Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

Simon found himself decently impressed by the Hurricane's headquarters. Whereas Bastian's safehouse had been disguised as an abandoned building in the slums, this was hidden in plain sight, masquerading as a legitimate business in the upper city district. They'd been plotting Helmund's downfall while living a stone's throw away from where Caelryn's nobility resided.

Although the 'store' had closed its doors for the day – and for every day afterwards, probably. Piers was about to turn the city upside-down and shake it loose for any traces of Demonic intent. Despite how well this base may have served the Hurricane up until now, it would be compromised by sundown.

Inside, over thirty people were frantically hurrying around, grabbing weapons and Artifacts and handfuls of parchment. The rebels had seemingly prepared for when a day like this would come. They exhibited a sort of organized disarray as they got ready, always on the move yet never wasting time.

And that whirlwind of activity froze the instant Simon's group arrived.

The transmigrator smiled brightly as silence engulfed the room, so thick and oppressive that you could have heard a pin drop. His Shapeshifted right arm was proudly displayed, drawing every rebel's gaze as if he'd sauntered in with a bomb strapped to his side.

Simon had kept it in human form while traveling through the city, but there was no point in hiding here. Bastian and Cyna had already sent runners ahead to inform the Hurricane that a Demon would soon be darkening their doorstep.

For all the good that it did. The rebels may have mentally prepared themselves for a day of reckoning, or a clash with the nobility, yet this was something else entirely. Many of them cowered, brandishing crystalline, eight-sided devices like holy symbols to ward off a creature of the night. Identify informed Simon that they were holding Artifacts designed to fire sacred mana when activated.

Well, the joke was on them – unlike true Demons, he only had a very slight weakness to sacred mana. He'd learned as much back in Springwater Village, when he was bathed in its radiance by an overzealous warrior. The Artifact's flashy attack had accomplished little more than giving him a mild sunburn.

"Ancient One take us all," a rebel whispered. "The Demon actually came." His eyes darted around the room, glancing rapidly from person to person, as if astonished that no one was freaking out. "Are...are we truly going to pretend like this is normal?"

"It most certainly isn't." Bastian stepped forward, raising his voice before they could work themselves up into a panic. Good thing – Katarina and Tomas weren't cut out for public speaking, and Cyna was still processing that she'd been roommates with a Fell abomination. "Yet needs must, and war makes for strange bedfellows."

He spread his arms wide, adopting a mixture of playful charisma and deathly-serious gravitas. "I assume you were briefed in advance regarding our newest...ally. Allow me to introduce him. This man with the grotesque arm is named Simon, or so he claims. He is indeed a Demon – and more importantly, he is indeed the one who dealt a grievous blow to Piers Helmund himself."

Dozens of eyes turned to stare at the transmigrator again, fearful and calculating.

In the past, Simon had sometimes wondered if he would ever grow weary of the mistrust people felt when they first learned who he was...but honestly? It had its upsides. They always made so many assumptions about him, and he got to either enjoy proving them wrong – or cheerfully live up to whatever elaborate scenario they'd concocted in their minds.

It offered a surprising amount of social flexibility. Maybe even more than if he'd been a typical human. He could push boundaries without people really calling him out on it, because that's what they'd expected of him regardless, and any small acts of kindness he tossed their way were given far more weight than they rightfully should have.

"Have you taken leave of your senses, Bastian?" Another rebel spoke up, her voice quavering with uncertainty. "I don't care if he reached up Duke Helmund's arse and pulled out the man's lungs. You've heard the tales. By letting this aberration into our ranks, we'd be trading one tyrant for another."

Simon let out an exaggerated sigh. The sound of his voice prompted a wave of flinching and muted gasps. "Am I to be judged based on stories and hearsay of other Demons?" he said. "Don't you think that's unfair?"

"So you're saying you've never bound someone into servitude with a Contract? Never devoured their soul with that revolting appendage you call an arm?"

"Of course not." Fell Harvest drained mana, not souls. Probably. And Bastian's Contract wasn't one of servitude – the Swordsman was only killing people he would have already. Very different.

