Chapter 25

Chapter 25
## Chapter 25: The Archdemons

“Tell me about Hillun Kagil. Has he been eliminated?”

The woman’s opening remark was casual yet sharp: “Greetings, Gordon. This is our first face-to-face encounter, isn’t it?”

She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

Gordon had anticipated this specific inquiry would surface during their meeting. It was the very reason Berge had given him such strict instructions beforehand.

— *We did not engage in combat. Hillun Kagil is currently lost within the reaches of the Erjest Mountains.*

Gordon had questioned that logic. Why suppress the news that a legendary savior had been neutralized? Surely, broadcasting such a victory would elevate Berge’s reputation among the other dark lords.

Berge, however, dismissed that line of thinking as short-sighted.

— *He will serve as a concealed blade. Despite his failures, he will eventually emerge once more as the ‘unbeaten’ champion.*

Though Gordon could only guess at the deeper machinations, the unwavering certainty in Berge’s eyes silenced any doubt. It defied traditional logic, yet everything Berge had touched thus far had turned to gold.

Success followed him like a shadow.

Thus, Gordon chose to place his faith in Berge. He had already committed his loyalty, after all.

“He is alive. Truthfully, he never managed to locate the spire.”

“Explain that.”

The rhythmic clicking of her heels paused as her voice betrayed a hint of confusion.

“Hillun Kagil is likely still wandering aimlessly through the Erjest wilderness at this very moment.”

“That sounds impossible.”

By standard metrics, perhaps. But in their current reality, it was the truth.

“I assume you are aware of Berge’s conduct during the graduation rites at the Academy?”

“…He showed blatant disrespect toward the Sovereign Protocol.”

“It went beyond mere disrespect. I was a witness. He described it as the act of a fool dragging a dead hatchling into a dragon’s den.”

“…Regardless of his power, slandering the Protocol is a grave matter.”

Gordon noted the flicker of resentment in her voice; it was a useful reaction.

“I felt exactly the same way.”

“…I understand your frustrations now. So, the rumors are true? You didn’t erect the spire on the primary peak?”

“Better than that—we tucked it away in a place where it remains invisible.”

“Clever. If it’s hidden within the treacherous terrain of Erjest, it’s no wonder the champion failed to find it.”

She came to a halt.

“Relax; it’s your debut. Don’t mistake this for those stiff summits the lords hold. We aides are just overworked servants blowing off steam about our superiors.”

“If that is the agenda, I believe I will fit in perfectly.”

“Based on what you’ve shared, I don’t doubt it.”

She turned to him, reaching out to smooth the fabric of his attire.

“Still, remember he is your lord. Don’t reveal every secret; keep a bit of restraint.”

“Naturally.”

“I’m this helpful to everyone, so don’t read too much into it.”

“…Are you perhaps being a bit defensive?”

“Oh? You say that, but your pulse is racing.”

“Dark elves are known for having robust hearts.”

The heavy doors groaned as they swung open. Gordon’s inaugural meeting of the aides had begun.

—

“He didn’t even reach the gates?”

The news was difficult to digest.

Drakson let out a skeptical grunt. Reina Sordain remained a mask of indifference. Ugar Belbek, however, chose to let his temper flare.

It had been nearly a month since the hero’s company began their ascent. Half the party had deserted, and the rest were either dead or in full retreat. Yet Hillun Kagil hadn’t even set eyes on the target?

“You expect us to swallow that lie?!”

“Your belief isn’t required,” Berge replied coolly. “I have no desire to convince a simpleton like you.”

“Who are you calling a simpleton?!”

If the laws of the spires didn’t forbid internal conflict among the lords, Ugar would have struck then and there. And he might have succeeded. Berge, currently the most burdened by dimensional friction, appeared to be the weakest link in the room.

“Let’s pause for a moment.”

Jason stepped in to diffuse the tension.

“Are you asserting that Hillun Kagil is still trapped in the Erjest range?”

“I am.”

“Then the crusade persists. Lord Berge’s defense of his domain is technically ongoing.”

Jason paused, his expression turning inquisitive.

“In that case, why has Lord Berge abandoned his post?”

