berge stood in the center of the basin, his voice a low, disbelieving growl.

He had tracked the path of the Frost Orcs and scoured every inch of the valley where the spire sat.

Daphne Philiain was gone.

Yet, the lingering resonance of the hero’s presence remained in the air, mocking him. It only served to sharpen Berge’s fury.

The intruder had been here.

He had mapped the tower.

And he had successfully retreated.

It was the one outcome Berge couldn’t afford.

He had to be hunted down. He could not be allowed to reach the base of the mountain. A dead hero carried no secrets to the world below.

“Gordon!”

“The tower’s detection grid is weakened without your direct presence, my lord. Had he stepped inside, we would have known instantly, but the perimeter… I have failed you. There is no excuse.”

Gordon spoke through clenched teeth, his frustration mirroring his master’s. A hero had scouted their doorstep, and the second-in-command had been oblivious.

“Forgive me, Sire. I didn’t suspect a hero would be bold enough to shadow us so closely.”

Krutu lowered his head in shame. He recalled a momentary flicker of something strange while transporting the cannons, but he had dismissed it as a mountain beast.

“If Daphne was using his full concealment arts, it’s not shocking you missed him.”

If only the realization had come sooner.

If only the trap had been sprung then.

They wouldn’t be standing in the snow playing catch-up.

Berge suppressed the urge to lash out, instead reaching out to pull his subordinate back up.

‘Anger is a luxury right now.’

Gordon and Krutu had slipped up, but rage wouldn’t bridge the gap between them and the fleeing hero. He needed to mobilize.

“Forget the blockades on the other kingdoms. From this second, your only objective is the head of Daphne Philiain.”

“As you command.”

“Ravinia.”

“I’m here.”

“How many magic hounds are ready?”

“Five. All in peak condition.”

“Release them immediately.”

“Understood.”

Magic hounds were creatures designed to sniff out demonic pulses, but their sensitivity worked both ways; they could detect the “interference” of a hero’s holy aura with terrifying precision. They would seek out the scent they loathed most.

“Find the interference. Find the hero.”

“Cher. The hero?”

“No. Neither you nor Cher are to engage him directly yet.”

Berge was bracing for the fallout. If Daphne reached the lowlands and exposed the location—and if his role in Ravinia’s disappearance came to light—he would be facing the combined might of Jespain, Hilderan, and Akan.

The hounds were set loose.

The orc units abandoned their posts at the tower, fanning out across the ridges at Berge’s signal.

“Ignore the mountain beasts! The hero is the priority!”

Berge swung himself onto a wolf alongside Ernyan. While flight offered speed, it lacked the granular detail needed for a mountain-wide search. They needed the ground-level perspective of the wolf riders.

“Stay with me.”

“Should I call upon the spirits?”

“Yes. The other search parties won’t be in their path.”

A swarm of spirits spiraled into the sky, shimmering as they moved to blanket the mountain.

“He won’t escape us.”

Berge’s eyes burned with a cold, murderous light. He would end this himself.

—

The low, guttural blast of a signal horn was suddenly silenced as an arrow shattered the instrument and the throat of the orc blowing it. The soldier tumbled into the drift.

“…They aren’t giving me a second to breathe.”

Daphne cut his rest short, forcing his aching limbs to move.

He had lost track of the days.

His mind was a fog of exhaustion. The transition between sun and stars had become a blur of survival.

‘Relentless freaks.’

He spat a curse into the wind.

He could hear the distant rhythm of approaching paws—Frost Orcs mounted on wolves, closing in on the sound of the fallen sentry.

“How many legions do they have hidden up here?”

He stayed low to the terrain. Under normal circumstances, he would have meticulously masked his trail, but speed was now his only hope.

‘How did the situation spiral this fast?’

The transition happened four days after he began his descent.

The orcs had started as scattered scouts, but now they were a coordinated wave. Along with the mountain predators they controlled, the pursuit felt infinite.

Sleep was a memory.

By the third day of the chase, Daphne realized he wasn’t just being followed; he was being funneled.

‘Are they waiting for their masters?’

He expected one of the Four Heavenly Kings to appear at any moment.

‘The Sorcerer, or that winged one. He’s clearly one of the elite.’

Facing two of them in his current state was a grim prospect. They were high-tier threats, especially the one with the black flames. His power ceiling was a mystery.

At full strength, Daphne might stand a chance. Now? It was a gamble he didn’t want to take.

‘They know I’ve seen the tower. They can’t let me live.’

The tower’s location was the Demon King’s greatest strategic shield. Now that the shield was cracked, they would kill to keep the world from finding out.

‘I have to reach the border…!’

The glory was right there. He had succeeded where everyone else had failed. The rewards for this discovery would be legendary.

Suddenly, the sun was blotted out.

