Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

Six days had gone by inside the Hurricane safehouse. The commotion outside had mostly died down, lessening from an uproar to a low-grade simmer. It should be safe for Simon to leave soon.

And thank Christ for that, because he was officially done with sitting around and twiddling his thumbs. Any longer and he would contract cabin fever. It went beyond just wanting to get back to hunting targets and raising Levels – his dopamine-riddled Earth brain simply wasn't built for extended periods of inactivity like this.

He would've gladly fought another Ravenous Wanderer for fifteen minutes of internet.

The three Valtians weren't faring well either. You could only play cards so many times. Katarina and Bastian had been reduced to barely moving, their stares glassy-eyed as they watched paint dry in their favored corners of the room.

Cyna was the opposite, questioning Simon whenever she could, filling the silence with words, words, words. She had discarded any notions of subtlety in her quest to uncover his mysterious past. He'd tried using his 'amnesia' as an excuse to avoid answering, but that just emboldened her curiosity – why would a man with one month's worth of memory be striving to overthrow the national government?

"How about a trade?" she asked him, her eyes glittering with interest. "A question for a question. You learn more of the Hurricane, we learn more of you."

Pass, thought Simon – before pausing in contemplation. "The only thing I want to know is why Bastian chose a fake name that sounds like it was made up on the spot. Guy? Seriously?"

The Swordsman sputtered with mild outrage. "Simple names work best!" he defended. "It's fooled plenty of people over the years, I assure you."

"He has a point," Katarina interjected. "And I am most certainly not saying that merely because I didn't think twice about it."

Cyna laughed to herself. "I'll consider that the start of our trade. In truth, I am inclined to agree with you, Simon–"

"A betrayal most foul," Bastian muttered.

"–But neither can I point fingers when I've scarcely done better." Cyna adopted a self-deprecating grin. "Didn't have a last name growing up. When the time came to invent one for myself, I picked 'Noname'. Quite literally, No Name. Thought it would help me never forget the circumstances I overcame."

She chuckled. "In practice, it just confuses prospective allies. They assume I haven't trusted them enough to reveal who I am."

"At least Noname is yours. Cobblestone isn't my real last name. Took it from someone else."

Simon blinked, surprised at himself for responding. Not that it was a particularly important piece of information to divulge, but...

I really need to step outside and clear my head soon. He wasn't used to someone repeatedly attempting to engage him in friendly conversation. Antagonism he could handle; smiles and affability were far more insidious.

"Now we're getting somewhere." As if she'd heard a morsel of juicy gossip, Cyna rubbed her hands together and leaned closer. "Took it from who? A bandit? An arch-rival? Your childhood hero?"

"It's hardly a trade if you bombard him with questions the moment he opens up," Katarina remarked.

"Can't argue with that. Perhaps I should go next, then."

Cyna stopped to think. She hesitated, a shadow of a grimace passing over her face. "Feel guilty mentioning this," she murmured. "Isn't truly my story to tell. With that said..."

She peered directly at Simon. "I'm sure you're curious about what drives the Hurricane to risk their lives by opposing of Duke Helmund – aside from salvaging the future of our land, I mean."

He saw the bait being laid out before him, clear as day. It was unfortunately too enticing to ignore, but he still wouldn't give up without a fight. "If you're talking about specific, individual motivations, I imagine almost everyone in the Severed Isles has grievances against the nobility."

"Yes, but how many will run afoul of the Duke himself in their lifetime? He doesn't deign to meet with us ordinary folk. Takes something different to hate him personally."

Cyna's gaze darkened. "A good half of the Hurricane joined to rescue loved ones. Helmund has taken many prisoners and hostages over the years. Political dissidents. Subordinates that failed him. Commoners whom Piers took a disliking to. Some were forced into servitude – and treated more like slaves – while others waste away in jails of iron. All of them are confined to Castle Helmund in the capital city."

"And not one has ever been freed," Bastian added, his voice taut.

