CH: 146: The Signal from Above

{Chapter: 146: The Signal from Above}

"Swoosh! Bang!"

The strange, echoing sounds cut through the stifling silence of the underground swamp base like blades. Dex, who had just been boasting about his battle prowess to his fellow demons, paused mid-sentence. His crimson eyes narrowed, his pointed ears twitching as he caught the faint tremor overhead.

Then, through the damp, semi-translucent film of swamp muck above, a blazing mark began to form, glowing faintly like a brand seared into the sky. The tendrils of light curled into a jagged insignia — unmistakably the emblem of the Fire Demon Lord, Carto.

It was the signal.

The time to attack had come.

Dex exhaled slowly, a twisted grin forming across his face. He wasn't surprised. This moment had been expected — long-awaited, even. The buildup had been too obvious.

As far as he knew, at least seven additional battalions of demons had been ferried into this sector in the last three months. And yet, the command to engage had never come.

The pressure inside the swamp was rising to dangerous levels — both figuratively and literally.

"If we don't start soon," Dex muttered, standing to his full, imposing height, "this cesspit is going to explode from overcrowding."

He cast a side glance at the grotesque tableau around him. Jagged bodies, twisted by demonic magic, slouched and squatted across the marsh cavern, resting in the slimy darkness. Others loomed in corners, curled into themselves, eyes glowing with pent-up bloodlust.

Already, skirmishes had broken out among the ranks. Tensions simmered like a pot on the verge of boiling over. The higher-ranking demons had begun devouring the weaker ones — dozens of [Imp-tier] demons had disappeared, leaving behind nothing but gnawed bones and lingering screams.

Hart, a broad-shouldered demon with purple scars rippling across his black skin, rose from his crouch beside Dex and stretched, his joints cracking audibly.

"Finally starting?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck with clawed fingers. "About damn time. But... I've only recovered about half of my core strength."

Dex tilted his head lazily, his long, serrated tail twitching behind him. "Same."

"Forty percent," said a lean demon with a hooked beak.

"Fifty... maybe fifty-five," mumbled a winged one with broken horns and spidery arms.

The truth was obvious: no one was fully recovered. After being summoned or transported through the Abyssal Channels, they were still adjusting to the suppression of this realm — the Mi Ling world. It was like breathing through wet cloth.

Hart rubbed his chin thoughtfully, brow furrowed. "Maybe we wait. One more week, tops. We'll recover more, and the locals won't know what hit—"

"Wait?" Dex interrupted with a chuckle, eyes flashing. "I've been stewing in this swamp hole for three months, breathing fungal rot and sharing air with toothless imps and power-hungry wretches. I don't care if I'm at ten percent — I want blood."

His words sparked a surge of excitement in the others.

"That's right!"

"Rip them to pieces!"

"Burn their cities, drink their souls!"

The demons rose in unison, growling, snarling, hissing — like a monstrous orchestra tuning for war. Their claws clinked against bone armor, fangs bared in anticipation. The stench of sulfur grew heavier in the air.

Hart shrugged. "Guess I'm outvoted."

"Let's go out and dance," Dex said, eyes gleaming. "Time to stretch our legs."

BOOM!

With a thunderous detonation, a massive geyser of mud, roots, and rock exploded upward as the ceiling of the cavern was obliterated. One by one, dozens of winged demons, hulking beasts, and abyssal hybrids burst out of the ground, roaring as they ascended toward the sky.

The mark of Carto burned brighter in the heavens, guiding their path like a beacon of war.

---

Meanwhile…

High upon the towering blackstone walls of Fortress Rivelin, a figure clad in silver-plated armor stood tall despite the howling winds. His cape whipped behind him like a banner, and his hands rested on the cold edge of the battlement.

General Henry Moore, veteran of six demon incursions and commander of the eastern defense zone, watched the burning brand in the sky.

His brow furrowed deeply.

"Carto's emblem," he murmured. "So it begins again."

Behind him, rows of ballistae crews and spellcasters stood at the ready. The soldiers along the ramparts had gone quiet, their eyes locked on the glowing sky. For many of them, this was not their first battle. But every time the signal rose, it brought with it the weight of inevitability — that some among them would not live to see the next sunrise.

Henry's mind flashed with memories. He had stood in this very position twenty years ago, when the Third Breach opened in the northern marshlands. He had watched thousands die beneath a tidal wave of flame and claws. He remembered the smell of burning flesh, the cries of the wounded, and the bitter ache of losing comrades.

And yet, each time, they stood.

Each time, they pushed back.

Ever since the demons had torn open the gates between their dimension and the Mi Ling world over a century ago, chaos had followed. In their wake, hundreds of [Corruption Zones] had been left scattered across the land — places where the air twisted with malicious energy, where the terrain itself warped into something cruel and unnatural.

Entire kingdoms had been annihilated in the first few years of the incursion. Thirteen nations wiped from the map. Hundreds of millions dead. Their names lived on only in crumbling ruins and the weeping songs of refugees.

Henry closed his eyes for a moment, drawing strength from the wind against his face.

In response to the cataclysm, the gods themselves had intervened — uniting the mortal races, forging the Celestial Accord, and establishing hundreds of defense zones across the world. For the first time in recorded history, elves, dwarves, humans, beastkin, and even dragons stood side by side beneath common banners.

But even with divine blessings and magical armaments, the defense was tenuous at best.

Every few months, a demon mark would appear in the sky — and the cycle would begin again. Blood would spill. Walls would crumble. Heroes would fall.

The demons, for all their madness and savagery, seemed endless. There was no sign of attrition. If anything, their numbers were increasing. Each wave brought with it stronger abominations, fiercer commanders, stranger war machines.

Henry spoke to the captain beside him without turning.

"Raise the horns. Prepare for contact. All squads to their positions. Let them know this isn't their first dance — but it might be their last."

The captain saluted and ran to carry out the command. Moments later, a low, thunderous horn call echoed across the fortress, followed by the rallying cries of thousands.

From the outer walls to the inner sanctums, soldiers donned enchanted armor, activated defensive glyphs, summoned spirit companions, or mounted war beasts. Magic-users circled atop the towers, weaving spells into the air. The ground trembled as gates opened, revealing hidden artillery bunkers and summoning platforms.

Henry gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

There would be no diplomacy.

There never was.

Unlike the internal skirmishes of the mortal realms, where kings and warlords often left room for negotiations, demons had no such customs. There were no peace treaties. No ceasefires. No surrender.

Only consumption.

Only death.

And now, once again, the sky was burning.

*****

You can support me by joining my Patreon and get upto 60 chapters in advance.

patreon.com/Eden_Translation