Chapter 189 The First Attack On Demon Fortress

The arcane energy unleashed by Alaric had struck Kenneth with brutal efficiency. It wasn’t just a simple magical knockdown; the force had been immense, leaving Kenneth gasping for breath, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. He lay sprawled on the sparring arena floor, his once-confident face contorted in pain. He tried to move, to push himself up, but a searing agony shot through his chest, rendering him immobile.

“Damn it,” Kenneth grunted, his voice strained. “What… what was that?” He could feel a cold sweat beading on his forehead. His lungs felt like they were filled with lead, and a sharp, persistent pain radiated from his ribs. ‘He… he completely overwhelmed me. I didn’t even see most of those spells coming.’

The noble heirs who had been so eager to witness the spar rushed forward, their initial excitement replaced by concern. “Kenneth! Are you alright?” one of them asked, kneeling beside him.

“Help… me up,” Kenneth managed to wheeze out, his face pale. But even with their assistance, the slightest movement sent jolts of pain through his body. It was clear he was in no condition to even stand.

“He needs to see a healer,” another noble heir declared, his voice worried. And so, Kenneth was carefully carried away from the sparring arena, his body limp and unresponsive, destined for the infirmary to recover from the surprisingly brutal beating he had received at Alaric’s hands.

Meanwhile, Alaric, with a casual flick of his wrist to dust off his tunic, turned his attention back to the group of noble heirs, his charming smile firmly in place. He noticed Kris Nebe, a striking blonde with intelligent green eyes, Tia Kirstein, a petite brunette with a fiery spirit in her brown gaze, and Gerda Weyrauch, a tall, elegant redhead with a gentle demeanor, all of whom had shown a particular fondness for Kenneth.

“Well,” Alaric said, his gaze sweeping over the three young women, “that was… enlightening. Kenneth certainly has some potential.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air before continuing with a playful wink. “But perhaps a little more practice is needed.”

Kris giggled, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “He certainly seemed… surprised by your strength, Master Steele.”

“Surprised is an understatement,” Tia chimed in, a mischievous glint in her brown eyes. “He looked like he’d been hit by a charging rhino.”

Gerda, usually the most reserved of the three, offered a soft smile. “We were all quite impressed, Master Steele. Your magical prowess is… extraordinary.”

Alaric spent the rest of the day in their company, his charm working its usual magic. He regaled them with tales of his adventures, his voice filled with just the right amount of self-deprecation and humor. He listened attentively to their stories, making them feel valued and understood. It wasn’t long before the initial awkwardness of Kenneth’s defeat faded away, replaced by a comfortable camaraderie, and then something more.

By late afternoon, Alaric found himself walking hand-in-hand with Kris through a quieter part of the encampment, their fingers intertwined. Tia and Gerda walked closely behind, their laughter echoing softly in the air as they shared a private joke with Alaric. He had his arm casually draped around Tia’s shoulders, and his other hand occasionally brushed against Gerda’s back in a seemingly innocent gesture that sent subtle shivers of excitement through her.

‘They’re quite lovely, all three of them,’ Alaric thought, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. ‘And surprisingly easy to get along with.’ He had learned about their families, their ambitions, and their little secrets, weaving himself into their lives with practiced ease. They, in turn, seemed utterly captivated by him, their eyes filled with admiration and a burgeoning affection.

The fact that Alaric had so thoroughly trounced Kenneth in the spar had indeed spread like wildfire throughout the encampment. Kenneth’s reputation as a powerful Master Mage was well-established, and the idea that a genius artificer like Alaric had not only defeated him but left him needing medical attention was astonishing. Whispers of the spar followed Alaric wherever he went, and the general consensus was that Alaric Steele was far more than just a talented craftsman; he was a truly formidable mage.

The assessment of Alaric’s power quickly shifted. The quiet whispers of “greatest magical talent” that had followed him since his academy days now turned into open declarations of “Grand Mage.” The speed of his growth, reaching such a high rank at the mere age of sixteen, was unprecedented and left many seasoned mages in awe and a touch of disbelief. Even King Thaleon and his inner circle took note of this development, realizing that Alaric’s value to the kingdom had just increased exponentially.

