Chapter 145: Chapter 145 - Watcher ( Part 2)
Beyond the borders of the human kingdoms...
Beyond the deserts where no bird dared fly.
Beyond the poisonous swamps that destroyed entire forests.
Beyond the mountains of the World’s End.
There was a continent abandoned by the light.
The Demon Continent.
It had skies forever covered in black clouds.
Red lightning lit the heavens without raining.
Rivers carried dark crimson water filled with demonic mana.
Jagged mountains were rising from the earth like broken swords.
Everything smelled like ashes.
Every shadow contained the monster that an average human could barely even imagine.
That was the land of constant devouring of weaker life forms.
That was a kingdom of everlasting wars.
In the middle of that continent, there was an enormous fortress built in a mountain of black obsidian.
Its towers raised to the sky like a claws.
Thousands of flags were flying on the burning wind.
On all of them was painted the same emblem.
A black sword wrapped in red flames.
The crest of the Third Demon General.
The fortress was called by the demons themselves...
The Iron Citadel.
Inside its walls there was an army that wasn’t seen on the Earth since the Great Demon War.
Millions of demon soldiers were training day and night.
Enormous siege beasts slept in iron chains.
Wyverns flew in the skies above the fortress.
Dark mages chanted forbidden spells in endless courtyards.
Every demon inside that castle existed for one purpose.
War.
Unlike the other Demon Generals, the master of this castle didn’t care much about the politics or prophecies.
To him...
Only power decided everything.
In the depths of the Iron Citadel...
There was an enormous hall which was stretching into the darkness.
The roof of that hall was lost in the darkness.
Rows of black pillars held up the throne carved from the single mountain-sized block of obsidian.
That throne was scarred.
Every scar on it had been made by a weapon that tried to harm its owner.
On the throne was sitting a giant.
Close to three meters tall.
With wide shoulders.
Black armor filled with numerous scars of battles.
Crimson cape flowing behind him like fresh blood.
His black hair was hanging loose over the face of the man that looked more like the battlefield.
One of his eyes was replaced with the glowing crimson crystal.
There was a deep scar running over his jaw.
A reminder of the war a thousand years ago.
Beside the throne was standing an enormous black halberd.
Its blade radiating so much killing intent that made even weaker demons collapse under it.
That was the Third Demon General.
Draven.
The Black Warlord.
The commander of the Demon Legions.
Unlike Azrael, whose calmness made everyone respect him...
Draven respected only the victory.
Mercy disgusted him.
Compassion was just a weakness.
Peace...
Had no meaning.
A lesser demon officer was kneeling before him, trembling.
"My Lord..."
"Report from the human kingdoms about the event for demons."
Draven didn’t move.
"Speak."
"The First General... has been killed by the white hunter."
"The Black Tide failed."
"The Lord of Destruction has been awakened as you know."
"The silver-haired swordswoman has killed Lord Barthus and found yet another shrine of the Divine Swords."
The officer lowered his head even deeper.
"And..."
He paused.
"First Demon General Azrakiel identified the white hunter swordswoman as ...."
Draven slowly opened his remaining eye.
"... And say it."
The officer gulped.
"As the Sword King Leonis."
The throne room fell silent.
Even the flames of the braziers ceased moving.
Then...
Draven started laughing.
A deep...
Cold...
Unhumorous laugh.
He knew that since the meeting .
His laughter was echoing in the hall like a distant thunder.
He slowly rose from the throne.
The earth was trembling under his feet.
Every demon in the hall subconsciously bowed his head.
None of them dared to look into his eyes.
Draven stepped down from the dais.
His black boots were stomping on the floor with incredible force.
One step.
Another.
Another.
Each step was echoing in the Iron Citadel.
He stopped before the huge stone map of the continent.
Magical lights indicated the positions of the kingdoms.
Trade roads.
Ancient ruins.
And recently discovered Divine Sword shrines.
There was only one light indicating Ashvale.
Draven stared at it.
"So..."
"The coward chose to live as a human girl."
There was only contempt in his voice.
"I expected nothing else."
One of the generals cautiously spoke.
"My Lord..."
"General Azrael hasn’t interfered."
Draven snorted.
"Of course he hasn’t."
"That sentimental fool has always admired Leonis."
His grip on the staff was tightening.
"I’ve never understood it."
He recalled the Great Demon War.
Hundreds of battlefields.
Endless bloodshed.
Whenever demon forces were gaining advantage...
There would appear one man.
Single swordsman.
Dressed in white.
