Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

As he was now, Simon felt so powerful that he was struggling to comprehend it. Subjugate Territory doubled his stats as long as he resided within Caelryn City – or Springwater Village. He was essentially Level 80, and that wasn't counting the bonus points he'd accrued from Fell Harvest.

But...even so. Even with doubled stats. Even sensing this new mana from a distance.

He already knew he couldn't win.

Duke Helmund would annihilate him.

Simon allowed himself a single moment of existential dread – then got to work. No rest for the weary.

First he glanced over at the Hurricane rebels, examining their facial expressions. They seemed distraught, which was to be expected...but also shocked. Bastian, Cyna, and Marlene hadn't thought that the Duke would arrive so quickly.

News traveled much more slowly in a world without high-speed communication, and it had only been several hours since the incident at the bar. Even accounting for messengers using Waystation Crystals, Helmund must have dropped everything and rushed to Caelryn the instant he heard that Piers was attacked.

Does he care more about his son than he lets on? Simon wondered. Or is he simply obligated to defend the family name? Could also be that he's freaking out over the first Demonic incursion in decades.

Whatever the reason, he was here now – and their problem to deal with.

Simon approached Marlene. She still hadn't spoken, which...wasn't a reassuring sign.

"What next?" he asked, stepping into her field of vision. "Fight? Flee? Hide? What's your contingency plan for something like this?"

Silence.

"Marlene?"

She blinked, snapping out of her reverie. "...Contingency plan?" A bitter, hollow grin snaked up her face. "It took your arrival for us to dare strike at Piers, yet you assume we have something in Caelryn that can handle the Duke? How could–"

The Hurricane leader winced, as if just now realizing what she was saying – and that everyone in the room was staring at her.

"Our options are few," she said, straightening her posture and hardening her features. "Fighting is doomed to fail. That should be apparent. Hiding will buy us more time, but it merely prolongs the inevitable. After Helmund discovers Piers' corpse, he'll scour every inch of Caelryn in search of us."

Marlene looked out the window again, her gaze sweeping across the upper city district. "Our only chance, slim as it may be, would be to seize a Waystation Crystal and teleport to another city."

"Then let's do that," Katarina hurriedly said, not wanting to waste time. "Where's the nearest Waystation?"

"Far from here, unfortunately. There are no more than three in all of Caelryn. And even if we were to reach one before Helmund tracked us down, you'll find that they are fiercely guarded by the nobility. With the sacrifices we have already incurred today, we may not have the necessary manpower to storm a Waystation."

A soldier from Piers' retinue stepped forward. "What if..." He grimaced, as if in disbelief over his own voice. "What if we were to join you? Add our ranks to your own?"

Simon's eyebrows shot up to the top of his head. Switching sides so readily? I won't turn down the extra sword arms, but it's hard to trust people whose allegiances seem paper-thin.

Then again, these guardsmen were toast unless they defected and helped the Hurricane pull off a miracle escape. They'd let the heir to the empire perish under their watch. If Duke Helmund caught them, a swift and painless execution would be the most they could hope for.

And above all else, Piers had been someone that inspired fear, not loyalty. It didn't take cold pragmatism to betray his memory – just a healthy sense of dislike for a man who'd sorely earned it.

Cyna glared bloody murder at the soldier, her hand creeping towards her greatsword. Marlene cut in before negotiations could break down. "Agreed," said the Hurricane leader, ignoring her subordinate's face of disgust. "We'll work out the details later. With our forces combined..."

Marlene pointed at a building in the distance. "There. I won't lie; it will be difficult. Nigh-impossible. But together, our odds are greater than zero, and that's the best you'll get when the Duke himself has you in his sights."

Simon frowned. The Waystation she'd indicated wasn't close at all.

They were supposed to run over there, defeat the throngs of guards barring their path, and gain access to the Crystal inside before Duke Helmund found them? When he would be hunting them relentlessly? When he'd likely ordered every Waystation in the city to have its defenses tripled, fully aware that the Demon might try using a Crystal to escape?

This is supposed to be our *best*-case scenario?

