The Demon King Overrun by Heroes Novel - Chapter 94

Chapter 94
## The Masculine Louise Berft

The spire functions by pulling in every scrap of malice, vitality, and gore within its reach, distilling them into dark energy points. This process remains effective even beyond its immediate borders if there is a distinct catalyst, such as a Demon King. However, human vitriol is rarely directed toward the demonic. Humanity prefers to hurl its spite and resentment at its own kind. They scream maledictions and transform them into slaughter.

Conflict arises for land, for wealth, or for pride. They tear at each other’s throats and drive blades into hearts, yet the energy released is hollow and wasted. Since mortals cannot harness these forces, the power simply evaporates. Previous Demon Emperors, finding this loss wasteful, engineered portable miniature spires. These devices could be placed in hotspots of misery to harvest the harvestable before being returned to the main structure for processing.

Berge had dispersed these mini-towers across the map, burying them deep where they would remain undisturbed.

‘The Phillerium War.’

The discovery of a massive mana stone vein in the Phillerium Mountains—the jagged boundary between two empires—had ignited the strife. Mana stones were the lifeblood of the continent, and greed ignored international lines. This war had occurred in Berge’s previous existence as well, though he had nearly forgotten the details since he hadn’t been a direct participant then.

‘It should have been two years away.’

The fact that it was unfolding prematurely suggested Jason’s interference. It was likely a cornerstone of his long-term strategy. Regardless, the specific causes mattered little to Berge; he only cared about the massive influx of dark energy the carnage would provide.

“The task is complete. They are buried with spirit anchors; short of a celestial impact upending the mountainside, they will stay hidden.”

Ernyan, her face concealed, rose like a specter. Ten elves stood at her back, with a dwarf positioned beside her.

“Excellent work.”

“Thank you,” Ernyan replied with a bright expression. “But why have you come here personally?”

“You recognize our location, don’t you?”

“The Phillerium Mountains.”

“Precisely. Deep beneath our feet lies an immense deposit of mana stones.”

“Pardon?” Ernyan blinked.

“Mana stones…!” Roger’s gaze turned predatory.

“I can’t give an exact count, but the volume is staggering.”

“Then… this situation is volatile,” Ernyan realized immediately. “The Empire and the Southern Alliance are going to go to war over this.”

Natural stones far exceeded synthetic ones in potency. They were the ultimate currency and the foundation of military strength. Because the Phillerium Mountains were a lawless no-man’s-land infested with beasts, no one had bothered to claim them—until now.

“The world hasn’t learned of the mine yet,” Berge noted. “But Jason will ensure they do shortly. And that is why we are here.”

“Which means…?”

“You understand now. I didn’t bring this crew for a hike.”

Generally, mana stones were of little use to Demon Kings, as they couldn’t be ingested like elixirs. Most saw them only as cash, but Berge and Jason were rare in their appreciation for liquidity. More importantly, Berge needed the stones for a specific purpose beyond simple wealth.

“We are going to strip the mine bare before the armies arrive to fight over it.”

“Total devotion! My life is yours!” the dwarf bellowed, his eyes practically spinning with greed.

—

Locating a specific vein within a monster-ridden mountain range was a daunting prospect for most, but Berge’s presence kept the beasts at bay, and Ernyan’s connection to the spirits allowed them to sense the mana signatures underground. It proved easier than anticipated.

“I have found the source,” Ernyan announced after two days of searching, her eyes fluttering open as the earth spirit on her head mirrored the movement.

“It’s… massive. I can’t see the end of it.”

“That is precisely why I brought reinforcements.”

“How deep does it go?” Roger asked breathlessly.

“The stones begin twenty meters down. Even thirty meters below that, the vein remains dense.”

“Demon King,” Roger said solemnly.

“Don’t start with the theatrics.”

“What if we built a magic cannon with a ten-meter bore? With this much fuel, the power would be…”

“That wouldn’t be a cannon; it would be a world-ending calamity.”

“But every craftsman dreams of the ultimate weapon.”

“Focus on the mining first. We need those stones out of the ground.”

“Understood! I’ll work until I’m nothing but dust!”

The elves went to work. They summoned earth spirits to hollow out the ground, eventually breaking into a massive, natural subterranean hall. An underground river cut through the center of the space.

“The vein lies beneath this floor. We can start here.”

“This is perfect,” Berge remarked. The cave provided a natural shield against prying eyes from the surface. “Seal our entry point. Leave no sign we were ever here.”

Once the sunlight was cut off, Roger produced magic lamps to banish the dark. He set up his machinery and handed tools to the elves. Because mana stones tended to drain the surrounding mana, spirits couldn’t do all the heavy lifting; manual labor was required.

The roar of Roger’s drill filled the cavern as it bit into the stone. Eventually, the dwarf cleared the debris and used a pickaxe to delicately chip away at the final layer. A vibrant purple glow emerged.

“Look at that purity! It’s incredible!”

In that moment of triumph, Berge’s instincts screamed.

“Get down!”

Berge lunged forward. Roger hit the floor so hard he tasted grit. The drill was obliterated as a wave of intense heat washed over them. An explosion rocked the cavern, sending the dwarf tumbling into the river. When he surfaced, he found himself protected by a shimmering water veil. He looked up to see the masked Ernyan and Berge, his red hair flowing like fire, standing guard.

“Identify yourself,” Berge demanded, flames dancing at his fingertips.

“Who the hell are you thieves?” a guttural voice barked from the darkness of a connecting tunnel.

