The Demon King Overrun by Heroes Novel - Chapter 43

Chapter 43
## Chapter 43: The Necessity of His Death

The grand crusade aimed at eliminating the Beast Demon King and dismantling his fortress had been the singular focus of the entire realm. Consequently, the news of their crushing defeat reverberated across the lands like a physical blow.

“The vanguard was nearly wiped out. Furthermore, Rosel Charnt has been blinded in her left eye.”

This devastating intelligence reached Berge just as he was concluding his session with Reina, still weighing the best method to pass off the volatile situation. The atmosphere turned cold. Hillun Kagil, who delivered the news via the communication link, looked like a man who had stared into the abyss and blinked.

Berge drummed his fingers against the wood of his desk. While he hadn’t expected a seamless triumph, he had hoped the heroes would at least leave a permanent scar on Drakson. He wasn’t naive, though. He understood the scale of the challenge.

Drakson was a formidable adversary. As a graduate of the elite Academy, he had established his reign on Aren decades ago, allowing his power to manifest almost without restriction from the world’s interference laws. Yet, if longevity and rank guaranteed invincibility, Berge himself wouldn’t have suffered his past humiliations. He wouldn’t have been outmaneuvered by mortals, lost his head to a blade, and been forced into a bitter regression while resenting the Standard of the Demon King.

In his previous life, Berge’s power had eclipsed what Drakson currently wielded.

“I provided you with the key to his downfall,” Berge remarked coldly.

“It is the only reason any of us are still breathing,” Hillun replied.

“Relate the entire engagement. I want a blow-by-blow account. Leave nothing out.”

A weary breath rattled through the magical orb before Hillun began his tale.

“We breached the outer perimeter and fought our way to the threshold of the tower…”

—

The campaign had been fractured from its inception. Initially, the core of the group was a legendary duo: the Archmage Rosel Charnt and the Peerless Knight Balraf Disrod. These two titans were backed by the finest magical and martial divisions the continent could muster. With the addition of elite mercenaries from the Hero Guild and a two-thousand-strong army from the Kingdom of Ormus, the force seemed unstoppable.

The Beast Tower was an ancient fixture in the Erjest Mountains, its layout and dangers well-documented over centuries. Success felt inevitable. However, Balraf Disrod shattered that confidence with a single announcement.

“I am resigning from this expedition.”

His sudden exit took his entire knightly order and a significant portion of the hero followers with him. With the army’s strength effectively halved, a cloud of doubt settled over the remaining troops. Hillun Kagil had stepped in as a late replacement, but the shadow of his predecessor loomed large.

“So, you couldn’t fill Balraf Disrod’s boots?” Berge proven.

“He is a force of nature,” Hillun admitted. “His physical strength is rumored to be at the absolute peak of human potential.”

Hillun was talented, but he was being measured against a myth. Given Drakson’s reputation, many advised a tactical retreat to regroup, but Rosel Charnt and the sovereign of Ormus were adamant. Rosel, fueled by her characteristic stubbornness and a belief in her own destructive power, refused to yield. The King of Ormus, sensing his own end approaching, was desperate for a final victory.

“And what about you?”

“You had given us his weakness,” Hillun said. “I would have been a fool to walk away from such an advantage.”

Thus, the depleted force marched. The initial ascent was deceptively easy. They carved through the ghouls on the first floor and the predatory beasts of the middle floors with systematic precision.

“Not quite the struggle you had, I imagine,” Hillun noted with a hint of irony.

“Watch your tongue,” Berge warned, applying a mental pressure through the Armani orb that made Hillun gasp in pain. “Continue.”

“The first ten floors were manageable,” Hillun wheezed. “Rosel Charnt lived up to her name. Her pyromancy turned the jungle interior into a furnace.”

Berge could almost see Drakson’s fury as his meticulously maintained ecosystem was reduced to cinders, forcing him to expend vast quantities of mana on reconstruction. It was a small, satisfying thought.

“The trap snapped shut on the eleventh floor,” Hillun continued. “We were too focused on our momentum to realize we hadn’t encountered a single true demon yet.”

In the world of Aren, most Demon Kings adhered to the Standard, albeit through their own twisted interpretations. Reina Sordain, for instance, used decoys to fulfill the requirement of holding royalty captive. Drakson, however, chose a more aggressive strategy.

The Standard dictated that difficulty must increase as heroes ascended. Drakson exploited the ambiguity of that rule. He abandoned the lower floors, concentrating his entire legion at the transition point to the summit. He allowed the heroes to become overconfident, leading them directly into a concentrated massacre.

—

“Maintain your ground! We knew we would have to fight them eventually!” Rosel Charnt’s voice rang out above the chaos.

She wove intricate spells, manifesting massive barriers of roaring flame to bottle up the tide of monsters. In that momentary reprieve, the soldiers attempted to reform their lines.

“Who thinks they can master fire in my domain?!”

The roar shook the very foundations of the tower. Drakson himself tore through the wall of flames, his claws dripping with heat. Rosel, prepared for the assault, pointed her staff.

“I’ve been waiting for you!”

A focused pillar of molten energy erupted from her catalyst, striking the Demon King head-on. The resulting blast sent a shockwave through the hall, throwing men to the ground.

“Is that all?” Drakson’s voice rumbled through the smoke. “Your sparks cannot pierce my hide, little human.”

The monstrous wolf-king lunged. Hillun Kagil threw himself into the path of the beast to shield the mage.

