The moment Karlra noticed the soul beside him had vanished, his vigilance surged to the maximum.
He was certain that the people standing before him didn't have the ability to steal from him right under his nose.
Something—someone—was definitely hiding nearby.
Watching Karlra glance sharply in all directions, Jaemar frowned in confusion. "What's he doing? Casting a spell?"
"I think it might be some kind of ritual," Saphir answered uncertainly as he checked the insignia in his hand, which still seemed completely normal.
Casting a glance at the ever-growing group of followers gathering behind him, Saphir made a sharp gesture.
The surrounding clerics immediately pulled out large amounts of holy water, prayer scrolls, and sacred relics they carried with them—fully prepared for a life-and-death confrontation.
Saphir spoke solemnly to Jaemar. "Right now, he's at his weakest. We must banish him immediately. If he escapes and finds a power source to replenish his strength, his recovery will be swift. When that happens, we'll be dealing with a catastrophe. That's how the previous Demon Scourges began."
"No objections here," Jaemar said coldly. "Then let's take him down."
At that moment, Jaemar's soldiers had already taken formation. He ordered, "Heavy crossbow unit—open fire!"
Past Demon Scourges had made one thing painfully clear: normal arrows were ineffective against demons.
Unless one was a captain Knight, regular archers couldn't even scratch them. So, in preparation, Jaemar had specifically summoned a squad of heavy crossbowmen—each capable of piercing even heavy cavalry armor. He had their bolts soaked in holy water, sent to the cathedral for blessings to imbue them with the Church's exorcising power.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Sensing that the bolts carried a force that could actually harm him, Karlra flicked two fingers to the side. A powerful gust immediately erupted through the basement, forming a semi-transparent Windflow Barrier that deflected the incoming bolts with ease.
While this spell wasn't particularly effective against melee weapons, wind-element defensive magic was especially suited for dealing with projectile attacks.
But as he looked at the spell's performance, Karlra merely sneered and flicked his hand dismissively.
If it weren't for the meager mana levels of this world and his own power being so drastically suppressed, that Windflow Barrier would've formed a swirling vortex that completely enveloped him—instead of just acting as a simple wall.
Though he hadn't studied magic extensively over the centuries—most of his time had been spent in brutal combat—Karlra had mastered the bloodline magic within him, refining it to a point where he could force it to achieve effects it was never meant to produce.
With no sign of hidden enemies and his sacrificial offering still missing, Karlra finally looked toward the army behind Jaemar and the others. With a look of contempt, he said, "After centuries, your world's supernatural power has grown this feeble? I remember when your so-called captain Knights used to come at me in squads."
In low-energy, xenophobic worlds like this one, demons from the Abyss usually failed not because of power disparity, but because the natives used every means to drag the demons down to their level—then overwhelmed them with numbers and tactics.
It was disgusting, Karlra thought, to be defeated by creatures he held in such contempt.
And worse still—this time, he'd barely even arrived before being blocked off by this group.
If he were at full strength, he could kill everyone present with one hand, without even sparing them a second glance.
But now—with his power suppressed to the extreme, less than a tenth of his strength remaining—he had to admit that he couldn't afford to underestimate these pathetic mortals. Otherwise, there was a very real chance he might lose.
This realization only stoked his fury further—especially when his eyes landed on Richard.
Because of the summoning ritual, Karlra had formed a contract with Richard. In exchange for a sacrificial offering and his descent into this world, Karlra was obligated to serve Richard for a certain period.
Normally, such a deal was acceptable. It was standard practice for demons summoned through rituals.
But now—his sacrificial offering had vanished, he was surrounded by enemies led by Jaemar, and he was still bound by the terms of the contract.
That left Karlra seething with resentment.
He was sorely tempted to turn around and rip Richard Voss's head off.
Still, seeing the soldiers with shields advancing toward him, and the clerics chanting their grating liturgies, Karlra suppressed his anger and asked Richard, "Is there an escape route? My power is too restricted right now—I need time to recover before I can deal with them."