"That as well." Cyna sighed. "Simon, if you've remained quiet because you doubt the Hurricane's dedication to slaying Duke Helmund, then know this: most of our members don't have a choice. Either he dies, or they never see their loved ones again. Think of how you would feel if your parents...were..."

She trailed off, wincing. "Apologies. Forgot about the memory loss. You wouldn't–"

"I remember them."

Silence blanketed the room. Katarina, Bastian, and Cyna all sat up straighter in their seats.

Simon turned away from the three gazes burning a hole in him. "I don't remember much," he said, his voice sounding distant even to himself. "But I remember them. Always."

Some things you just didn't lie about.

"They're dead, in case you were wondering." He kept his eyes fixated on the nearest wall, his heart feeling like it was going to burst out of his chest. "For almost a decade now."

"I am...truly sorry," Kat cautiously said, as if approaching a wounded animal. Simon couldn't understand why she was granting him that leniency – he was hardly the only person in Valtia with dead parents. "Was it...illness? Brigands?"

"Apathy."

They waited for him to elaborate. He didn't.

Hours passed by without a word being spoken by anyone.

Eventually, Cyna reached her limit. "Nothing for it," she blurted out, slapped her hands on her knees as she stood up. "It's safe enough outside. We're leaving."

No one felt like disagreeing. "Where to?" Katarina asked, jumping on the opportunity to escape the tense atmosphere that had built up. "Another Hurricane base?"

"Pleasure before business, my dear. How can we be expected to topple the nobility when we feel like muck dragged through the gutter?" Cyna punched her right fist into her left palm. "We need to raise our spirits first – and maybe loosen Simon's lips if I'm lucky."

"Oh really?" Against his wishes, the transmigrator smirked. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"What else? A stiff drink."

--

It was the nicest tavern Simon had seen in Caelryn yet.

Which was a depressingly low bar to clear, but still. The contrast between this place and the last few bars he'd investigated seemed like night and day. People here were actually smiling, for starters – rather than gauging the new arrivals to see if they were threats, marks, or both.

"Guy! Medea!" A graying, wiry man in his late 50s raised his mug into the air, calling out to them in a cheery voice. "Been a while! Thought you two had finally croaked it."

"You aren't getting rid of us that easily," Bastian said, grinning as he pulled up a seat. "Must you have so little faith in us, Tomas? As if we would be done in by common footpads skulking around the streets."

"Nothing's common about the trouble you attract, Guy. I'd tell Medea to make sure you keep your nose clean, stop poking where you shouldn't, but she's just as bad."

"Wrong there." Cyna flopped into her chair with the grace of a dropped bowling ball. "I'm worse." She glanced over at the second person sitting at their table. "How've you been, Edward? Doing good?"

A man built like a barnhouse peered up at her. Simon had no idea how he could afford enough protein to retain that sort of musculature, but he would've fit right at home among the gym rats back on Earth.

"Good as I can be." Despite his size, Edward sounded soft-spoken – and not the kind of soft-spoken that carried an underlying malice to it. "Tomas was worried about you two. Would never admit it, but he was."

Tomas took a swig of his drink, pretending he hadn't heard anything. "You've brought guests today," he noted, swirling his mug at Simon and Katarina. "Hope you aren't dragging them into another of your schemes. Hey, newcomers: if Guy gets this face like he has a plan, start running."

Bastian raised a finger into the air. "Name one time I've led you astray."

"Last month. South district, Cutter's Alley."

"...Name three times I've led you astray."

Tomas waved him off. "So who are your merchant friends? Least I'm assuming they're merchants. Fresh clothes, polished weapons, the works. Figure they must be trustworthy enough, looking at how you and Medea entered with your backs exposed – even though the red-haired girl has sharp knives and twitchy hands."

Bastian nodded. He gestured towards Simon and Katarina, who were standing awkwardly off to the side. "Allow me to introduce our newest compatriots. Arthur and Mia are on business here in Caelryn, much to their chagrin."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

A note of fondness entered his tone. "Don't be fooled by their youth – they're some of the toughest warriors who've ever fought at my side. Without them, I may not be standing here today."

