Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 30.1, 30.2

It didn't take them long to reach Piers' hidey-hole.

The Helmund scion had sequestered himself in one of his personal villas. It was by far the most gaudy, ostentatious building that Simon had seen since transmigrating to Valtia – like three ornate mansions glued together. Every inch of its construction screamed wealth and power at the top of its lungs.

We got lucky, Simon thought. This monument to excess was located fairly close to the Hurricane's main headquarters. They'd arrived before Piers decided to relocate. According to Eavesdrop's tracking, the nobleman was still inside.

And just as importantly, as far as Marlene knew, this particular villa didn't have a Waystation Crystal. That was a tactical misstep on Piers' end. If Simon were in his shoes, the transmigrator would've retreated to a safehouse with teleportation capacity. Then, the second he realized that the Hurricane was knocking at his door, he would've used the Crystal to escape halfway across the Severed Isles in the blink of an eye.

Granted, it was probably difficult to think optimally when you were missing half your throat.

Several dozen guards had been posted outside the villa's entrance. Their Estimated Levels were all over the place, ranging from Level 24 veterans to Level 11 recruits. Most of the lower-Level ones were shuffling uncomfortably and tightly gripping their weapons, sporting overwhelmed expressions on their faces, as if they were fresh graduates at their first day on the job.

Simon wasn't surprised to see the Level mismatch. His group had passed by a small army of soldiers on the way here – hundreds of them combing Caelryn City for any hint of the Demon. He'd taken measures to conceal his appearance, but it was still a minor miracle that none of the guardsmen randomly singled him out for questioning.

On the plus side, it meant that Piers' troops were stretched thin. He'd committed so many to a city-wide search that there weren't enough elites left to defend his villa, forcing him to shore up his numbers with inexperienced rookies. The Hurricane should have an easier time fighting their way inside.

Relatively speaking. They were still grossly outnumbered. Whether they changed history today – or just became another one of its footnotes – would come down to three distinct factors.

First: Quality over quantity. Even the strongest of Piers' soldiers, at least the ones stationed outside now, were weaker than the Hurricane's best. Simon, Bastian, and Marlene outpaced all of them in Levels. Katarina and Cyna weren't far behind.

The new recruits may as well be cannon fodder. Based on what he'd seen in Valtia, a skilled Level 20 combatant could defeat five Level 10 opponents with ease. If you weren't a talented expert like Bastian, the difference in mana was simply too wide of a gulf to bridge.

Second: Motivation. While a few of these guardsmen were fanatics devoted to the Helmund bloodline, Identify had confirmed that most of them were the Valtian equivalent of rent-a-cops. They'd signed on because protecting a rich nobleman put food on the table. If push came to shove, they were liable to break ranks and flee.

In contrast, the Hurricane rebels had already knowingly sacrificed their lives the moment they'd joined a doomed rebellion. They would fight to the bitter end.

Third: And last, but most certainly not least...

The element of surprise.

All was quiet as Katarina raised her crossbow. Their Hurricane strike squad – a team of more than fifteen men and woman – had spread out nearby, hidden in various places as to not draw attention. They'd considered sneaking in from the back, or scaling walls to reach the upper floors, but Piers' villa was frustratingly well-fortified.

A frontal assault through the main entrance was the only way in. As soon as Kat's initial Firebolt weakened the soldiers' front line, everyone would leap out and descend upon them with the force of a Hurricane.

An unseen tension resonated throughout the street, pulsing like a heartbeat as they waited for the bloodshed to commence.

Simon eyed the Arcane Rogue with mild curiosity as she took aim. Truth be told, he'd half-expected her to follow Tomas' lead and sit this one out.

She'd agreed to help him tear down the nobility, sure...but attempting to assassinate Piers Helmund at their current Level was kinda jumping the gun. Their odds of success were highly questionable, and nothing about this would bring her any closer to finding a cure for her father, anyway.

Yet here she stood.

Simon wasn't complaining. Even if he somehow managed to persuade each individual rebel to sign a Contract of obedience, he would still trust Kat over any of them.

A muted twang rang out as a lone crossbow bolt flew through the air.

That was all the warning the guardsmen received before their illusory peace was shattered. A roaring fireball exploded from the Bolt, wounding several and blasting others aside. More arrows rained down, then offensive spells, a hailstorm of sharp-tipped metal and searing elements. Rebels emerged from the shadows around the street, charging as one, swords drawn, their eyes bereft of mercy.

