Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

Bastian hastily led Simon and Katarina to the opposite end of the stronghold. The three of them took the long way there, doubling back a few streets before circling around, sticking to remote, abandoned alleyways. It was a necessary time loss to ensure they weren't spotted, yet the rebel's gritted teeth revealed what he thought of the delay.

May need to modify my plans if Medea is dead when we arrive, Simon mused. Should still be workable if I approach it from a different angle.

The back area of the stronghold was patrolled by just a single soldier. There were no entrances or doorways in view, and the lone guard looked so thoroughly bored that he was on the verge of falling asleep standing.

Identify revealed that he even regretted having missed the break-in earlier. He was secretly praying for more intruders to show so he could get in on the action this time.

Simon felt inclined to grant the man's wish. It shouldn't be difficult to silence him with a crossbow bolt before he could raise the alarm. Katarina wouldn't miss a stationary target.

However, they couldn't be certain how long it would take to locate Medea afterwards. If another guard came to relieve this one of his post, and found a dead body laying on the ground, then things would get complicated before Simon wanted them to get complicated. Even if they moved the body after sniping him, telltale bloodstains might get left behind.

Should we create a distraction? Draw the guard's attention elsewhere? But, hmm, there's no guarantee he would abandon his position, and we'd be putting everyone here on high alert. Perhaps–

A small rock flew through the air, clattering against the stronghold's wall. The guard sluggishly turned to investigate.

Bastian dashed forward in a burst of speed. Wicked steel flashed out. With surgical precision, he stabbed twice – once in the heart, next in the vocal cords.

It all transpired in three blinks of an eye. Wasting no movement, Bastian wiped and sheathed his longsword in the same motion. Both arms now free, he wrapped his quarry in a vice grip of iron, muscles tensing as he stifled the man's mouth with one hand and constructed his movement with the other.

The guard didn't die right away. People could endure for a painfully long time after suffering fatal wounds. Like a corpse who didn't yet know it, the man wildly thrashed about, a subdued gurgle raising up from within his ruined voice as he attempted to scream for help.

His energy was ill-spent. All he accomplished was prolonging his suffering.

Simon and Katarina watched, a bit mesmerized, as Bastian dragged the still-struggling guard over to their hiding spot. The instant they'd entered the shadows, the rebel suddenly jerked his arm sideways. His eyes were cold as a muted crack filled the alley.

The guard was unceremoniously tossed into the corner, neck twisted at a harsh angle.

No bloodstains on the ground near the stronghold, Simon realized. Bastian covered the wounds with his arms, soaked up the blood before it could spill.

A consummate professional. This wasn't the first time he'd made someone disappear with nary a trace.

Bastian hurriedly tossed trash and debris onto the unmoving guard, burying all evidence of his crime. While his attention was occupied, Katarina glanced over at Simon. She spoke no words, but the question on her face was plain: 'Are you sure about this dude?'

The transmigrator offered her a thumbs-up in reply. What was the big deal, really? It wasn't like the two of them hadn't lured and slaughtered a bandit in a dark alleyway just yesterday.

If anything, Bastian was in good company.

With the guard out of the way, they pressed onward. There wasn't a back door entrance on this side of the stronghold, but Bastian pointed at a window up on the fourth floor. That was their entryway – where it would hopefully put them close to where Medea was imprisoned.

Before Simon could ask if anyone had brought climbing tools, his eyes widened at the sight of Bastian scaling the smooth stone wall like a demented spider monkey. With his bare hands. Katarina promptly followed the rebel's lead, both of them finding seemingly-invisible handholds as they ascended upwards.

Level 14 and Level 15, each with infiltration expertise, he reminded himself. What would be improbable on Earth doesn't apply to people with magically-enhanced bodies.

Not to be outdone, Simon...mostly kept up with them. While Katarina and Bastian were old pros at this, the transmigrator hadn't climbed anything substantial in years. For reasons unknown to man, his parents had barred him from the activity after he'd used their rooftop – and a pile of useless leaves below – to experiment with his adrenaline response.

Thankfully, his higher Strength and Dexterity managed to compensate for his lack of experience. He still couldn't spot handholds as easily as his compatriots, but copying their patterns worked wonders. They made it up to the fourth floor in short order.

To Simon's surprise, Bastian effortlessly opened the window – which appeared to be locked tight and made of reinforced glass. A usage of Identify informed him that the window had been loosened by the rebel duo beforehand, just in case they chose to return later and double-dip on espionage.

And their tampering wasn't discovered? Not even after Helmund's guards captured a rebel and had cause to check the stronghold for sabotage? Feels too easy.

Simon said nothing. You never interrupted your enemy when they were making a mistake – and in this instance, that applied to both Bastian and the guardsmen.

The three of them climbed through the window, entering what looked like a cramped medieval filing room. Shabby wooden desk, multiple drawers overflowing with parchment...add an outdated desktop computer from the stone age, and you'd get your average Earth office cubicle.

Most importantly, no one was inside. Nor could they hear people walking in the hallway beyond.

For now, the coast was clear.

Bastian peered at the stacks of parchment for a brief moment, his eyes fiery with purpose. Whatever urge he'd felt was stamped out as he gestured for Simon and Katarina to follow, already advancing towards the doorway.

I'm guessing these info papers are what he and Medea came for. Simon contemplated stashing some of them in Inventory. He was extremely curious about what kind of intel had spurred the Hurricane to target this stronghold.

