Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 23.1, 23.2

From what Simon had seen during his time in Valtia, Duke Helmund's reign of the Severed Isles was indisputable.

Opposition against him didn't truly exist. The commonfolk may despise him, and some nobles might utter hushed complaints behind closed doors, but it went no further than that. He was so powerful and long-lived that the notion of unseating him was akin to demolishing a mountain with your bare hands. Entire generations had lived and died with Duke Helmund as their sole, unchanging ruler – an enduring facet of life.

Yet even in a land bereft of hope, where the battle had been lost decades before most people were born...some of them chose to fight. Despite knowing how futile their efforts would be, some people refused to go quietly, refused to let the ember of the world be snuffed out by an inexorable tide of apathy.

And Simon had just found one of them.

"What are the risks involved?" Katarina asked, folding her arms. "You've already underestimated how well-guarded this stronghold is once before. How would the three of us fare any better than you and your partner did?"

Bastian met her inquisitive look with a steely gaze of confidence. "Medea and I sought to rob the stronghold of its valuables. We lingered, searched. This would be different – a rescue mission, swift and precise as a freshly-forged knife. It should take no more than several minutes to free her."

'Should' being the operative word. No plan survives contact with the enemy.

In the Severed Isles, talk of rebellion was considered akin to madness. Simon had only heard of the resistance group known as the Hurricane twice, and each time it was accompanied by someone warning him to avoid them lest he throw his life away.

Bastian's Sin Scry painted a somewhat different story. One of its visions had depicted him and the Hurricane successfully storming a Helmund-backed base. No victories more notable than that, however – though Sin Scry didn't show every single detail of a person's life.

The Hurricane were probably more successful than Duke Helmund's propaganda led everyone to believe...but not by much. Simon wouldn't have needed to transmigrate to Valtia if Voice-In-The-Sky trusted the local natives to take care of things. They were fighting a nigh-unwinnable battle.

And they knew it, too. To be a member of the resistance, you had to be comfortable with the fact that you'd permanently forfeited your chance at a peaceful life. Between invading noble strongholds and dodging Helmund's hunters, you were constantly dancing on the knife's edge, gambling your very existence to eke out infinitesimal slivers of progress.

It meant that Simon took Bastian's reassurances about this being a quick, easy mission with just the slightest grain of salt. He might not even be lying – merely so accustomed to danger that his perception of it was warped.

"What do you think, my good man?" The rebel turned to face the transmigrator. "I would hear your thoughts, allay your fears. Ask me any question you desire."

Simon paused. At times like these, he wished he had a Skill that let him telepathically communicate with his allies. He wanted to let Kat know about Bastian's true nature, but he couldn't think of a way to do that without alerting the rebel as well.

Which was an option, albeit a wasteful one. Multiple doors would close shut the instant Bastian realized he'd been sussed out.

"You said the rescue would take 'no more than several minutes'," Simon began. "How can you be sure of that? Your partner may have been moved to another location. Even if she's in the same building, there's no guarantee we know which room."

Bastian rubbed his chin. "I doubt they've relocated her. Little reason to do so. As for Medea's exact room of confinement...based on when we searched the place earlier, I can surmise where they'll be keeping her – left wing, fourth floor. Won't take long to investigate it in full."

"I am proficient at stealth and thievery," Katarina admitted, "and Simon is the best tracker I've ever met. We're well-suited to this sort of business."

You're folding fast, Simon noted. Didn't even point out how vague his arguments are.

Perhaps he should have expected as much. After burning twelve people into charred husks yesterday, it wasn't surprising that Katarina wanted something to affirm that she was still a decent person. Saving Bastian's lover from death-by-torture would be an unambiguous act of good.

For all she'd claimed she wasn't a saint, there was a difference between that and coming to terms with quintupling your kill count overnight.

Normally she'd also have to worry about Bastian being a fraud or a con artist, but that's less of an issue here. I've already used Identify and Sin Scry. Kat trusts me to verify whether or not he's legit. If I go along with his request, then she will too.

In the same vein, Katarina wouldn't oppose Simon if he decided that he'd smelled a rat. The transmigrator could end this conversation with just one sentence. He need only say 'Your screwup isn't our problem,' and they would go their separate ways.

They probably should. Bastian was lying by omission. By concealing that he was a rebel, and that his captured partner was also known to be a rebel, he'd severely misrepresented how dangerous this operation would be. That stronghold was liable to be swarming with guards when they returned.

