Chapter 823

Chapter 823
In the center of the Demonic Realm rose a monolithic metropolis. This was the sanctuary of the Salvation Order.

The architecture of this city stood in stark contrast to the traditional designs of the continent. Having existed in isolation from the rest of humankind for eons, the Salvation Order had cultivated a unique and insular culture. Against the backdrop of the swirling, dark energies that pulsed in the firmament, the city radiated an unsettling and macabre aura.

At this moment, the streets were hollow. Every inhabitant, from the youngest children to the elderly, had been conscripted for the struggle. They were born into a culture of zealotry, viewing the act of dying for their deity as a natural obligation. Consequently, the vast majority perished in the conflict; those few who remained had scattered into the shadows following their sovereign’s decree.

An immense platform served as the city’s focal point. Legend maintained that the remains of the Demon God were entombed beneath this massive altar. It was a widely held belief across the lands that the miasma leaking from those remains had birthed the Demonic Realm, and that the lingering malice of the fallen god exerted a constant pressure on the world to bend to his dark ambitions.

Arterion surveyed the sacrificial site, a thin smile of contentment touching his lips.

“The time has come to finally lock away this cursed domain.”

Even at the time of his birth, the world was locked in combat with the Demonic Realm. The Dragon Lord of the era before him, and the one before that, had faced the same endless struggle. No one truly remembered the origin of the feud; it had simply always been. Throughout history, civilizations had crumbled into dust only to be rebuilt upon their own remains. Had the dragons not preserved the ancient wisdom of previous ages, humanity would have likely vanished long ago.

The conflict against the Demonic Realm had always been a grueling war of attrition. By comparison, this specific campaign had been won with surprising efficiency.

“We owe much to the Saintess and the Hero. And to those young novices who fought at their side.”

Arterion shuddered at the alternative. Had they been absent, humanity would have been defenseless against the Adversary and the Apostles. Even the dragons might have faced extinction, such was the overwhelming power of the Adversary.

“It feels like only yesterday I was honing my skills in the Frozen Wastes… and yet, the years have slipped away.”

Arterion closed his eyes, offering a slow nod. Despite his immense lifespan, he looked back on those formative days with a certain fondness.

“Astion… in truth, he was the one who truly stood out.”

The man had never flinched in the presence of a dragon; he guided his comrades with a steady hand and achieved every goal he set for himself. It was his presence that allowed the Hero’s group to reach such heights. While the common folk might remain ignorant of it, one could argue that Astion was the vital pivot upon which this victory turned.

“And yet, there is something peculiar.”

Arterion narrowed his gaze, whispering to himself.

“When the Adversary surfaced and I encountered him again… he wasn’t the man I remembered. What occurred during that confrontation with the Pope?”

He had received an account from Derknain, who had been present for that clash. As anticipated, Astion had been instrumental. Even with the Saintess’s involvement, the Adversary would not have fallen without his contributions. However, when Arterion finally saw Astion again, the change was jarring.

“He seemed like a different soul entirely. The presence he projected had diminished, and that pervasive scent of slaughter that seemed woven into his very spirit had vanished. Did the Adversary employ some trickery against him?”

The darkness wielded by the Adversary was capable of infiltrating its foes. Through his own battles, Arterion had come to realize that this shadows was more than just raw power; it was a hungry void that consumed its host, much like the priests of the Salvation Order who were lost to the Demon God’s whims. He couldn’t help but feel a lingering distrust toward an Astion who had emerged so fundamentally altered.

“Hmph… then again, he spent the next decade fighting with a ferocity that contradicts such a theory. Furthermore, his tactical brilliance was what kept the Demonic Realm on the defensive throughout the war.”

A man possessed by the Adversary would not have labored so tirelessly for the light; he would have turned his blade at the turning point. Since the coalition of men had triumphed and the Adversary was no more, Astion’s transformation remained a mystery.

Arterion emerged from his reverie, his eyes turning frigid.

“No matter… the conflict has reached its conclusion.”

He had several contingencies in mind and would react as the environment dictated. As he waited by the altar, a small procession began to approach. Only a select few were permitted to attend, as the ritual of sealing required absolute precision. At the Dragon Lord’s command, each faction had sent only their most essential representatives.

Julien and Deneb arrived with the elite inner circle of the Julien Mercenary Corps. This included Astion and Lionel, along with Tyron and Osvald, supported by fifty of their most formidable warriors. Iralniel was accompanied by five elven elders and ten kin, while Grondal brought three dwarven leaders and twenty soldiers. Many of the original elven and dwarven commanders had perished in the war; those present were the new generation who had recently achieved superhuman status.

Finally, Porisco the Pope arrived, flanked by six cardinals and a hundred of the Empire’s most devout priests and knights. Though they were all allies, the uncertainty of the altar’s power meant everyone had brought their strongest guardians as a safety measure.

Astion’s perspective, however, was clouded with suspicion.

“If anything looks even slightly off, we pull back.”

To him, this ritual was more critical than the war itself. Ghislain had warned him that Julien and Deneb were lost during the sealing of the Demonic Realm in another life. He didn’t know if the ritual itself killed them, or if they were victims of some other treachery during the process. Perhaps Julien fell in battle, or perhaps some unseen variable claimed them both. This ambiguity forced Astion to be hyper-vigilant.