And at the forefront...was him.

Under different circumstances, perhaps the soldiers would've been able to recover and regroup. Perhaps the veterans among them could have rallied the recruits, bolstering morale as they banded together to fend off the Hurricane's ambush.

But that wasn't happening today. Whether they were an experienced veteran or a fresh-faced recruit, all of them had heard tales of Demons. Either from legends told to them in their youth – or the warning given to them by Piers himself less than an hour ago. The Helmund line was invincible, eternal, yet their liege lord had gone into hiding after just one encounter with a Fell abomination.

Little wonder that the sight of Simon's right arm broke their spirits worse than any swords or spells could have.

Although he wasn't who they really needed to worry about right now. If he'd been fully determined to slaughter all of them as swiftly as possible, then he would've placed a max-MP Landmine underneath, blown half of them to smithereens, and steamrolled the rest while they were disorientated.

Instead, Simon was conserving his mana. While he did fight at the front line, he chose his targets carefully, only engaging soldiers that he'd already Identified as low-Level neophytes. Admittedly, the rookies had still gotten more weapons training than him, but that didn't matter when his Strength and Dexterity were so much higher.

It made him appear untouchable. Any poor soul who got close to him was cut down in an instant. The edge of his blade and the tips of his claws were painted crimson red, bodies falling one-by-one as he advanced, a procession of corpses left in his inexorable wake. It was like the Demon's very presence represented the inevitability of their defeat.

In reality, the highest-Level soldiers were actually being handled by Bastian, Cyna, and the other rebels. Simon was steering clear of anyone who might be capable of injuring him.

Marlene had been the one to suggest this strategy. She knew that Simon was their silver bullet against Piers Helmund. The transmigrator needed to keep himself hale, hearty, and brimming with mana until he reached their true target. These guardsmen were merely an appetizer before the main course.

Your Level has increased!
Level: 29 → 30
Strength: 41 → 43
Dexterity: 40 → 42

They also made for a steady diet of easy EXP.

Being a temporary mascot isn't so bad. Simon waved his Demonic arm in a soldier's general direction, causing the terrified woman to rear back in panic. Think I can be doing more, though. They've still got too much morale.

Time to fix that. How about...

Simon opened his mouth and started to laugh.

He drew upon every ounce of hatred and bitterness in his soul, merging it with the electrifying adrenaline of combat. His laughter rose above the clamor of battle, overpowering the sounds of the wounded and dying.

At first, he didn't know if he'd done a good job of it. It wasn't like he'd been practicing his Evil Villain Laugh in the mirror each morning – something to rectify moving forward.

Then a soldier abruptly turned and ran. Then another. Soon enough, more than half of them were booking it down the street, not wanting any of this nonsense. The ones that remained quickly found themselves vastly outnumbered.

Huh. Guess I've got a knack for it. Most of the Hurricane rebels were pointedly looking away from him now, not wanting to catch his gaze, but whatever. They'd get over it after he killed a Helmund for them.

The battle ended shortly thereafter.

All in all, it was a stunning victory for the Hurricane. Despite facing a larger force, they'd won with only a few casualties on their side. They couldn't have reasonably asked for a better result than this.

None of that showed on their faces. The rebels were morose as they examined their fallen allies, fists clenched and eyes downcast.

Those 'few' casualties had been their friends. This 'stunning' victory had been bought and paid for with Hurricane lives. The bonds of trust they'd forged, the camaraderie they'd built up over the years...

Gone. Just like that.

Simon empathized with them. He knew the pain of losing someone you cared for.

Regardless, they needed to press on. Piers couldn't be given the chance to escape. Marlene was already steeling her resolve – preparing to swallow her grief and be the stone-hearted leader that the Hurricane required.

"Let's go," Simon suddenly called out, as he walked towards the villa's front entrance. He contemplated saying more, maybe 'Don't let their deaths be in vain', yet it would ring hollow coming from him.

This was the best he could do for them. If they had no choice but to keep following the Demon, then they wouldn't have to feel guilty for leaving their friends' corpses behind.

--

The rebels proceeded to take their grief and repeatedly stab it into whatever soldiers barred their path.

