The following days passed almost without Aelith realizing it. The preparations were completed a day after the tremor. The three of them were left speechless as they watched the dungeon being sealed beneath the earth, leaving only a massive pit where Thaloren was meant to fall. They had to make sure, at any cost, that the Corrupted One couldn't escape.
He can jump several dozen meters… but can he actually fly? Daion had reasoned.
Aelith, for her part, thought he could probably climb—but at this point, it hardly mattered. Only a couple of days remained before the confrontation.
Daion seemed confident, which, ironically, inspired no confidence at all in Aelith. She'd grown far too used to watching confidence turn into stupidity.
They returned to the fortress once more. The summoned soldiers and the demi-humans working with them were scattered across the floor, utterly exhausted. Most hadn't slept in days, perfecting every last detail of the stronghold's defenses.
Loryn sighed, climbed a low hill with his rifle, and scanned the battlefield through the scope.
"Looks like everything's ready," he said, pulling back his hood slightly. He smiled faintly before stepping down to join them. "First kill's mine."
Daion smiled back, and the three of them entered the fortress.
The first order of business was to report to Seraphine. Daion handled that while the other two continued toward the living quarters. Aelith felt strangely uplifted, even though they were about to walk into a war they likely wouldn't survive.
Loryn glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Ever since the incident in the dungeon, it had been hard not to feel a hint of fear toward Aelith—after all, she had managed to wound the skin of an ice guardian.
Still, they walked together until they reached the bar. Loryn ordered the strongest liquor available, then looked over at her.
"Want something?" he asked as he paid.
Aelith studied him curiously.
"Not really," she replied, lowering her gaze.
"Have you ever had alcohol before?"
"No," she admitted. "Alcohol wouldn't be wasted on a slave."
Loryn nodded and grabbed a glass from the counter. The bartender—a soldier left in charge since all civilians had fled the coming conflict—raised an eyebrow but said nothing. And for good reason. Soldiers were only allowed to serve bottles; none of them knew how to mix drinks anyway.
Loryn poured her a drink and handed it over. Aelith hesitated, then took it and drank it all in one gulp. She immediately coughed, grimacing as the bitterness burned her throat.
"It tastes like shit," she said, setting the glass down.
Loryn laughed softly and took a long swig straight from the bottle. Aelith watched him, torn between disgust and amusement. He simply poured her another glass.
"Don't worry," he said with a crooked smile. "By the fourth one, you won't even notice the taste."
Aelith accepted it without a word. The two of them left the bar and climbed several flights of stairs until they reached a balcony on the fortress's side.
Loryn sat on the ledge, staring into the void as he took another sip. Aelith stayed a bit farther from the edge, legs crossed as she finished her second drink.
"Are you scared?" she asked.
Loryn looked at her from the corner of his eye.
"No… I don't think it's fear," he began, narrowing his eyes as he pulled back his hood. His injured eye had fully healed. "It's more like… false hope."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been here almost fifty years," he said tiredly. "In that time, I've seen countless battles—and every single time, no matter how hard we fight or how well we plan, we end up losing." He sighed, gazing at the dark sky. "Somehow I always survive… and I always end up watching hope die in the end."
"I see…" Aelith took the bottle from his hand and poured herself another drink. "I can't say I really understand. I don't even know how to describe what I feel. I don't know if it's hope, or just blind faith in Daion… but I think I understand what you mean by false hope: knowing that no matter what you do, the world will always find a way to disappoint you."
"Yeah…" Loryn murmured.
"Maybe there's just nothing we can do," she said with a faint smile. "Maybe we just have to accept it and keep going, right?"
Loryn smiled back and took the bottle again.
"That's good… keeping your spirit up while you're still young. I guess, with time, you just grow bitter."
"Or maybe you're just a coward," said a voice behind them.
Loryn spun around immediately. Aelith barely had time to process it.
Thaloren stood at the doorway, glaring at him with disdain. Loryn frowned, instantly on guard.
Daion, meanwhile, entered Seraphine's room without knocking.
