Chapter 19

Chapter 19
## Chapter 19: Dwarves, Orcs, Elves, and Heroes

“How on earth was this achieved?”

The dwarf flailed his stout limbs frantically, resembling a fish pulled from the water.

His wide, childlike stare possessed a purity that almost provoked a desire to shatter it.

“The Mana Ghost I developed linked directly to the spire’s foundation! And it has evolved into this!”

“I was under the impression that dwarves formed deep attachments to their handiwork?”

Berge had anticipated that Roger would complain about the alterations.

“That is irrelevant at the moment. This is a monumental technical leap, is it not?”

“It expanded from a single-floor restriction to enveloping the entire structure.”

“My blueprint used mana as a propellant, yet some mysterious power shifted the entire energy source.”

“And then it masks the whole tower from view? Such a phenomenon is unheard of.”

“How did you manage it? Honestly, what kind of place is this tower?”

Roger fired off questions with the speed of a repeating crossbow. This was a total reversal from the morose, uncooperative prisoner he had been since his capture.

“Did you truly assume the stronghold of the Demon King would be conventional?”

“Certainly not, but this is staggering. I am burning with curiosity to understand the mechanics behind this evolution.”

“And?”

“Excuse me?”

“What is your point?”

“W-well… if it isn’t an imposition, might I have a brief look? Just a quick inspection of the apparatus and the tower itself? Or rather, a formal investigation?”

His intense tone suggested he would not accept a ‘no.’ It was the most animated he had looked since arriving.

‘Is it obsession?’

Berge recognized that look; he had seen it in demons possessed by the thrill of slaughter. The focus was different, but the fervor was identical.

It wasn’t unusual for a dwarf to become fixated on a mysterious relic they had just encountered.

“Don’t you have prior obligations?”

Roger winced.

“The hero is approaching. The optimistic forecast is one month. The conservative one is three.”

Based on the intelligence from Granada, they were moving at a consistent speed. Barring complications, they would be at the gates in two months.

A duration that felt long to some and fleeting to others.

“Can you complete the project to those requirements in that window?”

“I can. No, I will! I pledge my honor as a hero on it!”

“Weren’t you dismissing that honor just moments ago?”

“Then I will pledge whatever it takes! Please…”

“Very well. Hit the target date, and you shall have your wish. Provided there are no flaws in the machinery or the structure.”

“Naturally!”

Roger gave a firm nod. The schematics were finalized, and the ban on utilizing mana had been rescinded.

He could construct it. He would construct it.

A spark of fanaticism glowed in the artisan’s eyes.

—

‘That essence soaked up far more demonic power than I anticipated, sparking transformations beyond my wildest guesses.’

The tower itself couldn’t define the exact nature of the change.

However, Berge had a strong suspicion.

‘Dimensional friction.’

The phenomenon that saps the strength of invaders.

And bolsters the heroes.

During their initial encounter, Roger had been at the anvil, crafting a blade for the princess.

As a hero, he was physically underwhelming, yet his smithing strikes were formidable. Mana had pulsed beneath his hammer, saturating the metal.

‘I don’t fully grasp it myself, but people claimed mana erupted every time I struck the iron. That is why I crafted the Mana Ghost—to mask that surge.’

That explanation settled it for Berge. Roger lacked martial prowess, but all that dimensional friction had funneled into his craftsmanship.

His talent and drive had made him legendary in the realm, though the hero’s innate power had clearly played a silent role.

“This might actually turn out in our favor…”

He had been wary because Roger was a hero, but now that very status felt like an asset.

“What is favorable about this!”

Gordon barked suddenly.

“We should demolish that absurd Mana Ghost eyesore immediately!”

“On what grounds?”

“On what grounds? Is it not blatant? The Demon King’s spire should loom over everything, radiating dominance. It must broadcast its majesty as a symbol of our kind—and of the Demon King. Concealing it? It’s preposterous!”