“I’ve briefed the others, but still…”

The mercenaries behind Astion were visibly on edge. If the ritual turned lethal and Astion tried to intervene, the dragons might stand in his way. Should that happen, the mercenaries were prepared to die to ensure Deneb’s safety. Such a confrontation would lead to a bloody stalemate with the dragons, a situation unlikely to be solved with words.

“It will be okay—Lady Iralniel and Lord Grondal are with us.”

While the Empire’s loyalty was fickle and they might allow Julien or Deneb to fall if it served their interests, the elves and dwarves were staunch allies of the Julien Mercenary Corps. Thanks to the mercenaries, the elven woods and Vallscrum had been saved from ruin. Iralniel and Grondal were honorable leaders who would not stand for foul play.

“Arterion… I hope you aren’t planning something deceptive.”

Ultimately, the dragons were the greatest variable. Astion prayed they wouldn’t try to force the seal at any cost. Julien and Deneb were equally anxious; they too had been warned of their potential fate. Ghislain had pushed them to reach levels of power far beyond their past selves so they could survive any coming storm. Yet, they couldn’t be sure if it was enough.

Julien stepped forward, his expression grim as he addressed Arterion.

“I am aware the Sacred Stone is vital and that Deneb’s power is required to channel it. However, if her life is put in jeopardy, you must halt the process immediately. We will find another way.”

“Rest easy. The danger is not as great as you imagine. If everything proceeds as planned, no harm shall come to anyone.”

Arterion’s tone was polite, but his smile did nothing to soothe Julien’s nerves. Only the Dragon Lord truly understood the mechanics of the seal.

In the heavy silence, Arterion began to speak.

“Binding the Demonic Realm is actually quite simple. We possess the Sacred Stone, and we have a Saintess capable of awakening its potential.”

He looked at the gathered leaders before continuing.

“In the ancient past—so far back that it is considered myth even among my kind—there was a cataclysmic war between the Goddesses and the Demon God. You all know the tale.”

“The Goddesses were victorious, as is right for the guardians of this world. But the Demon God was a being of terrifying power. Even as he lost his strength while tearing a hole between worlds, he managed to destroy the physical forms of the Goddesses.”

“The spirit of the Demon God retreated into the cosmos. However, his physical shell remained, casting a shadow upon the land and bleeding his corruption into the world.”

Arterion gestured to the space beneath the platform.

“It is whispered that in the infinite pit beneath this altar, the corpse of the Demon God rests. No living soul has ever verified this.”

He raised a hand toward the sky.

“But witness this. The energy of the Demon God pours out from this spot without end. Even now, it spreads, threatening to consume all existence.”

“This gloom is visible only within these borders. Beyond the Demonic Realm, it cannot be seen. Yet you all know its influence has reached every corner of the world. It is why those seduced by his will are drawn here.”

“What you do not know is that there were several past attempts to stem this tide. These are records known only to the dragons.”

Arterion turned his gaze toward Deneb and smiled.

“You are hailed as the first Saintess, but that is a fallacy. The world has forgotten, but our archives tell of another who came before you.”

“…”

Deneb’s eyes widened in shock. Why mention this only now? This wasn’t a secret that should have been kept. Knowing why a previous Saintess failed could have been vital for their current mission. Julien’s hand moved to the pommel of his blade, sensing a shift in the air. Astion, too, began to circulate his mana.

Ignoring their growing hostility, Arterion continued.

“I did not witness it myself; I only know what was written in the secret scrolls. It was through those texts that I learned the realm could indeed be bound.”

“But the stars must align. A Saintess does not appear in every generation. Perhaps others have existed throughout the centuries, only to perish in obscurity.”

“She might have been born in a time of peace, or died before her gifts manifested. That our current Saintess survived and realized her potential is a stroke of incredible luck, wouldn’t you agree?”

Deneb gave a slight, hesitant nod. Without her companions, she would have likely remained an unimportant priestess in a backwater village, or succumbed to the harshness of the world. Her survival was a testament to her friends’ protection.

Arterion looked at Deneb again, his eyes shining with a disturbing fervor.

“When I learned of your emergence, I felt hope, but also a great deal of anxiety. Sealing this place is the burden of the dragons, and it is a task of immense difficulty.”

His eyes drifted toward Julien, Astion, Lionel, and the rest of the mercenaries.

“But seeing your companions, I knew success was possible this time. Even though the Saintess of old failed.”

“…”

Deneb was lost in confusion. Why would her friends be the deciding factor? Why did her predecessor fail? The logic escaped her.

But Arterion’s next words made his intent chillingly clear. He wore a predatory grin.

“The Saintess of that forgotten age lacked what you possess. She had no true companions, no kin, no one she held dear. Simply put, she had no vulnerabilities to exploit.”

“…”

A cold shiver raced down Deneb’s spine. The atmosphere turned suffocating as the realization hit everyone present.

Pointing toward the altar, Arterion spoke directly to Deneb.

“Saintess, your contribution to this victory is immeasurable. The dragons hold you in the highest regard. And because of that…”

His eyes burned with a terrifying intensity.

“For the salvation of the world, you must offer yourself as the final sacrifice.”

The moment the sentence ended, Julien’s sword cleared its sheath with a ring of steel.