The Demon King Overrun by Heroes Novel - Chapter 38

Chapter 38
## Chapter 38: The Ripple Effect

“My Prince!”

“Priiiiiince!”

Desperate, agonizing wails ripped through the air.

However, their royal leader had already stepped into the afterlife.

“You really cared for that man, didn’t you? From the sound of those screams, one would think a devoted spouse had just been slain.”

It mattered little now.

Luize wore a mocking grin. She wrenched her axe free and gripped the severed head, letting it swing mockingly by the hair.

“Perhaps you’d like to take Max’s head as a souvenir?”

“You repulsive shrew!”

“Execute that woman!”

“Reclaim the remains of our prince!”

Luize’s provocation acted like a detonator. Sorrow curdled into hopelessness, and wails transformed into pure, unadulterated rage.

A palpable bloodlust, far more intense than any previous encounter, surged solely toward her.

“Bring it on, you mongrels! I’m not the one trembling here!”

“Shield the Princess!”

Luize let out a battle cry. Volbof and the gathered knights scrambled to create a wall of steel.

A chaotic tide of soldiers, fueled by fury and a desire for slaughter, crashed against them. The dwarves dug their sturdy legs into the dirt, bracing their shields with everything they had.

Thud—

The heavy shields rattled under the impact. Muffled groans of agony escaped the dwarven line.

“Kill one pampered prince and they start acting like rabid curs.”

The princess pushed up her sleeves and gripped her axe tight. Volbof moved frantically to stay between her and the fray.

“You have to escape, Princess.”

“And if I find I can’t?”

“Princess, please!”

“Stop worrying. If my time is up, I’m going down fighting—there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll let them take me alive.”

“I won’t permit that. I will give my very life to open a path for your retreat!”

“You think that’s going to cut it? Honestly, we’re better off hoping that mysterious demonkin shows up again to crack these idiots’ skulls one by one.”

Thinking of him, where had that stranger vanished to?

“Who are you talking about?”

“The demonkin who served that lecherous bastard up to me on a silver platter.”

“…He is gone.”

He had faded away as silently as he had arrived.

It was in that tense moment that it happened.

*Screeeeech—*

“A beast!”

“Hold the line!”

Yells broke out from their own ranks. The foul, pungent odor of a monster began to saturate the air.

“…Did you call for that thing?”

“How on earth would I manage that?”

“…Then why did one actually appear?”

—

Kwail sent his gargoyles into the sky.

The winged scouts quickly pinpointed the two rival factions.

“The dwarven group and the Ormus battalions have engaged.”

“What is the gap?”

“Roughly five kilometers to the southwest.”

“Advance with caution.”

The monsters crept forward, blending perfectly into the thick foliage of the jungle.

“The Ormus humans have completely encircled the dwarves.”

“Encircled?”

“There is a great deal of shouting. I am descending lower to listen in.”

Kwail was getting a play-by-play. A dozen gargoyles flew back and forth, acting as a live link between the battlefield and their master.

“The second prince of Ormus is present on the field.”

“Yet another nuisance to track.”

“It appears the prince is halting the dwarf princess’s trek toward Mercon Mountain.”

“Is that so?”

Kwail’s interest was piqued. He would have relished the chance to butcher every arrogant intruder trespassing on his master’s lands—but the Demon King’s specific instructions took precedence.

If the humans and dwarves wiped each other out, it saved him the trouble.

“…Wait, the tension is shifting.”

“In what way?”

“The royalty are in a heated dispute. The Ormus troops are leveling their steel at the dwarves.”

“Now, that is a delightful turn of events.”

That was even better.

As long as they were at each other’s throats, they wouldn’t have the coordination to challenge the Demon King.

“Increase the pace. I don’t want to miss the climax of this performance.”

Kwail found as much joy in watching the follies of humanity as he did in war. Their inability to control their avarice and lust, driving them toward their own ruin—the taste of their final despair was exquisite.

Just then—

*Booooom—*

Kwail skidded to a stop. The surrounding monsters let out low growls.

“This sensation…”

It was demonic energy.

“It can’t be…”

It was pure. It was overwhelming.

This wasn’t some common demonkin. It certainly wasn’t a mere beast.

“A high-ranking demonkin.”

But for what reason?

The Demon King was supposed to be in his sanctuary.

“Did he dispatch another high-level subordinate without informing me…?”