Simon almost felt like he'd encountered less resistance than anticipated as he advanced through Piers' villa...but that wasn't really the case. It was more that the Hurricane was in top form, motivated by a heady cocktail of rage, sorrow, and righteous vengeance. They were slaughtering soldiers like it was a form of therapy.

No prisoners would be taken on this day.

Additionally, the villa's size was an unexpected boon. The place was so absurdly spacious that the guards within were far more scattered – easy pickings for an invading team of assassins. Simon was granted a front row seat to a veritable massacre, letting him observe how high-Level Valtians fought in all their gory detail.

Bastian gave a repeat performance of the stronghold rescue operation. His swordsmanship was a thing of beauty, combining sharp reflexes, nimble footwork, and zero wasted movement. Whenever he struck, someone died.

Cyna preferred a greatsword, swinging more slowly, but with devastating power behind each blow. She had a tendency to break straight through the soldiers' shields. Not break their guards – break their shields, metal shattering like glass.

Yet both of them were upstaged by Marlene. The Hurricane's leader was a deadly magic swordsman who alternated between destructive spellcasting and twin dual-blades. Her mana reserves seemed considerable, as she never hesitated to throw a fireball or empower herself with a burst of speed. While she lacked Bastian's innate sense of timing and precision, her swordsmanship was extremely well-practiced, as if she'd been doing this for a very, very long time.

Simon began making plans for if he ever fought any of them.

It was unlikely, as he had two of them under Contract, and they needed him to help kill Duke Helmund after Piers was dead...but you could never fully predict what twists and turns the future might hold. Although they had a common enemy now, he wasn't sure the rebels would still be so accommodating after they'd run out of nobles to kill.

Maybe he should've been focusing more on the enemies right in front of him, but honestly, he'd barely needed to lift a finger since entering Piers' villa. The Hurricane was on a warpath. They had this part of the mission well in-hand.

Katarina and Bastian even felled enough soldiers for Simon to snag another Level.

Your Level has increased!
Level: 30 → 31

4 stat points added to Unspent Points!

All into Vitality. That was the hardest stat for him to raise normally, and he was still concerned about what it would be like to take a hit from Piers. Especially if he'd regenerated since the bar incident. The Hurricane had rushed here as soon as they could, but no one knew for certain how long it would take for the nobleman's self-healing to start working again.

Eventually, after butchering their way through dozens of guardsmen who stood no chance – and after climbing an obscene number of staircases – they reached the top floor. Simon's Eavesdrop sense directed everyone to a pair of steel double-doors at the end of a hallway.

He thought the rebels would immediately prepare to break the doors down and storm inside, but they instead came to a halt.

"Was afraid of this," Marlene sighed. "We've seen this before. Those doors are laced with scores of protective Artifacts. The surrounding walls, floor, and ceiling will be as well. Breaching through would take power far beyond what any of us can bring to bear."

Simon took a moment to marvel at the feat of Valtian engineering. "Piers made himself a panic room?"

"Haven't heard it called that before, yet 'panic room' seems a fitting moniker."

Except they're supposed to be used by people who can't defend themselves. Like Earth humans without mana to empower their bodies. Here, the strongest fighter in the city is holed up like a turtle retreating into its shell, all while sending significantly weaker people to die on his behalf. That...

That tracks, actually.

"Is there any way inside that doesn't involve force?" Simon asked. "I have explosive magic that could damage the structural integrity of the lower floors of this building, maybe collapse the room from underneath, but that's just as likely to collapse the whole villa and get us all killed."

"...We'll leave it as a final resort," Marlene said. She turned to face the rebels. "Disperse and search for any servants who may be in hiding. 'Panic rooms' such as these are attuned to certain people's mana signatures – including the favored attendants of their liege lord. One of them could open it for us. We'll have to hope that someone didn't evacuate in time."

As the Hurricane spread out to investigate, Bastian glanced over at Simon. "You've proven yourself to be a proficient tracker on multiple occasions," the Swordsman began, his voice hesitant. "Could you, perhaps...?"

Way ahead of you. The transmigrator repeatedly cast Identify on each closed door nearby, tailoring the ability to inform him if any people were hiding within. It was the same thing he'd done to locate Cyna back at the stronghold.

