Chapter 245: The Blooming Flower of Malice (2)

The demon in the form of a woman was the first to speak. “Our slaves are working hard on the surface right now.”

When she spoke of

slaves

, she meant the dark mages—those who had offered up their souls and bodies to the demons, serving as pawns on earth. These dark mages, under demonic direction, had been unleashed across many corners of the world, spreading chaos and enacting their masters’ will.

“There are some regions with issues, but overall, things aren’t bad. We lose some here and there, but the losses are made up elsewhere. The plan’s still on track. How about your end?” she asked, turning to the mechanical demon. “The offerings for the Demon King... Are you collecting them as needed?”

“Collection is ongoing. We are still short on certain sacrifices, but steadily gathering more. No significant setbacks,” the mechanical demon replied. The demon’s voice came out metallic and cold, its body’s components clicking softly.

“Good. That’s what I like to hear,” the woman replied, lips curling in satisfaction. Then she looked to the rippling, shapeless being. “And you? How are things progressing?”

“I am working to corrupt the faithful and the aristocrats. With my influence, two kingdoms and one religious order have been pushed to the brink of civil war, all by manipulating their leaders behind the scenes,” the formless demon replied.

“Did you actually destroy any of them?”

“It’s not that easy. Even if the gods’ oracles are erratic lately, as long as they interfere and warn their chosen, we can only do so much. Worse, the Tower Master is getting in the way.”

The others nodded in understanding. The Tower Master, the greatest mage alive, was a legendary figure. Even the lords of hell had kept track of his movements and influence for ages.

“You mean the one who gave up his humanity?” the woman asked the formless demon with a wry smile.

“Yes. He keeps stepping in just as things are about to spiral out of control. If it weren’t for him, I would have already toppled three kingdoms and four churches.”

“He’s a thorn in our side,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe we should kill him first?”

“Not so simple. He’s strong... Far too strong.”

There was a weight behind those words. The Tower Master’s power was the stuff of legend, even among demons. He had slain Elder Dragons with his own hands. His sorcery could shatter mountains. To send enough demonic might to overcome him would require the world itself to be much further along the path of destruction, its defenses weakened by corruption and cracks.

“We don’t have enough cracks in the world for that yet,” the mechanical demon confirmed.

“He’s still a nuisance.”

“Not to the point of being a fatal threat. No matter how strong he is, he can’t stop everything,” the formless demon explained.

The woman grunted, then turned her attention to the gaunt, pale-skinned demon who’d been mostly silent so far.

“And what about you?” she asked him.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he replied, voice dry and distant. He idly ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword, eyes half-lidded. “I only seek to perfect my blade.”

“You’re hopeless,” the woman sighed, rolling her eyes. “You really intend to just sit around, sharpening your sword and doing nothing else? Don’t you have any opinions about all this?”

He paused, pondering for a moment, then finally asked her, “That barbarian... what exactly is he?”

The others turned their attention to him, as if surprised by the question.

“That’s a question you should ask our friend over there,” the woman said, gesturing toward the formless one. Of all those present, only the amorphous demon kept complete and constant watch over the Mortal Realm.

“There is a single barbarian on the Mortal Realm. His name is Ketal,” the formless demon said.

“He’s causing us trouble?” the thin demon asked it.

“More than anyone. He’s meddled in our plans time and time again.”

“Hm.” The thin demon’s lips curved in faint interest. “What sort of interference?”

The formless demon began to explain, its voice echoing in the chamber.

The first time the demons had noticed Ketal had been at the Barcan Estate, when the named demon Ashetiaar had descended quietly. By their original plan, Ashetiaar should have consumed the entire village, then spread her blight throughout the estate and beyond—perhaps even swallowing up a whole kingdom, plunging the continent into chaos. Such an act would have been both a warning to the world and a declaration of the demons’ return. Not even the intervention of the gods’ chosen, like Aquaz, should have changed things. In a world without Ketal, their plan would have gone off without a hitch.

However, Ketal had appeared. He had destroyed the first steps of their plot, shattered their hold, and resisted even the mark of damnation they had tried to brand into his flesh.