But the essence felt foreign. It didn’t align with the signature of any high-ranking demonkin he was familiar with.

Pricked by a deep sense of dread, Kwail hurried forward.

And then he saw it.

The princess splitting the prince’s head wide open. The Ormus legionaries throwing away their lives in a frantic, suicidal charge for blood.

There was no sign of the high-rank demonkin he expected to find.

His confusion lasted only a moment. The desperate shouts of the dwarves brought Kwail back to his senses. Drakson’s command rang in his ears.

*Protect that dwarf princess at all costs!*

The situation was baffling, but clarity could wait.

Preserving the life of the princess was far more vital than the corpse of a secondary human prince.

“Exterminate every Ormus soldier! Protect the dwarf princess no matter the price!”

*Roooooooar—*

The three-way collision of humans, dwarves, and monsters began in earnest.

—

They surely felt it.

Drawing on that much power made it impossible to stay hidden. It was a necessary trade-off.

He couldn’t have handled the situation without tapping into his demonic energy.

Here in Ormus, so far from his seat of power, winning while holding back was an impossibility.

A head-on collision meant a loss.

Running away? His pride as the Demon King made that unthinkable.

Regardless of how this life differed from his last, he remained the Demon King. He was profoundly arrogant, incredibly exalted, and absolute.

He wasn’t the type to show a coward’s back.

Nor was he kind enough to let attacking pests live.

So, in a flash, he had let it all out.

He hadn’t predicted Luize would land the killing blow, but her doing so allowed him to retreat without being followed.

Drakson had undoubtedly felt the surge, but…

*He won’t associate it with me.*

Demonic energy was a marker of status as much as strength.

Berge Dayas, at full power, would be recognized by all as something far above a mere beast or a low-level demon.

But the idea that it was the Demon King himself would never cross their minds.

General demonkin logic couldn’t grasp the idea of a Demon King trespassing uninvited into a rival’s territory.

That rigid thinking, that foolish expectation—it was a perfect cover.

And that absurd reality was working in his favor.

It was ironic.

Berge let out a dry chuckle.

*The other side has descended into utter pandemonium.*

He never imagined Luize would actually slay the Ormus prince. Now their soldiers were in a frenzy, and the dwarves were scrambling to keep their princess alive.

And then the monsters had crashed the party.

Berge had made his exit without anyone noticing.

It was the best possible scenario.

He had already detected the arrival of the monsters. Their posture suggested they were trying to avoid a fight.

That had to be Drakson’s doing. He didn’t want to provoke Luize. But Berge had ruined that plan.

Whether or not the prince was dead by Luize’s hand, the presence of that demonic energy was an undeniable fact.

Now, it was time to plan.

When demonic energy flares up in a Demon King’s land, who gets the blame?

The answer was obvious.

“Drakson.”

The guardian of the tower couldn’t have missed Berge’s signal. The place must be in a state of panic. He might even show up to investigate personally.

That meant the security elsewhere would be stretched thin.

Like at Mercon Mountain.

“The way is wide open.”

Berge’s mouth twisted into a smirk.

—

Berge suppressed his aura and landed softly on a high branch. In the distance, monsters were scattered about.

“I’m on the right path.”

Their density was increasing. Remaining hidden required more effort, but it served as proof he was nearing his goal.

*The mouth of the cave is there.*

Beasts patrolled the mountain like a defensive perimeter. By watching their movements and noting where they clustered, he found the gaps.

The most heavily guarded point. A singular cavern mouth carved into the side of Mercon Mountain was visible.

Berge drifted inside without a sound. His stealth, honed at the Demon King Academy—specifically for the kidnapping of royalty—was far beyond anything these monsters could pierce.

The interior was void of light. A single path smelled of stagnant water and decay.

It went deep. He encountered no demons or beasts. But the environment began to change.

The air grew warm, then hot.

The oppressive darkness was broken by a soft, red glow.

“Move faster! Keep working!”

The tunnel opened into a massive hollow—the mountain’s core exposed. A high, distant ceiling let in a sliver of natural light.

And in the center of it all.

A vast pool. A lake of molten crimson lava. Heat waves shimmered across its surface.

The one speaking was sitting on a jagged rock.

A tiger beastkin. Standing over three meters tall, his orange fur was a stark contrast to his piercing blue demonic eyes.

An upper-tier demonkin.

Berge clicked his tongue.

An elite demonkin bolstered by the surrounding energy of his master’s tower.

