CH: 13: The Descent of a True Demon And Wishes!

{Chapter: 13: The Descent of a True Demon And Wishes}

Dex confirmed his suspicion in an instant. The strange absence of proper sacrifices, the unnatural lack of lingering souls—everything pointed to a particular conclusion.

And with that certainty came a decision.

Somewhere beyond the material world, still lingering within the space between realms, Dex's true form remained tethered to the summoning. It had been on high alert, prepared to retreat at any moment should the ritual prove to be a trap. However, the moment it received a safety signal—one that could not be faked or mistaken—it acted immediately.

In a way that no mortal could perceive, Dex executed the transition.

Through the power of [Cross-Boundary Projection-Simulation], his projection ceased to be just a mere avatar. It became the anchor. His real body, lurking beyond the veil of reality, descended fully into the material world. The moment the process completed, he absorbed his former projection into himself, fusing its clone seamlessly back into his being.

To the onlookers—Salt, Duke, James, and the remaining cultists—the shift was almost imperceptible. There was no dramatic explosion of power, no rift tearing through the fabric of existence. Instead, it was as if reality blurred for just a fraction of a second, the air rippling faintly around the towering demon.

And then everything changed.

Salt, who stood closest, felt the shift immediately. A deep, primal instinct within him screamed in warning.

The being before him—Dex—had been terrifying before, but now? Now it felt entirely different.

The aura of detached madness in the demon's eyes had vanished, replaced by something infinitely worse. A gleaming fanaticism burned within them, undercut by an eerie sense of joy—as if he had just stumbled upon something far more interesting than expected. His once-casual gaze had transformed into something intensely focused, scrutinizing his surroundings with unsettling seriousness.

Yet… hadn't he already surveyed the scene twice before?

Salt felt a flicker of curiosity but immediately smothered it beneath his survival instincts. Don't ask questions. Don't react. If he valued his life, he needed to remain absolutely still.

The cultists behind him weren't so composed.

The moment Dex's gaze flickered over them, they reacted like a flock of cornered animals. Their trembling bodies stiffened, their breaths caught in their throats, and their knees threatened to give out. Some looked ready to collapse entirely. They reminded Salt of ostriches burying their heads in the sand, as if somehow pretending not to exist would save them.

It wouldn't.

Standing at an imposing three meters tall, Dex's form was monstrous, yet eerily human in its structure.

A powerful, muscular frame, wrapped in thick layers of hardened muscle, gave him the build of a warrior bred for destruction. His skin was covered in a fine layer of dark, orderly scales, a natural armor that shimmered faintly under the dim light. Jagged, curved demon horns crowned his head, so large and wickedly sharp that they could serve as weapons on their own.

The mighty exoskeleton covering his body only further emphasized his overwhelming strength. Thick plates of natural armor ran down his arms and legs, giving him an almost knight-like appearance, yet far more menacing than any human warrior could ever hope to be.

And then there were the wings—massive, leathery, and strong. Folded against his back for now, they twitched slightly, as if eager to unfurl.

But perhaps the most unsettling feature of all was his tail—a long, thin appendage lined with sharp, hooked barbs. It flicked once, lazily, but the movement alone was enough to make Salt's stomach churn. It was too controlled. Too precise. This was not some mindless beast swinging its tail at random—this was a predator fully aware of its capabilities.

James had only come along for the spectacle.

He had no deep investment in Salt's ritual, no grand ambitions tied to the outcome. He had simply wanted to witness a proper demon summoning, a rare and dangerous art that few dared to perform.

But as he laid eyes on the creature before him, he felt his enthusiasm crushed beneath an overwhelming sense of dread.

His heart skipped a beat.

Then another.

His breath came in short, uneven bursts.

The mere sight of his figure made James's heart skip a beat, even though he was just there for fun.

This race… He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. They really were born for killing.

The oppressive weight of Dex's presence alone was enough to leave him lightheaded. The sheer lethal potential radiating from him was unlike anything he had ever experienced.

And yet—there was something even worse than the raw intimidation factor.

James's gaze drifted to the demon's eyes.

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to hope that perhaps this creature was nothing more than a brute, a savage force of nature that could be contained or at least understood through sheer primal instincts.

But then he saw it.

Intelligence.

Deep, calculating intelligence burned behind those scarlet irises, and with it came a horrifying realization—this was no mindless beast. This was not some feral entity driven purely by hunger and rage.