“Then came the Denian Kingdom,” the formless demon continued.

They had attempted to drag the High Elf Arkemis into Hell, intending to use her as a vital sacrifice. Ketal had interfered there too, saving her and thwarting another scheme.

“That was because of him?” the woman murmured, as if connecting the dots for the first time.

“We still haven’t captured the High Elf. At this rate, we might need a different sacrifice,” the mechanical demon interjected, its tone one of mild annoyance.

“Next was Kalosia’s holy land.”

“What? He ruined that as well?” the woman demon said, annoyed.

The demons had sought to consume Kalosia’s holy land, erasing the influence of its god from the world, transforming it into a new stronghold of evil. They had invested considerable effort and planning into this assault, and came close to victory.

Once again, Ketal was there. He had broken their momentum, shattered their preparations, and sent them scattering.

“Then, most recently, the elven sacred ground,” the formless one continued.

Here, the demons had aimed to steal a branch of the World Tree, an artifact essential to their plans. This time, at least, they had succeeded, but only just. Had circumstances been even slightly different, even that might have failed.

When the story ended, the woman stared in disbelief.

“If you add it all up, he’s the single most troublesome mortal on the entire Mortal Realm, isn’t he?” She spoke with awe and frustration.

One man, a mere human, had interfered with their schemes not once, not twice, but four times.

Worse than the Tower Master, even,

the woman thought. “So why haven’t there been any prophecies about him?”

Revelations were not exclusive to the gods. The Demon King, too, sent visions to his followers, guiding their actions with cryptic warnings and commands. If Ketal was truly such a threat, there should have been some mention of him in these revelations.

The formless demon provided the answer, “Because he is a being of one of the Demon Realms.”

“A Demon Realm?” The others reacted, surprised.

“Yes. The last demons to descend confirmed it. That barbarian is undoubtedly of the Demon Realm,” the formless one continued.

“Haven’t those demons gone mad?” the woman asked it, recalling the trio of demons who had attacked the elven sacred ground, only to have their minds shattered by Karin.

“They were broken, yes. We extracted the information by force. They didn’t survive the process.”

Even the loss of several of their strongest agents elicited no visible reaction among the four. They were used to casualties.

“So he’s really a being of the Demon Realm?”

“Without doubt.”

The woman let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “So, the form of a barbarian... I’m assuming he’s one of the traitors?”

“That seems likely,” the formless demon answered.

She leaned back in her chair, contemplative. They had long known that the seals on the Demon Realms were weakening, that the inhabitants would one day be free again. However, it was still unsettling to see such beings moving openly.

“But then why is he helping the Mortal Realm? Weren’t those beings the enemies of all creation?” she asked it. There was a hint of disbelief in her voice.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s been captivated by the Mortal Realm, or maybe he values personal bonds and attachments. It’s irritating,” the formless one answered.

“Personal bonds? The Oldest Ones care about personal bonds?” She made a face, as if the very concept offended her sense of reality. “Does that make him an ally of the gods, then?”

“Not likely. I’m sure you all know Ferderica tried and failed to kill him just now,” the formless one replied.

“We felt it ourselves. No one could miss it.”

“And my information confirms that it was indeed the barbarian who drew Ferderica’s wrath.”

“Is he really that strong?” she asked it.

If a god had tried and failed to kill him, then the threat Ketal posed was far greater than they had suspected.

“Unclear. Even we don’t know what happened within that place. We have little information about the White Snowfield, and my memories hold nothing about that barbarian. He must have been born within that prison, achieved something inside it, and found his own way out. The breaking of the Demon Realm’s seal was a surprise to us all,” the formless one answered.

“So he’s strong, at the very least.”

“If a god opened the gates of heaven and failed to kill him, then yes, he’s strong. But...” The shapeless demon hesitated.

“But what?”

“He has a flaw.”

The room stilled. The notion that such a being could have a weakness was tantalizing.

“He can’t destroy demons. He can’t even banish them,” the formless demon replied.

“What?” The thin demon’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“You mean the strongest of the Oldest Ones can’t even hurt us?”