That was the demonic way. That was the tradition of the Demon King.

Berge, however, looked at him with clear irritation.

“I am becoming quite tired of answering your complaints every single time.”

“……”

“I respect demonic ego, but look at our reality. Do you believe we could repel the heroes without this advantage?”

“…No.”

“Exactly. I define those who cling to ideals without offering practical solutions as fools. I would prefer not to have to label you as such.”

“……”

“If you still take issue, provide a demonic strategy that I can actually use.”

I am not so arrogant as to ignore the standard path just out of spite.

Berge spoke in a low voice.

He hadn’t always been this way. He wondered why the man had suddenly become so obtuse.

He was speaking nonsense.

‘Don’t make me call you a fool.’

He already had.

Gordon gnashed his teeth.

“…I will provide one. I swear it.”

Demonic pride.

The vanity of a top-tier scholar.

Both were now fully ablaze.

—

Berge conducted several trials.

“Sealing the entrance significantly cuts down on mana dissipation.”

He had initially thought it was a total blockade, but that wasn’t quite the case.

Still, its capacity to hide the refined mana of spirits was undeniable.

“And then there is the cloaking.”

There were several methods of remaining unseen.

Complete erasure of presence.

Deceiving the eyes with phantoms.

Merging into the natural environment.

The tower’s cloaking, powered by the Mana Ghost, managed to do all three.

It suppressed its aura.

It projected illusions to blend into the landscape.

The effect was still rudimentary and slightly unpolished, but as the tower matured and the friction on Berge lessened, it would reach perfection.

“I can’t use it without thought, though.”

Consuming 20 demonic energy per second was a heavy price. Unless the efficiency tripled or the situation was desperate, he wouldn’t risk it.

“Ah, right. I have a commitment to honor.”

Recalling his arrangement with the princess, Berge opened the tower’s vault for the first time in a while. The three spiritual herbs he had collected remained there, untouched.

“…Tch.”

Having been bathed in subtle demonic aura, some had shifted to a violet shade.

It was by design, so it wasn’t a failure. However, he had promised Ernyan a pure one, so the current stock wasn’t suitable.

‘It can’t be helped.’

He would have to venture out once more.

To ensure those in vital roles gave their best, he had to be a man of his word.

Berge went down to the fourth floor.

“Leaving?”

“I promised you a spiritual herb, and I intend to keep that promise. The ones currently in the vault are tainted by demonic energy—they are useless to you.”

Humans could harness demonic energy; after all, dark mages were proof of that. But to spirits, such energy was lethal.

“Wonderful!”

Ernyan eagerly grabbed her gear. They departed the spire with a wave from Roger.

“We are heading in a new direction this time.”

Luck was on their side with clear weather. He sent Ernyan’s wind spirit ahead to scout.

The snow was marked by the prints of one demon and one human.

“May I ask a question?”

“Good timing. I had something on my mind as well.”

“You go first.”

“Why did you agree to my terms?”

“You made the offer, didn’t you?”

“I did. But I fully expected a rejection.”

He had weighed it over and over. He still couldn’t make sense of it.

Why the princess had complied. Why she would discard her chances of being rescued.

“For the sake of the spiritual herb.”

“They are rare, certainly, but as the crown princess of Hildran, you would have had access to them.”

“Isn’t having more always better?”

“Not enough to justify making enemies of your own people.”

“Ah, am I being too suspicious?”

Ernyan shook her head. Berge watched her with a neutral gaze.

“…If I said I simply loathe the idea of returning to the kingdom, would you accept that?”

“You have your own motivations, then?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“That is true.”

“Nothing else you want to know?”

“That is sufficient.”

If she had a reason, that was fine. He wasn’t interested in her royal soap opera.

As long as she remained a cooperative captive.

“And your question?”

“Oh, right. What is your plan if you take the hero captive?”

“Are you concerned?”

“He is coming to save me, after all.”

“I cannot set him free.”

