Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

The rest of the day was spent pleasantly enough. Cyna kept trying to slyly coax information out of Simon. In return, he would give cryptic hints that didn't amount to anything.

Eventually it became a sort of game, with her cheerfully over-analyzing his every word, and him playing coy as if he didn't realize what she was doing. Good times were had by all.

Well, except for Bastian and Katarina. Bastian was growing increasingly nervous the longer Simon and Cyna interacted. He did a decent job of hiding his apprehension, but it was still apparent that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop – for the moment when the transmigrator's veneer of civility would crumble to reveal a cruel, merciless Demon underneath.

The fact that the moment never came just seemed to make him more nervous.

As for Kat? She simply didn't like the rebel pair, giving them a cold shoulder that was so frosty you could have chilled ice around her. Simon wasn't sure why, but he figured the Arcane Rogue would talk about it when she was ready – and probably soon. She wasn't the type of person who let grievances stay unaired for long.

Hours passed. The clamor outside was still going strong, indicating that their group would be stuck in the safehouse for at least several days. It wasn't a great time to be out-of-towners in Caelryn City; Helmund's soldiers would be on the lookout for anyone remotely suspicious.

Simon was already starting to go a bit stir crazy, feeling compelled to head out and make progress, but he kept the itch at bay by reminding himself that he couldn't help Valtia if he was dead. Getting caught by guards for no reason would be an ignominious end to his journey.

Instead, he preoccupied himself with allocating his Unspent Stat Points. Despite what Kat believed, he subscribed to the notion that it was better to spend them before combat arose.

Strength: 37 → 39
Dexterity: 35 → 39
Vitality: 35 → 39
Intelligence: 49 → 54

A balanced distribution with Intelligence one tier above. The accompanying surge of power instilled Simon with a brief glimmer of excitement...until he remembered that he couldn't go hunting yet.

Then it was back to waiting.

Dusk fell. Cyna was the first to turn in for the night. While the back-alley healer had done fine work, healing magic often left the patient feeling utterly wiped out, even for moderate injuries. She was still struggling to stand for long periods of time, although she was confident that she'd be back to peak condition by tomorrow.

I've never experienced that kind of exhaustion after regenerating from Transmigrator's Body, thought Simon. Is that because it's a unique Trait? Or would I not feel tired from spell-based healing, either?

He had an inkling it was the latter. As a transmigrator, his body was fundamentally abnormal. His flesh and blood were more decorative than necessary – as evidenced by how he was able to keep moving after the Ravenous Wanderer snapped his spine like a twig. HP governed his healthiness in a way that defied natural biology.

For an ordinary person, undergoing magical healing would be a complex process of their body knitting itself back together. For Simon, it would be as easy as making a number on his Character Sheet go up.

Bastian followed Cyna into their shared room, lending her a shoulder to walk on as they closed the door behind them. Simon took the opportunity to meet with Kat and create a rudimentary system of hand signals with her.

The Arcane Rogue had been right when she said it was bad form to leave her out of his plans for Bastian. It was only fair that they establish a method of communication for when they couldn't speak verbally to each other. He would've taught her Earth sign language, but he didn't know any of it himself, so they would just have to invent an appropriate substitute.

By the end of their meeting, they'd devised enough hand signals to cover all of the common situations he could envision, as well as a few edge cases on the side. Katarina seemed pleased for some reason, going off to bed with a spring in her step.

Which left Simon alone. By himself. In his own mind.

With nothing distracting him from getting ideas.

--

It should have worked, and he stood by that sentiment.

Fact 1: Transmigrator's Body meant that any injuries he suffered were immaterial. As long as he had more than 0 HP, he would live and return to full health after a good night's sleep.

Fact 2: Due to his new Remote Detachment ability, he could telepathically control his right arm after it had been cut off.

Hypothesis: Infinite supply of controllable arms.

The plan was simple. Before he went to sleep, Simon would cut off his own arm and leave it where it lay. Transmigrator's Body would then regenerate his body as he slumbered. When he awoke, his stump would have regrown into a brand new limb...

With his severed right arm still resting on the ground. Which meant two limbs controllable through Remote Detachment.

As a start.

Best of all, he could repeat the process over and over, adding to the pile one-by-one. His only constraint was needing to sleep for a solid chunk of time. But even if he was limited to just one arm per day, given time, he could create a veritable army of Demonic limbs. An arm-y!

Sadly, it was not meant to be. When Simon woke up the next day, his severed arm had disappeared entirely. Either the system was intentionally blocking his exploit, or Transmigrator's Body naturally 'cleaned up after itself', and he merely hadn't noticed until now.