Richard froze for a second, caught off guard. From what he knew about demons, wasn't this the moment they were supposed to go berserk?
Since when did they start considering retreat?
Then again, he recalled that royal grimoires mentioned that demons were weakest right after being summoned.
So Richard quickly nodded. "There's a hidden passage in the back that leads directly to the surface."
Karlra gave an approving nod. "Good. You go first. I'll catch up shortly."
It wasn't out of charity that he chose to stay behind—aside from Richard, the others were all his devout followers. If they could still be saved, Karlra didn't mind lending a hand. After all, he'd still need them in the future.
As they retreated, Karlra casually waved a hand. A concentrated blade of wind materialized in the air and shot forward.
With a screech like a buzzsaw slicing through metal, the wind blade smashed into the front line of shield-bearing soldiers, sending up a spray of sparks.
The force of impact flung several soldiers backward on the spot.
The blade didn't stop there—it carved through the ranks behind them, painting the floor red with blood.
Against such power, even seasoned captain Knights—warriors strong enough to tear apart tigers barehanded—were as fragile as paper.
Karlra sneered. "Pathetic. Can't even handle that?"
In Karlra's eyes, the humans of this world—who barely scratched the surface of magical power—were nothing more than primitive savages.
If not for the value of their souls, he would never have considered coming here in the first place. Back in the Abyss, simply breathing the air brought more energy than a full day's meditation in this world.
But before he could begin collecting the souls of the dead, he noticed something he had overlooked.
The summoning circle beneath him was quietly absorbing the souls—and transferring them somewhere else.
Karlra's expression twisted in fury. He immediately understood where his missing sacrificial offering had gone:
"Idiots… Someone altered the ritual circle and none of you noticed!"
His rage ignited a violent surge of magic that erupted from his body, tearing up the floor and utterly destroying the engraved magic circle.
But even as dust and debris flew through the air, his anger only deepened.
Because he realized: the locals alone couldn't possibly alter his summoning ritual without triggering his senses.
This meant an external force—a foreign entity—had interfered.
And it was clearly not a friendly one.
To be weakened and targeted by one or more unknown entities right after descending? That was very bad news.
Even if those forces hadn't acted directly yet, their presence posed a greater threat than the native army ever could.
And under such circumstances, would they really allow him to escape?
Karlra didn't think so.
And as if confirming his thoughts, he suddenly heard hurried footsteps returning from behind—the same ones that had just left moments ago.
"They blocked the escape tunnel!" Richard shouted, pale-faced. "With some kind of rock—it looks like mud, but it's unbelievably hard! Our weapons can't even scratch it!"
"Stone-to-Mud? Or maybe a similar transmutation spell?"
Karlra didn't answer. He simply glanced at the ceiling above.
If his guess was right, the dirt above had been hardened too—to keep him from digging out through the top.
He took a step back, dodging several weapons swinging at him from the front.
Then he steadied himself and barked to the cultists and Richard behind him: "In that case—we'll fight our way out!"
His words sent the cultists into a frenzy. They screamed with zeal, completely unfazed by the enemy's overwhelming numbers.
To them, dying for Karlra was the highest honor. Nothing else mattered.
Only Richard hesitated, subtly slipping behind Karlra's figure.
For him, risking his life had only ever made sense if it meant saving his daughter.
Right now, the summoning had just succeeded, and her illness hadn't even begun to be treated. Clearly, escaping with Karlra was the top priority—this wasn't the time to fight to the death.
And frankly, with his meager strength, Richard doubted he could be of any use anyway.
His job now was simple: don't get in Karlra's way.
And so, chaos erupted in the basement.
The cultists were the first to fall.
Though they fought with madness and power, they were swiftly cut down by the trained soldiers and clergy. Like splashes of water against stone, they were drowned in steel and prayer.
_____
T/N:
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