CHAPTER 41

The great city of Altz, home to nearly five million inhabitants, was primarily composed of Ice Elves, along with a small number of merchant races. This city, located at the heart of the Winter Kingdom of Dietrich, was far removed from any danger or war, allowing its population to flourish over the past few decades. However, this peace lasted only until the appearance of demonic beings who called themselves the Demon Kings. With their arrival, no realm could maintain its former tranquility—especially his own, where, after months of effort, he had slaughtered every Demon King within his domain, save for one. This lone demon had carved labyrinthine dungeons underground and commanded a vast force of immensely powerful demons that guarded his lands.

As time passed and this thorn in his side grew ever larger, he had no choice but to summon all his bannerlords. Counts, Viscounts—all answered the call of their Marquis, whom they revered. A vast army, unlike any he had ever needed to muster, assembled before his gates. Once fully prepared and after sealing off all exits from the underground dungeons, they launched their attack, securing a hard-fought victory.

However, despite its triumph in the Battle of Light, the city of Altz never imagined that true darkness would descend upon them in the aftermath of their glorious victory.

Screams and cries filled the city as children, women, and the elderly—too weak to withstand the assault of the elite packs of massive Hellcats—fell one after another. The city's mages desperately unleashed enormous magical explosions in self-defense, trying to counter these sinister creatures that hid in the darkness, their keen eyes mocking any attempt to evade them. The frequent use of flare-like spells, as well as fire and light magic, illuminated the city, yet it had a disastrous consequence—fire. In the end, many were forced to bite down on bullets just to endure, hoping at least to catch a glimpse of their hidden foes in the night. Yet they never expected that their adversaries were creatures accustomed to volcanic environments, and by using fire, they had handed their enemies a greater ally than even darkness.

Still, the soldiers placed their hope in their commanders, the commanders in their generals, and the generals… had already perished, leaving none to place their hopes upon.

Hazard, after slaying the last Ice Elf Warlord-ranked general—who was an exceptional archer—gazed toward the most devastated part of the city. The explosions and screams made one thing clear—an intense battle was raging there.

Algota, along with the Silent Brothers, was engaged in a group battle against six Nightmares. Three against six—a clear numerical disadvantage. The immense pressure forced the loyal and desperate soldiers of Altz to do everything in their power to relieve even a fraction of that burden, but none succeeded. Among the six adversaries, two were in terrifying monstrous forms, the likes of which had never even haunted their nightmares, while the other four retained humanoid forms more beautiful than anything they had ever dreamed.

The Silent Brothers wielded massive war hammers, struggling to clear a path for Algota so he could unleash his most powerful strike with his greatsword, hoping to slay their foes one by one and reduce the pressure. However, killing these humanoid creatures was no easy feat. Their first target was quickly surrounded, and they successfully severed its head—only for it to rise again, this time without any apparent weaknesses. With an ear-splitting scream, it summoned five more of its kind to the battlefield before resuming the fight with several times its original strength.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into an hour. The relentless swinging of their massive hammers and the extreme exertion took its toll, slowing the Silent Brothers considerably. Algota found no openings to attack, forced instead to fight alongside his brothers against a barrage of mind magic, gravity spells, acid attacks, telekinetic assaults, and the bizarre, lethal fighting techniques of the Nightmares, who wielded claws and fangs. Eventually, all three were forced into a defensive stance, becoming the last line of resistance against their foes.

Outside Hazard's castle, after scouring the palace and plundering vast amounts of gold, jewels, and rare artifacts, he surveyed his remaining forces:

[1,680,530 common demonic undead units, 76,070 demonic undead archers, 43,120 demonic undead swordsmen, 6,845 elite swordsmen, 7,542 elite archers, 650 demonic undead mages, 12 demonic undead giants, 890 demonic undead knights, 78 demonic liches, 89 demonic undead generals, 1 demonic arch-lich, 1 great demonic undead knight, 1 demonic undead champion, 3 undead giants, 230 undead hellhounds, 31 large undead hellhounds, 1 colossal undead hellhound, 30 Nightmares, 6 death cyclops, 3 newborn lightning dragons of death, 200 death eyes, 12,870 Hellcats, 2,487 elite undead Warlords.]

The fire in his eyes blazed with fury.

His army was reduced—some by half, others by a third, and some units had been completely annihilated. No matter where he looked, he could not find his demonic undead dragon. His aura flared with rage, forcing him to establish a telepathic link with his arch-lich.

[Which bastard killed my dragon?!]

For several seconds, there was no response—until finally, a hurried voice echoed in his mind.

[My king, you must hurry. We have no advantage here. The only thing keeping the enemy from reaching the altar has been the Spirit Towers so far.]

Hazard burned with greater fury than ever before. It seemed his thirst for vengeance had blinded him to the attacks on his own domain, and now the consequences—his enemies reaching his sacred altar—would leave a scar he knew he would never forget, not even in the afterlife. Yet, he could not leave just yet—he had not yet claimed the treasury, as the city's ruler still lived.

Algota, overwhelmed by the onslaught of newly arrived Nightmares, had been forcibly separated from the defensive formation he had established with his brothers. Not by choice, but because the Nightmares had deliberately split them apart—a move that sealed their victory within the next minute. The Silent Brothers, exhausted, fell to their knees, closing their eyes and resigning themselves to death. Their despair was evident—for before them stood a towering undead with massive horns and two pairs of long, skeletal wings.

Despite their surrender, their sister could not believe her eyes. She had been certain—just hours ago—that this undead had been beheaded. Yet here it stood, emitting only slightly less mana than before.

"Impossible! I saw you die with my own eyes!"

Hazard, pressed for time, had no patience to argue. He needed to be elsewhere, but he could not let such a strong foe die without hearing his final words.

"The dead are those who rise from death itself. Believing that death can befall the already dead is nothing but folly."

With that, he gave a signal. A Nightmare approached from behind, thrusting its hand through Algota's back, seizing his heart.

Algota, too weak to resist, could only watch in horror as his own heart was torn from his chest, held before his eyes, and then pulled away. His last sensation was the sickening sound of something being chewed—a sound he had no doubt was the consumption of his own heart