Golden sword in his hands.
King Leonis Heart.
The Sword King.
Draven remembered the scenes of whole demon battalions vanishing in a single strike of a sword.
He remembered the fear spreading among the veterans when Leonis set foot on the battlefield.
He remembered how commanders abandoned well planned assaults just because that single man appeared.
His jaw clenched.
For the world...
Leonis was a hero.
For Draven...
He was a nightmare.
The man who ruined countless plans.
The warrior who transformed victory into the defeat over and over again.
The swordsman who reminded the demons of the fear.
Draven hated him.
Not because Leonis was a cruel person.
But because Leonis was stronger than him.
Suddenly...
Draven smashed one of his hands into the armrest of his throne.
BOOOOOOOM!
The entire throne exploded into pieces.
Black stones flew into the hall.
Some of the demon officers flinched.
No one said anything.
Dust was settling.
Draven was standing amidst the ruins.
His crimson eye was glowing brighter than ever.
"So..."
He repeated in silence.
"History wants to repeat itself."
He smiled.
It wasn’t a pleasant smile.
It was a smile of the warrior who waited a thousand years for his revenge.
"No."
"This time..."
"I’ll finish what I couldn’t finish during the Great Demon War."
He turned toward the giant doors of the hall.
"Summon every Legion Commander."
"Gather the Beast Corps."
"Prepare the Sky Fortresses."
"The age of waiting is over."
The officers immediately kneeled.
"At once, my Lord Draven!"
They quickly left.
Only one old demon remained.
He was serving since the times of the Demon Emperor.
He quietly asked,
"My Lord..."
"Won’t you march yourself?"
Draven glanced at the distant human continent.
His eyes pierced the mountains and the ocean as if he could already see his prey.
"Leonis belongs to me."
His voice was absolute.
"No one else will kill the Sword King."
Above the Iron Citadel crimson lightning cut the black sky.
Across the Demon Continent war horns started sounding.
One by one...
Sleeping legions woke up.
The Black Warlord gave an order.
And for the first time in a thousand years the armies of conquest were beginning to prepare for the march towards the lands of humanity.
The fall of the obsidian throne reverberated long after the last fragment landed in the Iron Citadel.
No one moved.
No one breathed too loudly.
The Third Demon General stood alone in the ruins of the throne room, towering under the red glow of the lava rivers underneath the black stone floors.
His crimson eye was glowing like a dying star.
The air seemed to shiver with his murderous intent.
Unlike Azrael, who seemed calm enough to mingle with the humans...
Draven’s existence was nothing but a war itself.
Every wound on his body was telling the story of a battlefield.
Every breath was reminding the people around him that mercy is not even in his vocabulary.
Without another word, he started moving towards the gigantic doors at the end of the hall.
"Sound the Black Horn."
His voice rumbled the whole room.
For a moment, there was absolute silence.
Then—
BOOOOOOOOOM!
A horn from the ages roared across the Demon Continent.
Its sound rolled across the mountains and the volcanic plains like an upcoming apocalypse.
In forgotten fortresses...
Sleeping monsters woke up.
Across endless battlefields where the bones of ancient heroes were resting...
The Demons stopped whatever they were doing.
They all understood.
Only one order could summon the Black Horn.
The Black Warlord had called for the war.
The huge war chamber was filling up within minutes.
Commander after commander of the Demon Legions was arriving.
The towering demons, dressed in crimson armor.
The winged generals with the black feathers.
The one-eyed giants with the weapons of a house size.
The ancient sorcerers wrapped in the living shadows.
The beast tamers surrounded by the monstrous wolves and serpents.
Even the commanders who were spending the whole century guarding some distant frontiers were leaving them without any hesitation.
More than fifty high-ranking demons commanders were kneeling before Draven.
No one spoke the first word.
The Black Warlord slowly moved to the huge stone table with the world map.
His armored hand was resting on the western kingdoms.
His finger was hovering over a tiny dot.
Ashvale.
Then...
It was moving farther to the west.
To the eternal mountains and the forgotten roads.
"She’s traveling."
Draven said quietly.
"To the west."
A horned commander approached him.
"My Lord."
"Do you want to surround the human kingdoms?"
Another proposed,
"We can capture the Markless Maiden alive."
"The prophecy says—"
"Silence."
The room fell silent.
Draven’s crimson eye was sweeping the whole room.
"I have heard enough of the prophecies."
His voice was getting cold.
"For one thousand years..."
"The Demon Generals were chasing destiny."
"The Oracle."