His earnest demeanor shrouds a callous mind. He's more than willing to sacrifice us to save Medea. Backing out now would be the safest route...

But not the route that presented the most opportunity.

"What's your name?" Simon asked. "You've attacked us, robbed us, begged us for aid – yet you've neglected to mention that tiny detail."


Bastian winced, then swept into a bow. "My apologies for the belated introduction. You may call me Guy, and I am at your service." He hazarded a rueful grin. "My parents weren't the most creative sorts."

A false name, Simon thought. That way, if Kat and I get captured, we won't be able to lead the nobles back to him. He's already prepared to cut and run if the mission gets dicey, leave us behind after securing Medea.

Good. Means no guilt on my end for taking advantage of his circumstances.

"You owe us, Guy," he announced, almost lazily. "Lead the way. As you've said, time's running out."

It took a moment for Bastian to comprehend what Simon was getting at. A grateful smile rapidly climbed up his face, like he was a man on death row who'd been handed a stay of execution. "Thank you," the rebel professed. "I...thank you. We depart at once!"

His joy and relief was infectious. Simon fought to stop a matching smile of his own from spreading – it would harm his negotiating position if Bastian knew that the transmigrator wasn't as reluctant as he'd let on.

Isn't like I need much of an excuse to stick it to Duke Helmund or assist members of the Hurricane. While Simon had no intention of joining the resistance as a subordinate, it seemed evident that they would be collaborating in the near and distant future. Establishing a positive working relationship early on should aid greatly with that.

Especially when they eventually learned that he was a 'Demon'. Would be difficult for the rebels to disavow him wholesale if he'd already rescued one or two of them.

Of course, that alone wasn't reward enough. Simon sympathized with Bastian's plight, and he respected the effort the Hurricane had put into fighting for Valtia, but that didn't mean he was going to work for free. This entire situation was like a lush spring harvest; a resplendent bounty left unclaimed.

He intended to reap it for all it was worth.

There were two paths forward that Simon could envision. In the first, they rescued Medea without issue, thereby earning Bastian's debt, inconveniencing the nobility, and making positive inroads with the Hurricane. A strong win by every conceivable measure.

It was also sub-optimal compared to the second path, where they encountered trouble. In that potential future, Simon gained all those things...

And a boatload of EXP.

Simon allowed himself a small, covert grin as Bastian beckoned them forward. The three of them sprinted in tandem, rushing through the streets as they went. He felt the pleasant coursing of adrenaline in his veins, its intoxicating hum bracing him for the trials ahead.

The third path – where their group died miserably, overwhelmed by Helmund's soldiers – barely registered to him. This wasn't the first time he'd bet his life to achieve a goal.

It certainly wouldn't be the last.

--

Simon allocated his thirteen Unspent Stat Points as he ran. He had an inkling he'd be needing the boost soon.

Strength: 26 → 31
Dexterity: 30 → 31
Vitality: 27 → 31
Intelligence: 40 → 43
HP: 270 → 310
MP: 400 → 430

Strength, Dexterity, and Vitality were brought up to parity with each other. The sight of three identical stat numbers resting side-by-side felt oddly soothing. As if he was ready to tackle any crisis, adapt to any obstacle Valtia might throw at him.

Intelligence was pulling ahead of the other stats, yet he begrudgingly pushed it further still. Having more maximum MP to play with had proved crucial against Armand Calloway and the crispy-fried bandits – and if everything went according to plan, it would be vital today as well.

Katarina and Bastian remained silent as they went. The two of them had put their game face on, recognizing that this was scarcely the time for idle chatter.

Simon contemplated pulling Kat aside and informing her of the rebel's hidden association, but he never found a moment where they wouldn't have been noticed. They really needed to devise a system of hand signals after this.

It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. They'd ventured deep into Caelryn City's lower district, farther than Simon would have anticipated for a stronghold owned by the nobility. The once-bustling streets were nearly empty, giving credence to the notion that this was a place where Helmund had planted roots, like an invasive species crowding out the local fauna.

The stronghold itself was moderately impressive. Tall, wide, and made of a much sturdier material than the surrounding buildings. Not quite a fortress, but clearly a structure financed by people with excess funds to spare.

Half-a-dozen soldiers were posted outside the front entrance, with many more likely inside. They didn't appear very concerned or vigilant. Probably assumed that Bastian had fled the city by now.

And for good reason. Who would return to a stronghold they got ousted from literal hours ago? You'd have to be a lunatic to try.

