Chapter 622

Deep within the Ten Thousand Swords Mountain, a hidden cave nestled in a crack between rock layers.

There was no source of light, only a faint, flickering glow from a blue magical array on the ground, casting the uneven walls into a tomblike dimness.

"Huff—!"

In the center of the array, Edgar Kaufmann sat cross-legged, jolting awake suddenly.

Like a drowning man finally breaking the surface, he gasped violently, sweat instantly soaking his gray robe.

Just one second too late—

That icy blade had pierced the back of his clone's waist!

As Luo Yan had suspected, the figure confronting Cici in the forest had not been Edgar's true body, but a "mirror" clone he created using a secret formula from the Academy, modeled after a slice of his own soul.

As a thin thread of blue light drifted from the air into his nostrils, the searing pain of his soul being torn eased slightly.

With a trembling right hand pressed to his chest, Edgar spent several minutes calming his racing heart, his breath gradually steadying.

"Too close…"

Though killing the clone wouldn't kill the original, the soul-level backlash still damaged his transcendent foundation.

If he hadn't fled fast enough, if that elusive bastard had caught him off guard, the consequences would've been unthinkable…

Once he calmed, Edgar's gaze turned pitch-black as he replayed the final question he'd heard before the clone dissolved.

"Who are you interrogating?"

The innate aura of authority, masked by lazy mockery, instantly brought one name to mind… a man who spoke of "science" in the halls of magic.

"Corin?!"

The moment the name flashed in his mind, Edgar's pupils shrank sharply.

As a member of the Academy, he'd never directly interacted with Prince Corin, yet he knew the prince's "voice, face, and mannerisms" all too well.

After all, that man had made a spectacle of himself in the Academy—even toppled a "Candidate Sage"… though in the end, he himself was driven out.

But Edgar couldn't fathom why this noble imperial prince would appear in this godforsaken place?!

Not only was the Ten Thousand Swords Mountain godforsaken, but the Spinoir Earldom south of it clearly fell into the same category.

And—

That demon had called him "Your Majesty."

Edgar's expression grew heavy, tinged with faint dread.

He couldn't understand why a human prince would be tied to a hellish demon, let alone why a human prince would be called "Your Majesty" by a lowly demon.

But one thing was certain—

If the demon's "Your Majesty" truly meant Corin, then matters had become utterly dire.

"Must destroy the records…"

Edgar muttered under his breath, refusing to pause a moment, stumbling to his feet from the magical array.

His laboratory and altar were still near Bone Peak!

If Prince Corin had appeared in the Spinoir Earldom, stepping onto Bone Peak was merely a matter of taking a step…

Snatching up the crystal staff leaning against the wall, he stuffed his notes on soul experiments into his robes and hurried out the door.

But the moment he stepped beyond the stone chamber's entrance, he saw the corridor in utter chaos.

Countless ratmen scrambled like headless flies, shrieking in panic, many trampled underfoot by their own kind in the crush.

Edgar seized a passing ratman overseer and barked.

"What's happening?"

The ratman overseer squealed in terror, pointing frantically toward a direction deep in the cave.

"I—I don't know! But the brothers saw smoke rising from Bone Peak! Everyone's saying… saying human armies are coming!"

Ratmen were lowly creatures prone to panic—any whisper could terrify them, and a minor misunderstanding could make them suddenly overconfident.

Bone Peak was still far away, separated by several outposts; even if humans truly launched an attack, they couldn't break through so quickly.

Edgar didn't believe the ratman's words, but another revelation in them sent a cold sweat down his spine—

Corin's foot had truly stepped onto Bone Peak!

He swallowed hard.

So fast!

…

At the same moment, within the rat tunnels beneath Bone Peak, chaos reigned.

Countless ratmen in tattered leather armor scrambled through labyrinthine tunnels, shrieking and babbling nonsense.

"Damn it! Humans are attacking!"

"Shit! Who saw my prisoner?"

"Tail!! My tail!"

"Forget your tail! Take the flag to the King—!"

"Who stole my gold coins?!"

Just moments ago, a messenger from the rear base arrived with a brand-new battle flag and a message that thrilled and terrified every rat—

They were free!

Mork, leader of the Carrion Clan, declared that the territory around Bone Peak was fully granted to the local commander "Rip-Bite·Shilaimu" and the Shilaimu family, elevating them to a new rat clan warlord of the Ten Thousand Swords Mountain.

Seated on a throne piled with bones, the newly elevated "Rip-Bite Warlord," Count Shilaimu, stared at the flag bearing a broken-tooth totem, feeling both exhilaration and dread.