The sound of heavy metal scraping against stone echoed.

“Who dares touch what belongs to me?”

“Yours?” Berge countered.

“The wealth you’re trying to steal.”

A towering, muscular figure stepped into the light, dragging a massive greatsword.

“This belongs to me.”

“Buried treasure has an owner?”

“I found it first. That makes it mine.”

“Can you prove that?”

“My word is the only proof required.” The giant raised his weapon. “Leave now, and I might let you keep your lives.”

The air grew heavy with murderous intent.

—

Ernyan and the elves prepared for battle behind Berge. Berge, meanwhile, studied the man’s face. In his past life, he hadn’t focused on humans, but even he recognized the legendary figures—the ones who had challenged his tower the most. This man was a “Star,” a hero of royal blood.

He was Pablo Barcat, the first prince of the Barcat Kingdom and the leader of the Southern Alliance.

‘What is he doing here?’

Clashing with a prince of his stature was a diplomatic nightmare. He was the heart of the Alliance. Berge didn’t know how the mine had been discovered in the original timeline, but it was clear that Pablo was as stubborn and dangerous as a male version of Louise Berft.

“Should I eliminate him?” Ernyan whispered.

“You know him?”

“He’s the Crown Prince of Barcat. We’ve crossed paths.”

“And you’re ready to kill him?”

“No witnesses, no crime,” she said coldly.

“Keep your masks on,” Berge ordered. “All of you.”

Berge needed to maintain his cover as Phail. He couldn’t kill a prince without triggering a continental crisis, but he couldn’t walk away from the mana stones either.

‘I have to neutralize him.’

He would knock him out and relocate him. Pablo was alone, which gave Berge and Ernyan—a talent that rivaled a Star—the upper hand.

“We need him unconscious,” Berge told Ernyan.

“Can I break a few bones?”

“As long as he lives. But do not use high-tier spirits; they are too recognizable.”

“Understood.”

“What are you two plotting?” Pablo roared.

“If we leave, you’ll let us go?” Berge asked, testing him.

“Perhaps,” Pablo said, his guard dropping slightly.

“Then we’ll go.”

“No,” Pablo corrected himself. “I can’t let anyone who knows about this place walk free. You’ll stay as my ‘guests’ for a month until the claim is secured.”

“You say the most ridiculous things with such a straight face.”

Before Pablo could react, Berge exploded forward. Crimson fire filled the tunnel as he closed the gap. Pablo swung his greatsword, his orange aura slicing through the flames toward Berge’s chest.

The ground buckled under Pablo’s feet, throwing off his aim. A streak of red light missed Berge by a hair. Berge caught the blade with his bare hand, the friction of aura and flame burning his palm, but he held on.

In that heartbeat of stagnation, elven arrows and spirit spells rained down on the prince. Pablo was forced to drop his sword amidst the explosions and debris.

“Cowards,” Pablo spat, lunging at Ernyan with a fist the size of a boulder.

He shattered an earth wall and dodged the ice on the floor, his speed incredible. Ernyan retreated into the air with the help of a wind spirit, but Pablo was relentless. Aura flared as he closed in.

Berge intercepted him, his own fist meeting Pablo’s in a mid-air collision that sent shockwaves through the cave.

“Pay attention to your opponent,” Berge growled.

The two traded a flurry of blows, aura clashing against flame dozens of times. The cavern groaned under the pressure of their power. The elves were forced back by the sheer intensity of the fight.

Ernyan saw an opening and launched blades of wind and fire. Pablo flinched, and Berge landed a heavy blow that sent the prince crashing into the earth. But the prince was a beast; he vanished from the crater and reappeared, charging at Ernyan’s throat.

His killing intent was suffocating. He had reclaimed his greatsword, and its edge was now a blur of lethal aura aimed at Ernyan’s heart.

Berge was too far away to stop it.

Ernyan acted on instinct. Droplets of water condensed in the air, forming a barrier between her and the blade. The cavern trembled as the sword hit the shield.

-Who dares raise a weapon against my contractor?

A translucent spirit emerged behind the princess.

“A high-tier spirit?” Pablo gasped.

Water coiled around him like serpents, binding his limbs. He hacked at the barrier, his blade stopping inches from Ernyan’s skin.

That delay was fatal.

“You’re finished,” Berge’s voice came from behind him.

A massive blow struck the back of Pablo’s head, driving him into the ground. Berge followed up with a series of brutal strikes until the prince was completely still.

Berge turned to Ernyan. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m… fine,” she panted, though blood stained her lips. The strain of summoning a high-tier spirit had overloaded her mana circuits.

“Go back to the tower and heal,” Berge commanded. He was bruised and bloody himself, having fought a Star without his full demonic power. “You shouldn’t have summoned Nairuniel, but I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Tie him up,” Berge ordered.

Roger produced a pair of modified shackles. “I’ve been waiting to test these on a Star!”

As they secured the unconscious prince, Berge felt a wave of relief. The thought of losing Ernyan had chilled him; she was too valuable a political asset—and an ally—to lose.

‘Now, how to use this piece?’

Berge looked at the buried prince. He had a plan to turn this encounter into a strategic advantage. He turned to Ernyan and whispered his instructions.

“You’re serious?” she asked. “I’m not much of an actress, but I’ll try.”

“Anger is more effective than logic in these matters,” Berge noted.

As they spoke, Pablo’s eyes fluttered open.

“Are you awake, little prince?”

“You… imperial dog…” Pablo growled.