Volume 2 chapter 4

"Your Majesty?! Your Majesty..."

Consciousness returned slowly. Someone was calling her name.

"Ugh..."

Clyris opened her eyes groggily. Luna was kneeling beside her, her face filled with anxiety.

"Your Majesty?! You are finally awake!"

"Luna... what is it?"

She sat up, shaking her head to clear the lingering dizziness.

"I should be asking you that. I came in and found you collapsed by the Demon God Pool. What happened?" Luna asked, supporting Clyris by the arm.

"Ah..." Clyris’s mind cleared. The memory of the terrifying voice and the crushing pressure returned. "Nothing. I just... bit off a little more than I could chew."

"What...?" Luna looked at her, confused.

"Luna, how long was I out?" Clyris rubbed her temples, unwilling to explain the ancient entity she had encountered.

"Not long. The others only left three days ago."

"Three days..."

She breathed a sigh of relief. Honestly, why did she keep falling into comas lately? Time was already short; she couldn't afford these interruptions.

"Let's go, Luna. We have a war to prepare for."

The traditional workshops of the Demon Realm had been razed. In their place, the smokestacks of heavy industry clawed at the gray sky, a testament to the desperate modernization Clyris had initiated using the knowledge gleaned from Ironwood.

For the Demon Race, where every individual possessed supernatural strength, production efficiency far outstripped that of the human empires. The Three Great Empires had populations in the tens of millions, but their supernatural forces numbered only two or three million combined.

The Demon Race had a population of fifteen million. And all fifteen million were supernatural. It was a true nation of soldiers.

Total mobilization began.

Mana Engraving Machines churned day and night, mass-producing weapons and armor. However, since demon physiology varied wildly from humans, Clyris didn't copy human designs blindly. Instead, she tailored weapons and tactics to each race.

She reorganized the Elemental Tribes—the Fire, Ice, and Lightning demons. No longer would they fight as disorganized skirmishers. Clyris forged them into Mobile Artillery Battalions, modeling them after the disciplined Mage Legions of the human empires. When massed together, their innate racial talents allowed them to unleash amplified barrages of destruction that far eclipsed anything human mages could produce. To fuel this relentless bombardment, she introduced the Mana Stone Pressing Machines. Now, every artillery unit marched into battle carrying massive stockpiles of condensed mana stones, allowing them to recharge instantly and maintain a rate of fire that would turn any battlefield into a wasteland.

For the dominion of the sky, she turned to the Succubi, the Winged Demons, and the Blood Kin. By reverse-engineering the Griffin bomber she had flown across the continent, Clyris birthed the Demon Air Force. Although their aircraft were cruder than Charlo’s pristine machines, they possessed raw power, matching the performance of Flyer One with speeds reaching 720 kilometers per hour—rivaling the flight speed of a Seventh-Rank supernatural. Their objective was not to engage in suicidal dogfights with High-Rank Sky Knights or Saints, but to dominate the ground. They were the eyes of the army and the hammer from the heavens, raining heavy ordnance upon enemies who could not fly.

Finally, she marshaled the forces of the earth. The Beast Demons, with their sheer, overwhelming numbers, formed the iron backbone of the infantry. The Shadow Demons were pulled from the front lines and reorganized into elite special operations units, tasked with assassination and sabotage. The massive Rock Demons were up-armored, transforming into living tanks to anchor the defensive lines.

For them all, the new factories churned out endless supplies of enchanted plate armor, anti-magic blades, and landmines.

________________________

The South. Magdeburg Headquarters.

High above the earth, three figures floated in silent judgment: Pope Farragut, Sage Melton, and Empress Theia. They looked down not upon a field, but upon a living ocean of steel and magic.

The Central Army Group did not merely occupy the land; it consumed it.

One million Elven warriors stood in pristine, unearthly silence, their silver armor glinting like a frozen lake. Beside them, the Mage Legions and the Holy Crusader Legions formed vast blocks of arcane and divine power. In total, 1.8 million souls stood ready for war.

The air itself seemed to tremble under the weight of the gathered power. It wasn't just the sheer number of soldiers; it was the concentration of legends.

Empress Theia was not alone. The Elven Warlord, Schnet Morningstar—a Saint in his own right—stood at the head of his people, his presence sharp as a blade. From the Magic Association, two Vice-Presidents had arrived: Soul Saint William Leonard and Space Saint Brand Winster.

