DEMON CASTLE-Chapter 40

The icy elves were both celebrating and mourning after their victory in battle—one group rejoicing in their success and the removal of threats, while the other grieved for their fallen loved ones who were no longer by their side.

Meanwhile, Markinz, having dismissed his standard-bearers and armies, stood alone with his weary fifty-thousand-strong force, gazing out from the balcony of his fortress while sipping from his goblet.

"Many lives were sacrificed today, but with the current achievements, a brighter future awaits the icy elves."

However, he was not talking to himself like a madman—two men of half-human, half-icy-elf descent stood beside him. They were two powerful brothers who held noble titles under Markinz and, given their proximity to Algotha's territory, had quickly noticed the existence of the teleportation gate. At Algotha's request, they had come to him.

Their names were Shibelang and Nibelang—renowned warriors across the entire continent, undefeated in battle, with no one left alive to recount their combat style.

With scarred, hairless heads, in their fifth decade of life, and eyes that had long forgotten love, they sipped their wine from goblets while clad in heavy armor.

Of course, Markinz did not expect them to respond or engage in casual conversation. The brothers held another title—the Mute Brothers, a name earned due to the tortures inflicted upon them by their foster mother. Their inability to speak had been both a curse and, at times, a blessing. While it was said that magic or miracles could allow them to communicate through sound, their lack of talent and magical affinity had barred them from early success in life.

"Talking to myself after such a hard day... Ahh, if only I had your help, things might have gone better."

The two brothers did not frown or show any discomfort at his words. They agreed with him, but it wasn't as if they could have helped—both had been waging battles elsewhere with their armies. Due to their powerful physiques and the extreme significance of the ancient teleportation gate, they had rushed to Algotha immediately after their battles, still clad in their battle-worn armor.

"Still, I'm grateful that you're here. At least having my brothers by my side gives me more peace than if that duchess were to suddenly appear and steal all the credit in court. It was the icy elves who made sacrifices, not the Valkyries!"

The two brothers nodded. Although Algotha wasn't their blood sister, they had spent much time together in childhood despite being from different families. Algotha's lively and outgoing nature had contrasted with the brothers' introverted and wounded souls, yet she had embraced them as her own brothers. That decision had ensured that even at the rank of Duke, she had warriors powerful enough to stand behind her—ones who could make even a Duke hesitate before opposing her.

"It's been nothing but war, war, war lately... How long must people keep dying? They promise peace, yet we are forced into battle. How long must I hold my people and my children as they die in my arms...?"

The two brothers, both slightly taller than Algotha, placed their hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. With their other hands, they signed in silent reassurance, promising their eternal support.

At that moment, their loyalty was put to the test.

Bells and horns blared across the fortress walls as the cries of war erupted once more.

"Don't tell me... that damned Duke!!!"

Yet there was no time to curse. He had already witnessed enough of his soldiers' deaths for one day.

"My brothers?"

He turned his gaze to the two warriors, who each drew a massive warhammer from the rare spatial rings on their fingers. With a nod, they signaled their readiness to aid him.

"Thank you, truly."

At that moment, his regal garments shimmered, replaced by a full-body ice armor. With a mighty leap, he propelled himself toward the walls, while the two brothers followed, soaring toward the same destination.

Upon the thick, ten-meter-high stone walls, elven soldiers who had been playing cards or chatting just moments ago were stirred by the sounds of scraping and movement. Rising from their posts, they peered over the long and towering barrier.

But the sight before them was not their usual patrolling guards with torches. Instead, massive black creatures loomed in the darkness of the night, nearly invisible.

"Attack... we're under attack!!!"

The alarmed cries rang out, but dread gripped the hearts of the guards as horns and warning bells echoed from every station.

The city was soon engulfed in the sounds of war, and the celebrations turned into chaos.

"Oh no!"

A station commander, ranked as a lord with senses keener than the elite soldiers around him, felt a cold sweat drip down his back.

"We're doomed..."

The soldiers around him were confused. Each of them had undergone grueling training to earn their positions, and their commander, a man of such high rank and power, had never before shown such despair.

They never got an answer from him.

A horde of monstrous, hellish cats swarmed over them, tearing them apart like playthings.

The city was in utter turmoil. The giant hellcats, with their incredible speed, spread through the streets, coordinating their attacks to catch the exhausted guards and city garrison off guard.

Not even a full minute had passed since their arrival on the walls, yet the death toll had already climbed into the thousands.

However, in key locations, warlords and city lords stood their ground, effortlessly cutting down elite-ranked enemies and rallying their forces under emergency protocols.

That is... if the enemy wasn't already targeting key gathering points with their own forces.

The city's defense general, a warlord-ranked warrior, skewered five giant hellcats with his spear in one swift motion, completing his hundredth kill. But then, he noticed a hooded figure—a woman cloaked in black—approaching him.

"You... are you a demon?"

With his heightened senses, the old man instantly recognized the sinister aura of ancient malevolence and lethal intent radiating from her.

"The reason you are hunted without end is because of your meaningless slaughter—"

But his words were abruptly cut short as the figure before him began chanting in a rasping, furious voice.

"Revenge... revenge... revenge...!"

Her trembling voice didn't make the words sound pitiful—it made them terrifying. A nightmare for those with weak mental fortitude.

The old man steadied his breath, ignoring the soldiers behind him whose heads were exploding one after another. He didn't need to see their deaths; he was analyzing his opponent's combat style, formulating a countermeasure in his mind.

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Then, the hooded woman's gaze locked onto him. A fierce mental assault struck him, causing his head to heat up, his mind to swirl with nightmarish visions—each lasting less than a fraction of a second.

"Haha! Tough luck! You won't find a nightmare that can scare me, and my mind won't break so easily!"

With a powerful leap, he readied his spear for a strike—

But an explosion erupted in his path. As the dust settled, the undead figure emerged, towering over him. The old man, lying beneath, gasped weakly as the entity crushed his skull beneath its foot.

Turning, the undead gazed at the dark mare beside it.

"I will deal with the warlords. Focus on the lords."

The dark mare nodded, watching as Hazard flew off into the distance, disappearing before landing elsewhere.

"HAAAZAAARD!"