Having access to wondrous, life-changing abilities had felt so frustrating.

He expressed his disappointment to Katarina later that morning, describing his arm-y plan in laborious detail. She stared at him for several moments, shook her head, and promptly walked away.

No matter. There were still two more ideas to test.

Remote Detachment, Simon thought, activating the Skill. His right arm Shapeshifted and plopped to the ground, standing at attention on its fingertips as it awaited his orders. I wonder...with its claws and heightened Strength, can my Demon arm climb up walls?

As he soon discovered, the answer was yes.

Katarina and Cyna were both in their respective rooms, each taking a nap – wasn't like there was much else to do. Bastian was sitting alone in the safehouse's main common area, the Swordsman brooding pensively as he contemplated his circumstances.

Simon's arm was latched onto the ceiling above him. The transmigrating idly contemplated letting it fall down, like a jumpscare of sharpened claws and gleaming black scales descending from the rafters...

But as amusing as that would be, Bastian didn't really deserve to have the living daylights scared out of him. Even if he'd lied and put them in danger earlier, he was still one of the few people in Valtia who was actually trying to make a difference, working tirelessly in opposition to Helmund's reign for many years. That level of dedication was vanishingly rare.

If more people were like him, Simon thought, I might be out of a job.

Members of the Hurricane should be afforded a certain measure of leniency. Besides, the Contract would already be stressing Bastian out – no reason to needlessly add to his worries.

Instead, Simon had his arm crawl down to the floor, then slowly enter the rebel's field of vision from a distance, where it was clearly visible. The Swordsman performed a double-take when he finally saw it, mouth contorting as he barely bit back a shocked gasp.

Admittedly, the look on his face was priceless.

After Bastian had gathered his wits, he noticed that the detached arm was clutching a piece of paper in its hand. He glared daggers at the Demonic appendage. It replied by waving the paper at him, motioning for him to take it.

Carefully, as if defusing a bomb, he reached out for the note. When he'd finally grabbed it, he pulled his hand away in a flash before the demonic limb decided to sink its claws into him.

Not that it would, but Simon hadn't exactly explained the mechanics of Remote Detachment to Bastian. Or...told him about the Skill at all. It was honestly impressive that he hadn't freaked out just now – the man was more adaptable than expected.

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Bastian exhaled with relief as the arm skittered away, returning home. He held up the note it had delivered, seeing only two lines written on it.

His mouth dipped into a frown as he read.

Less than a minute later, Bastian found himself in Simon's room. The rebel Swordsman was wearing a defeated expression – as if he'd anticipated nothing different, yet still hoped for better.

"Is this what you thought would happen?" he asked, sullen. "Was it a test of curiosity, a means of breaking my spirit, or both?"

"Just a test," Simon clarified. "Wasn't sure how things would play out."

"Why wouldn't a Demon be aware of how their own Contract functions?"

"Because as I've told you, I don't have any memories from before several weeks ago. None of my abilities came with an instruction booklet. I've been running on instinct and whatever I've managed to piece together."

By the man's narrow-eyed scowl, Bastian still didn't believe him, but Simon didn't care. He was too busy pondering the implications of the note he'd written.

'As per Clause 6, you must now report for your daily Orders.

I command you not to.'

​

Simon knew in his bones that a Contract's terms were inviolable.

It was one of the instincts granted by integrating with Kirkelas' Fell mana. The transmigrator may not have known everything about Demons, but when it came to this, there was no doubt in his heart. Contracts were binding, engraved onto body and soul. They couldn't be ignored.

Not even if that's what Simon wanted.

I commanded Bastian not to report for orders, and he probably tried his hardest to stay away – yet here he stands. The Contract's magic overruled both of our desires.

He needed to keep that in mind going forward. If Simon wasn't careful, he could end up screwing himself over. It would be embarrassing to accidentally engineer a situation where, for example, one of his Boon-bearers was compelled to turn their sword against him.

"What happened after you read my note?" he inquired. "I don't say this to torment you – it's important to know. When you attempted to disobey Clause 6 and not report for orders, what did it feel like?"

"As if someone else had stepped into my body."

Bastian shivered with discomfort. "It didn't hurt. I felt no pain. Almost wish I had. Would've been better than that distant numbness as my legs moved of their own accord."

Simon nodded. "Did it also feel like that when I ordered you to 'leave no witnesses' at Helmund's stronghold?"

"No. I had no qualms heeding that command, however."

Made sense. The Contract wouldn't need to control Bastian's body unless he refused to obey, and he would've been totally fine with eliminating the soldiers who had imprisoned and tortured his lover.