The Skill was surprisingly flexible in what it let him get away with sometimes. He couldn't use Identify on the room itself, as the system didn't consider an entire room to be an object, but a door connected to a room was fair game.

No servants or soldiers were located in this hallway. Nor the next, or the one after that. Yet while the rebels needed to spend precious minutes carefully searching through each room, laboriously checking every last nook and cranny, Simon could clear out a corridor in the time it took him to read a dozen text boxes.

Bingo. His mouth crept into a grin as he called out to the scattered rebels, then pointed at an otherwise unremarkable door. "Got someone in here."

Marlene eyed him curiously. "How did–"

"Demon magic," Katarina muttered, stepping forward with an air of impatience. "It's locked, but there's no Artifacts keeping it closed. I can have it open in ten seconds or less."

Before she'd even reached the keyhole, Cyna pushed past and swung her greatsword at the door. Its frame instantly crumpled, reduced to a sad little pile of jagged woodchips.

"My lockpick is faster," she said, bulldozing into the room without hesitation.

They found their quarry inside a barricaded clothes cabinet. Cyna bashed it open, and Bastian yanked out a reedy-looking man, depositing him onto the nearest chair. Piers' servant almost fainted on the spot as he glanced around, his eyes shifting from rebel to rebel–

Before finally settling on Simon's right arm.

"NO! PLEASE!" He gripped the chair so tightly that both hands were white-knuckled. "SPARE ME! PLEASE!"

Simon chuckled as his allies peered over at him. "Why the accusatory glares? I haven't even said anything yet."

"Your comforting visage was enough," Marlene retorted. "Now, I understand that you possess spells suited for interrogation and coercion, but treat this man with leniency. Not all of the Helmunds' retainers serve willingly. He may help us if we simply ask."

A valid point. Still, it couldn't hurt to learn more about the man first. Ident–

Simon stopped the Skill before it could activate, a twinge of remembrance forestalling him. He examined the servant's face more closely. Something about the man felt...familiar?

All at once, dread solidified in his gut. Identify, he thought, tailoring it to reveal a specific set of information.

The usual system notification popped into view. He read its Description.

And then lunged for the servant's throat.

Many voices rang out in unison. Katarina, the rebels, the man sitting trapped in a chair. None would have acted in time to stop him.

It was Simon himself who stayed his own hand. With great effort, like bending iron, he managed to hold his muscles in place. Silver-sharp claws danced at the edges of the servant's throat, drawing five tiny pinpricks of blood.

"Don't." Any residual levity had fled the transmigrator's tone. With that one word, he froze the Hurricane in their tracks as they moved to restrain him. "Whatever concern is stirring in your hearts – kill it. This man deserves worse than claws to the neck."

Marlene fell silent. "...We need him to open the way to Piers," she argued. "Assuming he's capable of doing so."

"Oh, he is." Identify had shown that too. "It's why he's still alive."

Simon leaned closer. The servant tried and failed to sink into his chair, beads of sweat running down his brow.

"Harvey." The name came out like a curse. "I know what you've done, Harvey." Demonic claws pushed deeper into soft flesh, millimeter by millimeter. "Piers didn't always act alone. He liked to share. To treat his favorite servants. Monsters get lonely too, after all – and who better to spend the day with than another monster?"

Simon paused, his face just inches away. "How many people did you help him torture, Harvey? Did you even bother keeping count?"

A shudder passed through the servant's body. "I...I didn't want to. He ordered me–"

"Harvey, Harvey, Harvey. We both know that's a lie." Simon nearly retched as memories of Sin Scry assailed him. "I recognized your face. Saw it in my visions. You assisted Piers ever so gleefully."

No response came. The man – the monster – was shivering like a lamb caught in a bear trap. He refused to meet anyone's eyes, studying the ground with feverish intensity, as if praying that a hole would suddenly open up and send him tumbling to freedom.

Just one push. That's all it would take. Just one push, one errant twitch, and he'd send Harvey's head rolling onto the carpet.

It would be so easy.

Breathing deep, Simon centered himself. "I won't mince words with you," he began, as if addressing a slug on the side of the road. "You have no real options. Either you unlock the door to Piers' panic room, or–"

"No!" Harvey's gaze snapped back up, meeting Simon's for the first time. "I can't go against my lord! He would butcher me for it!"