What thrilled him: becoming a warlord was every rat's lifelong dream!

But every coin had two sides—Mork had granted his dream so easily, and Shilaimu couldn't shake the feeling it was a trap.

As expected—

That fat pig had used him as a pawn.

Though they'd occasionally clashed with human realms before, clearly this time they'd stirred up a hornet's nest.

At least a count should've come!

"Get moving, you lazy bastards!"

Shilaimu slammed the flag of authority into the ground and roared at his scattered underlings.

"Reinforce the entrances! Prepare boulders and poison gas! And clear out the biggest cave—now that I'm a warlord, a count's palace won't do! I'm building a bigger palace!"

As he shouted, a filthy ratman scurried in, crawling and bowing frantically.

"Your Majesty! Bad news! Your Majesty!"

"Call me Warlord, idiot!"

Shilaimu kicked him, sending the rat tumbling end over end.

The underling ignored the pain, rolling up and prostrating himself, trembling, voice trembling with fear.

"W-Warlord! Several caves beneath Bone Peak have been overrun!"

"What?!" Shilaimu's eyes bulged, teeth chattering with rage, "Useless fools… who's attacking? The Spinoir Count?"

"No, no! Not humans! Cave spiders!" The ratman sobbed, nose running, lips quivering, "Spiders everywhere! Too many to count! They came like a black tide… flooded right in!"

"Cave spiders?!"

Shilaimu froze, every gray hair on his body bristling.

Cave spiders weren't rare in the Ten Thousand Swords Mountain; rats sometimes ate them as snacks. But a swarm of them moving like an army? That made rats laugh no more.

Something foul lurked behind them!

Shilaimu instantly grasped the implication—he finally understood why the Soul-Shatterer Mork had tossed this burning flag at him!

That cunning coward!

Shilaimu cursed inwardly, hurled the flag he'd treasured moments ago aside, drew the rune-shortsword he'd stolen from a dwarf, and bellowed with false bravado.

"Why are you here? Go summon my guards! Charge and slaughter them all! By Lord Gerlo, are a few spiders enough to scare you? I'm ashamed of you!"

"Y-yes!" Sniffling back his snot, the ratman turned and scrambled out of the cave to rally the troops.

Notably, though ratmen always seemed chaotic to humans, their disorder was their strength—their combat power was no weakling's.

Under Shilaimu's command, armored rat guards quickly assembled, leading a horde of clan rats and slave rats toward the front lines.

The slaughter had just begun.

Meanwhile, after giving his orders, Shilaimu didn't charge ahead like a dwarf lord—he turned and slipped back into his nest, shouting at the rat concubines feasting inside.

"Stop eating! Pack your things!"

The female rats stirred.

Several plump females lifted their heads, annoyed, chattering.

"Why pack?"

"Are humans attacking?"

"Aren't humans our allies?"

"You know nothing!" Shilaimu yelled, stuffing gold and gems into his sack, cursing, "Something a thousand times worse than humans is coming! If we don't run, we'll all become spider shit!"

Something a hundred thousand times more troublesome than human toys is coming! If we don't run now, we'll all become spider droppings!

Seeing their king so panicked, the female rats finally grasped the severity and hurriedly began packing jars and bottles, preparing to flee deeper into the mountains.

Seeing the Shi Laike King so panicked, the group of female mice finally realized the gravity of the situation and hurriedly began packing up the palace's bottles and jars, preparing to migrate deeper into the mountains.

Meanwhile, in the abandoned caves outside Bone Peak, a one-sided massacre unfolded as wolflike cave spiders feasted.

Meanwhile, outside Burial Peak, in the abandoned caves that had fallen, a one-sided massacre was unfolding, as the cave spiders feasted voraciously, like wolves and tigers.

"Ssshh—!"

A massive black spider, as large as a small hill, grinned cruelly as it bit a resisting rat centurion clean in half, splattering blood across its body and making it look even more terrifying.

That was Arakdo.

As the Demon Lord's mount and demon general, though he always acted like a docile, fawning pet before Luo Yan, to outsiders he was more demon-like than the Demon Lord himself.

After all, the Demon Lord's smile only made maidens blush, but Arakdo's grin could terrify undead into urinating themselves.

Behind him, a vast horde of subterranean spiders surged into the cave like a black flood, despair etched on every rat's face.

"Kill them all!" Arakdo barked in a hoarse roar, the entire cavern echoing with deafening insect screeches.

Kikikiki—!

The horrifying sound made the rats' legs buckle; each one scattered like startled birds and beasts.

"Help!"

"Don't kill me—"

"Aaaah! My tail!"

Arakdo paid no attention.

