Demonic Conqueror [LitRPG, Isekai, Progression]

"So you're leaving?" Mayor Lucia asked.

Simon nodded. "It's a bit of a hike to the nearest Waystation, but we'll manage. Our portable Warding Orbs will keep any roaming Fell Beasts at bay."

Traveling would've been much faster with a carriage, but they'd left theirs back at Caelryn City. While Simon felt tempted to blame Bastian for that one, the Swordsman's thievery wasn't truly at fault here. Even if they'd retrieved their old carriage before the situation in Caelryn imploded, Subjugate Territory's teleportation couldn't bring large objects along – only people and whatever small items they were carrying.

Lucia's face twisted slightly, a complicated storm of emotions raging just below the surface. She obviously felt relieved that the Demon's merry band was leaving, as that meant less trouble for Springwater, yet she was doing an admirable job of not showing it. "Where will you go next?"

"That's classified."

To Simon's surprise, Marlene owned a custom-made Artifact capable of hijacking Waystation Crystals. It would let her teleport everyone directly to the Hurricane's main headquarters. Was part of why she'd been so adamant about reaching a Waystation back in Caelryn.

Lucia hesitated before speaking. "You...intend to fight the Duke."

"Not like he'll give me much of a choice in the matter." Simon grinned. "I assassinated his darling baby boy, after all."

"Do you regret it?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You have brought down the wrath of a god upon you. I saw Duke Helmund just once from afar when I was younger, and that was enough to take his measure. Truth be told, I don't think he can be killed. You'd have better luck fighting and slaying the sun itself."

She stared at him, seeking answers. "Do you regret drawing his ire?"

I probably should.

As a transmigrator, Simon's strongest asset was time. Time to plan, time to adjust – and most of all, time to grow. The longer he was given to prepare, the higher his Level would be when he finally revealed himself to the world.

In an ideal scenario, Simon would have ignored Piers and accepted that he wasn't ready yet. He would have continued hunting the streets of Caelryn in secret, earned more EXP, built himself up, maybe scored another Class Advancement or two.

Instead, he'd attacked the heir to the Helmund throne before even hitting Level 30.

Now the entire Severed Isles knew of his existence. The protective shroud of anonymity was lost to him. And while they'd managed to scrape out a win against Piers, the Duke himself was absurdly out of their league. Forget ideal – this was close to disastrous.

However.

"Piers was a monster." Simon's face twitched as he suppressed memories of Sin Scry. The visions haunted him like phantom pains, gnawing at his thoughts whenever he got too complacent. "I mean that in every sense of the word. It's unfortunate that his death has painted a target on my back, but regret? No. Never."

If he regretted anything at all, it was that he hadn't killed the man even sooner.

Lucia stayed quiet. After several moments of consideration, she seemed to reach a decision. "I have a carriage stashed away," she admitted. "Older than me, practically falling apart, but if you supply the Navigation Crystal, it'll function well enough. Should get you to the Waystation much quicker than traveling on foot."

As a matter of fact, a Navigation Crystal had been sitting inside Simon's Inventory for days now. He'd removed it from his previous carriage to deter prospective thieves from doing exactly what Bastian did.

"Are you certain?" he asked. "I know how expensive carriages are, antiquated or otherwise."

"Think of it as a trade. In return, you'll help replace our village's Water Artifact before it completely runs dry. People here are becoming...concerned. Some folks have even taken to beseeching the sky for rainfall."

She grimaced. "Imagine: people who haven't seen a single drop of rain since they were born, gazing up and whispering sweet nothings to the uncaring blue. It's better than if they'd turned into some of those stark raving mad doomsday prophets, yet not by much."

Simon had been planning to snag them a new Water Artifact anyway, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Agreed. Want to make it an official Contract?"

"No need. You're the type to keep to your word. Just..."

Once again, she did an admirable job of hiding her emotions – but not enough to prevent a spark of pity from flashing across her face. As if she wished she could stop him from leaving, even though it would put Springwater at risk.

As if she was looking at a dead man walking.

"Just make sure you come back alive."

--

Lucia hadn't been exaggerating about her carriage being a fixer-upper. Compared to the ritzy caravan that Simon had stolen from the slavers, he'd essentially downgraded from a premium rental car to a used jalopy held together with duct tape and prayers.

Thankfully – and with an audible sigh of relief from everyone – it still accepted his Navigation Crystal and started driving towards the Waystation. Their trip wouldn't be comfortable or in style, but it would be speedy.