Thoughts racing, the transmigrator brought up his Character Sheet. He double-checked a Description, then activated one of the upgraded Skills from his Class Advancement. Lastly, he peered back out the window, mentally comparing distances.

It wasn't even a contest. The Waystation that Marlene suggested was located much farther away than the place Simon had in mind.

Any lingering doubts in his heart were dispelled a moment later as the world lurched, the gravitational pull of Duke Helmund's mana shifting once more. Now he was on the move, charging towards them with astonishing speed. Evidently, he'd been informed that Piers was hiding in this villa.

They only had minutes until he arrived.

Simon didn't hesitate. He dumped all 36 of his Unspent Stats into Dexterity, raising the base number from 42 to 78.

Under the effects of Subjugate Territory, that was 156 points of swiftness. His reflexes sharpened, and his body filled with restless energy, as if the mere thought of running at a normal human pace felt akin to crawling like a snail.

Next step. He rapidly scanned the room, his gaze jumping from person-to-person. How many of them can I carry?

With 86 Strength, he could theoretically deadlift ten people at once, but this wasn't really a matter of raw power. Simon needed to move as quickly as his body could handle, and each additional person he tried to ferry would cost him maneuverability and leverage.

Holding five-to-six people in each arm was physically impossible. Pack mule, then? He imagined a dozen people stacked on top of him like an unwieldy Jenga tower of panicked humans. It didn't seem feasible. At worst, someone would fall off, forcing him to double back for them.

And he just couldn't do that. Every second was crucial.

How many people should he carry, then? That was a better question. Simon promptly landed on 'four' as a compromise between hastiness and lives saved.

Triage system. Kat first, obviously. Then Bastian. Cyna, for Bastian's sake. Marlene, as she'd signed a Contract.

There. Four people, and no more. The decision was made.

He couldn't turn back from it.

Marlene was in the middle of ordering everyone to move out when Simon scooped her up. A Demonic blur zipped around the room, grabbing Kat, Bastian, and Cyna before anyone could react. Carrying two people in each arm felt awkward, yet manageable.

He spared a glance for the eight he'd be leaving behind. The six turncoat soldiers were of little consequence to him...

But the two remaining Hurricane rebels were deserving of respect. They had fought by his side, helped carve a path through the villa. Without them holding the line against the royal retinue, he wouldn't have gotten some quality one-on-one time with Piers, letting him convince the nobleman that he was isolated and trapped.

Their courage was to be rewarded with death. Abandoned, cast aside, left to greet a frothing mad Duke Helmund – simply because one person considered them marginally more expendable than their cohorts.

"Sorry."

A lackluster apology was all he could offer them. Simon didn't wait for their response, dashing forward and crashing through the window in a burst of motion.

Glass shards scraped his skin as the ground rushed up to meet him. It was a long fall from the top floor of the villa. His feet cracked the street as he landed, sending reverberations outward with a combination of gravity and his increased Strength.

The abrupt landing also jostled his cargo, which must have felt distinctly uncomfortable to them, but comfort was a distant concern right now. Bruises could easily be healed. Mana blasts from an irate Helmund? Not quite.

Simon took off running – then almost crashed into a house as he rounded the street corner, nearly stumbling over his own legs. It was an unavoidable side effect of his Dexterity skyrocketing from 42 to 156 with no grace period to let him adjust. He could scarcely control his own body, as if he was a car barreling down an icy highway at 100 miles-per-hour.

Luckily, the neighboring streets were empty, preventing him from accidentally turning any wandering civilians into a stain on the road. He pushed himself to adapt to his newfound speed as he ran, buildings shooting past in a blur one after another.

"What are you doing?!" Marlene shouted from within his grip. The villa was already shrinking behind them, but it wasn't that she'd been slow to react – Simon was just moving so fast that he'd cleared several streets in the brief time it took her to process what was happening. "We can't leave them behind!"

"We can, and we did." Tact had never been his strong suit, and concentrating on not smashing into walls was making it even more difficult to choose his words with care. "Need to. Triage system. Your plan wouldn't have–"

The Hurricane leader pulled out a knife and held it to his throat.