She let out a startled groan when she saw him, a piece of chicken still in her hand. She was wearing a nightgown that barely covered her body, her messy hair falling over her shoulders. For a brief moment, Daion was reminded—quite uncomfortably—that this demon was stunningly attractive.
Her room made Loryn's look pitiful by comparison: golden ornaments, three floors high, and an absurd number of dedicated chambers. There was a library, a tea room, a game room, and even a guest suite.
Daion shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked at her again. She only sighed.
"Were you never taught to knock before entering, you brute?" the woman asked as she stood, searching for something less revealing to wear.
"Well, one wouldn't expect a lady of your rank to be in her nightgown at this hour," Daion replied.
Seraphine shot him a venomous glare.
"You're just a pervert."
"Sorry, I'm not into bitch meat."
Seraphine clenched her teeth and hurled a plate at him, which Daion dodged with ease. He stared at her in disbelief.
"What do you want, Summoned One?" she asked, stepping closer with obvious irritation.
"I just came to let you know we're ready," Daion said, doing his best not to let his eyes drift toward her cleavage. "I'm guessing you won't be there to cheer us on, right?"
"Ha. Supporting your plan doesn't mean I think it'll work. And I'm not sticking around to find out."
"Well, I'll make sure you eat those words."
"I doubt it," Seraphine said, stopping right in front of him. She gave him that domineering look that always made him uncomfortable. Daion swallowed hard.
"What's wrong? Do women make you nervous?" she teased, smiling wickedly.
Daion cleared his throat and looked away. Seraphine chuckled, amused by his reaction.
Focus… she's just a woman. A gorgeous woman, sure, but still an arrogant demon. Just remember her personality, he told himself, trying to stay composed.
It worked… until Seraphine placed a finger on his chest and slid it slowly down his torso.
Daion's eyes widened as her hand traced along his abdomen, lifting the edge of his shirt.
Damn it, focus, Daion! he scolded himself internally.
Then, she slipped her hand beneath his shirt.
"Nice body," she said in a playful tone. "That rank-up seems quite handy… I wonder if it improved other parts of you too."
A shiver ran down Daion's spine as he instinctively stepped back—only to hit the wall. Seraphine smiled upon seeing him cornered and rose on her toes, bringing her face so close that her breath brushed against his neck. Heat rushed through his body.
Seraphine leaned into him softly; Daion could feel the pressure of her body, the smoothness of her curves, the warmth of her form pressing against his.
Don't tell me she's… he thought, heart pounding. Spending the night with her doesn't sound that bad…
Seraphine's lips hovered near his, her hand sliding down to his abdomen, tracing slow circles on his skin. A pleasant shiver rippled through him—
And then—
Seraphine threw the door wide open and, with a sudden shove, pushed him out of the room. The demon laughed as she slammed the door shut, her laughter echoing down the corridor.
Daion stood frozen for a few seconds, trying to process what had just happened—until frustration finally hit.
"That damn woman!" he growled, standing up and trying to shake off the lingering heat in his body. He stomped away, muttering curses under his breath.
He reached his room a few minutes later. Thanks to his promotion, he'd been given a more spacious chamber—at least he no longer had to sleep in what used to feel like an unventilated closet.
He opened the door, only to be tackled by Aelith's sudden embrace. The demi-human laughed uncontrollably, wriggling against him. Daion blinked, confused, until the strong scent of alcohol hit him.
"Hey, idiot…" she slurred with a carefree smile.
Daion sighed. Loryn was sitting on the bed, laughing openly as he watched Daion struggle to get up, Aelith still clinging tightly to his neck.
"How much did she drink?" Daion asked, resigned.
"I lost count," Loryn replied with a shrug, still chuckling.
"You know you'll regret this tomorrow, right?" Daion said patiently. Aelith just smiled and shook her head. He ruffled her hair gently.
"Well… just a few days left. We should rest while we still can," Daion said as he entered his room, struggling to free himself from the demi-human's grip.
Loryn nodded silently, stood up, gave them a small wave of farewell, and left without another word.