And speed was what mattered above all else. When Duke Helmund failed to locate the assassins who'd slain his son, he wouldn't simply shrug it off and concede defeat. Not when the Hurricane had gone from a nuisance to Public Enemy #1. He would redouble his efforts, scouring the lands for any hints of resistance, aiming to uproot the rebels like stubborn weeds.

The Hurricane was already on a timer – they just didn't know how close it was to reaching 0.

It made for an awkward carriage ride, to say the least. Marlene said nothing, but she spent every hour of every day staring out into the distance, clearly wondering if her subordinates were being hunted down at that very moment.

Cyna was constantly twitching with nervous energy, seeming increasingly aggravated by her lack of targets to bludgeon. Bastian attempted to lighten the mood with small talk...'attempted' being the operative word.

Simon didn't bother trying. He recognized his limits. With his natural aptitude for saying what he shouldn't, it would somehow turn into all three rebels blaming him for the current state of affairs.

Two days passed by with less than a dozen sentences spoken. The atmosphere worsened like a fist slowly clenching.

Mercifully, the Waystation appeared right on schedule.

It was as Simon remembered; a small-ish building surrounded by stone walls and Warding Orbs. He'd actually thought of it as large the last time he saw it, but that was before having his standards warped by Piers' ridiculously oversized villa.

A thick metal gate barred the entrance, guarded by ten fully-equipped soldiers – a significant upgrade from several weeks ago. Evidently, Duke Helmund was beefing up security.

To an extent. His resources weren't infinite. While the Waystations located near major cities probably had upwards of fifty soldiers defending them, this one was practically in the middle of nowhere, with few notable areas of interest around. Ten guardsmen was likely all that Helmund felt he could spare.

My thanks to Springwater, Simon thought. A village so unremarkable that the nobility tends to forget it exists.

The Hurricane rebels tensed as their carriage came to a stop in front of the gate. They were preparing for a fight – and in Cyna's case, itching for it.

None of the soldiers matched them in Level, but if they weren't careful, some could run off and sound the alarm, alert Duke Helmund to their presence here. They needed to strike hard and fast, end the fight before Helmund's lapdogs even knew what had hit them.

Then Katarina pointed at a specific soldier, gave Simon a hand signal, and smirked.

The transmigrator smiled wide as he stepped outside and jumped onto their carriage. He used its roof as a springboard to vault over the metal gate entrance, landing directly in front of nine gobsmacked guardsmen.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

And more importantly – in front of a single terrified man.

"Hey there, Irving," Simon beamed. "Miss me?"

Irving the Waystation guard let out a throat-scratching scream of unreserved terror. His knees gave out as he fell backwards, hyperventilating, eyes bulging. As if to shield himself, he held up a pair of trembling arms. There were four fingers on his left hand – no thumb.

Just as Simon had left it the last time he visited this Waystation.

It was a truly gratifying sight. The lesson that was taught that day wouldn't have amounted to much if Irving had managed to regenerate his severed thumb. Either he couldn't find a competent healer in time, or he'd already spent most of his ill-gotten gains on booze and couldn't afford it regardless.

"I didn't know!" Irving cried out. He seemed on the verge of tears. "Ancient One take me, I didn't know! Please, you must believe me!"

It took Simon a moment to realize what he was getting at. Oh, right. He didn't know I was a Demon back then. Now he's seen my wanted poster.

Must have been quite the surprise to learn that the guy who maimed you – and who promised to return if you didn't behave – was also a royal-murdering Fell abomination.

The transmigrator's smile grew ever wider. After putting himself through the ringer in order to intimidate Piers, it was nice to be handed a freebie for once.

"NO! DON'T!" Irving tightly curled up into himself, as if he could vanish entirely if he became a perfect sphere. "I'VE BEEN GOOD! DIDN'T HURT ANYONE! DIDN'T STEAL! JUST GUARDED THE GATE AS NORMAL! DON'T TAKE MY SOUL!"

The three rebels and Kat had caught up by now, opening the gate and inching their carriage through. They and the nine remaining soldiers were all watching with varying degrees of shock. "Take...my soul?" a guard muttered, belated horror dawning on her expression.

Simon raised his right arm and Shapeshifted it. "I recommend staying exactly where you are," he told the soldiers. "Anyone who runs, dies. Anyone who doesn't, lives. Simple as that. Be smart and keep quiet while I have a chat with Irving, won't you?"

Eight of the soldiers fell into a stunned silence, frozen perfectly still, as if hoping that Demons were predator animals who hunted solely by movement. The ninth – who looked new, and hadn't yet honed his survival instincts – gasped loudly and pointed. "You're from the wanted pos–"

Another soldier grabbed him, covered his mouth, and tackled him to the ground. Simon sent them all a reassuring grin before shifting his gaze back towards Irving.