Daphne lunged to the side just as a massive weight hammered into the snow where he had been crouching.

“Hero. Your journey ends here.”

“You…?”

It was the one who had obstructed him during the chaos of the previous battle.

“You’re the one from before?”

The tension in Daphne’s chest tightened.

“I should thank you. You were the perfect guide to the tower.”

Daphne’s words were a barb, mocking the fact that the orcs had inadvertently shown him the way.

“…You miserable rat.”

Krutu’s voice was thick with venom.

Since he had pledged his life to the Demon King, he had never seen Berge in such a state of pure rage. Knowing he was the cause of that anger made his heart burn with shame.

“If it wasn’t for your interference…!”

Krutu let out a guttural roar. Shimmering black energy coated his mastercrafted dwarven blade.

“Then come and try it.”

Daphne didn’t reach for a sword; he gripped his bow.

In a single fluid motion, ten shafts materialized against the string.

The air whistled.

The arrows flew—some in straight lines, others arching high or curving around obstacles. Ten distinct threats converged on Krutu simultaneously.

Krutu vaulted off his wolf. With a broad sweep of his blade, he knocked five aside. He rolled through the snow to evade two more and spun to shatter the final three.

But the volley was a feint.

In the moment of his recovery, an arrow buried itself in his shoulder, punching through his demonic shroud and deep into the muscle.

“Impressive. But did you really think ten shots meant only ten arrows?”

Two more projectiles slammed into Krutu’s midsection. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the searing pain as he closed the distance.

As he reached striking range, a bloody grin touched his lips.

“I have you now.”

“You think getting close makes you the victor?”

Daphne’s voice was cold.

Clash!

Metal shrieked against metal. Demonic energy and hero’s aura ground against one another.

A hidden dagger appeared in Daphne’s hand. Krutu swung with everything he had, but the hero didn’t retreat.

The dagger scraped harshly against the flat of the greatsword. Krutu was forced to release his grip to avoid having his fingers severed. In that split second, a cold blade traced a line across his face.

“You’re fast.”

Daphne flicked the blood from his small blade.

“Another inch and I would have opened your skull.”

As the hero created space, Krutu lunged for his fallen sword, fighting with the desperation of a cornered beast.

A blue arc of energy sliced through the air. Krutu’s blood sprayed across the pristine snow.

The hero’s dagger work was superior—heavier than the sword’s impact, faster than the eye could follow.

Krutu was being dismantled.

Covered in deep gashes, the warrior fell to one knee, using his sword as a crutch to keep from collapsing entirely.

Daphne shifted his grip on the dagger, aiming for the kill.

“I’d love to finish this, but I’m on a schedule.”

The orc reinforcements were closing in. He couldn’t risk staying until the other elite demons arrived.

He drove the blade down.

Suddenly—

Black fire erupted around the steel.

A massive shadow eclipsed the field.

The ground shook as a demon with jet-black wings slammed into the earth.

“I’ve found you.”

Berge, with his dark hair and piercing eyes, stared at Daphne with a hollow, terrifying intensity.

“Krutu, get back.”

“My Lord, I can still—!”

“I won’t tell you again. Take him and leave.”

The Frost Orcs, trembling at the Demon King’s presence, scrambled to pull the wounded Krutu away.

Daphne remained frozen. The killing intent radiating from the newcomer was so dense it felt physical.

“…One of the Four Heavenly Kings, I presume?”

“The Four Heavenly Kings?”

Berge glanced back briefly. Ernyan hadn’t caught up yet; she had stayed back to watch the perimeter.

“…Are you referring to me?”

“Is there anyone else here worth talking to?”

“…I’m a Heavenly King now?”

He thought of how Ernyan had been throwing those titles around lately.

She’d dubbed Kaede and Ravinia the same.

He didn’t care about the labels.

“But calling me one of the Four Heavenly Kings? That’s an insult I can’t overlook.”

Labels aside, the reality was simple.

“Now that you’ve laid eyes on my home…”

Your life is forfeit.

“You aren’t leaving this mountain…”

An arrow cut through his sentence. Taking advantage of the brief dialogue, Daphne had already turned and was sprinting away.

“That’s a foul! You’re supposed to let him finish his transformation or his speech!”

Ernyan shouted as she finally landed.

“Life isn’t a play. Ambushes are the rule, not the exception.”

Berge watched Daphne’s receding form with a cold smirk.

In their previous encounter, he hadn’t been able to give chase. He had been forced to let him go.

But the situation had changed.

He diverted five million points of his magical reserves for a single purpose: to tear through the interference.

Against the total weight of the world’s suppression, it was a drop in the ocean. But it was enough.

Berge felt the familiar weight of his wings responding.

Once more, he unfurled them.

He locked his gaze on the fleeing hero.

And he took to the sky.