*Boom—!*

—

“He didn’t wait for us on a throne,” Hillun explained. “He descended like an avalanche the moment we stepped onto floor eleven. Magic was almost entirely ineffective against him, save for Rosel’s highest-tier spells.”

“That is to be expected,” Berge noted. The beastkin demons traded magical talent for near-total physical immunity and resistance.

The strategy required a vanguard to hold Drakson in place so Rosel could deliver a killing blow. That had been Balraf’s role. Without him, the burden fell to Hillun, who simply wasn’t enough.

“I knew we were lost after the first exchange,” Hillun confessed. “The rumors were wrong. Even Balraf couldn’t have taken him. He makes the Lust Demon King look like a child.”

“It’s not a matter of skill alone,” Berge countered. “Drakson has been accumulating power in this realm for nearly a century. He is an entirely different class of threat compared to someone like Tyrus.”

The humans had underestimated the gap between Demon Kings, and they had paid the price in blood. However, the failure wouldn’t end the conflict; it would only escalate it.

“Tell me what happens now,” Berge commanded.

“There is talk of a second mobilization. Rosel is demanding an immediate return, while the Guild wants to take the time to gather every available hero. Either way, they are going back. Their reputation is on the line.”

As Hillun detailed the political fallout, a knock sounded at Berge’s door.

“Enter,” Berge said, cutting the connection.

Gordon stepped inside. “Pardon the interruption, my Lord.”

“What is it?”

“A courier from the Beast Tower has arrived. They are calling for an emergency summit of all Demon Kings.”

—

The portal to another Demon King’s domain always deposited the traveler at the base of the tower. As Berge stepped out, he was greeted by a wasteland. The lush, vibrant jungle of Drakson’s lower floors was gone, replaced by gray ash and the metallic scent of dried blood.

“Quite the renovation,” Berge remarked.

A massive bear-type beastkin, one of Drakson’s high-ranking subordinates, met him at the entrance. “The Lord is expecting you at the summit. The others have already arrived.”

The ascent was a grim journey through ruined floors. When they reached the eleventh level, the destruction was less absolute, though the air was heavy with tension. The other Demon Kings were already gathered around a massive stone table.

“Late as usual, Berge?” one remarked.

Berge ignored the comment and took his seat. Drakson, his eyes burning with a low, dangerous light, looked across the group.

“Let’s dispense with the formalities,” Drakson growled. “You all know the heroes came for me. You also know why they claimed to be there.”

“Because of the death of the prince of Ormus,” Jason noted.

“I had nothing to do with that boy’s death,” Drakson snapped.

“Where there is smoke, Drakson…” Berge trailed off.

Drakson’s lip curled. “There was a massive surge of demonic mana in my territory that day. It did not belong to any of my servants. One of you sent a demon into my lands to frame me.”

Jason adjusted his monocle, a look of boredom on his face. “Are you truly trying to shift the blame onto us? What could we possibly gain?”

“Ask the one who did it,” Drakson replied, his eyes scanning each face. “I am giving the culprit one chance. Confess now.”

“This is insulting,” Jason said. “Can you prove any of this?”

“I don’t make claims I can’t support. I suspect you’re the one behind this play, Jason. Killing a prince to stir the humans against me? It’s pathetic.”

“If you’re going to make accusations,” Jason stood up, “be prepared for the consequences.”

Drakson let out a sharp, guttural laugh. “I have a plan. I am going to petition the Archduke for a complete audit of my tower’s logs.”

The room went deathly silent.

“That is a dangerous path,” Reina warned. “The mana cost alone is staggering. You’ve just been attacked; you should be focusing on your defenses, not digging through archives.”

“Do you think I care about the tower anymore?” Drakson roared. “Or are you worried about what the logs will show? You’re on my list too, Reina.”

“How dare you,” she hissed, her own power beginning to flare.

The room vibrated with the conflicting auras of the Demon Kings. Despite the murderous intent, no one struck. The ancient law—that Demon Kings do not spill each other’s blood—held them back, if only by a thread.

Drakson took a ragged breath. “Jason, you are my primary suspect. But I know for a fact that the culprit is in this room. I don’t care about your motives. I’ve lived in Aren for a long time, and I won’t be made a fool of.”

He looked at each of them individually.

“I will find you. And I will make you suffer. On my honor as Drakson Doldorf.”

It wasn’t a request for information. It was a promise of total annihilation.

—

“What transpired at the meeting, my Lord?”

Back at his own tower, Berge walked past Gordon without a word. Gordon hesitated. He had served Berge for some time now, but the expression on the Demon King’s face sent a genuine shiver down his spine. It was a look of cold, calculated lethality.

Berge entered his office and shut the door. He slumped into his chair, his mind racing.

If Drakson followed through with the audit, things would get complicated. The Archduke’s involvement meant a high-level search for demonic signatures. While the logs weren’t perfect—they primarily recorded territory breaches—a deep dive by Archduke Alcaine might reveal the specific mana frequency of the demon Berge had sent.

If he was linked to the intrusion into Drakson’s territory, the other Demon Kings would turn on him instantly. He had spent his first life as a failure; he had worked too hard in this second life to let everything crumble because of Drakson’s tenacity.

If Drakson wouldn’t stop hunting… then Berge had to ensure there was nothing left to find.

He needed to destroy the Beast Tower entirely. Every record, every trace, every log had to be erased before the Archduke could intervene.

And to do that…

*…I have to kill Drakson.*

Berge’s grip tightened on the edge of the desk until the wood splintered and cracked. A wave of pure, unfiltered killing intent washed out from the room, making Gordon jump in the hallway outside.