"Hold up," Bastian interjected. "You've met this man in the past?"

"Once. As you can see, I left quite the impression on him."

Bastian frowned, narrowing his eyes at Irving. "He mentioned...hurting people. Stealing from them. Is this true?"

Simon nodded. "Yes."

"And you disciplined him for it." The Swordsman hesitated as he examined Irving's cowering form. "Did the punishment fit the crime?"

"Again, yes."

Bastian, Cyna, and Marlene all turned to face Katarina.

"It's true," the Arcane Rogue affirmed. "Irving robbed many people who used this very Waystation. Most of them were of meager means, and some likely perished as a result of his greed."

What is she, my interpreter? Not wanting to receive an answer to that question, Simon chose to keep it to himself.

"I'll trust that you've been good," he began, looking Irving straight in the eyes. "You're someone who values your own skin. You knew I wouldn't stop at a thumb if I returned to find you...lapsing."

Simon could have verified the man's claims with Sin Scry, but he held off. The incident with Piers was still so fresh that it felt raw. He didn't want more visions of humanity's ugliness competing for his nightmares.

He also understood that he couldn't ignore Sin Scry forever. Info-gathering won wars. Was too crucial to shelve permanently. Would have to use it again sometime – probably soon.

Just...not yet.

Irving nodded so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash. "Yes, yes! I've done what you said. Never faltered. I swear on my good name."

That and fifty cents will buy you a cup of coffee. "Excellent. Now – a question for you. What news have you received from Duke Helmund? Has he located the rest of the Hurricane?"

"Don't think so." Irving answered immediately, selling out his boss with nary an ounce of remorse. "The Duke is searching high and low, but he's still searching, far as I'm aware."

Marlene exhaled a sigh of relief so small that only Simon could have heard it.

"Much obliged." The transmigrator peered back at his allies. "Let's go. Unless you have some questions of your own?"

Cyna shook her head. "I'm sorry, go? Without killing the traitorous sycophants who've seen our faces?"

The soldiers stiffened with thinly-veiled panic. Simon hurried over to the Hurricane rebels before they could argue further, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"And what do you think happens when Helmund asks for this Waystation to report in, and no one does? He'll send people over. Find the bodies. Learn that we were here. Send more people to investigate. Search the nearest settlement – Springwater."

"That is liable to occur no matter what decision we make," Bastian said, in a somber tone. "If we spare these soldiers, they'll merely inform the Duke of what transpired. His forces will arrive even sooner."

"Wrong. Observe."

Simon turned to address the soldiers. A feeling of deranged confidence infused him as he relaxed his posture, extended his claws, and broadened his smile, adopting the mantle of a Demon with several screws loose.

He was getting better and better at that.

"I have little interest in slaying you," Simon magnanimously professed, as if he was granting them a rare gift. "But do me a favor – don't scurry off and get yourselves killed right after. Would be a waste of my beneficence."

Eventually, one soldier was brave enough to speak up. "What...do you mean?" she asked. "How would we get ourselves killed?"

"By following orders, of course. That's how most soldiers end up dying."

He chuckled. "Some of you have already realized what I'm about to say. Irving certainly has. He has a coward's way of thinking, and much like the cockroaches they are, cowards tend to outlast the brave-hearted."

In an instant, all mirth evaporated from Simon's countenance. "So if one of you tries contacting Duke Helmund...pay attention when Irving starts running for the hills."

They said nothing, collectively holding their breaths. He had them hanging on his every word, as if their lives depended on it.

Which was accurate.

"A voice inside your head will try to murder you," Simon continued. "It'll say, 'Duke Helmund is our liege lord! We owe him our fealty!' Or perhaps, 'He's looking for news of the Demon! I'll be handsomely rewarded if I report in!'"

The transmigrator bared his teeth. "But don't delude yourself. We all know that's not how people like him operate."

Making a purposefully dramatic exit, Simon strolled off towards the carriage, trusting his allies to follow him. Katarina trailed close behind him, then Bastian after a moment of hesitation, then Cyna and Marlene as they were tacitly outvoted.

"You have two choices," Simon told the soldiers, as he departed. "First, you can all pretend you never saw me. Swear each other to silence. Forge a pact of mutual self-interest. That – and only that – will keep you alive."

He sent them a final parting glance. "Or you can report this to Helmund...and be the guards who let his son's killer escape."

By the looks on their faces as he entered the Waystation, Simon knew which option they would choose.