“I don’t know if it’s a matter of will or capability, but he couldn’t affect a demon’s body. In the end, the High Elf Queen was the one who finished them off.”

“That is interesting,” the woman mused.

“So he fights gods but isn’t on their side, walks the Mortal Realm, and can’t, or won’t, destroy us. But why is he wandering the world?”

“Unknown. I can’t comprehend it. Even his actions against us weren’t motivated by hostility. It seemed to be more a matter of curiosity.”

“He fights us out of curiosity? That’s... absurd.” She laughed softly, a low, unsettling sound.

The thin demon finally spoke again. “Can we recruit him? Bring him to our side?”

It was a bold question. If such a power could be turned to their cause, the consequences would be incalculable.

The formless demon fell silent, considering. “It’s impossible to say. It might be possible, but the risks are enormous. We have no idea what he truly wants.”

“Hm.” The woman’s eyes gleamed with dangerous interest.

The barbarian was a being of the Demon Realm, strong enough to rival the gods, yet capable of reason and dialogue, not mindless or lost in madness. She wondered what sort of monstrous, miraculous offspring might result if she could secure his seed. The mere possibility made her shiver with anticipation.

The formless demon seemed to read her thoughts and cautioned her, “[I know what you’re thinking, but for now, he’s an unknown quantity. I know this is your natural desire, but please, hold back, at least until the Demon King descends.”

“I know. I know,” she replied, feigning innocence. “What matters most is the Demon King’s coming. Until then, I’ll behave.”

She changed the topic with practiced ease.

“So how are things progressing otherwise?”

“Not bad. The cracks are widening. Our plans to consume the surface proceed smoothly.”

They had failed to take Kalosia’s holy land, but now, they had succeeded elsewhere.

“We’ve consumed the holy land of another god. Soon, the flower will bloom.”

“Excellent news,” the woman replied. The meeting began to wind down. She rose to her feet, her elegant dress swirling, and licked her lips as if already savoring some future delight.

“Well then, I suppose this concludes our meeting. Time to return to our tasks.”

***

While these ominous plans unfolded in Hell, Ketal lay sprawled among the shattered ruins above. He let out a sigh. He realized boredom was creeping in.

Not true boredom, of course—not with the whole fantasy world spread out before him, every moment crackling with possibilities. However, after meeting a god and fighting them directly, after experiencing such a rush, a lull was inevitable.

No, that’s not fair,

he thought. He could not call himself bored now that his greatest wish had come true. He shook his head and chastised himself for even thinking such a thing.

I should be turning my attention to Myst now.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore; he could feel, deep within, that it was becoming a necessity. To fight a dragon, to face a god, to contend with beings that could interfere with his very body—such adversaries required new power. Once, his physical prowess alone had been enough, but not anymore. If he could learn to properly wield Myst, he might finally be able to resist such interference.

Perhaps it’s time to return to the Denian Kingdom,

he thought. He sat up, only for Riltara to approach him.

“Ketal. You’re still here,” she said, eyeing him warily. Then she frowned. Your arm is... healed.”

When she had last seen him, one of his arms had been mangled beyond recognition, veins ruptured, muscles torn. It should have taken months to recover.

“It heals quickly,” Ketal replied, as if it were nothing.

Riltara let it go. There was no point in questioning someone who had fought and survived a god.

“Did you come here to tell me to leave the holy land? Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before the day’s out,” he said.

Riltara shook her head. “That’s not necessary. Someone’s come to see you.”

“To see me? Why?”

“Most likely to help. News spread quickly that you were trapped here. Many sent messages of regret. And now, someone has arrived in person.”

Ketal clicked his tongue. “A bit late for that.”

Riltara smiled wryly. “Yes, it’s all meaningless now.”

The visitor would see only ruin—a broken holy land, shattered beyond recognition.

“He said he will arrive by day’s end. I think you should meet him. Of course, you’re free to leave if you prefer. I can’t force you to do anything,” Riltara said.

Ketal shrugged. “No trouble. Who is it?”

“The Mercenary King. Bloodedge.”

“Ah! Bloodedge... It’s been a while.” Ketal’s face lit up at the name, memories stirring.