“I realize that. Your methods are quite distinct from those of other Demon Kings.”

“Speak plainly.”

“Are you intending to turn Hero Hillun Kagil into your servant?”

Berge had assigned his captor the task of floor decoration.

He had pressed the dwarf hero into service for the first floor.

So, would Hillun Kagil be next?

“Why the curiosity?”

“I haven’t heard of a Demon King operating like this in centuries…”

Ernyan stopped mid-sentence.

“I found it.”

“This quickly?”

“However…”

She knitted her brows.

“We have company.”

—

They had moved in the opposite direction from their last trip and found the spiritual herb with surprising speed—a stroke of luck.

But having competitors? That was unwelcome.

Specifically, the same irritating group from before.

Frost Orcs. A tribe much larger than the previous one had established a camp around the plant.

Guards were visible between the gaps of roughly made timber walls. Their eyes met.

“……!”

The orc’s eyes went wide. A loud horn blast echoed through the encampment.

“This is a nuisance.”

“Shall we fight?”

“There is a track record here—they might try their luck a second time.”

Berge casually raised a hand. Black, flickering embers turned the timber walls to ash in an instant.

But.

“……”

“Whoa…”

There was no aggression or thirst for combat.

No jagged blades or snarling teeth.

“We pay our respects to the Demon King!”

“Demon King!”

Terror mixed with reverence.

Dozens of Frost Orcs dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads into the dirt. They were treating Berge like a deity.

“…What is the meaning of this?”

The head Frost Orc lifted his gaze at the question.

“We humbly entreat you: take us in as your subjects, Demon King!”

—

“Granada. You and the Red Hawk Mercenary Corps have done exceptional work.”

Despite some minor friction, the hero’s march was proceeding with efficiency.

The absence of demons or monsters meant fewer trophies, but it served to emphasize the hero’s prestige.

* The Demon King hides in fear of Hillun’s power, failing to even deploy his minions.
* Nothing can impede the hero’s progress.
* This mission is destined for glory.

Consequently, bandits stayed in the shadows. Even wandering packs of beasts kept their distance.

Only the occasional frenzied monster attacked.

And in those brief clashes, the Red Hawk Mercenary Corps proved their worth.

Much of this was due to the elf Granada, whose heightened senses spotted threats before they arrived.

It also aligned with the Demon King’s command to build a reputation through deeds.

Because of this, Granada spoke frequently with the hero Hillun Kagil.

“It has been quite some time since we were joined by an elf of your caliber.”

“Is that the case?”

“Elves tend to keep to themselves—treaties notwithstanding, they rarely venture far from their own woods.”

This was accurate for elves and most non-human races. It was partly an instinctual tie to their land, but mostly a desire to avoid human contact.

Granada saw no reason to elaborate.

“‘Quite some time’ suggests you knew one previously.”

“I did. A brother-in-arms.”

Hillun gave a melancholic smile.

“He gave his life for me. We succeeded in taking down the Lust Demon King, but…”

“I shouldn’t have pried.”

Granada offered an apology for stirring up old grief.

“No, it isn’t a secret.”

He failed to notice the single tear that slipped away.

“That friend was at the forefront of every hunt. Seeing you lead the mercenaries against those beasts, just like other elves I’ve known… the familiarity made me nostalgic. I apologize.”

“There is no need. I understand.”

“I appreciate that. Care for a drink?”

“I would.”

Their mugs met with a dull clink.

Hillun gave a hearty laugh.

“To our continued success. I feel as though I can truly trust you to watch my back.”

“You flatter me.”

The conversation that followed was inconsequential.

“I’ll take my leave.”

“Yes, I look forward to seeing more of your skill.”

“Certainly.”

Granada walked out.

The moment he was alone, Hillun’s grin fell away like a discarded mask.

“Yes, elves are remarkably reliable. Elves.”

Aren’t they?

*Mwah.*

Hillun pressed a soft kiss to his signet ring.