I Was a Loner, but My Class Got Summoned to Another World…

Azragor stood in the heart of the battlefield. So close to the red mist factories, the air here was thicker than anywhere else in the world. It clung to his skin and lungs, choking him even, but it also shrouded him in a veil of power.

The crystals embedded in his body pulsed in answer, some drawing strength directly from the mist itself. He felt the crystals in his palms most keenly. Each throb beat in rhythm with his heart, every pulse forcing mana through his veins until his body burned with it. The pain was exquisite, exactly how it was meant to be. This was how demons should feel, before the cursed spirits cut them off from their rightful supply of power.

Darkness and earth coiled around him, twisting into a storm of jagged spears. The ground convulsed beneath his enemies, spikes erupting upward to tear through their ranks. Some soldiers were impaled instantly, their screams cut short. Others survived only because the human princess's light shield flared in time. Even so, nearly twenty half-blood and human soldiers fell in a single strike.

Azragor smiled, sharp and cold. Each death fed the crystals, filling him with more mana, enough to stir even the third element lurking within him. But he held back. A hidden trick was worth far more than a reckless display.

No, his purpose here was simple: draw the heroes' attention, force Roland to the front, where he could be broken. Let the others squirm and die, he would have what he wanted.

And above all, one target consumed his gaze.

The traitor who dared defy him. The Demon King's daughter, Morrag.

The girl was Morrag, daughter of the great Vrozakul, the Demon King himself. But Azragor did not care. She was not the only daughter of that particular tyrant, and even if she were, she was no different from the rest of the demons who had lived here for centuries, trapped with no way back.

Once, he might have respected her, perhaps even bowed to her if she had not chosen to work alongside the vile humans who had forced the demons into this cursed world.

His lips curled into a smile as the girl looked up at him. That, at least, was enough to make him feel some measure of accomplishment.

He had never liked her. In truth, he had always wanted her dead. Yet she had been one of the few possible paths to return to their world.

"You disgrace your bloodline, princess. What made you change sides? Did we not treat you with enough hospitality?" Azragor called out toward Morrag in open disdain.

His eyes then shifted to the half-blood commander, Zavar, who already looked worse off than the princess despite not having endured as many blows. "Look at you," Azragor sneered. "Crawling not only with humans but also sullying your father's name by fighting beside half-bloods. This is betrayal in its purest form."

Zavar's jaw clenched, rage flashing across his face. He shouted back, but to Azragor it was no more than noise like a rock daring to argue. This rock, however, had its own set of skills.

Azragor slammed both palms into the ground, and another wave of jagged earth spikes surged upward to tear his enemies apart. But this time, a shield intercepted them. Light flared, shattering his spears into fragments that clattered harmlessly to the dirt.

"You call that treatment you gave me hospitality?" Morrag's voice rang out, fierce and steady despite her battered stance. "What a sick joke. The last thing I remember was being drugged and drained of my blood. Tell me, Azragor, where is the hospitality in that?"

Her blade blazed crimson as she pointed it at him. "You, who were once one of my father's best. What would he say if he saw you now? No… perhaps he already knew what you truly were. That you were ready to betray him, just as you've betrayed everyone else."

For the first time, Azragor's grin vanished. His face twisted, not with mockery but with unrestrained fury. He stared at the demon princess with eyes that burned hotter than his crystals, his rage spiraling past control.

Azragor's voice dropped, low and venomous. "Two thousand years and some days… Tell me, princess, in all that time, did your father ever once consider me worthy? I did more than most of his children, yet he named me only a general. A dog to be ordered about, when I could have been so much more."

His crystals flared with each word, burning brighter as if feeding on his anger. Shadows writhed around him, and the ground trembled beneath his feet. His gaze locked on Morrag with a hatred that went beyond the battlefield; it was the resentment of centuries, finally given form.

Morrag laughed, she even clapped to show how amused she was.

"Predictable, Azragor. That's what you've always been. You talk of what you 'could have been,' but all I hear is the whining of someone too blind to see why my father never trusted you. You were strong, yes, but never more than a beast straining its leash to the limit."