Naturally, the rumors of the spar reached Saintess Ceanna as well. She was in her tent, meditating, when a concerned aide brought her the news. “Saintess,” the aide said, his voice hushed, “there’s been… an incident. Master Kenneth challenged Master Steele to a spar earlier today.”

Ceanna opened her golden eyes, a frown creasing her brow. “A spar? Why?”

“Apparently,” the aide continued, “Master Steele… well, he won. And Master Kenneth was quite badly injured. He’s currently in the infirmary.”

Saintess Ceanna was shocked. Kenneth, with his Eternal Emperor System, was meant to be a chosen hero. The God of Reincarnation had personally blessed him. To think that Alaric Steele, with his heretical system, had managed to inflict such injuries… it was deeply concerning. “Take me to him,” she said, rising to her feet, her expression determined. “I must see to his healing immediately.”

Meanwhile, Alaric was thoroughly enjoying his afternoon with Kris, Tia, and Gerda. He had effectively taken over Kenneth’s group of noble family heirs, his charisma and newfound prestige easily eclipsing Kenneth’s previous influence. He listened to their woes, offered them advice, and subtly steered their opinions, ensuring that their loyalty now lay with him. Kenneth’s carefully constructed network of alliances was crumbling around him, and Alaric was the architect of its destruction.

‘This is almost too easy,’ Alaric thought, a hint of smugness creeping into his internal monologue. ‘Kenneth really wasn’t as impressive as I thought.’

As the day drew to a close, Alaric considered his next move. Noah, the genius alchemist with the Ultimate Alchemical System, was still on his radar. However, directly targeting Noah was a far more delicate matter. Noah was not surrounded by easily swayed nobles; his domain was alchemy, and he likely had a different kind of influence within the encampment. Moreover, Alaric couldn’t risk making Saintess Ceanna suspicious. If he started targeting both Kenneth and Noah, individuals with Divine Systems, she might realize that he knew about systems and, more dangerously, might start to question the nature of his own abilities. ‘Patience,’ Alaric told himself. ‘Noah can wait. For now, dismantling Kenneth’s little empire is enough.’

Unbeknownst to Alaric, in the confines of the infirmary, Kenneth was experiencing a fresh wave of agony. The backlash from his Eternal Emperor System was hitting him hard. His defeat in the spar and the subsequent loss of influence over his group of noble heirs had triggered a severe internal reaction. The system, designed to empower him as he gained authority and prestige, was now punishing him for his failure. Sharp, stabbing pains wracked his body, far worse than the physical injuries he had sustained in the spar. He gasped and writhed on the infirmary bed, his face contorted in agony.

“What’s happening to him?” Saintess Ceanna asked, her golden eyes filled with concern as she examined Kenneth, her hands glowing with divine energy.

The infirmary healer, a middle-aged woman with worried eyes, wrung her hands. “We don’t know, Saintess. His physical wounds are healing, but he’s complaining of intense internal pain. It’s like… something is tearing him apart from the inside.”

Kenneth let out a strangled cry, his body convulsing. “It… it feels like… my very soul is being ripped out!” he managed to gasp between clenched teeth.

Saintess Ceanna’s brow furrowed deeper. She could sense a strange energy fluctuating within Kenneth, something beyond mere physical injury. ‘This must be the power of his Divine System reacting to his defeat,’ she realized with a growing sense of unease. ‘Alaric Steele… just what kind of heretical power do you possess to cause such a reaction in a chosen hero?’ For Kenneth, lying in the infirmary, wracked with both physical and internal pain, it truly felt like a nightmare with no end in sight. He had lost his prestige, his followers, and now his own body seemed to be turning against him. The victory he had so confidently sought against Alaric had turned into a devastating and unforeseen defeat.

Saintess Ceanna placed her hands gently on Kenneth’s chest, her golden eyes closed in concentration. A soft, warm light emanated from her palms, bathing his injured body in a comforting glow. He could feel the pain receding, the sharp stabs in his chest dulling to a manageable ache, the pressure in his lungs easing.

“Rest now, Master Kenneth,” Ceanna said softly, her voice like a soothing balm. “The Light will mend your wounds.” She continued to channel her divine power, her brow furrowed with focus. She could sense the lingering traces of Alaric’s arcane energy within him, a foreign and unpleasant sensation against the pure divine energy she wielded. It took a considerable amount of her power to fully cleanse him, but eventually, the tension in his body began to dissipate.