Against a Demon King who was far from his own source of power and heavily suppressed.

The disparity was significant. This was the tiger’s domain. Any hesitation would lead to disaster.

He couldn’t fight. He didn’t have the luxury.

Berge looked past the demonkin.

The glowing lake. It was more than just red; it radiated an unnatural power.

The magma bubbled with intensity.

Mana was pouring out of it.

It was remarkable. Even in this region, which was already saturated with magical energy, the mana here was significantly more concentrated.

*It’s in there…*

That object.

Multiple channels were being cut into the rock around the lake. They weren’t just paths; they were a drainage system—man-made trenches being deepened by the minute.

Grizzly bears.

Dozens of these massive monsters were hauling stone and earth away.

The upper-tier demonkin was overseeing the labor.

The goal was transparent.

This wasn’t normal lava. Even someone like Drakson couldn’t step into it without specialized fire resistance.

So, they were digging. They were building a massive basin to drain the lake, intending to empty it.

Once the liquid was gone, the treasure at the bottom would be exposed.

But that was…

Drakson’s method.

Unlike the beasts who relied on raw strength, Berge didn’t just resist heat. He commanded it as his birthright.

Berge calmed his breathing. He held it. He wrapped his form in a thin veil of demonic power, tensing his muscles for action.

“Who’s there!”

The moment the tiger demon sensed a presence.

*Boom—*

Berge propelled himself forward.

Stone fragments flew in every direction.

Before any of the monsters or the demon could react, his body hit the lava.

*Whoosh—*

A wall of searing heat slammed into him. His clothes vaporized instantly. The raw mana of the lake clashed violently against his own demonic shield.

The two forces fought a brutal war.

In the midst of that mana storm, he was cut off from everything. No more yelling, no more growls, no more feeling the world outside.

Agony tore through him. It was the first real pain he had felt since ascending as the Demon King—Berge clenched his jaw tight.

Fighting through the mind-numbing torture, he pushed his way through the thick magma.

And finally, he saw it.

It was a slight variation in the glow and the aura—impossible to see unless you knew exactly what to look for.

It was nearly five meters in length.

Graceful wings. Plumes made of dancing fire.

A bird.

It was a corpse, yet it vibrated with life.

*I found it.*

In the world of Aren, there were creatures of pure flame.

They would dive into the earth’s molten blood to be forged anew. A cycle of immortality.

People called them phoenixes.

This was the body.

No—it was the vessel waiting for its next life.

It sat motionless in the deep magma.

“Wait…”

A thought occurred to him.

In the past, Drakson had waited a long time, taken the phoenix, consumed it, and gained legendary power.

“A beast meets a flame and usually ends up as a roast. How did he gain power from this?”

In his previous life and now—it didn’t quite add up.

But the ‘how’ wasn’t important right now.

Berge reached out his hand.

In that heartbeat—

*Booooooom—*

A blinding shaft of light erupted.

The lava surged upward.

The mountain began to erupt.

—

Rewind the clock slightly—to the moment Berge fought Max.

Berge’s intentional release of high-level demonic energy was massive.

The shockwaves traveled through the territory, reaching the outskirts of the city of Tartar.

“…!”

Deiran, who was busy hunting monsters near the border, snapped his head around. Every nerve in his body signaled danger.

A demonkin.

His instincts as a hero screamed at the sheer power of the predator.

It was far away, which only made it more terrifying.

To feel it this clearly from such a distance—it was far beyond his capacity to fight.

“What is it?”

The sellswords he had hired looked at him with confusion.

“We are leaving. Now.”

“What? We’ve only taken down twenty lizardmen. We need fifty just to cover our costs…”

“There is a demonkin nearby. A terrifyingly powerful one.”

“…A demonkin? Out here? No way…”

Drakson and the Ormus kingdom usually avoided each other’s borders. That irony made the area around Tartar a great place for hunting—plenty of monsters fueled by the tower, but no actual Demon King to worry about.

“We didn’t feel a thing.”

“Are you really questioning a hero’s intuition right now? You think I’m making this up? It’s a beast!”

The mercenaries backed away, seeing the genuine fear and the intensity in Deiran’s eyes.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Go! Move out!”

They abandoned the half-carved trophies and ran back the way they came.

This scene was repeated across the region. The jungle, usually full of adventurers and soldiers of fortune, cleared out in minutes.

And within the walls of Tartar, chaos took hold.