“Is there a prohibition against it?”

“Technically, yes.”

Jason adjusted his spectacles, his tone clinical.

“A lord isn’t required to be a permanent fixture in the tower. You can leave to abduct royalty, weave conspiracies, or attend gatherings like this. The spire can sit empty. However, there is one exception. You must never leave when a hero is actively hunting you.”

A spire is only a complete entity when its master is present. It is through the lord that it receives direction and exerts its full influence.

“Leaving now is tantamount to forfeiture.”

It was a death wish. A lord separated from their spire loses the ability to recycle mana, gather points, and mitigate environmental interference. Without those protections, are they still a lord?

No. They are merely targets.

History showed that any lord who lost their spire ended up as a trophy for the heroes.

“You invited us here yourselves.”

“We acted on the assumption that the conflict had concluded. It has been weeks since Wharton led the survivors back down.”

Berge offered no rebuttal, which was an admission in itself.

“Did you truly build away from the summit?” Drakson interjected. “I know you’re stubborn. I heard about your little stunt at the graduation.”

“And?”

“Up until that point, you were known for following the Protocol more strictly than anyone. I thought it was just a personality trait.”

He had played by the rules until the princess was taken.

“Now you’re just throwing the rulebook away?”

“The Protocol doesn’t explicitly command building on the highest peak.”

“It demands a location of suitable peril, one that is visible and imposing. You’ve ignored both.”

The Erjest summit was a death trap where even lords moved with caution among the apex monsters.

“So?”

“Excuse me?”

“The Protocol isn’t a divine law. It’s a collection of suggestions from the First Emperor. It doesn’t mandate blind obedience.”

“Tradition makes it law,” Ugar barked. “It’s been upheld for millennia. It’s the Standard because it works!”

“Indeed,” Berge smirked, his gaze icy. “Can any of you claim to have followed every tenet of the Protocol perfectly?”

“Certainly more than you have.”

“Then you acknowledge there are flaws.”

A set of rules designed for different worlds could never perfectly align with Aren. If they did, they would have been conquered long ago.

“Enough of this,” Jason interjected again. His timing was almost too perfect. “Lord Berge has a point. I’m no proponent of breaking tradition, but we cannot dictate his choices.”

“Hmph.”

“Furthermore, you haven’t answered: where is Hillun Kagil specifically?”

“Lost in the mountains, as I said.”

“I want to trust you, Lord Berge, but I doubt you’re reckless enough to leave your home undefended while a hero is nearby.”

“I said he was lost, not that my home was in jeopardy.”

“For how many days?”

The question came from the frost demon sitting at the far end of the table, who had looked bored until now.

“At least a week.”

“These meetings last several days. It seems like an efficient gamble to me,” she noted.

“Despite the Protocol?”

“We’ve moved past that, Ugar. Are you so slow that you need a transcript?”

Ugar recoiled under her freezing stare. Even among peers, there was a clear pecking order.

“…Moving on.”

He looked away.

“Jason, perhaps you should drop it. If his spire falls, the consequences are his alone.”

“Quite right. I was merely concerned, but I respect his autonomy.” Jason gave a slight shrug.

A brief lull followed before the conversation shifted to more mundane matters.

“My people are migrating to Aren. They’ve sworn to serve as my vanguard. It’s a heavy mana investment, but necessary.”

“Smart. Just don’t overplay your hand. Humans get nervous when we consolidate too much power.”

“The 9th Princess of the Jesfaine Empire has vanished. Anyone here want to take credit?”

“I’m staying clear of the Empire.”

“Wasn’t she promised to the King of Ormus?”

“The 2nd Princess of the Dwarven Realm has gone rogue and is traveling the lands. Is she with anyone here?”

“I heard Roger Friedri dropped off the map.”

“That mediocre blacksmith hero?”

“He wasn’t taken—he supposedly ran away because he didn’t want to craft the princess’s new blade.”

“I can’t blame him. That girl has a temperament better suited for our kind.”

Berge remained silent during the exchange. These rumors were vital intelligence disguised as small talk. He memorized everything, filtering for what might be useful while staying wary of potential misinformation.

