Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

It didn't take them long to reach Piers' hidey-hole.

The Helmund scion had sequestered himself in one of his personal villas. It was by far the most gaudy, ostentatious building that Simon had seen since transmigrating to Valtia – like three ornate mansions glued together. Every inch of its construction screamed wealth and power at the top of its lungs.

We got lucky, Simon thought. This monument to excess was located fairly close to the Hurricane's main headquarters. They'd arrived before Piers decided to relocate. According to Eavesdrop's tracking, the nobleman was still inside.

And just as importantly, as far as Marlene knew, this particular villa didn't have a Waystation Crystal. That was a tactical misstep on Piers' end. If Simon were in his shoes, the transmigrator would've retreated to a safehouse with teleportation capacity. Then, the second he realized that the Hurricane was knocking at his door, he would've used the Crystal to escape halfway across the Severed Isles in the blink of an eye.

Granted, it was probably difficult to think optimally when you were missing half your throat.

Several dozen guards had been posted outside the villa's entrance. Their Estimated Levels were all over the place, ranging from Level 24 veterans to Level 11 recruits. Most of the lower-Level ones were shuffling uncomfortably and tightly gripping their weapons, sporting overwhelmed expressions on their faces, as if they were fresh graduates at their first day on the job.

Simon wasn't surprised to see the Level mismatch. His group had passed by a small army of soldiers on the way here – hundreds of them combing Caelryn City for any hint of the Demon. He'd taken measures to conceal his appearance, but it was still a minor miracle that none of the guardsmen randomly singled him out for questioning.

On the plus side, it meant that Piers' troops were stretched thin. He'd committed so many to a city-wide search that there weren't enough elites left to defend his villa, forcing him to shore up his numbers with inexperienced rookies. The Hurricane should have an easier time fighting their way inside.

Relatively speaking. They were still grossly outnumbered. Whether they changed history today – or just became another one of its footnotes – would come down to three distinct factors.

First: Quality over quantity. Even the strongest of Piers' soldiers, at least the ones stationed outside now, were weaker than the Hurricane's best. Simon, Bastian, and Marlene outpaced all of them in Levels. Katarina and Cyna weren't far behind.

The new recruits may as well be cannon fodder. Based on what he'd seen in Valtia, a skilled Level 20 combatant could defeat five Level 10 opponents with ease. If you weren't a talented expert like Bastian, the difference in mana was simply too wide of a gulf to bridge.

Second: Motivation. While a few of these guardsmen were fanatics devoted to the Helmund bloodline, Identify had confirmed that most of them were the Valtian equivalent of rent-a-cops. They'd signed on because protecting a rich nobleman put food on the table. If push came to shove, they were liable to break ranks and flee.

In contrast, the Hurricane rebels had already knowingly sacrificed their lives the moment they'd joined a doomed rebellion. They would fight to the bitter end.

Third: And last, but most certainly not least...

The element of surprise.

All was quiet as Katarina raised her crossbow. Their Hurricane strike squad – a team of more than fifteen men and woman – had spread out nearby, hidden in various places as to not draw attention. They'd considered sneaking in from the back, or scaling walls to reach the upper floors, but Piers' villa was frustratingly well-fortified.

A frontal assault through the main entrance was the only way in. As soon as Kat's initial Firebolt weakened the soldiers' front line, everyone would leap out and descend upon them with the force of a Hurricane.

An unseen tension resonated throughout the street, pulsing like a heartbeat as they waited for the bloodshed to commence.

Simon eyed the Arcane Rogue with mild curiosity as she took aim. Truth be told, he'd half-expected her to follow Tomas' lead and sit this one out.

She'd agreed to help him tear down the nobility, sure...but attempting to assassinate Piers Helmund at their current Level was kinda jumping the gun. Their odds of success were highly questionable, and nothing about this would bring her any closer to finding a cure for her father, anyway.

Yet here she stood.

Simon wasn't complaining. Even if he somehow managed to persuade each individual rebel to sign a Contract of obedience, he would still trust Kat over any of them.

A muted twang rang out as a lone crossbow bolt flew through the air.

That was all the warning the guardsmen received before their illusory peace was shattered. A roaring fireball exploded from the Bolt, wounding several and blasting others aside. More arrows rained down, then offensive spells, a hailstorm of sharp-tipped metal and searing elements. Rebels emerged from the shadows around the street, charging as one, swords drawn, their eyes bereft of mercy.

And at the forefront...was him.

Under different circumstances, perhaps the soldiers would've been able to recover and regroup. Perhaps the veterans among them could have rallied the recruits, bolstering morale as they banded together to fend off the Hurricane's ambush.