His massive body swept forward like a black curtain across a stage; each swift lunge of his forelimbs claimed several slave-rat warriors.

The Arakdo of today was no longer the Arakdo of old—he was now a Golden-Rank Arakdo! And the Weaver-Shade clan was no longer the pitiful tribe cowering beneath the labyrinth!

Thanks to the Demon Lord's resource allocation and Lady Arachnoss's tireless egg-laying, this spider army was armed to the teeth!

The front-line battle spiders each wore steel plates forged by the Grand Necropolis workshops, etched with glowing emerald-black runes of "Fortitude" and "Sharpness."

Swinging their scythe-like forelimbs, each charge mowed down rows of rats like wheat.

Behind them lay even deadlier units!

On the backs of smaller, agile spiders rode skeletal archers with crossbows, riding alongside the tank-like battle spiders as they advanced through the narrow caverns, unleashing wave after wave of arrows.

The undead's night vision surpassed that of the rats!

The little rodents had nowhere to hide!

How had the rats of Bone Burial Peak ever faced such an onslaught? Their vaunted numerical superiority crumbled like paper before the steel tide, no less numerous than themselves.

"Wait—wait! Don't kill me!!"

A rat officer clad in half-armor was backed into a corner; he dropped his weapon and screamed for mercy.

"There must be some misunderstanding! We've had no past grudges, no recent quarrels…"

"Misunderstanding?"

Arakdo's eight compound eyes glinted with cruelty; his mandibles opened and closed in a chilling, low chuckle.

"You forgot what happened outside Dusk City. Our Sovereign did not."

The rat officer, with his shifty eyes, rolled them, then dropped to his knees, trembling as he pleaded.

"It's a misunderstanding! A terrible mistake! My lord! We're not the Carrion Clan! We've only just broken away! We're the Wild Bite Clan! Those attacks on humans? That was all that bastard Mo Ke! Not us!"

Crunch.

A massive Weaver-Shade warlord beside him, clearly lacking patience, snapped its jaws around the officer's head and crunched it like brittle bone, then let out a satisfied belch.

"Boss, why's this rat talking so much?"

"Tch."

I haven't even finished showing off yet!

Arakdo glanced disdainfully at the headless corpse, ignored the annoying subordinate, and continued advancing on his eight legs.

The Weaver-Shade had no interest in distinguishing clans; the Demon Lord certainly didn't care either.

At that moment, a nimble scout spider descended the rock wall, hastening to Arakdo's side, chittering urgently.

"Lord Arakdo! There's trouble at the southern entrance! A large group of humans is fleeing from the prison inside—they look like slaves kept by these rats!"

"How many?" Arakdo asked quietly.

"Hundreds!"

Hearing "hundreds," several nearby subterranean spiders instinctively began drooling, their compound eyes gleaming with hunger.

Arakdo merely swept his gaze across them; his Golden-Rank aura instantly silenced the restless horde.

"Our target is the rats. Swallow your drool, you useless trash!"

A chorus of gulps echoed through the cavern—the spiders actually swallowed their saliva, though the sound only made the dark tunnel feel even more chilling.

Arakdo turned to the scout spider and continued issuing orders in a deep, commanding tone.

"Ignore the humans. Let them run."

Arakdo never forgot the Demon Lord's orders: this operation's goal was to purge the rats, seize key facilities, and clear the way for the vanguard.

Humans were not the target.

Leaving them behind was better than letting them interfere—better still to let them flee on their own.

"Understood, Boss! What about the humans in the cages? Should we free them?" the scout spider asked.

"No, leave them there… Hmm. Throw them a few rats. Don't let them starve—the Demon Lord has use for them."

Arakdo had absolute confidence—he was the demon general who understood the Demon Lord best.

After all, most demon generals were just generals—even Sarah was merely a pet with a title. But Arakdo? He wasn't just a pet—he was the mount above the pet!

Upon receiving the order, the scout spider raised its forelimb and gave a standard Demon Army salute.

"Yes!"

The vast horde of subterranean spiders pressed deeper into the cave, soon engaging in brutal close-quarters combat with reinforcements from rat clans.

Blood flowed like rivers; corpses of rats and spiders piled high.

Shi Laike's troops fought with all their might, barely holding back the subterranean spiders, yet still lost several peaks to the spiders' nests.

Every rat's face bore expressions of shock and terror—they had no idea where these spiders came from, nor how many more remained.

Lucky for them, they didn't know the truth—or they'd have sunk into utter despair.