Daion collapsed onto the bed, exhausted, closing his eyes. But he had barely exhaled a sigh when Aelith threw herself beside him, clinging to his arm with stubborn determination.
"And now what's wrong with you? I could've sworn you hated the guy who bought you."
"Of course I hate you!" she said between soft laughter, her tone sleepy but honest. "But you've taken care of me… I think I like you more than I hate you, damn Summoned One…"
Daion tried to make sense of her words, but they were as jumbled as a map of the Ice Dungeon's tunnels.
"Right, right. As long as you don't wake up tomorrow resenting this…"
"I won't. Besides… you're a good guy."
Daion sighed, letting fatigue swallow him whole. He had barely slept a couple of hours a night for days, and his body was finally demanding rest. In the few days left before the invasion, he would sleep as much as he could; he needed to be at his best when the battle came.
Just before falling completely asleep, he heard a soft whisper close to his ear—he couldn't tell if it was real or a dream:
"Please… don't die."
From the slightly open doorway, Loryn watched them in silence before closing it. His gaze fell to the floor as he clenched his fists, recalling Thaloren's words:
"You're a coward. Why don't you do us all a favor and run away already, instead of pretending you'll help?"
Loryn's fist tightened.
"Bastard… I'll show you who the coward is," he muttered, walking away. His voice faded down the corridor. "I wonder if Aelith will remember tonight."
The following days passed in uneasy calm. Soldiers and Summoned Ones killed time between drinks and nervous laughter, trying to ignore the fear that crept into every conversation. The preparations were finished. All that remained was to wait—hoping the plan would work… or, failing that, to die with their heads held high.
Finally, the day arrived.
Daion had spent the last few nights dreaming of his past. Not visions or revelations—just memories: battles, laughter, and friends who were long gone.
He awoke in the middle of the night. His head throbbed, strangely enough, considering he'd barely drunk the day before. Sitting up, he glanced toward the window.
The sun hadn't yet risen, but what unsettled him most was the sight outside—the sentinels who were supposed to guard the night were nowhere to be seen.
It didn't seem likely that the Corrupted would attack earlier than planned, though Daion had considered the possibility, knowing the Behemoth's unpredictable nature. He rose calmly and reached for the notebook he'd recovered from the dungeon.
Aelith was sleeping on the floor, despite there being two beds in the room; apparently, she preferred it that way.
At least she wasn't sleeping on him this time—he was grateful for that. The last time, she'd woken up screaming and clawed his face half to ribbons.
Daion sat at the makeshift desk and began to draw. For some reason, he remembered the noble demon's appearance with unsettling clarity. He traced each line patiently, aware that, no matter how much he tried, sleep wouldn't return.
As the graphite gave shape to the horns and cold gaze of the demon, his mind drifted to the nobleman from Alpha Plague Village. They had gone back to Cadenar seeking support among the other nobles… though Daion doubted they'd had much success.
Either way, at this point, he was convinced reinforcements would only get in the way.
He kept drawing for a while until a faint sound broke the silence—it was Aelith, whimpering softly in her sleep. He turned, watching her tremble and hug herself.
"Mom… no… leave her alone… it's not her fault…" she murmured in a trembling voice.
Daion frowned. She had never spoken of her past; in fact, she always avoided any personal or uncomfortable topic.
"It's my fault… for being born…" she whispered suddenly.
Daion froze. He'd heard that women who gave birth to demi-humans were forced to hand them over to the slavers' guild for sale. Refusal was considered treason—and punishable by death.
He sighed softly and, without thinking much about it, reached out and brushed her hair. Aelith flinched at the touch but soon relaxed, curling her tail and lowering her ears until she fell deeply asleep again.
Daion returned to his sketch and finished the drawing—a detailed portrait of the Behemoth in its true form. When he finally looked up, the first rays of dawn were filtering through the window.
It was strange to see the sun so clearly at the border; it was usually shrouded in fog. But that morning, the sky looked clearer as if even the light itself wanted to witness what was about to happen.
Aelith woke up a little dizzy, a thin line of drool at the corner of her lips. She glanced at Daion, who greeted her with a faint smile. She squinted suspiciously before sitting up.