But that wasn't happening today. Whether they were an experienced veteran or a fresh-faced recruit, all of them had heard tales of Demons. Either from legends told to them in their youth – or the warning given to them by Piers himself less than an hour ago. The Helmund line was invincible, eternal, yet their liege lord had gone into hiding after just one encounter with a Fell abomination.

Little wonder that the sight of Simon's right arm broke their spirits worse than any swords or spells could have.

Although he wasn't who they really needed to worry about right now. If he'd been fully determined to slaughter all of them as swiftly as possible, then he would've placed a max-MP Landmine underneath, blown half of them to smithereens, and steamrolled the rest while they were disorientated.

Instead, Simon was conserving his mana. While he did fight at the front line, he chose his targets carefully, only engaging soldiers that he'd already Identified as low-Level neophytes. Admittedly, the rookies had still gotten more weapons training than him, but that didn't matter when his Strength and Dexterity were so much higher.

It made him appear untouchable. Any poor soul who got close to him was cut down in an instant. The edge of his blade and the tips of his claws were painted crimson red, bodies falling one-by-one as he advanced, a procession of corpses left in his inexorable wake. It was like the Demon's very presence represented the inevitability of their defeat.

In reality, the highest-Level soldiers were actually being handled by Bastian, Cyna, and the other rebels. Simon was steering clear of anyone who might be capable of injuring him.

Marlene had been the one to suggest this strategy. She knew that Simon was their silver bullet against Piers Helmund. The transmigrator needed to keep himself hale, hearty, and brimming with mana until he reached their true target. These guardsmen were merely an appetizer before the main course.

Your Level has increased!
Level: 29 → 30
Strength: 41 → 43
Dexterity: 40 → 42

They also made for a steady diet of easy EXP.

Being a temporary mascot isn't so bad. Simon waved his Demonic arm in a soldier's general direction, causing the terrified woman to rear back in panic. Think I can be doing more, though. They've still got too much morale.

Time to fix that. How about...

Simon opened his mouth and started to laugh.

He drew upon every ounce of hatred and bitterness in his soul, merging it with the electrifying adrenaline of combat. His laughter rose above the clamor of battle, overpowering the sounds of the wounded and dying.

At first, he didn't know if he'd done a good job of it. It wasn't like he'd been practicing his Evil Villain Laugh in the mirror each morning – something to rectify moving forward.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Then a soldier abruptly turned and ran. Then another. Soon enough, more than half of them were booking it down the street, not wanting any of this nonsense. The ones that remained quickly found themselves vastly outnumbered.

Huh. Guess I've got a knack for it. Most of the Hurricane rebels were pointedly looking away from him now, not wanting to catch his gaze, but whatever. They'd get over it after he killed a Helmund for them.

The battle ended shortly thereafter.

All in all, it was a stunning victory for the Hurricane. Despite facing a larger force, they'd won with only a few casualties on their side. They couldn't have reasonably asked for a better result than this.

None of that showed on their faces. The rebels were morose as they examined their fallen allies, fists clenched and eyes downcast.

Those 'few' casualties had been their friends. This 'stunning' victory had been bought and paid for with Hurricane lives. The bonds of trust they'd forged, the camaraderie they'd built up over the years...

Gone. Just like that.

Simon empathized with them. He knew the pain of losing someone you cared for.

Regardless, they needed to press on. Piers couldn't be given the chance to escape. Marlene was already steeling her resolve – preparing to swallow her grief and be the stone-hearted leader that the Hurricane required.

"Let's go," Simon suddenly called out, as he walked towards the villa's front entrance. He contemplated saying more, maybe 'Don't let their deaths be in vain', yet it would ring hollow coming from him.

This was the best he could do for them. If they had no choice but to keep following the Demon, then they wouldn't have to feel guilty for leaving their friends' corpses behind.

--

The rebels proceeded to take their grief and repeatedly stab it into whatever soldiers barred their path.

Simon almost felt like he'd encountered less resistance than anticipated as he advanced through Piers' villa...but that wasn't really the case. It was more that the Hurricane was in top form, motivated by a heady cocktail of rage, sorrow, and righteous vengeance. They were slaughtering soldiers like it was a form of therapy.

No prisoners would be taken on this day.

Additionally, the villa's size was an unexpected boon. The place was so absurdly spacious that the guards within were far more scattered – easy pickings for an invading team of assassins. Simon was granted a front row seat to a veritable massacre, letting him observe how high-Level Valtians fought in all their gory detail.