He felt a heavy gaze on him. It was Reina Sordain, the Lord of Eternal Frost. They locked eyes for a silent moment before she gave a small nod and stood to leave.

Berge followed her out.

As the heavy doors shut behind them, the chatter in the room died instantly.

“I wonder what they’re plotting. Anyone curious?”

“It’s obvious,” Drakson grunted. “She’s been hinting at her distaste for the Protocol for a while. A loud rebel meets a quiet one. They’ll get along famously.”

“I don’t trust either of them.”

Drakson and Ugar exchanged frustrated looks, while Jason kept his eyes fixed on the door with a look of intense fascination.

—

“What are you working on?”

Roger jumped slightly as a hand tapped his shoulder. The princess was watching him with wide, curious eyes.

“Just fixing the damaged mana artillery.”

“You aren’t trying to escape?”

“Escape?” Roger stopped his work.

“The tower is empty right now. The master is gone, and so is Gordon. There is nothing stopping us.”

*Well, not exactly,* Roger thought. There was Granada the elf, and the mountain itself was a natural prison. But was he staying out of fear? He searched his conscience.

No.

“I cannot leave.”

Or rather, he had nowhere to go. Because of the dark lord, Roger’s old life was ash. The workshop he loved was gone.

He thought of Princess Luije. He knew her character well; she was likely turning the kingdom upside down in her fury. She would hunt him to the ends of the earth to satisfy her whims.

If she caught him… a shudder went through his frame. He didn’t want to contemplate the consequences.

Beyond that, this strange tower fascinated him. He felt a twinge of guilt for the heroes who would be targeted by his repaired cannons, but personal survival took priority.

“And why haven’t you left, Your Highness?”

To Roger, she was the real mystery. She wasn’t being forced, yet she helped the enemy of her own volition. She claimed to be a subordinate and even helped capture those sent to rescue her.

“I don’t think I could survive the descent alone.”

Roger knew that was a hollow excuse, but he didn’t push. There was something unsettling about her.

“Fair enough.”

He returned to his tools, but she poked his cheek again.

“…What now?”

“A reward.”

She wasn’t holding a tool, but a tray. The air filled with a sugary, rich aroma. They were cookies, thick with chocolate.

“I just pulled them out.”

“In an empty spire?”

The place had been barren when Roger arrived. Only the essentials were on the fifth floor. Berge hadn’t ordered any luxuries.

“I leveled the floor for an oven and used a fire spirit for the heat.”

“I see.”

He suppose that was the perk of being an elementalist. It was still surreal to see someone baking cookies in the middle of a kidnapping. Being hungry, Roger took a bite. It was perfectly made.

“How do you find it?”

“It’s excellent.”

Even without her eager gaze, he would have praised them. Then, after a few chews, he noticed something.

“Wait… what did you put in these?”

“Just a few crushed pieces of Aloje,” she said with a smile.

“…The legendary spirit root?”

“I’ve consumed quite a bit of it at home. My body is saturated with it, so I can’t absorb much more. I figured I’d share.”

Aloje. The medicine Berge had given her. And now she was giving it to him? Even a small amount, grown in the mana-rich soil of Erjest, was potent. He felt the pure energy wash through him, scrubbing away the lingering ‘hero interference’ that had been weighing down his spirit.

It was a transformative gift, especially for a craftsman of his level.

“A peace offering so we can be friends. Do you like it?”

“I like it very much. But why give this to me?”

“Does there need to be a reason? It’s just us, Lord Granada, and the Master. We’re going to be together for a long time.”

If that was her logic, he wasn’t going to complain. “Thank you.”

“Do you think Lord Granada will enjoy them?”

“He’ll probably lose his mind.”

“I thought so.”

She skipped away, heading down toward the basement to find the elf.

*She is a terrifying princess,* Roger thought. Most people would hoard such medicine out of greed. Sharing it so freely was unheard of. He felt his opinion of her rising.

Yet, as he finished the cookie, a strange feeling washed over him. It felt like he had just accepted a very dangerous bribe. A cold shiver traced its way down his spine.