Chapter 87: Akilon

As the pig-headed heavy cavalry unleashed a bloodbath among the demons’ follow-up forces, the entire demon army’s assault experienced a fatal, fleeting “stagnation.” The link between front and rear was violently severed, the command structure plunged into chaos, the demons’ old strength exhausted, their new strength yet to emerge.

On the high platform, Akilon’s vertical pupils flashed with icy light. He had been waiting for this exact moment. “All troops, listen!” His voice, amplified by magic, rang out across the entire second line, carrying an iron will that brooked no refusal: “Lizardmen First, Second, and Third Legions—advance! Crush them, reclaim our lost defenses!”

On the second line, every gate burst open. The lizardman legions, long ready and poised, surged forth like a roaring torrent of steel, pouring out from the fortresses. No longer shields holding the line, they had become the sharpest spears.

In the front ranks marched lizardman warriors clad in full plate armor, wielding massive tower shields. They formed an unbreakable advancing line, mobile fortresses, marching in heavy, synchronized steps, mercilessly pushing back the demons who, deprived of reinforcements, had fallen into chaos before the defenses.

Behind them came lizardman warriors swinging heavy spiked clubs and great hammers. They were the true “cleaners.” Any demon attempting to resist, or knocked down by the vanguard line—whether still roaring berserkers or struggling to rise from the ground—would be crushed into pulp and shattered bones beneath the next blow of these massive weapons.

The battlefield echoed with the sickening crack of breaking bones and the brief, agonized screams of dying demons. Along the flanks and gaps of the advancing legion, lizardman crossbowmen and javelin throwers carried out efficient hunts. They precisely targeted any demon attempting to flank or cast spell-like abilities, clearing all obstacles from the legion’s flanks.

Deprived of unified command and reinforcements, the demons, though individually fierce, had become scattered. Under the organized, wall-like encirclement of the lizardman legions, they were driven back step by step, split, surrounded, and utterly annihilated.

Akilon’s order to attack was the final, decisive weight dropped onto a scale already tilting. The lizardman legions swept away every remaining enemy before the line with unstoppable force, trampling over moats filled with demon corpses, until the bloodstained flag symbolizing the defense was once again planted atop the ruined breastwork of the first line.

Smoke had not yet cleared, demon blood still hissed on the ground, but Akilon’s gaze had already shifted from the victorious battlefield to the devastated defenses. The cost of victory was this ruin, demanding immediate repair. He hesitated not, issuing orders with swift efficiency.

Soon, a vast logistical engineering force—composed of pig-headed warriors, lizardwomen, and countless kobolds—entered the still-death-laden zone under the protection of select warriors. A race against time had begun.

Pig-headed warriors, with their immense strength, handled the heaviest labor. They dragged shattered demon limbs from the moats or hauled corpses on massive carts to designated burial pits. Their low, grunting shouts quickly became the dominant rhythm of the cleanup zone.

Lizardwomen, more meticulous, wielded long hooks and cleavers to clear debris from hard-to-reach parts of the ramparts and fortifications, and to search for any surviving wounded. Their coldness was terrifying; before this hellish scene, their eyes held only the task to be completed.

Even as cleanup continued, repairs moved forward. Pig-headed warriors again formed the core, shouldering new marsh ironwood, rebuilding shattered walls under the direction of engineers, reinforcing crumbling support structures. Heavy labor was their domain.

Lizardwomen handled the finer tasks: filling wall gaps with mud mixed with marsh adhesive, relaying waterproof layers atop the fortifications, and weaving new vine nets.

Kobolds employed their innate talent for digging and trap-setting, swiftly repairing damaged moats, re-digging steep ramps, and, guided by their sharp understanding of traps, repositioning poisoned spikes and barbed spears along the repaired moat bottoms and walls.

The entire zone became a vast, noisy construction site. No celebration—only relentless toil. The air reeked of sweat, blood, burning corpses, and fresh timber.

All understood: the demons’ next assault could come at any moment. They must rebuild this blood-soaked defense before the enemy’s war drums sounded again, making it deadlier than before.

The beach of the Saltwater Marsh had become a desecrated, horrific scene. The demons’ defeat was total collapse. Deprived of strong command and reinforcements, these chaotic creatures, under the lizardmen’s iron-wall counterattack, lost the last vestige of organization.

They trampled each other, knocking down wounded comrades, all to flee farther from the deadly line. The pig-headed heavy cavalry’s flank charge shattered any attempt to regroup; beneath iron hooves, demons fell like cut wheat.

In the sky, the dragon swarm and harpy joint purge turned any demon attempting to flee into burning meteors, shrieking as they plummeted. Resistance vanished swiftly, replaced by a one-sided expulsion and massacre.