"Turn around," she hissed. Her voice was taut with barely-restrained emotion, like a volcano about to boil over and erupt. "If they are to die, then let it be beside friends and allies, not...not discarded as if they were yesterday's offal! Ancient One take you, Demon – you couldn't have won without them!"

You do realize I can drop you at any time, right? Would make things easier for me. Less cargo to fuss over.

Before Simon's mouth caught up with his thoughts, Katarina pulled out her own knife and held it to Marlene's throat.

"Don't," the Arcane Rogue urged. "I know where you're coming from, but stop to think for a moment. Do you truly believe that Simon could carry that many people while running like the wind? Just us four already feels precarious."

"He could have tried," Marlene snapped.

"Could he?" Kat retorted. "Our time to escape is measured in minutes. Seconds. Duke Helmund has left us with little recourse but to flee with the utmost of haste."

"Flee where, precisely? Simon isn't even heading towards a Waystation."

Marlene was correct. Rather than heading deeper into the upper city district, where the three Waystations were kept secure, he'd set a course for the lower district. The gaudy, embellished architecture of the nobility was rapidly giving way to structures built with a much lighter budget.

"I'm sure he has a scheme in mind." Katarina offered. There wasn't a hint of doubt in her voice. "He isn't one to needlessly throw his life away. Isn't that right, Simon?"

The transmigrator looked at Marlene holding a knife to his throat, then at Katarina holding a knife to Marlene's throat, and suppressed the urge to chuckle. He was tempted to wait for Cyna to act next, vaguely hoping that she would extend the chain by threatening Kat...but he should probably nip this in the bud before someone lost their neck over poor communication.

"Yeah," he grunted, keeping his words short. The streets were starting to fill with people again as he crossed into the lower city district, and dodging them was a considerable challenge. "Can escape this way. Have new Demon magic. Need to–"

A cacophony of tortured wood resounded through the air.

Simon glanced sideways. In the distance, he saw a building in the upper district start to crumble and collapse. Its tall peak sank below the nearby rooftops, like a drowning swimmer vanishing beneath the sea's hungry waves.

Several seconds went by. Another explosive din rang out, and another building in the noble district crumbled. It was only when a third went under that Simon was able to draw a mental line, extrapolating the future trajectory of destruction.

Stolen novel; please report.

Duke Helmund was making a beeline straight for Piers' villa – as in, straight for it. To him, the roads were optional.

All four of Simon's passengers fell silent. What was there to say, in the face of power that made them feel like ants staring up as a boot descended? They just had to pray that their Demonic chauffeur knew what he was doing.

Because even if the Waystations had been completely unguarded, returning to the upper district right now seemed...ill-advised.

The streets were getting more crowded now. Simon's breathing intensified as he weaved between hapless pedestrians, sacrificing milliseconds to avoid committing vehicular manslaughter without the vehicle. He caught glimpses of their faces along the way, finding either confusion over what had just sped past them, or awe at the trail of devastation Helmund was wreaking in the upper city.

Steering clear of him was the right call. It helped that Piers' villa had been relatively close to the lower district. Less distance to travel. We're making good time. Shouldn't be too long before we reach the center of Caelryn. Not out of the woods yet, but I think–

His thoughts were cut short by a wordless scream echoing across the city.

It was a sound of apocalyptic rage, unbridled and throat-scratching – yet also with a degree of petty, arrogant disbelief to it. The kind of scream that would belong to an almighty king learning that his subjects had defied him...

Mixed with a father discovering the headless corpse of his son.

Light burst forth. A towering pillar of luminescence flared up around Piers' villa, devouring it like the wrath of a vengeful god. The wide, overbuilt structure disappeared in the blink of an eye. Blinding radiance blanketed Caelryn City as the pillar shot higher, piercing the clouds, ascending to the heavens.

Then it was gone – and the villa along with it. Nothing remained of the largest building that Simon had ever set foot in.

The transmigrator was already sprinting as quickly as he could. Physically speaking, he literally couldn't move faster than this.

Yet he definitely tried.

His hopes that Helmund would throw a tantrum in the upper city district – maybe vent his fury on some unsuspecting nobles – were immediately dashed. Right as the pillar of light dissipated, the Duke's gravitational pull of mana shifted directly towards Simon, drawing closer at an alarming rate.