They both got ready in silence. Daion had managed to get her a proper set of armor—barely enough to cover her torso and head, but still far better than the torn rags she used to wear. As for him, he'd received a "gift" from Seraphine the previous night, along with a note.
"Sorry for leaving you hanging, idiot. I'm heading out of the border—I've got things to do. Just remember our deal: if you die, SteelWall becomes property of the guild. Good luck, Summoned. Kisses."
Daion sighed when he finished reading it.
"What a way to say goodbye," he muttered, setting the note down on the table.
He picked up the Assault Armor. Once activated, the synchronization interface appeared; he accepted the link and felt energy surge through his body as the black metal molded itself to his frame. His sword reacted instantly, humming faintly—as if it recognized his newfound strength.
(Assault Armor, Rank C, acquired.)
Before leaving, he took a look at his status window:
[Summoned's Stats]
• Strength: Level 40 (Titanic)
• Dexterity: Level 35 (Rogue)
• Endurance: Level 39 (Sunfish)
• Agility: Level 37 (Blue)
• Intelligence: Level 19 (Shrewd)
[Divine Artifacts]
• Sword of Punishment (Rank D)
• Omega Gauntlet (Rank D)
• Assault Armor (Rank C)
[Summoned's Evaluation]
• Omega Energy Absorbed: 4700Ω
• Level: 22
• Rank: Adept
[Abilities]
• Sword Manipulation – Level 6
He'd trained extensively with that technique, though he still didn't fully grasp its potential. It felt like he was just one step away from reaching Rank C.
Clearing his throat, he tucked the notebook away and left the room with Aelith. The fortress was beginning to stir. Soldiers and Summoned Ones rose one after another, quietly preparing for battle. Even the demi-humans were adjusting their armor and sharpening their blades. Some might have been tempted to desert and join the Corrupted—but Daion had the feeling Thero's influence would make that impossible.
Outside, the air was cold and the sky was tinged red. Thaloren stood atop the outer wall, arms crossed, watching the horizon.
This guy really loves looking like a tragic hero, Daion thought wryly as he stopped before the main gate, which creaked open with a heavy groan.
Loryn was nowhere to be seen, which could only mean he was already in position within the town. He'd been distant the last few days, but Daion knew he was their strongest card against the mid-rank demon.
Nearby, he spotted Ken's group. They would hold the trenches—they were the strongest after Loryn and Thaloren, the only ones capable of stalling the Corrupted's advance while the others faced the noble demon Tinitos. If they managed to kill it quickly, maybe they could join the main fight… though Daion knew, deep down, that each of them would be fighting alone.
Ken approached with a frown.
"Marui says they're already on the move. They'll be here in about six hours."
Daion nodded silently.
He looked around—the soldiers' faces were pale and tense, hands trembling slightly as they gripped their weapons. He hesitated, wondering if he should say something, but before he could decide, a powerful voice thundered above them all.
"Everyone!" Thaloren's roar echoed across the fortress as he hovered in the air, wreathed in flames, his figure framed by the rising dawn. His mere presence commanded respect. "Today, we prove why we were brought into this world! Today, humans stop hiding and strike back against the Corrupted! Not all of you will survive—we know that. But there is no hope in running away either. Fight! And only die when you've given everything you have! If you fall, rise again! Trust me to defeat the noble demon, and I'll trust you to win this war! Raise your heads, brothers and sisters! Fight for a tomorrow worthy of the children and souls of this world!"
His shout ignited the crowd. Soldiers answered with cheers and the rhythmic clash of swords against shields. Some did it out of faith, others out of fear, and some simply to remind themselves they weren't alone.
Daion exhaled and cast a sidelong glance at Thaloren.
Yeah… definitely. That guy was born to be the protagonist.
He turned to Aelith, tightening the gauntlet around his hand.
"Well," he said with a faint grin, "time to go kill a demonic idiot."
Aelith nodded firmly, and together they stepped through the fortress gates—just as the war bells began to toll, deep and resonant, announcing the beginning of the battle.
END OF CHAPTER 41.