The subterranean spiders were merely the Demon Lord's construction crew. Their boss had already seen the methods used in the Dusk Province—the Demon Lord hadn't even brought out his real tools yet…

…

The slaughter on Bone Burial Peak continued. The spiders nesting at the mountain's base hadn't exterminated all rat soldiers—they headed straight for the sacrificial altar and laboratories, coordinating with imps and hellish dwarven engineers to seal off the Bone Burial Peak region.

The Demon Lord's forces didn't need to take the Campbell railway to reach the Wanren Mountains—after all, the hellish dwarves on Shatterpeak had long been the Demon Lord's allies.

Strictly speaking, the railway from Beifeng City to Catastrophe Fortress was the first railway in the history of the Os Continent.

As for the Campbell railway? That was merely the first in the human world—

"Clank—clank—"

The sound of wheels rolling over rail joints echoed by the window; Erin kept glancing out the window, then at the carriage door, visibly restless.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Colin walked in calmly from the adjacent carriage.

Those emerald eyes, startled like a rabbit's, darted back to the night outside, then drifted back, feigning indifference.

"Why did you take so long?"

Erin remained seated at the table, holding a book.

But Luo Yan saw through her pretense—the book's pages were still turned to the exact page he'd left, the corner uncrumpled.

Her concerned question carried a faint, carefully hidden pout.

It wasn't distrust of Sarah—she simply felt a natural pang of jealousy at the thought of her beloved spending an hour alone with another in a confined space.

"Sorry, there was an unexpected situation… but it's been handled." Luo Yan gave her an apologetic glance, sitting naturally across from her. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

His calm demeanor suggested he'd never left the adjacent carriage, let alone been involved in the slaughter a hundred kilometers away.

"Oh? Good that it's handled." Erin exhaled, her emerald eyes still filled mostly with concern and worry.

Since the kiss at Granston Castle, their relationship had grown strange—like a thin sheet of paper between them, yet both knew it was there.

Luo Yan extended his index finger, instinctively reaching to reheat the tea on the table—he knew it had long gone cold.

But the moment his fingertip touched the cup, warmth radiated against his skin, causing a flicker of surprise on his face.

Seeing Colin's surprise, Erin's lips curled upward in triumph—this was the reaction she'd waited half an hour for.

She swept her index finger back, brushing her silvery hair and moonlight behind her ear, her eyes holding a heart-stopping smile.

"I warmed it for you."

"Thank you," Luo Yan replied hastily.

Though the Demon Lord of Leiming County was always on the offensive, perhaps he wasn't as skilled at defense as he seemed.

He just held his composure well—after all, you had Youyou to laugh for him.

"Hahaha! Demon Lord—"

"Shut up."

"Waaah…"

Fortunately, the Hero was high in offense but low in defense—just those two words, "thank you," flushed his clean cheeks with a warm blush.

"N-no need to thank me… you often take care of me too…"

She quickly averted her gaze, fingers pinching the book's page, desperately inventing conversation.

"By the way… do you really drink tea at night? Won't it keep you awake?"

Luo Yan lifted the cup, took a sip, and resumed his calm smile, replying gently.

"I usually don't sleep."

"You don't sleep?" Erin stared at him, asking a question she herself thought was silly. "But… what if you get tired?"

"Mages learn to replace sleep with meditation."

Luo Yan set down the cup and continued, his tone warm and kind.

"In a meditative state, mental energy is reshaped and bodily functions rest; the effect is essentially the same, even more efficient than sleep."

"Magicians... what a convenient profession."

Eileen let out a soft sigh, her tone tinged with a hint of envy.

"Then you won't have to worry about insomnia anymore."

"Are you having insomnia lately?"

"It's not just lately..."

Eileen's fingers unconsciously rubbed the corner of the book page as she murmured softly, "Ever since I became... that way, I've been wide awake at night, unable to fall asleep. Sometimes, lying in bed, listening to the wind outside the window, it takes forever just to drift off."

Although legends say vampires need no sleep and grow more energetic as night falls, clearly Eileen had not yet fully adapted to her non-human nature.

Human habits still clashed with vampire instincts, causing her mental exhaustion to tug against her physical hyperactivity.

Otherwise, with Eileen's strength, she would never have allowed that brat Vivian to so easily "strike while the iron was hot."

After a brief pause, Luo Yan spoke.

"I happen to have some calming, sleep-inducing potions here—they might help improve your condition."

"Really?"

Those emerald eyes instantly brightened; Eileen looked at him with delight, though she quickly coughed and resumed her dignified demeanor.

"Then... I'm counting on you, Prince Colin."

If it were anyone else, she would never entrust her health to them—but giving it to Mr. Colin gave her a sense of peace.

Perhaps not just peace.

There was also a faint flutter in her heartbeat.