It couldn't have been coincidence. A heat-seeking missile being launched at its prey would've felt less subtle.

Duke Helmund crossed over from the upper district to the lower district in an absurdly short amount of time. Buildings collapsed again and again. Terrified shrieks rose up as the commoners of Caelryn realized they were next in line for the demigod's warpath.

He knows where we are, Simon confirmed, dismissing the flash of panic that thought inspired. Our exact location.

Was it a tracking Artifact? Or was Helmund's mastery of mana so comprehensive that he could detect their group from afar? Considering how densely-populated Caelryn City was, it would be like picking a needle out of a haystack, but the Duke had apparently lived for centuries – plenty of time to hone his craft.

"People are dying," Bastian murmured. His face twisted with anguish as he heard another building being demolished. "If we weren't here, if Duke Helmund wasn't pursuing us..."

The rebel paused, then nodded, having reached a decision. "Let me go."

Simon almost tripped. What? "What?"

"What?!" Cyna yelled, her head whipping towards Bastian. "Have you taken leave of your senses?!"

"I'll speak to Helmund," the Swordsman continued, as if he hadn't heard her speak. "Stall him, claim that it was I who killed Piers. He'll learn the truth regardless, but even a short delay might save all of you. And at the very least, if he's busy speaking with me, he won't be brutalizing ordinary folk who have nothing to do with any of this."

Simon shook his head. "Won't speak. Just flatten." Bastian would be turned into a red smear the second that Duke Helmund saw him.

"You don't know that." The rebel sucked in air through his teeth as yet another building fell, adding more screams of pain to the ever-growing symphony. "I can't sit idly by and do nothing as innocents suffer because of my actions."

Cyna looked like she wanted to throttle him. Instead, she channeled her anger into her voice, speaking in a tone that cut sharper than a knife. "You think you're the only one plagued with guilt?"

Bastian flinched. "I–"

"The Demon chose us over our comrades. That alone is stomach-churning. Worse still, the slaying of a Helmund – our grand victory that we've dreamed of for years – has been marred by the loss of hundreds of commoners. It's enough to make anyone want to vomit."

She fixed the Swordsman with a penetrating gaze. "But you're well-aware that your sacrifice wouldn't delay Duke Helmund in the slightest. Guilt and shame have seized your good reasoning. Do you intend to cheapen the lives of those we left behind? To leave me behind out of a misplaced sense of valor? Is the love we share worth so little to you?"

Bastian hung his head and said no more. Cyna watched him like a hawk until she could be certain he wasn't going to try wriggling out of Simon's grasp, satisfied that she'd stopped him from acting heroically suicidal.

More streets passed by. Simon ran, and ran, and ran, always cognizant of the immense storm of mana fast approaching. Death was nipping at his heels, tired of being denied its due.

Almost there, he told himself, pushing his body harder. Almost. There. The transmigrator dug deep, calling upon every last drop of energy he could muster, his legs burning with exertion. Keep moving. Cross the finish line.

It's too early to die here.

Duke Helmund disagreed. In what felt like no time at all, the sovereign of the Severed Isles had nearly caught up. He was practically upon them now.

Then they turned one final corner – where salvation lay before them.

It was a nondescript street like any other. There was no Waystation Crystal or deus ex Artifact in sight. However, this street also happened to be the geographical and territorial epicenter of Caelryn City.

And it had been calling out to Simon since the moment Piers yielded authority.

'Each subjugated territory gains an invisible, intangible sigil in the direct center of the territory. You may use them to instantaneously teleport yourself, and up to nine other people, to any other subjugated territory. Only you can use or access these teleportation sigils.'

Subjugate Territory's upgrade had borne fruit. Simon could see the teleportation sigil at the other end of the street – a floating mark in the shape of Grant Boon's symbol. People were strolling through the sigil like it was a ghost, unable to touch or sense it. That privilege was reserved solely for its owner.

Which meant that Helmund couldn't follow them after they teleported to safety. He wouldn't even know where they'd gone to.