A few berserkers or soul-renders still fought madly until crushed into paste by multiple heavy spiked clubs. More low demons and abyss hounds fled in terror toward the beach, only to be pierced by precisely thrown javelins; their corpses floated and sank in the tide, darkening the black sea further.

Demons trapped in newly exposed moat pits were easily finished off by lizardman warriors walking above, spearing them through. Soon, no standing demon remained beyond the line.

Yet on the other side of the rift, a larger, darker shadow stirred. A new flood of destruction, drawn from different abyssal planes, was brewing.

“Don’t give them time,” Akilon’s voice was cold and resolute. “Defense never wins wars—it only delays death. Grisha, lead the lizardman legions. Pig-headed heavy cavalry, cross the rift. Crush the demons regrouping on the other side.”

Under his command, the warriors who had just fought a brutal battle did not rest. They swiftly formed ranks on the shore. Their armor was caked in demon blood, their weapons chipped and scarred, but their eyes burned with unwavering battle-lust.

Before the stunned gaze of every engineer behind them, this army, embodying the will of the material plane, marched with steady steps into the abyssal rift, exuding endless malice and the stench of sulfur.

On the other side of the abyssal rift lay a scorched land shrouded in sulfur smoke and crimson sky-light. The remnants of the demons retreating from the Saltwater Marsh mingled with fresh forces from this layer of the abyss, forming a chaotic, roaring vortex.

Low demons were herded into loose clusters by whip demons, while several new soul-renders bellowed in attempts to restore order. All believed they had gained breathing room, preparing for a stronger next invasion.

Without warning, the rift connecting the two worlds trembled violently! The next instant, accompanied by deafening war-boar roars and the pig-headed warriors’ signature, destruction-crazed battle cries, the steel tide of pig-headed heavy cavalry crashed into the heart of the demon assembly like a siege ram from another world.

This exceeded the demons’ wildest imagination. The material plane’s counterattack came faster and fiercer than even their most insane fears.

The heavy armor of the great-tusked boars shattered the fragile bodies of low demons. The pig-headed riders’ massive axes and flails swung like scythes of death, unleashing a storm of flesh and blood through the dense demon ranks. Their goal: maximum chaos.

The charge formation sliced through like a hot knife through grease, instantly scattering the demons’ nascent formation. The demons, terrified, realized these warriors from the orderly world displayed a fury and relentless charge even greater than their own.

Behind the cavalry surged the disciplined lizardman legions. They did not plunge deep like the cavalry, but with astonishing efficiency formed a semicircular defensive line around the rift’s exit.

Tower shield bearers immediately advanced, slamming their massive shields deep into the scorched earth, forming an impenetrable metal wall. Spear bearers thrust their poisoned lances through gaps in the shields, creating a forest of death that pierced any demon attempting to rush forward to close the passage or counterattack.

Mages and crossbowmen, shielded by the wall, unleashed devastating volleys to both flanks and front. Magical projectiles tore through the air; poisoned bolts precisely eliminated demon commanders attempting to organize resistance. Their mission: seize and hold this critical bridgehead, ensuring the retreat route.

The sulfur-laden, malicious air of the abyssal plane grew thick. On the distant horizon, several soul-chilling, terrifying auras rapidly approached—demon lords, enraged beyond measure, arriving with the fury of the entire plane.

Grisha’s cunning, icy vertical pupils showed no hesitation. She instantly grasped the situation: the surprise attack had succeeded. Staying one more second would bury the entire army here.

“All troops, listen!” Her voice, amplified by magic, rang sharp and absolute across the battlefield: “Target: the rift. Alternate cover. Withdraw!”

She wasted no time explaining. The trained legion obeyed instantly. Pig-headed heavy cavalry broke contact first, retreating like a receding tide toward the rift, their role shifting from assault to securing the flanks of the withdrawal.

Yet Grisha knew: before the demon lords’ world-shattering power, a disorganized retreat would become a bloody rout on enemy ground. Someone had to stay behind, forging a temporary dam of flesh and blood to block the coming flood of destruction.

“First Legion!” Grisha’s voice carried the dragon’s inherent authority and subtle cunning. “Turn! Form line! Your mission: hold this defense.”

The lizardmen of the First Legion swiftly shifted from assault formation to the most solid arc-shaped defense. Massive tower shields slammed into the scorched earth; lances stood like a forest, thrust through gaps, pointing toward the darkening sky now dominated by the lords’ oppressive aura.

Grisha circled above the rift entrance, casting one final glance at the isolated, outnumbered position soon to be drowned by endless demons. It was a cold but rational trade: sacrificing one legion to preserve the main force.

The demon lords stared at the disciplined defenders across from them. The desire to destroy churned in their chests, yet turned into a contemptuous, low chuckle. They craved destruction and conquest—not reckless suicide.

Without an endless tide of demons to wear down the enemy first, would noble lords deign to enter the fray? This war had only just begun.