"The resurrection."
"The Markless Maiden."
He clenched his hand.
"And where has it brought us?"
"No Demon Emperor."
"Just failure."
Draven smashed the stone map with his hand.
The western kingdoms were cracking apart with the impact.
"This war will not be won through waiting."
"It will be won..."
"...through conquest."
He slowly lifted his halberd.
Its black blade was reflecting the crimson flames burning through the chamber.
"The Markless Maiden..."
"No."
His voice thundered the whole fortress.
"Capture of the Markless Maiden."
The commanders were looking at each other in confusion.
Even the ancient demon sorcerers were looking surprised.
Draven pointed the halberd to the human continent.
"I have another order."
"Kill...Jennie Queens."
Complete silence.
One commander was hesitating.
"But Lord Noctis ordered—"
Draven’s murderous intent exploded across the room.
The unlucky commander was falling on his knees, choking with blood before he was able to finish the sentence.
"I gave my order."
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
"If the Lord of Destruction wants to challenge me..."
"He can do that himself."
Nobody spoke the word again.
All commanders knew.
The Third Demon General has made his decision.
For him...
Jennie Queens is not just the Markless Maiden anymore.
It is Leonis.
And Leonis must be killed.
Deep under the fortress...
The gigantic gates of the Iron Citadel started opening.
Thick chains like ancient trees were creaking and moving.
One by one...
The Demon Legions started assembling.
Rank after rank of the armored infantry stretching beyond the horizon.
Thousands turning into tens of thousands.
The monstrous cavalry riding the horned beasts shaking the ground with every step.
The flying demons circling in the skies like the living storm.
The siege creatures like the whole castles awakening from centuries of sleep.
Entire mountains were moving as giant war beasts answering the call of Draven.
The blacksmiths were working non-stop, forging weapons with the cursed flames.
The war drums were beating endlessly.
Every beat sounded like the heartbeat of an approaching disaster.
High on the fortress walls, Draven was watching his army assembling.
A commander came close to him.
"My Lord."
"The banners are ready."
Draven nodded once.
"Lift them up."
Across the Demon Continent...
Thousands of black banners were starting rising to the sky.
On every one of them was the same symbol.
The crimson halberd piercing the broken crown.
The banner of the Black Warlord.
With the first wave of the wind catching the standards, the horizon was darkening.
Then...
Every soldier was raising their weapon to the skies.
A roar was erupting.
One voice becomes one hundred.
One hundred becomes one thousand.
Soon...
Hundreds of millions of demons were roaring together.
The sound was rolling across the continent like thunder.
Mountains were trembling.
Volcanoes were responding with eruptions.
Even the seas surrounding the Demon Continent were boiling with the rage.
The age of the silence was over.
Somewhere else, in the deep chamber of the Demon Fortress...
The Seventh Demon General, Noctis, was slowly opening one of his eyes.
He was listening to the distant roar of Draven’s army.
A faint smile was spreading under his hood.
"So..."
"Draven has started moving."
An ancient demon was kneeling before him.
"My Lord..."
"Do you want to stop him?"
Noctis was closing his eye once more.
"No."
"Let him go."
"If Jennie Queens survived..."
"She will be growing stronger."
"And if she died..."
"The prophecy will change."
His smile was widening slightly.
"Both outcomes will be beneficial to us."
The chamber was becoming silent again.
Noctis was returning to his meditation, letting the Black Warlord making the first step in the war.
Somewhere far...
Beyond countless mountains...
Jennie, Roxy, and Snow were walking through the peaceful forest road.
The birds were singing among the trees.
The sunlight was filtering through the emerald leaves.
Roxy was humming softly as she was walking.
Snow was happily carrying one of the huge wheels of cheese which villagers insisted to give to them.
Jennie was smiling at the peaceful scenery.
For a brief moment...
The world seemed so ordinary.
She had no idea that somewhere far beyond the horizon...
An army of a size enough to drown the kingdoms was already marching.
She had no idea that her name was echoing through every fortress of the Demon Continent.
Not as the Markless Maiden.
Not as the White Sword Hunter Raven.
But as the person whom the Black Warlord wanted more than everything.
Jennie Queens.
The reincarnated Sword King.
The wind was gently blowing the leaves over the heads of the travelers.
Far to the west, the dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.
The first banners of the Demon Legions were already moving.
The Great Demon War was entering the next phase.
While the world was enjoying one last moment of the fragile peace, the Black Warlord was already marching west...
Towards the place where Jennie was walking to meet her next destiny.