The transmigrator gave him a joyless smile. "And you think I won't? Who do you fear more? A trusted nobleman who might still find the capacity to forgive you – or the Demon with his claws wrapped around your neck right now?"

"Piers."

The response was instantaneous. Simon blinked. Suppose I walked into that one. "So you're willing to die for him? Your sense of loyalty is laudable. But, for the record..."

He lowered a claw to rest below some of Harvey's fingernails, then lifted another to hover right in front of his eyes. The servant's breath caught as he envisioned what would happen if the slightest bit of force was applied.

"I hate torturers," Simon professed, with pure and simple honesty. "There's no type of creature I despise more in this world. Think of it as a personal vendetta, if you will. You see, Harvey...I don't really consider people like you to be people. Even if I were to recreate some of the vile, profane acts that I witnessed you and Piers perform on innocent civilians, as long as I did them to you, I wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it."

Was that hypocritical? Perhaps, but it was a hypocrisy that had been burnt into his soul with electrical clamps and pain that left no bruises. If Heroic Valor complained, then the Trait could go screw itself.

"Just remember, Harvey." Simon sounded alien, possessed. Good. "You may be willing to die for your dear pal Piers – yet you know very well that there are many fates worse than death."

Seconds passed. Except for a choked sob, no one made a peep.

Eventually, Harvey found his voice. "I only...I need only open the door, yes? Then I'll go free?"

"Of course," Simon lied. "Unlike you, I'm not a monster."

Merely a slayer of them.

--

Simon wound up putting Harvey under Contract.

It was possible that the servant would get cold feet when he came face-to-face with Piers' panic room, and that would just complicate matters. The transmigrator wouldn't have minded making good on his threats, but he'd creeped out the Hurricane twice already on this mission, and plucking a man's eyeballs might prove a step too far for them.

At least they didn't seem as...perturbed, as when he'd forged a Contract with Marlene. Partially because they'd seen the process once before, and partially because they cared way less when it was being done to Harvey. None of the rebels were saintly enough to muster pity for a reprehensible lapdog of the nobility – one who had apparently committed atrocities that even a Demon was reticent to describe.

Things moved swiftly after that. Everybody returned to the panic room and formed up in front of it, taking their various pre-planned positions.

There was an electrified anticipation in the air as they readied themselves – the sense of finality that always served as the prelude to something momentous. For centuries, the Helmund family had existed as a core aspect of Valtian society. Unshakable. Enduring. Piers was a newer addition, but his father the Duke had reigned for many lifetimes, and virtually everyone expected the son to persist for just as long.

Within the next few seconds, that assumption would be tested. Either a Helmund would be laid low, overturning a fundamental law of the Severed Isles...

Or several of the Hurricane's most important members would be slaughtered, their leader included.

Could the resistance bounce back from losing Marlene, Bastian, and Cyna? Simon doubted it. They'd already been struggling impotently with those three. Without them, assassinating Piers would be even more of a pipe dream than before.

This was do or die. One shot, one chance.

Unlike the rest of his allies, Simon felt calm as he commanded Harvey to unlock the panic room. This was do or die, but...what else was new? The razor's edge of a knife was where he thrived. And while the Hurricane may have floundered in their endeavors thus far, things would be different this time.

This time, they have me.

In spite of Harvey's protests, the servant put his hand on the door. Compelled by the Contract, he pushed his mana signature forward, deactivating the Artifacts keeping the panic room sealed shut. It swung open with a surprising lack of fanfare.

Just like that, the Hurricane was standing face-to-face with Piers and his royal retinue.

Simon quickly took stock. There were fifteen elite guardsmen inside. The cream of the crop. Stronger than any of the soldiers they'd faced yet. Piers had been hoarding them, it seemed.

As for the nobleman himself – he'd seen better days. His ruined throat was only half-healed, sporadically gushing blood like a leaky faucet, staining his expensive attire with more and more red. Regenerative mana continuously glowed around his neck, yet it was just a stopgap measure to prevent the injury from getting worse.

Which meant that he was still vulnerable.

The sight of a wounded Helmund spurred everyone forward. Katarina loosed a Firebolt. Mages cast their spells. Melee-range warriors dashed forward. All of them were ignoring the elite guardsmen entirely, gunning straight for Piers.