Who are you, and what have you done with Bastian? Simon knew that the man could be likable when he wanted to, but his behavior now was a stark difference from his doom-and-gloom routine at the safehouse. His acting skills were impressive.

Or...maybe it wasn't that much of an act. Cyna had described this tavern as her absolute favorite, a gem hidden within Caelryn City's fog of malaise, and Bastian agreed with her. The two rebels could legitimately be putting their best foot forward here, doing their utmost to brighten everyone's mood.

The concept felt unfamiliar to Simon. Apart from family outings, he'd never been invited anywhere before.

"They're that skilled?" Edward said, regarding Bastian with surprise. "High praise, coming from you."

The beefy man extended his hand out to Simon and Katarina. "Well met. I hope Caelryn has been kinder to you than most." His lips inched upward. "A naive hope, I'm aware."

Compelled by the trappings of social convention, Simon automatically stepped forward and shook Edward's hand. The man's grip was strong, but considering he could've crushed bones if he wished, this was probably him trying to be gentle.

"There we go." Cyna beamed at them, her grin radiant. "Appreciate the warm welcome for our friends, Eddie. The city got to them. They could use something like this."

Edward and Tomas both nodded solemnly. "Need a drink?" the wiry older man suggested to Simon. "First is on me."

"Thanks, but I don't drink." Especially here and now, where he needed to preserve his full mental faculties at all times. Valtia was a world that punished negligence, and a moment of inattention could lead to a dagger at your throat.

"Shame," Tomas said. "You look like you could use one. What happened – thieves steal your cargo?"

"The whole carriage," Simon answered, smirking at how Bastian flinched. Hesitating, the transmigrator slowly grabbed a chair, carefully sinking into it as if there was a landmine nestled underneath. "It's fine now. We made them pay their dues."

Katarina sat next to him, although her chair was pulled out farther than everyone else's, leaving room for her to jump away if need be. "Arthur hails from another city," she explained. "I was born and raised in Caelryn. Been acting as a guide of sorts."

"And you're a merchant as well?" Tomas asked.

"Didn't used to be, but I suppose I am now."

He arched an eyebrow. "No offense meant, but if you've amassed the funds to leave this city, start anew elsewhere, then why haven't you?"

"Tried once," she replied. "Ever been to Springwater Village?"

"Can't say I have."

"Keep it that way. Only place worse than here."

Tomas snickered in disbelief. "What, is it beset by Fell Beasts?"

Simon and Kat exchanged a look. The Arcane Rogue inclined her head at him, giving him the floor.

Guess it's storytime. Cyna would've imploded if she didn't get some gossip out of him, anyway.

--

"You're lucky to be alive," Tomas professed, with a hint of awe. "Though less lucky than if you hadn't been there at all. Most villages don't last long when a Fell Beast comes to visit."

Simon didn't doubt that. He'd seen what happened to the wounded warriors of Springwater when they tried defending their home. His retelling of the debacle at Springwater was very heavily edited to paint them as triumphant heroes who definitely hadn't needed a wandering Demon to bail them out.

Edward perked up, as if remembering something. "There was that one place. Graverock? Gravestone? The name eludes me. Anyway, they'd implemented a new type of Artifact, think it was developed by Lady Victoria? Was supposed to be a better type of artificial light, cheap and efficient."

He idly swirled his cup. "A nearby Fell Beast was attracted to the Artifact's mana. See, Graverock had a perimeter of Warding Orbs, same as most places. Nearly bankrupted themselves updating it recently. Didn't matter; the Beast just appeared there one day, barging right out of someone's house. And it..."

His excitement over having a story to tell subsided as he listened to what he was saying. "It tore the village apart. Demolished half the buildings, massacred half the people. Drained the new Artifact of its mana and left before anyone could stop it."