We're home fre-

Simon was halfway to the sigil when his breath fled his throat, choked out by an implacable force, as if the air itself had solidified and wrapped around his neck. Without stopping, he quickly glanced behind.

In the past, he'd branded Armand Calloway and Piers Helmund as monsters. It seemed fitting at the time. Both men had abandoned their humanity in every conceivable way, their flesh replaced with mana and their hearts consumed by emptiness.

Now, though, Simon was wondering if he wouldn't have to revise his estimates. If those two had been monsters...the very worst he could think of...

Then what was he supposed to call this?

A being of power stood before him. Not a person – not even a creature. Duke Helmund couldn't rightfully be viewed as a living organism. He was more a nexus of sentient mana, an entity forcibly constrained to human form, a thing pretending at personhood.

And putting on a poor performance, at that. The Duke's body bulged and squirmed in various places, as if pockets of air were forming under his skin, the mana beneath struggling to contain itself. His countenance appeared healthy and sickly at the same time, like he was well-fed and cared for, yet rotting from within. Even his noble attire seemed off, the finely-tailored garments only serving to heighten the dissonance one felt when looking at him.

Last, but not least, there were his eyes. Twitching. Bulbous. Moving independently of one another. With pupils that changed color each second, morphing from pitch-black to unstained white to nothing at all.

He wasn't quite as gruesome as Armand, who had been close to a zombified corpse, but no person could have seen Duke Helmund and mistaken him for human. Not a person, not a creature, not a monster – an aberration.

His gaze settled on Simon with a look that was glassy yet piercing. The Duke's face alighted with rage, mana exploding around him in a corona of unfettered ruination.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

Simon didn't answer. He didn't even spare a moment to cast Identify. He just kept running, not slowing his pace, aiming for the teleportation sigil with a feverish, single-minded determination.

In the marrow of his bones, he knew that any hesitation or wasted effort right now would be the end of him.

Twenty feet from the sigil. With Simon's current Dexterity, it was practically right at his fingertips, yet the distance seemed to stretch out impossibly far. His knees threatened to buckle under the pressure of Helmund's mana, as if an imperceptible weight was attempting to crush him.

Fifteen feet from the sigil. The Duke realized that he wasn't going to get a reply – that he was being ignored.

He didn't take kindly to that.

Ten feet from the sigil. For one fleeting instant, there was peace.

Then Helmund charged.

He flew forward like a rocket, screeching louder than a demented banshee, the street obliterated in his wake. Buildings were shredded to confetti, and the ground ripped open as if bombs had detonated from underneath. The less said about what happened to the people standing nearby, the better.

Despite still being a fair distance away, errant offshoots of energy still managed to reach Simon. He contorted his body to protect his four passengers, using his flesh as a shield, enduring hits that would have sliced them in half.

HP: 52 / 1260

Five feet from the sigil.

Duke Helmund's hand was extended. Whether to fire a blast of mana, or to pluck out Simon's Fell heart, the transmigrator couldn't say.

He didn't stick around to find out.

With no small amount of desperation, Simon grasped the teleportation sigil and activated Subjugate Territory. As if responding to his haste, his mana immediately surged forth, resonating.

An inhuman scream assailed his ears as the world vanished.

--

Simon opened his eyes to a land of blissful quiet.

Although mostly because everyone was staring in shock. The people of Springwater Village were frozen in their tracks, eyes wide and mouths agape.

It was an understandable reaction. After all, five armed warriors had just materialized right in the middle of town. And while the villagers may not have recognized the three Hurricane rebels, they knew the Demon and his 'consort' – or so the rumors claimed – very well.

Simon exhaled with relief, gently depositing his cargo onto the ground. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into a heap alongside them, but there were too many eyes on him – too many people that would judge him for exhibiting the barest sliver of weakness.

Fake it 'till you make it. Now, and always.

It was difficult to retain his composure with Helmund's deranged expression still fresh in his mind, yet somehow, Simon managed. The transmigrator turned to face Mayor Lucia Evergreen, offering the dumbfounded woman a broad smile.

"Can you arrange lodging for my associates and I? We could use a breather."