No.

This was something far worse.

His mind immediately conjured the teachings passed down in his family, the ancient descriptions of demons from long-forgotten records:

[Demons were originally beast-like creatures with low intelligence. They could not be communicated with except through killing. However, their intelligence was directly linked to their strength. The stronger they became, the smarter they were. Therefore, demons with human-like appearances and intelligence were the most dangerous.]

[They would not only kill and destroy—but torture, deceive, and plsy.]

As these words echoed in his mind, James's blood ran cold.

His body locked up. His instincts screamed for him to run, to get away, to put as much distance as possible between himself and this nightmare given flesh.

But he knew he couldn't.

Thinking of this, looking at the demon not far away who was looking at everything around him like a beast looking at its prey,

This really doesn't look like a weak demon…

So he swallowed thickly, suppressing the rising panic in his chest, and forced himself to remain still.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He had come here expecting to see a decent demon—a creature strong enough to satisfy his curiosity, but nothing more.

Instead, what stood before him was something that shouldn't have been summoned so easily.

This… was far too powerful.

And the more he thought about it, the deeper his regret became.

There's no need to use such a strong one...

When he thought of the tragedies caused by demonic disasters in history, he instantly felt extreme regret in his heart.

If the royal family had known Salt was capable of such a summoning, they wouldn't have treated him like a rogue element. They wouldn't have hunted him down.

No.

They would have worshipped him.

He could have been an honored asset, revered and protected, a man to be feared and respected rather than pursued like a fugitive. The church wouldn't have dared to interfere with someone who had this level of power at his disposal.

If the Principality of Marton was defeated, at most it would cede territory and seek peace, and it would be fine if it just endured it. With the national strength of the Principality of Yar alone, it did not have the ability to destroy the Principality of Marton. Even if it had the ability, the surrounding countries would not allow such a thing to happen.

But if a demonic disaster were to occur, it would not be something that could be resolved by ceding territory in exchange for peace. It would be difficult for the Principality of Marton to find a few living people at that time.

[The inhabitants, both human and animal, have vanished; the rivers have ceased to flow, and the land is devastated.]

This is the most realistic description.

[In the initial stage of the demons' advent, their strength will be suppressed by the world and greatly weakened. This is the best time to kill them!]

"I can do it. I have hundreds of knights here!"

When James thought of this, he had a moment when he felt that he could do it.

James's gaze darted to the trembling cultists, then to the warhorses, their mouths foaming in sheer terror. Even the knights, hardened warriors who had faced death countless times, looked as if they had already accepted their fate.

And at that moment, James abandoned all hope of resisting.

There was no fighting this.

Hope is placed on Salt being able to control the demon in front of him.

He thought that the boss was very low-key. He was able to summon such a powerful demon with dozens of corpses, and he was even wanted by the church. He was really hiding well!

Their only chance was that Salt—somehow, in some way—could control the demon in front of them.

Because if he couldn't?

Then the Principality of Marton would not merely suffer defeat.

It would be erased.

What Price didn't know was that Salt, whom he had high hopes for, was now so scared that he was about to pee his pants, his feet were trembling, and he couldn't even stand steadily.

Salt was trembling so violently that he felt his knees might give out at any moment. His body screamed at him to run, but his mind was too paralyzed with fear even to process that thought. His face had lost all color, and cold sweat poured down his back. His legs wobbled, threatening to collapse beneath him, yet he remained rooted to the spot, unable to take a single step. If he so much as tried, he knew he would fall flat on his face.

Just then, a deep, guttural voice cut through the thick air like a blade.

After a careful inspection, Dex was completely relieved. He turned to look at the useless guy in front of him who was almost scared to death, and asked in a low voice in the demon language.

"Human, are you my summoner?"

The words rumbled out in a language that should have been incomprehensible to him, yet Salt understood them perfectly. A shiver ran down his spine as he locked eyes with the being before him—a towering figure of overwhelming power, whose presence alone seemed to distort the air.

Salt's breath hitched. His thoughts scrambled.

Why could he understand what this demon was saying?

He had never learned the language of demons. No magic book had ever given him such knowledge. But now, as the words reached his ears, they made perfect sense. The realization sent another jolt of terror through his chest.

But there was no time to dwell on that now.

His survival instinct kicked in.