Kenneth opened his eyes slowly, a wave of relief washing over him. The agonizing pain had subsided, replaced by a dull soreness. “Saintess… thank you,” he whispered, his voice still weak.

“The Light protects its chosen,” Ceanna replied with a gentle smile. “You have been through a great ordeal. Focus on your recovery.” She didn’t mention the strange energy she had sensed, nor did she speak of the Divine System that pulsed within him. Such knowledge was not for the ears of the general populace.

Once the Saintess had left, Kenneth lay still, his mind racing. He was physically healed, but the humiliation of his defeat at Alaric’s hands still stung deeply. ‘He… he made me look like a fool,’ Kenneth thought, his jaw clenching. ‘I need to get stronger. Much stronger.’ He knew that returning to his former group of noble heirs wouldn’t restore his lost prestige. They had seen him defeated, utterly outmatched. His focus narrowed, hardening into a steely resolve. ‘I need to level up. The demons… they’re the key. I’ll slaughter them, grow stronger, and then… then Alaric Steele will pay for this.’

Meanwhile, Alaric had returned to his tent, the thrill of his victory over Kenneth slowly fading, replaced by a quiet contemplation of the information he had gleaned about the systems. He found Lyra and Cassandra waiting for him, their expressions a mixture of concern and curiosity.

That night, the atmosphere in the tent was different. The raw, forceful passion of the previous night had mellowed into a tender intimacy. Alaric held his mother and aunt close, his touch gentle, his kisses soft and lingering. He wanted them to be well-rested for the morning, as they would be accompanying him to observe the first major clash against the Demon Fortress. He wanted their perspective, their insights, on the effectiveness of his artifacts.

“Are you feeling alright, darling?” Lyra asked, her fingers tracing the lines of his face.

“Yes, Mother,” Alaric replied with a soft smile. “Just… thinking.”

Cassandra leaned in and kissed his neck. “You seemed… intense last night, nephew.”

“I was,” Alaric admitted. “But tonight… tonight is for you both to recover.” Even as he spoke, his hands gently explored their bodies, caressing their curves, his fingers finding familiar, sensitive spots. He might be gentle, but he was still Alaric, and the allure of their voluptuous bodies was never far from his mind.

Lyra and Cassandra responded to his gentle touch with soft moans and loving caresses. They understood his need for release, even in its gentler form, and they did their best to please him, their bodies moving against his with a practiced grace. The night was filled with soft whispers, tender kisses, and the quiet sighs of contentment.

The next day dawned with a crisp, clear sky. As the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, a palpable tension filled the encampment. The air thrummed with anticipation, the sounds of marching feet and clanking armor echoing across the grounds. The knights and soldiers of the Eloriath Kingdom, their faces grim but determined, began their advance towards the Demon Fortress.

Alaric, flanked by Lyra and Cassandra, made his way to a strategically elevated position overlooking the battlefield. They watched as the massive army, a sea of steel and banners, moved with surprising speed and coordination. Leading the charge were two prominent commanders, Jannik Peltzer, a renowned knight known for his unwavering courage, and Isaak Neumark, a brilliant strategist with a sharp mind for tactics. Both men carried several of Alaric’s newly crafted holy artifacts.

“There they go,” Lyra murmured, her blue eyes filled with a mixture of pride and apprehension as she watched the army advance.

“Let’s hope those artifacts of yours work, darling,” Cassandra added, her purple eyes focused on the distant Demon Fortress, a dark and ominous structure looming against the horizon.

“They will,” Alaric said confidently, though a sliver of nervousness gnawed at him. This was the first real test of his creations on a large scale.

As the Eloriath forces drew closer to the fortress, the first signs of demonic resistance appeared. Grotesque figures with twisted limbs and glowing red eyes poured out from the fortress gates, their guttural roars echoing across the battlefield. The clash was immediate and brutal. Swords met claws, shields deflected dark magic, and the air filled with the sounds of battle – the clang of steel, the screams of the wounded, and the roars of the demons.