Unfortunately, Bastian would definitely notice a strange flash of blue light from behind. While he wouldn't pause a time-sensitive operation to inquire about the unique Skill, especially with the safety of his loved one still at risk, the rebel would start having...suspicions.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Better to avoid that. The surprise factor would work best if Bastian kept believing that Simon was merely a gullible rube who'd been duped into joining a Hurricane suicide mission.

They stepped through the doorway and into the corridor outside. It was deserted. Six doors in total were nearby, with more hallways to search around each corner. Everything was quiet – distressingly so.

As Bastian moved to open the first door in line, Simon grabbed his shoulder and held him back. The rebel whirled on him, his expression furious, but the transmigrator ignored him and focused his gaze. Can't hurt to try before we start barging into every room unannounced. Identify. Identify. Identify.

Identify...there we go.

Name: Fourth Door on the Fourth Floor
Description: A locked door. Located at a Caelryn City information repository owned by Duke Helmund. Bastian's imprisoned partner lies within this room.

Simon pointed at the door in question. Bastian's eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead. A wordless exchange passed between them.

'That room? Why?'

'Because I'm the best tracker you'll ever meet.'

This time Simon was the one who pushed forward, forcing Bastian to follow. Katarina immediately went to work on the door, pulling out a lockpick as her dextrous hands fiddled with the keyhole. She seemed perfectly calm and self-assured; much more at ease with burglary than the life-or-death battles they'd been embroiled in for the past few weeks.

After several short seconds – that the rebel spent nervously tapping his foot, his fingers twitching with anticipation – a soft click broke the silence. The door swung open with an even softer creak.

Bastian's gasp of horror was less soft.

In the middle of an otherwise empty room, an unconscious woman sat tied to a chair. She was tall, older than Simon or Katarina, roughly Bastian's age...

Although it was hard to tell with the layer of purple bruises plastering her face. Her long blonde hair was more red than yellow, caked with dried blood, some of which had dripped down and stained the floor beneath her. Gruesome, crisscrossing slashes were visible on her arms and legs, the kind that would leave scars even if given swift medical attention.

Yet none of that mattered when they could see the faint rise and fall of her chest.

Still breathing. Still alive.

Simon smiled. Despite his ulterior motives, he'd wished for this outcome as well.

Torn between joy, relief, fury, and self-loathing, Bastian shambled forward with an intensely complicated expression on his face. Simon and Katarina weren't far behind, the transmigrator casting Identify as they entered the room.

Name: Cyna Noname
Description: A warrior of moderate renown. Hates the nobility with the passion of a thousand undying suns. Loves the Hurricane and Bastian in equal, fierce measure. To her, trading her life to protect them both was the easiest decision in the world.
Estimated Level: 21

We got lucky, Simon thought. Cyna wouldn't have cracked and revealed any intel. Must have infuriated her captors. Yet she still has her fingers, limbs, eyes. Helmund's guards stuck to superficial wounds. Were likely building up to the maimings if she kept resisting them.

His arms twitched with phantom pain. At least Valtia doesn't have electrical clamps. Those are...decidedly unpleasant.

"Cyna," Bastian whispered, gently holding her face. "It's – it's me. You have to wake. We need to leave. I'll get you to a healer. You'll be fine. I swear on my life."

The rebel's professionalism was starting to crumble under an avalanche of pure emotion. He'd already forgotten to call her 'Medea'.

Katarina frowned at the slip-up, but still went to help release the woman from her bindings. Once Bastian composed himself, the three of them would need to carry Cyna out, return to the filing room, and find a way to descend from the window without injuring her further.

Then it would be home free.

Simon took another look around the barren, nondescript room they stood in. No windows. Fortified walls. Only one doorway in or out.

A smirk came to him. Now where have I seen this setup before?

As if possessed by a vengeful spirit, the exit door abruptly slammed shut.

Bastian and Katarina practically jumped out of their skin as a screeching alarm resounded throughout the stronghold. An ominous thunk echoed, the door automatically locking with heavier, stronger fortifications than before – the type that couldn't be picked.

"What's happening?" Katarina asked, her voice rapidly surging with panic. "Who sealed the door?"

"An Artifact, probably."

Unhurried and unbothered, Simon walked over to the closed-shut door, leaning against the wall beside it. "This was a trap. Medea was the bait. After...thirty seconds, give or take, guards will come streaming in here like a waterfall."

He shrugged. "How many soldiers did you mention were stationed here, Guy? We saw seven outside. Have to be dozens more in."

Bastian cursed so loudly that his voice rose above the cacophonous alarm. He whirled around with savage intent, violently kicking the door. It didn't budge.

"Won't work," Simon commented. "None of us have the strength to break through. Guards will open it soon anyway."

The rebel glared daggers at him. "Why. Are you. So calm?"

"Because all four of us are going to walk out of here alive."

Chuckling at Katarina and Bastian's blank-eyed stares, Simon put his ear to the door. Let's see...there. Footsteps. Our audience has arrived. Front row seats for Helmund's lapdogs.

He turned to face his fellow cast members. Out of the myriad possibilities he'd envisioned for this operation, this was close to ideal. A confined room, a desperate situation...

Yes. The stage had been set nicely.

Barrier. 200 MP, as a start.

A translucent shield covered the door.

By casting his spell, Simon's right arm naturally Shapeshifted to its Demonic form. What little light was in the room reflected against black skin-scales tipped by sharp silver claws.

Bastian's mouth dropped open. Realization gradually dawned on him, a soul-crushing blend of horror and dread. Disbelief was mixed in there as well, struggling fiercely to let him retain blissful ignorance.

Yet try as he might...he couldn't deny the sight displayed before his very eyes.

Simon offered him a beatific smile, waving his Demonic arm.

Showtime.