If this demon was asking him a question, it meant there was still a chance. A slim chance. He couldn't afford to hesitate.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his dry lips to move.

"...Uh, that... is me."

Salt's voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it was enough.

He didn't know why he admitted it. Perhaps it was the crushing pressure of the demon's gaze. Perhaps it was the knowledge that no one else would dare take the blame. His cultist followers had their heads buried so deep in the dirt they might as well have been ostriches. No one was going to step up.

It was him or no one.

Dex tilted his head, his crimson eyes gleaming with an eerie intensity as he studied Salt more carefully. A long silence stretched between them, filled only by the sound of Salt's unsteady breathing. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the demon's lips.

He lifted one clawed finger and pointed it directly at Salt's face.

"Desire."

The single word sent a surge of pure terror racing down Salt's spine.

His stomach dropped.

His mind blanked.

And then, in an instant, everything clicked.

A demon's wish contract!

Salt's body locked up in horror. His breathing grew rapid and erratic.

This was it. This was the moment all the fairy tales and legends had warned about.

A demon always asked its summoner for a wish. It was their nature, their method. The moment the summoner stated their desire, the demon would fulfill it—twisting the wish into a nightmare before devouring the summoner's soul as payment.

His soul was on the line.

Salt's knees buckled. His mind raced at full speed, desperately trying to find a loophole, a way out. Could he wish for the demon to return to its realm? Would that work? Would that be enough to break free?

But before he could formulate an answer, Dex spoke again.

"Wish!"

His deep, gravelly voice was filled with undeniable authority.

"Since you summoned me, I must fulfill your wish!"

Salt barely had time to process those words before Dex added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—

"At least a hundred!!"

Salt's brain short-circuited.

He felt like his soul was about to leave his body.

"...What?"

The words tumbled out of his mouth in disbelief. His legs gave out completely, and he would have collapsed onto the ground had Dex not reached out and caught him— effortlessly lifting him by his collar with two clawed fingers, as if he weighed nothing at all.

Dex's glowing red eyes bore into him. His expression was utterly serious.

"I mentioned that I would grant one hundred of your wishes. Do you understand?"

Salt's heart pounded wildly in his chest. This… this wasn't how it was supposed to go! Where was the tricky wording? The deception? The hidden price?

Why was this demon forcing him to make wishes?!

He couldn't refuse. That much was obvious.

So, forcing down his panic, Salt nodded rapidly, his voice quivering.

"I-I understand! It's truly… an honor!"

Dex gave a satisfied nod and unceremoniously dropped him to the ground.

Salt barely managed to stay on his feet, his legs still trembling violently. His mind was a mess, but before he could even attempt to process what had just happened, Dex gave his next command.

"Good. You are now my lackey number one."

Lackey… number one?

Salt didn't even have the energy to react to that statement.

Before he could dwell on it, Dex continued, his tone firm and unwavering.

"Choose the five most useful people here."

Salt blinked.

The words caught him off guard.

What… did that mean?

Then, as he glanced around at the gathered cultists and the other men standing nearby, it clicked.

Dex wanted subordinates.

Salt's heart pounded harder. His mind, despite the terror still gripping it, began to work.

He had been given an opportunity.

Swallowing down his nerves, he looked around, his gaze darting between his own followers and the outsiders. He needed to be strategic. He needed to think.

After a brief hesitation, he pointed to three of his most trusted confidants among the cultists.

Then, after a moment of thought, he turned his gaze to someone standing further away.

James Woz.

The crown prince.

A man of power and influence.

He took a deep breath and spoke carefully.

"My lord, this man is the crown prince of a kingdom and holds great power. He should have a place. I also hope to grant him the last remaining spot to choose another worthy candidate."

Dex raised an eyebrow.

For the first time, there was a flicker of intrigue in his expression.

He had expected Salt to simply choose five of his own men. That would have been the most obvious, the most selfish choice. But instead, Salt had made a move that showed actual foresight.

Not bad.

Dex allowed a smirk to creep across his lips.

Without another word, he waved his hand.

Across the field, James Woz—who had been trying to sneak away unnoticed—suddenly felt an invisible force seize him.

His body lifted off the ground, weightless, as he was dragged forward through the air against his will.

He had no time to resist. No time to even let out a scream.

Before he knew it, he was placed firmly before Dex, standing mere feet away from the towering demon.

A cold sweat broke out on his skin.

His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.