Which totally wasn't the pot calling the kettle black. Simon's personal brand of lunacy was always carefully measured and calculated. Anyone who disagreed obviously hadn't seen his success rate since coming to Valtia.

Granted, most of his wins had been by the skin of his teeth, ending with him one foot in the grave, but there was no need to fuss over minor details.

Simon repeatedly cast Identify on each of the guards standing outside. He would've aborted the mission if any of them had been above Level 20, yet what he discovered was pleasantly surprising.

Estimated Level range of 12 to 16. Barely stronger than the bandit group. Well within acceptable parameters. Either the Duke wasn't sending his best here, or high-Level fighters were even more uncommon than he'd believed.

"Hey," Katarina whispered, drawing his attention. "Simon. This is supposed to be quick and quiet, but if our plan goes awry, we may have to fight the guards. Kill them."

"I'm quite aware."

"Right. Just...are you fine with that?"

He paused as the implications sunk in. 'Are you willing to kill someone you haven't properly vetted with Sin Scry?'

There wouldn't be time to use the Skill mid-mission, not even while safely hidden in a corner. The trance it put him in would be a death sentence if activated at the wrong moment.

And without the information Sin Scry provided, he wouldn't know if their enemies actually 'deserved' death. For all he knew, any guard he slew could be a desperate youth who'd only signed with Helmund to support their family.

"Yeah," Simon immediately answered, nodding in assent. "I won't hesitate."

He wouldn't blame someone for joining a corrupt institution when there was no other choice. Everyone needed to eat. The people at fault were those who'd created the institution, not those toiling for scraps on the bottom rung.

But the fires of revolution were just that – fires. Raging, perilous, and only somewhat controllable. Their blaze would reshape the word, consuming many in its wake...including some who weren't fully deserving of being sacrificed on the pyre.

Simon would do his utmost to minimize collateral damage where he could. It was an important part of keeping himself grounded and avoiding the slippery slope. He sought power not for its own sake, but to help the weak achieve a better lot in life.

Extending that mercy to soldiers employed by Duke Helmund, though?

No. 'Just following orders' was an excuse that only went so far. Maybe if they threw down their weapons and defected, but he doubted that was happening anytime soon.

They'd made their choice – and so would he.

Bastian hastily led Simon and Katarina to the opposite end of the stronghold. The three of them took the long way there, doubling back a few streets before circling around, sticking to remote, abandoned alleyways. It was a necessary time loss to ensure they weren't spotted, yet the rebel's gritted teeth revealed what he thought of the delay.

May need to modify my plans if Medea is dead when we arrive, Simon mused. Should still be workable if I approach it from a different angle.

The back area of the stronghold was patrolled by just a single soldier. There were no entrances or doorways in view, and the lone guard looked so thoroughly bored that he was on the verge of falling asleep standing.

Identify revealed that he even regretted having missed the break-in earlier. He was secretly praying for more intruders to show so he could get in on the action this time.

Simon felt inclined to grant the man's wish. It shouldn't be difficult to silence him with a crossbow bolt before he could raise the alarm. Katarina wouldn't miss a stationary target.

However, they couldn't be certain how long it would take to locate Medea afterwards. If another guard came to relieve this one of his post, and found a dead body laying on the ground, then things would get complicated before Simon wanted them to get complicated. Even if they moved the body after sniping him, telltale bloodstains might get left behind.

Should we create a distraction? Draw the guard's attention elsewhere? But, hmm, there's no guarantee he would abandon his position, and we'd be putting everyone here on high alert. Perhaps–

A small rock flew through the air, clattering against the stronghold's wall. The guard sluggishly turned to investigate.

Bastian dashed forward in a burst of speed. Wicked steel flashed out. With surgical precision, he stabbed twice – once in the heart, next in the vocal cords.

It all transpired in three blinks of an eye. Wasting no movement, Bastian wiped and sheathed his longsword in the same motion. Both arms now free, he wrapped his quarry in a vice grip of iron, muscles tensing as he stifled the man's mouth with one hand and constructed his movement with the other.

The guard didn't die right away. People could endure for a painfully long time after suffering fatal wounds. Like a corpse who didn't yet know it, the man wildly thrashed about, a subdued gurgle raising up from within his ruined voice as he attempted to scream for help.

His energy was ill-spent. All he accomplished was prolonging his suffering.

Simon and Katarina watched, a bit mesmerized, as Bastian dragged the still-struggling guard over to their hiding spot. The instant they'd entered the shadows, the rebel suddenly jerked his arm sideways. His eyes were cold as a muted crack filled the alley.

