Chapter 109 Demonic Incursion
Chapter 109 Demonic Incursion
Then the world itself shifted into chaos.
War erupted in the south between kingdoms—but before the conflict could settle, a creature appeared. A humanoid figure cloaked in obsidian scales, armed with claws and horns, radiating a dark and terrible power. It descended upon two armies of demi-humans and annihilated them utterly before vanishing. Its sudden appearance sent a chill down the spines of all who heard the tale. Some dismissed it as rumor, but unease spread quickly across the continent.
Soon after, grim tidings arrived from the far north, near the holy mountain—a colossal peak that seemed to pierce the heavens, long serving as the natural barrier between the known continent and the demon lands. The fortresses that guarded either side of that immense mountain had fallen overnight, overrun by monsters steeped in the same foul energy.
Reports grew darker still: demons, long thought to be mere myth, had returned to the world. Their vile minions multiplied without end, overwhelming the strongholds to both the east and the west.
King Alden gathered his full court in the grand hall. His sons, Garron and Darragh, stood beside him, with his personal guards at their backs. His voice thundered through the chamber:
“I want every warrior ready to join the counterattack!”
He struck the golden butt of his spear against the stone floor. The sound cracked like thunder.
“The Royal Arch-Summoner, Vitka, has sent word from the north. The sightings are true—the demons walk once more upon this earth!”
“How can that be?” voices cried out in shock.
“That woman,” Alden declared, addressing all. “She fought one. Her letter claimed she was forced to flee the creature.”
The hall erupted in gasps—disbelief and dread rippling through the crowd. A chilling weight pressed into every chest. If even Vitka, the Royal Arch-Summoner, the kingdom’s greatest magician, had been forced to flee… what hope remained?
Then, to the astonishment of all, the king called another forward.
Agnes.
She was forty-five now, though she looked scarcely older than twenty. As she stepped into the light of the hall, her hood slipped back, golden hair spilling loose around her shoulders. Kneeling before the throne, she felt hundreds of eyes fixed upon her—heavy, sharp, relentless.
Alden rose, raising his golden spear high before leveling its point at her. His voice rolled like thunder:
“I, Alden Mor, King of Men and Conqueror of Uruk, acknowledge you as my daughter—Princess Agnes Mor.”
A ripple of shock swept through the court.
With her hood cast aside, her beauty shone openly—luminous, almost otherworldly. Whispers stirred, hushed yet cutting:
“Such beauty… almost elven.”
“Where did she come from?”
“Why was she hidden? If she’s acknowledged now… she must be capable.”
“Her face—it’s not like the other royal children…”
“Could she be one of them? A cursed child?”
Though her ears remained hidden beneath her hair, suspicion had already taken root. Agnes felt their stares like knives pressing into her skin, yet she did not falter. She remained kneeling on the cold stone floor, her eyes shimmering with tears—not from shame or fear, but from the weight of the moment. After so many years of being overlooked, her father had finally spoken her name aloud, acknowledging her as his daughter.
“Silence!” Alden’s roar shook the chamber. Flames of raw energy burst from his body, wreathing him in terrible light. Every tongue stilled, and every noble lowered their gaze.
The king’s eyes swept the room, daring any to speak.
“We march to the frontlines. This war demands the strength of every kingdom—every race. We must unite, or we will fall. While I am gone, Agnes will rule in my stead.” His gaze locked on her, sharp as a blade. “Her master, Vitka, has vouched for her wisdom and power. Do not disappoint me.”
He turned to his right.
“Joseph. You will remain here as her second in command. Gather a guard of young knights and mages—you will protect the kingdom in my absence.”
A man in dark brown armor stepped forward, bowing first to the king, then lowering himself deeply before Agnes.
“Princess Agnes,” he said solemnly, his voice heavy with respect.
She recognized him—Joseph, once a young knight at her father’s side, now a seasoned warrior. He had always treated her with courtesy, even when others had not.
And just like that, the king, his army, and his nobles—all the kingdom’s might—launched a counterattack. The elves, dwarves, lizardfolk, and catfolk rallied beside them, demi-humans setting aside their grudges to stand as one. Together they broke the first wave of demonic minions and reclaimed the two fortresses. A final barrier rose at the northern edge of the continent, a wall of steel and sorcery against the encroaching dark.
Meanwhile—
Even in the shadow of war, Agnes felt as if she were floating, her body buzzing with static. For the first time in her life, she felt acknowledged by her father and the people. She was no longer a phantom.
She was moved into a new chamber—larger, adorned with a canopy bed, polished furniture, and elegant silks. Within the wardrobes hung fine dresses fit for a true princess.
When she chose a simple yet beautiful white gown, her two newly assigned maids, Carla and Diana, helped her into it.
“It suits you, Princess,” Carla said softly, adjusting the sleeves.
Diana’s eyes widened in awe. “Your beauty is immense, Your Highness. I don’t think any of the king’s wives or concubines—nor even the wives of his sons—could ever compare.” She quickly covered her mouth, realizing she had spoken too boldly.
Agnes, however, felt no satisfaction. Praise, beauty, titles—none of it was enough. With no one to challenge her decisions for the time being, her thoughts turned inward, restless and sharp.
Her mind circled back to what she still lacked.
If I am cursed to bear no child of this realm… then perhaps my only hope lies beyond it.