A third rebel violently shook his head, long hair tangling into knots, giving him an unhinged look that matched his widening eyes. "Won't do it. Not selling my soul! My life is my own, you hear me?! I joined the Hurricane to fight nobles, not–"

"Calm yourselves," said a new voice, ringing out from upstairs. Moments later, a woman descended the staircase, her pace gradual and unhurried.

Even without Identify, Simon would've immediately clocked her as a figure of importance in the Hurricane. All the rebels faced her as she approached – turning their backs to the Demon they'd been fretting over mere seconds ago. Her presence alone commanded their respect, some of them breaking into relieved expressions at her appearance, as if they believed that whatever call she made would be the right one.

She'd also clearly seen some things. The woman was in her late 60s or early 70s, her face covered in wrinkles and stress lines. Her skin was taut, almost leathery, the exact opposite of a pampered aristocrat who hadn't worked a day of hard labor in their life. Burn marks were visible on her lower right scalp, their shapes too uniform to have come from anything other than a branding iron.

Yet despite having been chewed up and spat out by life itself, the woman didn't hesitate as she approached, walking forward with strength in her gait. Simon detected no fear in her gaze as she examined his right arm – not even a passing glimmer of disquiet.

Seven out of ten, he thought. Still room for improvement, but I've seen much worse dramatic entrances than this.

The fact that he knew it was a dramatic entrance was the major limiting factor. She'd obviously been lingering upstairs, listening to the conversation below, waiting to intervene just before tensions exploded. Her timing was impeccable, but the manufactured element slightly detracted from its effect.

"Simon, I presume." The rebel leader – he assumed she was a leader, at least of the charter in Caelryn City – greeted him with a steadfast tone. She wasn't talking down to him, but she wasn't yielding an inch, either. "You've caused quite a stir."

Identify.

Name: Marlene Besnard
Estimated Level: 30

No time to read the Description without leaving an awkward pause. That was fine – he'd just wanted the name.

"A pleasure to meet you, Marlene." Simon extended his left human arm. "I'm right-handed, personally, but I imagine it's more palatable if we shake like this."

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Her eyes narrowed by a fraction. She hadn't introduced herself, and it was unlikely that Bastian or Cyna would've revealed her name to anyone outside their organization – let alone a Demon of highly questionable trustworthiness.

It was only a small point in his favor, but you needed every advantage you could get when negotiating with a woman whose spine was forged from steel.

The two of them grasped hands and shook once. Marlene took a second to dole out orders to the other rebels, allowing Simon to re-cast Identify and quickly examine her Description.

Name: Marlene Besnard
Description: The overall leader of the resistance group known as the Hurricane. Has been fighting the nobility for longer than most of its members have been alive. Sees no hope of victory. Is committed to her path regardless.
Estimated Level: 30

About what he'd anticipated. Still...Bastian admitted that he doesn't think the Hurricane will prevail, and apparently, neither does his boss. That's a tad depressing. Makes me question how useful they'll actually be to me.

Not that it changed anything. From the moment of his transmigration, Simon had been resolved to win this war alone if need be. Any allies he collected along the way were just a bonus.

"We'll have to skip the rest of the pleasantries," Marlene said, as she turned to face Simon again. "Were our circumstances different, I would have liked nothing more than to hear your story. Who are you? Why have you come here? Why are you consorting with Bastian and Cyna? What of those two people I don't recognize – the red-haired woman and the man sporting a battle wound?"

Her voice hardened with fierce determination. "But those are questions for later. For now...we have a Helmund to kill."

Marlene's declaration sent a ripple of shock sweeping through the rebels. They didn't seem completely surprised – they'd already been considering this as a possibility – but hearing it spoken aloud had made it all too real.

"Oh, good." Simon grinned. "Was worried I'd have to waste time convincing you. We're in agreement on assassinating Piers?"

"If the reports of his injuries weren't exaggerated? Yes."

Marlene's gaze flickered towards his Demonic arm. "Explain what you did to him. Our scouts told of silver claws rending noble flesh. Of bountiful mana failing to restore his body. Of a Helmund scion, fleeing with his tail tucked between his legs. Is any of that true?"

"All of it. I tore his throat out."

She hesitated. "...Was it satisfying?"