The guard was unceremoniously tossed into the corner, neck twisted at a harsh angle.

No bloodstains on the ground near the stronghold, Simon realized. Bastian covered the wounds with his arms, soaked up the blood before it could spill.

A consummate professional. This wasn't the first time he'd made someone disappear with nary a trace.

Bastian hurriedly tossed trash and debris onto the unmoving guard, burying all evidence of his crime. While his attention was occupied, Katarina glanced over at Simon. She spoke no words, but the question on her face was plain: 'Are you sure about this dude?'

The transmigrator offered her a thumbs-up in reply. What was the big deal, really? It wasn't like the two of them hadn't lured and slaughtered a bandit in a dark alleyway just yesterday.

If anything, Bastian was in good company.

With the guard out of the way, they pressed onward. There wasn't a back door entrance on this side of the stronghold, but Bastian pointed at a window up on the fourth floor. That was their entryway – where it would hopefully put them close to where Medea was imprisoned.

Before Simon could ask if anyone had brought climbing tools, his eyes widened at the sight of Bastian scaling the smooth stone wall like a demented spider monkey. With his bare hands. Katarina promptly followed the rebel's lead, both of them finding seemingly-invisible handholds as they ascended upwards.

Level 14 and Level 15, each with infiltration expertise, he reminded himself. What would be improbable on Earth doesn't apply to people with magically-enhanced bodies.

Not to be outdone, Simon...mostly kept up with them. While Katarina and Bastian were old pros at this, the transmigrator hadn't climbed anything substantial in years. For reasons unknown to man, his parents had barred him from the activity after he'd used their rooftop – and a pile of useless leaves below – to experiment with his adrenaline response.

Thankfully, his higher Strength and Dexterity managed to compensate for his lack of experience. He still couldn't spot handholds as easily as his compatriots, but copying their patterns worked wonders. They made it up to the fourth floor in short order.

To Simon's surprise, Bastian effortlessly opened the window – which appeared to be locked tight and made of reinforced glass. A usage of Identify informed him that the window had been loosened by the rebel duo beforehand, just in case they chose to return later and double-dip on espionage.

And their tampering wasn't discovered? Not even after Helmund's guards captured a rebel and had cause to check the stronghold for sabotage? Feels too easy.

Simon said nothing. You never interrupted your enemy when they were making a mistake – and in this instance, that applied to both Bastian and the guardsmen.

The three of them climbed through the window, entering what looked like a cramped medieval filing room. Shabby wooden desk, multiple drawers overflowing with parchment...add an outdated desktop computer from the stone age, and you'd get your average Earth office cubicle.

Most importantly, no one was inside. Nor could they hear people walking in the hallway beyond.

For now, the coast was clear.

Bastian peered at the stacks of parchment for a brief moment, his eyes fiery with purpose. Whatever urge he'd felt was stamped out as he gestured for Simon and Katarina to follow, already advancing towards the doorway.

I'm guessing these info papers are what he and Medea came for. Simon contemplated stashing some of them in Inventory. He was extremely curious about what kind of intel had spurred the Hurricane to target this stronghold.

Unfortunately, Bastian would definitely notice a strange flash of blue light from behind. While he wouldn't pause a time-sensitive operation to inquire about the unique Skill, especially with the safety of his loved one still at risk, the rebel would start having...suspicions.

Better to avoid that. The surprise factor would work best if Bastian kept believing that Simon was merely a gullible rube who'd been duped into joining a Hurricane suicide mission.

They stepped through the doorway and into the corridor outside. It was deserted. Six doors in total were nearby, with more hallways to search around each corner. Everything was quiet – distressingly so.

As Bastian moved to open the first door in line, Simon grabbed his shoulder and held him back. The rebel whirled on him, his expression furious, but the transmigrator ignored him and focused his gaze. Can't hurt to try before we start barging into every room unannounced. Identify. Identify. Identify.

Identify...there we go.

Name: Fourth Door on the Fourth Floor
Description: A locked door. Located at a Caelryn City information repository owned by Duke Helmund. Bastian's imprisoned partner lies within this room.

Simon pointed at the door in question. Bastian's eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead. A wordless exchange passed between them.

'That room? Why?'

'Because I'm the best tracker you'll ever meet.'

This time Simon was the one who pushed forward, forcing Bastian to follow. Katarina immediately went to work on the door, pulling out a lockpick as her dextrous hands fiddled with the keyhole. She seemed perfectly calm and self-assured; much more at ease with burglary than the life-or-death battles they'd been embroiled in for the past few weeks.