Bastian gave a repeat performance of the stronghold rescue operation. His swordsmanship was a thing of beauty, combining sharp reflexes, nimble footwork, and zero wasted movement. Whenever he struck, someone died.

Cyna preferred a greatsword, swinging more slowly, but with devastating power behind each blow. She had a tendency to break straight through the soldiers' shields. Not break their guards – break their shields, metal shattering like glass.

Yet both of them were upstaged by Marlene. The Hurricane's leader was a deadly magic swordsman who alternated between destructive spellcasting and twin dual-blades. Her mana reserves seemed considerable, as she never hesitated to throw a fireball or empower herself with a burst of speed. While she lacked Bastian's innate sense of timing and precision, her swordsmanship was extremely well-practiced, as if she'd been doing this for a very, very long time.

Simon began making plans for if he ever fought any of them.

It was unlikely, as he had two of them under Contract, and they needed him to help kill Duke Helmund after Piers was dead...but you could never fully predict what twists and turns the future might hold. Although they had a common enemy now, he wasn't sure the rebels would still be so accommodating after they'd run out of nobles to kill.

Maybe he should've been focusing more on the enemies right in front of him, but honestly, he'd barely needed to lift a finger since entering Piers' villa. The Hurricane was on a warpath. They had this part of the mission well in-hand.

Katarina and Bastian even felled enough soldiers for Simon to snag another Level.

Your Level has increased!
Level: 30 → 31

4 stat points added to Unspent Points!

All into Vitality. That was the hardest stat for him to raise normally, and he was still concerned about what it would be like to take a hit from Piers. Especially if he'd regenerated since the bar incident. The Hurricane had rushed here as soon as they could, but no one knew for certain how long it would take for the nobleman's self-healing to start working again.

Eventually, after butchering their way through dozens of guardsmen who stood no chance – and after climbing an obscene number of staircases – they reached the top floor. Simon's Eavesdrop sense directed everyone to a pair of steel double-doors at the end of a hallway.

He thought the rebels would immediately prepare to break the doors down and storm inside, but they instead came to a halt.

"Was afraid of this," Marlene sighed. "We've seen this before. Those doors are laced with scores of protective Artifacts. The surrounding walls, floor, and ceiling will be as well. Breaching through would take power far beyond what any of us can bring to bear."

Simon took a moment to marvel at the feat of Valtian engineering. "Piers made himself a panic room?"

"Haven't heard it called that before, yet 'panic room' seems a fitting moniker."

Except they're supposed to be used by people who can't defend themselves. Like Earth humans without mana to empower their bodies. Here, the strongest fighter in the city is holed up like a turtle retreating into its shell, all while sending significantly weaker people to die on his behalf. That...

That tracks, actually.

"Is there any way inside that doesn't involve force?" Simon asked. "I have explosive magic that could damage the structural integrity of the lower floors of this building, maybe collapse the room from underneath, but that's just as likely to collapse the whole villa and get us all killed."

"...We'll leave it as a final resort," Marlene said. She turned to face the rebels. "Disperse and search for any servants who may be in hiding. 'Panic rooms' such as these are attuned to certain people's mana signatures – including the favored attendants of their liege lord. One of them could open it for us. We'll have to hope that someone didn't evacuate in time."

As the Hurricane spread out to investigate, Bastian glanced over at Simon. "You've proven yourself to be a proficient tracker on multiple occasions," the Swordsman began, his voice hesitant. "Could you, perhaps...?"

Way ahead of you. The transmigrator repeatedly cast Identify on each closed door nearby, tailoring the ability to inform him if any people were hiding within. It was the same thing he'd done to locate Cyna back at the stronghold.

The Skill was surprisingly flexible in what it let him get away with sometimes. He couldn't use Identify on the room itself, as the system didn't consider an entire room to be an object, but a door connected to a room was fair game.

No servants or soldiers were located in this hallway. Nor the next, or the one after that. Yet while the rebels needed to spend precious minutes carefully searching through each room, laboriously checking every last nook and cranny, Simon could clear out a corridor in the time it took him to read a dozen text boxes.

Bingo. His mouth crept into a grin as he called out to the scattered rebels, then pointed at an otherwise unremarkable door. "Got someone in here."

Marlene eyed him curiously. "How did–"

"Demon magic," Katarina muttered, stepping forward with an air of impatience. "It's locked, but there's no Artifacts keeping it closed. I can have it open in ten seconds or less."

Before she'd even reached the keyhole, Cyna pushed past and swung her greatsword at the door. Its frame instantly crumpled, reduced to a sad little pile of jagged woodchips.

"My lockpick is faster," she said, bulldozing into the room without hesitation.