"Why did you and Cyna infiltrate that stronghold?" Simon asked. "What were you hoping to find? Does it have something to do with that room of documents you were so interested in?"

The rebel froze, his body twitching with restrained panic.

Simon suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not forcing you to answer. I won't blackmail you if you keep silent. But for the record, whether you've realized it or not, we're on the same side. I want to overthrow Duke Helmund just as much as you, and I would appreciate any information that helps me achieve that aim."

It took Bastian a long time to reply. His face was a mask of impassivity – one that kept slipping, revealing hints of the turmoil lurking underneath. He was a man fiercely arguing with himself, engaging in debates over the Hurricane's anonymity, the Demon's true goals, and his own personal safety.

Eventually, he sighed. "Suppose it doesn't matter. If you're with us, there's no harm in saying. If you're against us...then we have much larger problems lying ahead."

Bastian fixed Simon with a serious gaze. "Tell me, oh forgetful Demon – what do you know of the Mana Harvesters?"

"They're abominable contraptions that need to be eradicated."

The Swordsman raised an eyebrow. "You surmised as much in just weeks of exploring the Severed Isles?"

Simon shrugged. "Frankly, I'm appalled that people here are accustomed to the Mana Harvesters. Duke Helmund is draining the very land itself of its essence, and barely anyone cares. I've only met one group of people that seemed concerned – they'd figured out that the Severed Isles will be extinguished of life within the next few decades."

"Whoever those people are, they have the right of it." Bastian perked up. "By any chance, could I meet with them? If they're worried about the future of our land, then that makes them ideal candidates for recruitment into the Hurricane."

"They're dead now. They were slavers, and I took offense to that."

The rebel's enthusiasm visibly deflated. "Of course," he grumbled, before shaking his head and pressing on. "Regardless, the Mana Harvesters are indeed killing our nation – like suffocating a man in his sleep after lacing his dinner with poison. Most don't notice, as the degradation has been gradual, but the intel that we've pilfered from Helmund confirms it."

Bastian bared his teeth, practically snarling. "The Duke knows this, and yet he still chooses to strangle his people day in and day out. He deserves death just for that crime alone."

Agreed – although it's not why Valtia is in immediate danger. Voice-In-The-Sky's timeline had indicated that this world would come to a sudden, abrupt end within one year. The Mana Harvesters were more of a long-term environmental issue, and they didn't affect foreign countries outside Helmund's rule, anyway.

"That is why Cyna and I snuck into his stronghold," Bastian explained. "We sought to obtain records of the Mana Harvesters. How well they're guarded, how many soldiers are posted, and..."

He grimaced. "How much mana each Harvesters drains. That, perhaps, was most important of all."

"How so?"

"Because we don't know where it's going."

Simon felt a cold chill settle over his shoulders. The sensation came from nowhere, stemmed from no logical inference – yet it seized upon him with crushing insistence.

"Going?" he slowly said. "You mean the mana?"

Bastian glanced sideways, as if peering beyond the safehouse to one of the Harvesters located in Caelryn City. "Most of the mana that Duke Helmund plunders can be attributed to certain endeavors. Some is divvied up amongst the nobility. More is used to manufacture vital Artifacts. Then there's his various...side projects."

"Like the Sanctuary Tree grove belonging to his son Piers?" Simon remarked, in a humorless tone.

"Precisely. We've tracked how Helmund expends the mana he procures. It's not difficult once you know what to look for. At least...it shouldn't be."

Bastian looked back towards Simon. "Everything we've learned, all of it combined, accounts for a mere half of the total mana siphoned by the Harvesters."

He let his statement hang in the air for several long seconds.

"This is merely an estimate on our part," Bastian admitted. "There is much we don't yet know. But considering the records we've found in archives protected by the Duke himself...we can come to no other conclusion. Half of the Harvester's mana tithe simply isn't used for anything. Which begs the question – where is it going?"

Simon felt the chill on his shoulders tighten. "Is Helmund stockpiling mana just for the sake of it?" he posited. "People will jealously hoard wealth even if they've gotten so rich that they could never spend it all. Maybe he enjoys the notion of holding the world's lifeblood in his palm."

"No doubt he keeps a sizable reserve for himself, but this goes beyond that. The amount of missing mana is absurd. It would be impossible to hide, as Harvested mana needs to be stored
within specially-made receptacles. There should be building upon building absolutely overflowing with mana-containers."

Bastian sighed again. "But there aren't. Hence our confusion...and concern."

Simon said nothing. He thought back to everything he'd learned thus far, multiple theories coming to mind.

None of them inspired hope.