Simon's grin deepened. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Just for an instant, euphoric savagery blazed within Marlene's gaze.

Then it was back to business. "Normally, we wouldn't dare try to assassinate Piers." She turned around in a slow circle as she spoke, addressing everyone in the room. "His mana may be a flickering ember compared to his father's roaring flame, but that matters little when it would consume us all the same. Ever since our guiding light was taken from us, the prospect of killing Helmund's spawn has been no better than a fantasy – alluring, yet unattainable."

Guiding light? Simon filed away the detail for later, not wanting to interrupt.

"Now things have changed," Marlene continued. "Duke Helmund is residing in the Capital City, and from what we know, he won't be returning to Caelryn for some time. Furthermore, the injury that Piers suffered is no ordinary ailment. Long have we theorized that wounds inflicted by Fell creatures would stymie a Helmund's capacity for healing. Naturally, it has remained as only a theory..."

She pointed at Simon. "Until our Demon here confirmed it for us."

'Our' Demon. Marlene was including him in the proceedings. Hyping him up to the wary rebels. Laying groundwork for them to work together.

How badly does she want this alliance? She must have given it a lot of thought beforehand – reckless people didn't last decades in her kind of profession.

Which meant that Marlene believed the pros outweighed the cons. Even if Simon was a Demon, even if she couldn't have foreseen a more dubious ally if she'd tried...it was still worth getting him on board, risks be damned.

"Fell creatures stymie a Helmund's healing," he repeated. "You're saying that my claws will prevent Piers from regenerating? Piers, specifically?"

"And the Duke himself, most likely. Those of the Helmund line are susceptible."

Strange. Simon hadn't noticed that being an issue with the people injured by the Fell Beast in Springwater. Their wounds had been brutal, but healing potions did help, and they were on the mend by the time he'd left.

Marlene eyed him curiously. "Is that not why you struck? Are you implying that you were unaware your ambush would cripple Piers?"

Before she could question him further, Katarina placed a gentle hand on the transmigrator's shoulder. "Simon..." Her voice was filled with concern. "When you used Sin Scry...what did it show you?"

He had no answer. His throat went dry, palms clammy, muscles tensing, adrenaline spiking. Memories assaulted him, and he fought them back with deranged fervor, like a cornered animal lashing out with tooth and claw.

"Thank you for informing me of this weakness in Helmund's lineage." Simon forced the words out, his tone wooden, unable to look Kat in her eyes. "I will exploit it to the best of my ability. That is why we must strike today, correct? Before the anti-healing effect wears off."

Marlene slowly nodded. "Piers is weak now. Weaker than he's been in years, I think. Can't say how long it'll take for his healing magic to start working again, but...we'll find him first. We must."

"And that's just from one injury," Simon added. "Imagine if I inflict more. While it seems like he can still use his mana offensively, considering how he punched through a wall with minimal effort, all the strength in the world won't matter when he's bleeding out on the floor."

He exhaled, regaining a bit of his stride. "I'll be forthright. You need me. Even setting aside Piers' weakness to Fell mana, I can guarantee that I'm the most powerful fighter in this room." Marlene was technically one Level higher, but all the bonus stats he'd accrued from Fell Harvest meant that he was far stronger than his own Level indicated. "You need me – and luckily for you, I am graciously willing to cooperate."

The transmigrator raised his right arm, its black scales glittering in the light. "But only if we seal the deal with a Contract."

"Expected nothing less," Marlene said with a chuckle, even as her subordinates recoiled. "I hold no reservations about who and what you are, Simon. Present your Contract. Let's discuss terms."

A woman after my own heart.

His arm began to glow as Fell energy coalesced around him. The light dimmed, frenzied whispers rising up from nowhere, shadows dancing as if they were celebrating a macabre festival of horrors.

Only Simon, Katarina, and Marlene kept their composure as the Contract formed. Everyone else displayed a variety of fascinating reactions, ranging from dread, to disbelief, to looking like they were about to be ill. Bastion grimaced. Cyna cursed. Tomas the barfly had the face of someone who'd realized – much too late – that he was way in over his head.

They all watched on as blackened words appeared above Simon.