This… this was bad.

This was very, very bad.

He should never have come here.

Dex pointed at Salt and the cultists he had selected, then grabbed James by the neck with his claws and hoisted him up slightly. His golden, slit-pupil eyes gleamed with an eerie amusement as he spoke in a tone that was both commanding and laced with dark humor.

"In addition to these few, choose another useful person."

????

The cryptic demand sent shivers down James's spine, but the real panic set in among the rest of the group.

James Woz, who had been trying to steady his breathing, felt a sharp wave of confusion wash over him. His mind, already racing from the horrifying display of power, now struggled to process the demon's words. Choose another person?

A flood of questions filled his head, but the answer became obvious when he noticed Salt casting several meaningful glances in his direction. The realization dawned upon him like a hammer blow—if Dex was selecting only a few, that meant the rest were being deemed expendable.

James, who had clung desperately to his dignity as a crown prince throughout this ordeal, felt his stomach drop. He wanted to protest, to assert himself, to declare that all of them were valuable in some way. But then his gaze met Dex's piercing stare.

Those golden eyes, set against the backdrop of demonic crimson, were cold and pitiless, like a predator toying with its prey. They studied him, analyzing every twitch of his expression as if daring him to say the wrong thing.

James swallowed hard, his throat dry. The weight of the decision pressed down on him like an anvil. His instincts screamed at him to remain silent, but silence could mean death.

His trembling hand hesitated for a moment before slowly rising. He pointed, almost reflexively, at Baron Duke, who had just begun charging forward, sword drawn, intent on either rescuing James or dying in the attempt.

"That one," James choked out.

Dex grinned, sharp teeth flashing like a wolf that had finally decided to pounce. "Excellent," he purred. "The quota is now full, which means it's time to deal with the rest."

Before anyone could react, an invisible ripple of energy burst forth from Dex, spreading outward like an unseen tide. The air grew thick with an unnatural presence, pressing down on everything within several hundred meters.

And then the nightmare began.

Salt, James, and the others chosen by Dex could only watch in frozen horror as a grotesque scene unfolded before their eyes.

Whether they were cultists, knights, war prisoners, warhorses, or even the smallest insects scuttling across the ground—anything with flesh and blood—began to collapse.

Skin withered. Muscle shrank. Eyes sank into sockets. In the span of mere moments, bodies were reduced to dry, hollow husks as all vitality and soul energy were forcibly ripped from them.

Those unfortunate enough to be alive when it happened screamed. Not just in agony, but in a raw, primal despair that could only be caused by Suffering and Torment—Dex's passive ability that amplified pain beyond mortal comprehension.

The sound was unbearable.

A cacophony of shrieks, wails, and dying gasps filled the air, rising and falling like a chorus of the damned. And just as quickly as it began, it ended, leaving only the eerie silence of the dead.

Floating before Dex was a sphere of condensed life energy—pulsating, shimmering, a dense blood-red orb no larger than a human's palm.

Dex admired it for a moment, inhaling deeply as if savoring the aroma of a fine meal. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he opened his mouth and swallowed it whole.

The essence surged through him, strengthening his body, refining his form. His eyes flickered with renewed vigor as he digested the energy in mere seconds.

His gaze shifted back to Salt and the others, who stood rooted in place, pale as ghosts, their expressions locked in a state of sheer terror.

"Well then," Dex finally said, his voice quieter but no less commanding. "Take me to your capital. I want to see this world for myself."

The command was simple, yet it sent another wave of dread through Salt's gut. His legs almost gave out beneath him, but he forced himself to nod.

"...Yes, my lord," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

As he finished speaking, something in Dex began to shift. His towering demonic form shrank rapidly, his crimson flesh morphing, his claws retracting. In the blink of an eye, the terrifying demon had taken on an entirely new guise—that of a young man with striking red hair, draped in an opulent black robe that exuded a regal yet menacing air.

His transformation complete, Dex turned on his heel, gesturing for them to move. Salt, James, and the others had no choice but to obey, leading him away from the scene of the massacre.

As they departed, the residual energy from the summoning ritual began to react. A deep, crimson flame ignited at the center of the ruined prison. The fire spread unnaturally fast, engulfing the stone walls, devouring the remnants of corpses, purging all evidence of what had occurred.

By the time the last embers faded, there was nothing left but scorched earth and a story that none would live to tell.

*****

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