Commander Jannik Peltzer, a towering figure in shining armor, held the ‘Holy Energy Amplifier’ aloft. A group of priests and paladins gathered around him, their hands raised in prayer. As they chanted, the amplifier glowed with an intense golden light, channeling their divine energy and amplifying it tenfold. Waves of holy power washed over the advancing human forces, bolstering their strength and offering a protective aura against the demonic energies.

“For the Light!” Jannik roared, his voice booming across the battlefield, inspiring the soldiers around him.

Commander Isaak Neumark, positioned further back, held the ‘Celestial Fire Projector,’ a sleek, intricately designed device made of polished silver and imbued with holy runes. With a focused gaze, he aimed the projector at a large group of charging demons and unleashed a searing blast of holy fire. The beam struck the demons with devastating force, incinerating them in an instant, leaving behind only smoking craters in the ground.

“Target the larger ones!” Isaak commanded his mages, who stood ready beside him. “Focus your spells on the brutes!”

Mages within the Eloriath ranks began to unleash their own spells, bolts of elemental energy striking the demon ranks, while knights and warriors engaged the smaller demons in fierce hand-to-hand combat. The battlefield became a chaotic scene of flashing lights, clashing steel, and the horrifying visages of the demonic horde.

“Look, Mother!” Alaric exclaimed, pointing towards a group of knights who were suddenly surrounded by shadowy figures wielding wicked-looking blades. “Commander Peltzer’s amulet!”

Several knights wore the ‘Divine Ward Amulet’ around their necks. As the shadowy demonic figures attacked, dark energy slammed against the amulets, but potent holy wards flared to life, deflecting the attacks and protecting the knights from serious harm. The amulets glowed brightly with each successful defense.

“It’s holding!” Lyra said, her voice filled with relief. “They’re actually holding!”

Further along the battlefield, a group of heavily armored soldiers, following Commander Neumark’s orders, began to deploy the ‘Sanctified Barrier Generator.’ They erected several glowing barriers of consecrated energy, creating defensive lines that effectively halted the advance of larger groups of demons, funneling them into kill zones where they could be more easily dealt with by the archers and mages.

“The barriers are working perfectly!” Cassandra observed, her purple eyes scanning the battlefield. “The demons are struggling to break through.”

The battle raged on, a brutal back-and-forth between the forces of light and darkness. The Eloriath soldiers, bolstered by the holy artifacts, fought with renewed vigor and determination. They held their ground against the initial demonic onslaught, their morale high as they witnessed the effectiveness of the new tools at their disposal.

“Hold the line!” Commander Jannik roared, his sword flashing as he cut down a hulking demon that had managed to break through the initial ranks. “For the Kingdom! For the Light!”

“Fall back to the second barrier!” Commander Isaak shouted, his voice directing the flow of battle. “Mages, concentrate your fire on the winged demons!”

Winged demons, screeching hideously, swooped down from the sky, attempting to flank the human forces. But the Eloriath mages were ready, unleashing coordinated volleys of fire, ice, and lightning, striking the flying creatures and sending them crashing to the ground.

Alaric watched the battle unfold, his mind racing as he analyzed the effectiveness of his artifacts. The Holy Energy Amplifier was clearly bolstering the divine magic of the priests and paladins. The Divine Ward Amulets were saving lives on the front lines. The Celestial Fire Projector was a devastating offensive weapon. And the Sanctified Barrier Generators were providing crucial defensive cover.

“They’re doing well,” Alaric said, a sense of pride swelling in his chest. “The artifacts are making a difference.”

“They certainly are, darling,” Lyra agreed, her hand resting reassuringly on his arm. “You’ve done a remarkable thing.”

“Indeed, nephew,” Cassandra added, her gaze still fixed on the battlefield. “It’s… almost beautiful, in a terrible way.”

The initial clash continued, the fate of the battle hanging in the balance. The Eloriath forces, armed with Alaric’s creations and fueled by their determination to defend their kingdom, were holding their own against the demonic horde. The true test, however, would come with the arrival of the more powerful demon leaders, the Archmage-ranked threats that Saintess Ceanna was preparing to face. For now, though, the first wave of the battle was underway, and Alaric’s creations were playing a vital role in the defense of the Eloriath Kingdom.