She clenched her hands at her side.
Agnes behaved impeccably as regent, doing her best to manage her duties: assigning knights, directing servants, sending supplies to the front, answering letters from nobles and merchants. Yet as the war dragged on, the kingdom’s resources dwindled. She worked with what little remained, but her heart was fixed on one thing—the ancient book.
One night, hunched over its pages, the decision crystallized.
I will do it now.
But nothing happened. She had poured magic into her green stone for years; it was heavy with stored power. Yet the parchment her master had prepared, etched with intricate markings, remained inert.
Frustration gripped her—until a memory struck. Vitka’s words:
“...It will require great power… and the right place for the door...”
Suddenly, the air itself crackled with magic. A violent tremor shook the castle. Agnes staggered to her feet, heart racing, as heavy footsteps thundered through the halls.
“What’s going on? Was that my doing?” she whispered, staring at the parchment in her hand.
A knight burst in, breathless. “Your Highness! Demons—they’ve breached the castle!”
Agnes froze.
Have the allied nations… has Father failed?
At that moment, the parchment in her grasp flared with light, activating on its own.
How…?
Before she could react, guttural growls slithered into the chamber. From the shadows, twisted creatures—winged imps with jagged claws—swooped toward her and the guards.
Agnes’s pulse quickened. She raised her hand.
“Aqua! Come to me!”
The air swirled, and her water spirit materialized—taking the form of a naked woman made entirely of flowing water, her features eerily similar to Agnes’s own. Energy pulsed through the chamber as Aqua hurled a jet of water, striking goblins and imps from the air.
But then—a chill pricked her spine. A blade slashed down from behind. Agnes barely twisted aside as the very knight who had warned her of demons suddenly struck at her.
“Why—!?” she gasped.
Hatred twisted his face. His voice dripped venom.
“A cursed creature like you should not exist. This is your doing! You’ll drag this kingdom to ruin!”
The words cut deeper than his blade. Agnes’s eyes widened in shock, but she had no time to reply.
“Die, abomination!” he spat, driving his sword down again.
She thrust her hand forward. “Aqua!”
The spirit obeyed instantly, unleashing a crushing torrent of water that hurled the knight across the chamber. He slammed into the wall, groaning in pain.
From the corner, one of the wounded goblins lunged—its jagged dagger plunging deep into the knight’s chest.
His eyes bulged with disbelief. Blood bubbled at his lips. He tried to curse her again, but his words drowned in a gurgle. With a final shudder, he collapsed to the floor, lifeless.
Agnes clutched her bleeding arm, trembling. Rage, fear, and sorrow tangled in her chest.
“It’s not my fault… isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice raw.
With a sweeping motion, Aqua finished off the remaining imps, scattering them into bloody corpses.
Yet the castle still trembled with chaos.
“Just what is happening…?” Agnes breathed, her gaze snapping back to the parchment glowing ominously in her hand.
She bolted into the halls.
There—hulking shapes blocked her path. Piglike monsters, taller than men, bloated and foul, tusks gleaming as they lumbered toward her.
Damn it… There’s no room here. I can’t summon Rhogan or Orn in these cramped halls.
The beasts roared, advancing. Then—voices cut through the clash.
“Your Highness, are you safe?!”
A group of knights appeared from the rear, swords drawn. Without hesitation, they charged, blades flashing against the creatures’ fat, leathery hides.
The orcs snarled, tusks bared, swinging crude clubs with bone-crushing force. The knights fought bravely, but these were the young, the inexperienced, and the weak—those left behind when the army marched. None of them had the proper leben.
“Argh!” The men cried out as the clubs struck, injuries piling up. Still, they held their ground.
Agnes raised her hand. “Aqua!”
Her spirit obeyed, unleashing jets of water that slashed across the beasts, leaving shallow wounds. Aqua’s arms elongated, transforming into coiling tentacles of water that wrapped around the orcs, restraining them. Bound and exposed, the monsters fell one by one beneath the knights’ blades.
When the last beast collapsed, the knights turned to her. Seeing the princess in action, they dropped to one knee in awe and respect.
“Your Highness.”
Aqua lingered at her side, releasing a soft mist that drifted over the men—and over Agnes herself—closing their wounds with a gentle glow.
“Sir John, Sir Thomas, Sir Lucius,” Agnes said firmly, her voice steady despite the chaos. “Keep moving. We must join the others.”
“Yes, Princess!” the knights answered, their spirits surging with pride. The fact that she knew each of their names filled them with renewed strength as they rose quickly to follow her lead.
Together, they pressed down the halls, striking down more lesser demons—goblins and twisted imps—driving them back step by step. Along the way, they found terrified servants huddled in corners and even Jonas, the healer-mage who had remained behind when the army marched.
Agnes commanded them with sharp efficiency, directing servants to safety and urging the knights forward. Aqua’s tentacle whipped like a liquid lash, smashing a goblin against the wall as the group advanced.
Then—Agnes froze.
Her hand slipped inside her gown. The parchment glowed brighter than ever, pulsing with an eerie light against her chest.
Her heart pounded.
Why is it getting brighter? Is it because of the demons? Could the champions appear here—now?
Her mind raced as the walls shook again with distant crashes and screams, urging her and her group to push forward.