Looking at that face brimming with trust, Luo Yan smiled gently and said with gentlemanly grace.

"It is my honor to serve you."

The train carrying the Chosen was still heading toward the Earl of Spinor's territory; beneath the same night sky, the Crow's Watch post was gradually welcoming the dawn.

The morning breeze swept over the watchtower, jolting the sleeping Clark awake; he snapped his eyes open and rolled off the ground to his feet.

But his movement was too abrupt—he stepped on the edge of the ladder and nearly tumbled over the tower.

Luckily, Tom beside him reacted swiftly and yanked him back.

"Watch out!"

Clutching Tom's arm, Clark, drenched in cold sweat, leaned against the pillar to steady himself before collapsing onto the edge of the watchtower railing.

He punched his own head, muttering a curse.

"Damn... what the hell happened?"

His head felt like a soggy wad of cotton, filled only with fragmented memories.

Faintly, he recalled a little demon sitting right on the railing he now gripped, smirking as it whispered some incantation.

He instinctively glanced behind him.

Nothing there—only damp wood soaked in dew.

Hallucination?

Honestly, he hoped it was.

"Boss... did you sneak a drink last night?" Tom, watching his captain calm down, released his arm and sat back down on the chair, asking quietly, "You reek of alcohol."

What he really wanted to say was—

Why didn't you take me along?

Clark froze, instinctively lifting his sleeve to sniff—it was unmistakably the stench of cheap alcohol.

He couldn't recall when or how much he'd drunk, but if this was a hangover-induced hallucination, it made sense.

After all, how could there possibly be a little demon here?

The Labyrinth of Leiming County was countless miles away—and that was the closest place he knew to Hell.

"... Come to think of it, how did I get here?"

Hearing his captain's voice, Tom looked awkward, too embarrassed to admit he didn't know either.

He'd yawned and fallen asleep last night; when he woke, he found his captain lying at his feet. He'd wondered then—when did this drunkard climb up here?

Watching Tom stammer helplessly, Clark shook his head and finally waved a hand. "Forget it."

Though he felt something deeply unnatural about last night, years of border warfare told him... since he was still alive and no part of him was missing, it was better not to dig deeper.

And that witness, Haelgir—every strange event had occurred after he revealed the truth.

He was just a small man; such troubles were better left to the Duke to handle.

Clark glanced down at the watch post below and made up his mind—he couldn't delay another day. He had to hand this hot potato over to the royal authorities as soon as possible.

Just as he was about to climb down the tower to wash his face and clear his head, Tom suddenly leapt from his chair and rushed to the railing.

"What is it?" Clark noticed the soldier's movement and turned to him with a questioning look.

But Tom didn't answer—he snatched up the single-tube telescope hanging nearby and stared toward the northern forest.

"There's movement up north... Saint Sis above!"

Hearing that sharp, startled curse, Clark's heart sank; a sense of dread crept back up his spine.

He pushed himself up from the ground, walked over to Tom's side, and took the telescope he offered.

"You see for yourself, boss..." Tom's voice trembled, as if he'd seen something monstrous.

Clark raised the telescope and followed his gaze—and in that instant, the veteran cavalry captain's face paled.

In the northern forest, a few distant sparks glimmered, mingling with the dawn's light to illuminate a group of ragged people.

They supported each other, their faces etched with terror—or outright wounds.

Some were too badly injured to run, yet still limped southward, as if fleeing something.

Clark said nothing. He handed the telescope back to Tom and barked, "Keep watching."

Then he shook the alarm bell hanging from the roof twice, snatched up his rifle lying nearby, and hurried down the ladder.

The Crow's Watch post sprang to life.

Smoke signals rose first.

Then a dozen groggy, half-asleep guards, fully armed, mounted their horses and charged toward the northern border of the Earl of Spinor's territory, heads still foggy.

They hadn't ridden far beyond the post when they saw a shocking sight at the forest's edge—hundreds of refugees were emerging from the woods of Ten Thousand Swords Mountain!

"... Looks like Haelgir wasn't lying," muttered the veteran on horseback, swallowing hard. "If he told me ratmen captured an entire city, I'd believe him."

"A few hundred escaped... how many are buried?"

"Only the undead would know."

"Fuck, what kind of hellish joke is this?"

Listening to his comrades' hushed whispers, Clark's throat bobbed; a chill crawled up his spine.

He'd just wanted to dump that hot potato from the watch post—now hundreds of bigger, hotter potatoes had smashed into his face, with no way to dodge.

All he hoped now was that these people carried no "plague," and wouldn't drag the townsfolk of Crow's Watch into this mess...