Her crimson blade flared, and she moved in sync with Zavar, the two of them striking from opposite sides. Azragor's eyes narrowed as their coordination forced him back a half-step, jagged crystals shattering under Zavar's heavy blows while Morrag's fire-tinged strikes carved openings between them.

For the first time, a true gap formed in Azragor's defenses.

"Now, Stella!" Morrag shouted.

Light gathered overhead, searing and pure as it pulsed toward the demon general's position. The human princess, Stella, felt her magic swell as she poured everything into the breach carved open by Morrag and Zavar's combined assault.

Azragor's head snapped toward the glow, his crystals humming as he siphoned a thread of the girl's power to weaken the spell. But in that instant, another figure entered the fray.

Lucien.

His blade shimmered with pale light as he charged forward, intercepting the cluster of earth spikes Azragor conjured in reflex. With a single sweeping slash, he cleaved them aside, his stance steady and unyielding. He had made a promise to Roland, but more than that, he would never allow his younger sister to stand exposed.

"Your talking is going to get you killed…" he said coldly, placing himself between Azragor and his sister. "It's only a matter of time before Roland comes here."

Azragor snarled, swinging his crystal-clad fist into Lucien's blade.

The impact shook the ground, forcing Lucien back several steps despite his best effort to stand firm.

"Who know's maybe one of you will be dead before he comes, he will have his own trouble to deal with!"

Just as Azragor was ready to hit Lucien with magic, Morrag rushed in to cover him, her crimson blade sending flames to keep the general from seeing behind her as if the flames were a veil.

Zavar used the cover to sneak in and struck low to break Azragor's footing.

For a heartbeat, it looked as if their combined assault might hold.

Then the crystals embedded in Azragor's shoulders blazed to life, erupting in a shockwave of darkness and stone.

The blast hurled Morrag and Zavar to the ground, their blades sparking as they skidded through the dirt.

Lucien caught the edge of it, spat out blood, but his ward to send magic attacks away did not seem to work with the demon's crystals.

He staggered in front of his sister, shielding her from the worst of the blow.

Stella cried out, not knowing why her brother was trying so hard when she did not need protection; her shield was still standing strong, but she knew it wouldn't hold out another two or three of those same attacks.

Azragor loomed through the haze, his grin returning, wide and cruel. "Pathetic. This is the strength of your so-called unity?"

He raised his hand, a spike of blackened crystal forming at his palm, its point aimed for Stella.

And then—

Wings cut through the mist. A shadow fell across the battlefield as Roland descended, the cursed blade already in his grasp, its dark aura clashing against the glow of Azragor's crystals.

"Fall back," Roland's voice carried, cold and commanding. "This fight is mine."

Azragor turned as Roland landed, his grin stretching wider at the sight of the cursed blade.

"So the hero comes at last… and with a demon's weapon, no less. How fitting. Tell me, Roland, does the title hero really work well with you? You have killed so many lives, demons who just wanted to return to their homes!"

Roland leveled his blade, its dark aura coiling around him like living smoke. "There were other ways you could have gone about this, without killing and enslaving thousands, and of course destroying a world."

Azragor's laughter echoed across the battlefield, jagged and mocking. "True, but then I wouldn't have found the source of this world's power." His crystals flared, the ground beneath his feet cracking as mana surged outward. "And a way to return with it, to finally rule as the one and only demon king, by killing each spirit, I will be able to gain their power!"

Roland didn't waste another breath. He lunged forward, wings propelling him as the cursed blade slashed down in a streak of shadowed light.

Azragor met him head-on, crystal-clad fists raised. Blade and stone collided with a thunderous crack, a shockwave ripping through the field and scattering the mist. Soldiers and half-bloods nearby were knocked from their feet as the ground itself split under the force.

Roland pressed in, his strikes sharp and unrelenting. Each swing carried the blade's hunger, every cut trailing tendrils of darkness that clawed for Azragor's flesh. Yet the demon general moved with terrifying precision, parrying with hardened arms, his crystals ringing like struck bells as they deflected the cursed steel.

"You're strong," Azragor admitted, his grin twisting into something sharper. "But strength alone isn't enough."

The ground erupted beneath Roland's feet stone lances surged upward, forcing him to leap back as Azragor advanced, relentless.

The real battle had begun.