After several short seconds – that the rebel spent nervously tapping his foot, his fingers twitching with anticipation – a soft click broke the silence. The door swung open with an even softer creak.

Bastian's gasp of horror was less soft.

In the middle of an otherwise empty room, an unconscious woman sat tied to a chair. She was tall, older than Simon or Katarina, roughly Bastian's age...

Although it was hard to tell with the layer of purple bruises plastering her face. Her long blonde hair was more red than yellow, caked with dried blood, some of which had dripped down and stained the floor beneath her. Gruesome, crisscrossing slashes were visible on her arms and legs, the kind that would leave scars even if given swift medical attention.

Yet none of that mattered when they could see the faint rise and fall of her chest.

Still breathing. Still alive.

Simon smiled. Despite his ulterior motives, he'd wished for this outcome as well.

Torn between joy, relief, fury, and self-loathing, Bastian shambled forward with an intensely complicated expression on his face. Simon and Katarina weren't far behind, the transmigrator casting Identify as they entered the room.

Name: Cyna Noname
Description: A warrior of moderate renown. Hates the nobility with the passion of a thousand undying suns. Loves the Hurricane and Bastian in equal, fierce measure. To her, trading her life to protect them both was the easiest decision in the world.
Estimated Level: 21

We got lucky, Simon thought. Cyna wouldn't have cracked and revealed any intel. Must have infuriated her captors. Yet she still has her fingers, limbs, eyes. Helmund's guards stuck to superficial wounds. Were likely building up to the maimings if she kept resisting them.

His arms twitched with phantom pain. At least Valtia doesn't have electrical clamps. Those are...decidedly unpleasant.

"Cyna," Bastian whispered, gently holding her face. "It's – it's me. You have to wake. We need to leave. I'll get you to a healer. You'll be fine. I swear on my life."

The rebel's professionalism was starting to crumble under an avalanche of pure emotion. He'd already forgotten to call her 'Medea'.

Katarina frowned at the slip-up, but still went to help release the woman from her bindings. Once Bastian composed himself, the three of them would need to carry Cyna out, return to the filing room, and find a way to descend from the window without injuring her further.

Then it would be home free.

Simon took another look around the barren, nondescript room they stood in. No windows. Fortified walls. Only one doorway in or out.

A smirk came to him. Now where have I seen this setup before?

As if possessed by a vengeful spirit, the exit door abruptly slammed shut.

Bastian and Katarina practically jumped out of their skin as a screeching alarm resounded throughout the stronghold. An ominous thunk echoed, the door automatically locking with heavier, stronger fortifications than before – the type that couldn't be picked.

"What's happening?" Katarina asked, her voice rapidly surging with panic. "Who sealed the door?"

"An Artifact, probably."

Unhurried and unbothered, Simon walked over to the closed-shut door, leaning against the wall beside it. "This was a trap. Medea was the bait. After...thirty seconds, give or take, guards will come streaming in here like a waterfall."

He shrugged. "How many soldiers did you mention were stationed here, Guy? We saw seven outside. Have to be dozens more in."

Bastian cursed so loudly that his voice rose above the cacophonous alarm. He whirled around with savage intent, violently kicking the door. It didn't budge.

"Won't work," Simon commented. "None of us have the strength to break through. Guards will open it soon anyway."

The rebel glared daggers at him. "Why. Are you. So calm?"

"Because all four of us are going to walk out of here alive."

Chuckling at Katarina and Bastian's blank-eyed stares, Simon put his ear to the door. Let's see...there. Footsteps. Our audience has arrived. From row seats for Helmund's lapdogs.

He turned to face his fellow cast members. Out of the myriad possibilities he'd envisioned for this operation, this was close to ideal. A confined room, a desperate situation...

Yes. The stage had been set nicely.

Barrier. 200 MP, as a start.

A translucent shield covered the door.

By casting his spell, Simon's right arm naturally Shapeshifted to its Demonic form. What little light was in the room reflected against black skin-scales tipped by sharp silver claws.

Bastian's mouth dropped open. Realization gradually dawned on him, a soul-crushing blend of horror and dread. Disbelief was mixed in there as well, struggling fiercely to let him retain blissful ignorance.

Yet try as he might...he couldn't deny the sight displayed before his very eyes.

Simon offered him a beatific smile, waving his Demonic arm.

Showtime.

--

Thanks for reading!