Their auras distorted the atmosphere. Behind them stood thirty-two Ninth-Rank powerhouses, one hundred and seventy-seven Eighth-Rankers, and over five hundred Seventh-Rankers. It was a gathering of force sufficient to sink a continent.

Yet, at the very tip of this terrifying spear, the mood was bizarrely discordant.

Standing alone at the vanguard was the Hero’s Party.

The Hero, Hayato, stood with his chest puffed out. Flanking him was a mosaic of breathtaking beauty: Violetta the Warrior, Evelyn the Mage, Lily the Assassin, Saintess Maria the Priest, and Lena the Elven Archer.

Aside from Hayato, there was not a single man in the squad. It looked less like a military command unit and more like a collection of trophies.

The soldiers behind them cast furtive glances. The absurdity of the "Hero's Harem" on a battlefield of apocalyptic proportions was lost on no one. Disdain and confusion rippled through the ranks, but with the Saints hovering overhead like silent gods, no one dared to voice their disgust.

In this strange, eerie atmosphere, the order was given. The Central Group began its march, a silent tide surging toward the horizon.

_______________________

The West. The Terminus of the Magdeburg Line.

If the South was an ocean of magic, the West was a mountain of iron.

The Western Army Group was a monolith of brute force. The Imperial Army of Thebes contributed six hundred thousand heavy infantry, while the Dwarven Legion added another two hundred thousand shock troops.

Eight hundred thousand heavy boots slammed into the earth in unison.

The magical pressure here was different—less ethereal, more oppressive. Fifteen Ninth-Rank champions from Thebes and nine Dwarf Lords stood ready, supported by over a hundred Eighth-Rank warriors. They were walking siege engines, ready to shatter the earth.

Emperor Curtis and Dwarf Lord Reguo stood side by side on the high command platform, overlooking the sea of heavy plate and warhammers.

Curtis raised his hand.

"March!!"

The earth groaned. The Western Group rumbled forward like a landslide, grinding everything in its path to dust.

____________________

The Demon Realm.

Clyris looked down at the dark mass of the Demon Army. Despite her preparations, she felt a hollow pit in her stomach.

Six million demon soldiers.

But leading them were only 16 Seventh-Rank Demons (artificially ascended).

The remaining Mid-Rank demons numbered only around ten thousand.

The rest... were all Low-Rank fodder.

"My Companions!"

She opened her mouth, amplifying her voice with mana so that it reached every soldier across the vast plain.

"This is likely the darkest moment the Demon Race has faced in tens of thousands of years. The battle we are about to fight... will likely be our hardest yet."

The demons listened in silence. The wind howled across the gray jagged rocks.

"Our enemy is the reformed Rodinia Grand Alliance. They possess multiple Saints, dozens of Ninth-Rankers, hundreds of Eighth-Rankers, thousands of Seventh-Rankers, and countless legions!"

A ripple of unease passed through the ranks.

"And us?" Clyris’s voice was calm but heavy. "Me—a Ninth-Rank. And sixteen Seventh-Rankers. That is the entirety of our high-level power."

She sighed, looking at their faces.

"Therefore, I will not speak of guaranteed victory. I will not lie to you. The disparity in strength is clear for all to see. So... if anyone does not wish to take this battlefield, you may leave now."

She closed her eyes and waited.

Silence reigned.

Minutes passed.

Clyris opened her eyes.

Not a single demon had moved.

She looked into their eyes. Crimson, ice-blue, purple, gold... diverse forms, diverse tribes. But the gaze was the same. Firm. Unwavering. Not a trace of cowardice.

"Really..."

She let out a short, incredulous laugh. Her heart steadied. The fear vanished, replaced by a burning pride.

"Very well! Since no one retreats, you are all true warriors!"

Clyris shouted, drawing her sword and pointing it toward the Dragonspine Mountains.

"We have fought them for tens of thousands of years! There is nothing to fear but death itself! Let's go!"

"It is time to end this deadlock that has spanned millennia! This time, either they exterminate us, or we exterminate them!"

"ROAAAAAR!!!!"

Six million voices screamed in defiance of destiny. The earth shook as the last army of the Demon Race began its march toward the abyss of war.