Tomas swooped in before Edward's flagging mood could spread to the rest of the table – a maneuver that the older man seemed well-practiced at. "What my friend means is that Springwater should be lauded for its valor. Isn't often that we get to hear a story that warms the heart. You have any more like that, Arthur? Your merchant travels must have taken you all around the Severed Isles."

The transmigrator sipped nonchalantly at his water to buy time, already imagining the next narrative he should sell.

--

Simon was having fun.

He didn't know when exactly it started. The feeling crept up on him like an assassin in the dark, silent and unseen.

Somewhere in the middle of reworking his time spent with Lucette's caravan, spinning a yarn about the demise of a band of evil slavers, he noticed that he was smiling more often than not.

Part of it was because of Tomas and Edward. They made for a great audience, laughing at the right moments, asking questions to show interest, mouths hanging open with shock when it was appropriate. Neither of them pressed for details when Simon was intentionally vague at times, respecting his privacy. They were there to lend an ear, and nothing more.

And part of it was because of the tavern itself. It didn't have a name to call its own, but it sorely deserved one. There was a distinct sense of hospitality that could be felt just from walking through the door, as though you were being invited to come sit and rest your weary feet.

It's the background noise, Simon realized. The sounds of genuine merriment and joy. The soothing ambiance of people talking, laughing, sharing mirth.

Everyone here seemed to know each other, letting them set aside the deep-rooted paranoia that Caelryn City had instilled in them. They could simply enjoy life for once, their relief spreading throughout the room like the warmth of a fireplace dispelling an icy winter chill. It was, in a word, rejuvenating.

And at the same time...disquieting.

This shouldn't be special.

Nothing about this tavern was better than what he'd seen on Earth. You could wander down any random city street back home and stumble across a half-dozen bars where people were happily living it up. To Bastian and Cyna, this place was like a miraculous Sanctuary Grove; to Simon, it merely highlighted how beaten-down the Severed Isles were.

This shouldn't be special – this is how *everywhere* should be.

And could be. Would be. If it wasn't for–

The front door swung open.

Silence fell – though not immediately. The change was gradual. It took time for the sounds of chatter to falter, for the tavern's warm atmosphere to be snuffed out like a candle flame in a gust of frigid wind.

Tomas and Edward were facing the door, so they saw it before anyone else at their table. The color drained from their faces, skin paling with fright. Both men tensed, Tomas shrinking into his seat, and Edward's muscles bulging as he tightly gripped his legs.

Simon trailed off mid-sentence. Slowly, he turned around.

A group of ten soldiers were streaming into the tavern. They clustered near the entrance, standing at attention, projecting the resplendence of their sparkling-new armor. Simon repeatedly cast Identify, frowning as he discovered that each soldier was Level 22 to 27, similar to the guard captain that he'd fought at Helmund's stronghold.

The final person to enter wasn't wearing armor. He didn't need it.

On the surface, he wasn't particularly impressive – at least no more than any other arrogant rich prick. The nobleman looked mid-20s of age, dressed to the nines in regal finery, his skin free of dirt or grime. He was fairly tall, with subtle makeup enhancing his facial features. His posture was what one would expect of nobility, haughty and confident in the extreme.

Yet for all he appeared to be a pickpocket's dream, none here would have ever dared target him, not even if the nobleman was alone in a dark alley. An imposing aura of power encroached upon the tavern as he strolled inside, almost suffocating in its intensity.

The weight of sheer mana pressed down on everyone like invisible hands clutching their necks.

Bastian and Cyna went cold with suppressed hatred. The Swordsman idly caressed the hilt of his still-sheathed blade. Cyna clenched her fists, fingernails drawing blood from the strain of not drawing her greatsword and rushing into certain death.

Simon cast Identify, knowing what he would find.

Name: Piers Helmund
Description: Son of Duke Helmund. Scion of the Severed Isles. The supreme ruler of his own little world.
Estimated Level: 64