That was the brand of insanity titled 'strategy' that the rebels had agreed upon. It didn't matter if Piers had zero soldiers at his side, or ten, or a hundred. If he died first...the rest could be figured out afterwards.

Simon couldn't help but respect their dedication. It was the definition of go big or go home. They were boldly hurling themselves into danger, sacrificing themselves to ensure the mission's success.

And all that planning, determination, and resolve–

"YOU."

Was swept aside in a heartbeat.

Simon reacted before anyone else. He wasn't sure why – he was hardly the most experienced fighter in the room. Even so, at that exact moment...something in his instincts screeched.

There was no time to think. He only moved.

Without looking back, Simon used his human left arm to reach behind and grab Harvey. In the same motion, he bodily tossed the servant forward, sending him flying ahead of the advancing Hurricane rebels.

Using his Demonic right arm, he activated Channel Essence, prepping a Barrier – no, two Barriers. 150 MP each. Connected. Angled in front of him like the top half of a triangle. A funnel to divert–

"YOU!"

The room exploded with mana.

Simon's eardrums protested as Piers surged forward like a vengeful spirit. The nobleman kicked off the ground with an absurd burst of energy and noise, demolishing the floor where he'd stood. Several of his guards were blown away as if thrown by a tornado, crashing against the wall in a heap of tangled limbs.

Harvey was in the way. He barely had time to plead forgiveness before Piers barreled through him, turning the servant into a fine red mist.

His life didn't even buy Simon a split-second of reprieve.

Katarina's Firebolt found its mark. So did some of the Hurricane's offensive spells. Piers' aura of mana swatted the projectiles like mosquitoes, the nobleman not seeming to notice that he'd been attacked. His attention was laser-focused on the Demon – the upstart that had dared to mar his royal person.

Simon stood his ground and grit his teeth as the wrath of a demigod collided with two Barriers.

They held. For half a second. The translucent shields were already starting to falter. Cracks rapidly spread through them like spiderwebs.

Window of opportunity closing.

Mana swirled around the room in a vortex of power, deflected by the overtaxed Barriers. A rebel perished, speared through the brain by a piercing ray of light. Two soldiers were sliced apart, energy ripping through their torsos with casual indifference.

Simon was at a loss for what to do. He'd set up the Barriers to shield the Hurricane – and himself – from harm, but his limits were evident. Couldn't cast more than two spells at once. Using all his MP so soon would render him helpless, anyway. If he reached forward to attempt a Fell Harvest on Piers, his arm would come back as a stump.

What should–

*Crack.*

He froze. That last cracking sound...hadn't come from the Barriers.

Simon and Piers were united in their surprise as the floor collapsed beneath them.

The panic room had been designed to prevent unwanted entry – but there wasn't much it could do to stop Piers himself. His wayward mana shredded wood, crunched metal, and tore the defensive Artifacts to pieces. Beset by the fury of a Helmund, a large hole opened up underneath.

Both men fell through to the next floor down.

They somehow managed to land on their feet. Shards of debris clattered around them, the air filling with clouds of dust. It was a strangely disconcerting moment, prompting each combatant to pause and assess their situation.

The part of Simon's mind that governed survival instinct told him to flee. The part that craved bloody satisfaction urged him to press forward – tear out what remained of the torturer's throat.

The part of him that wanted to win cast Identify.

Name: Piers Helmund
Description: Son of Duke Helmund. Scion of the Severed Isles. The supreme ruler of his own little world.
Estimated Level: 47 (64 when at full health and mana capacity)

His Level has dropped from 64 to 47, Simon noted. Less than I'd hoped for. And that's after he expended a sizable chunk of mana during his previous attack.

In conclusion: Piers was faring better than anticipated. His wounded throat hadn't slowed him down much. Despite being gravely injured and suffering from extended blood loss, his offensive capabilities were undeniable.

Conversely, Simon was alone and outmatched. He'd already spent 300 MP on two Barriers – nearly half of his total mana reserves. The Hurricane would be busy recovering, then fending off the elite guardsmen up above, so he couldn't count on reinforcements.

All of that...

Was within acceptable parameters.

Ideas taking shape in his mind, Simon charged. He kept his balance as he ran straight along the knife's edge, mindful of the abyss that awaited below if he fell.

--

Thanks for reading!