The stench of brimstone and sulfur hung heavy in the air, a grim curtain drawn across the war-torn landscape. This wasn''t just any battlefield; it was the frontline, a desperate struggle for territory for the continents beyond the now closed Vampire Continent.
Across the ravaged plains, demonic hordes surged forward, led by monstrous figures radiating an aura of power. These weren''t just your run-of-the-mill imps or goblins. No, these were Viscounts, demon lords comparable to 8 or 9-star champions – beings of immense strength that dwarfed even the most seasoned human warriors.
In simpler terms, if a Baron-level demon was a formidable 7-star opponent, then these Viscounts were a terrifying leap in power, they had ''laws''.
The problem wasn''t just their individual might, though. Each Viscount commanded a grotesque army – lesser demons, twisted creatures snarling with bloodlust and monstrous beasts clawing for a taste of flesh. These hordes crashed against the hastily formed defenses like a tide against a crumbling dam.
The various soldiers of the Elnovan Continents, clad in steel and fueled by a desperate courage, fought with unwavering determination. Mages unleashed barrages of arcane energy, painting the sky with streaks of fire and lightning. But against the sheer number and power of the demonic forces, their valiant efforts seemed like a child throwing pebbles at a mountain.
The air crackled with the clash of steel and the unholy shrieks of the demons. Cries of pain and the clang of armor being cleaved echoed across the battlefield, a grim symphony of war. Hope dwindled with each fallen soldier, with each defensive line breached.
General Silas Ironheart slammed his fist on the war council table, his weathered face contorted in disgust. A holographic map of the demon-infested border flickered before him, a stark reminder of the precarious situation.
"Another Viscount sighting," he growled, the words scraping against his throat. "The 3rd Legion is requesting reinforcements. How many casualties?"
A young mage, barely out of his apprenticeship, consulted the data stream. "Heavy, sir. They estimate at least… 500 soldiers."
Silas snorted. "Overwhelmed, as always." Under his breath, he muttered, "Or so they claim."
A hush fell over the room. Everyone knew the unspoken truth. While the constant demon incursions were indeed a threat, they were also a perverse source of profit for some. The lesser nobles, ever opportunistic, used the chaos to inflate the severity of attacks, milking aid from the central government.
Their tactics were transparent. Cry wolf enough times, and eventually, the real wolf wouldn''t be readily believed. Exaggerated reports of overwhelming forces delayed reinforcements, allowing the demons to chip away at the borders. The delay, however, served a more sinister purpose.
By the time reinforcements arrived, the lesser nobles, often with "minimal losses" on their end, would swoop in to "finish the job." They''d "liberate" ravaged towns, seizing any remaining resources and claiming the spoils of war for themselves.
And the cycle continued. Demons attack, nobles feign helplessness, resources flow, and then the "liberation" – a thinly veiled land grab disguised as heroism. It was a sickening game everyone was aware of, but one that remained unchallenged.
King Alaric, the grizzled human leader, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he began, his voice heavy with a calculated neutrality, "we should re-evaluate the allocation of resources. Maybe the southern territories, consistently under siege, require a more… and even a permanent presence from the Knight Orders."
A knowing smile played on Silas'' lips. The Knights, though seemingly above the fray, wasn''t above playing the game themselves. A bigger, permanent Knight Orders presence meant a tighter leash on the southern nobles, a way to ensure their(the lesser nobles) "heroism" wasn''t as profitable.
Of course, this move wouldn''t be without cost. The Royal Guard received a hefty cut of any "liberated" resources. But for Alaric, it was a necessary price to pay. A controlled system of corruption was better than the unchecked chaos currently plaguing the borders.
A sigh escaped Silas'' lips. This war wasn''t just against demons; it was a war against the insidious rot within their own ranks. And as he surveyed the faces around the table, each calculating their own personal gain, he wondered if the demons were truly the bigger threat.
***************
General Aella slammed her fist down on the holographic map, the blue glow flickering with the demonic incursion pushing deep into Beastmen territory. Gone were the days of fending off Baron-level skirmishes; this was a full-blown demonic onslaught led by multiple Viscounts, a terrifying escalation that sent a tremor of fear through the war room.
"Five Viscounts, confirmed," Aella growled, her voice as fierce as the tiger she resembled. "They''re coordinating their attacks. One''s targeting the grasslands, the source of our cavalry''s food supply, another''s laying siege to the Eastern Pass, and the third…" she trailed off, a glint of grim understanding in her amber eyes, "…is heading straight for Leonidas'' territory."
These weren''t the impulsive Barons of yesteryear, easily outsmarted and overpowered. Viscounts were a different breed(literally). They were strategists, deploying specialized demon armies unlike anything they had faced before.
The holographic map flickered, displaying cavalry units of skeletal war steeds ridden by hulking Barghests, infantry legions of spiked-armor Imps, and even monstrous siege canons operated by twisted witches.
The situation was even more dire in other continents. The Dragon Continent reported coordinated attacks from two Viscounts, one a fire-breathing behemoth wreaking havoc, the other a cunning shadow manipulator dismantling their defenses from within.
In the Elven Glade, a supreme Viscount, radiating an aura of power that made the screen shimmer, led a squad of lesser Viscounts in a calculated assault.
The air in the war room crackled with a tension as thick as dragon smoke. The carefully cultivated web of deceit and profit spun by the lesser nobles was ripped to shreds by the sheer scale of this demonic invasion. This wasn''t a game anymore. This was a war for survival, and the human race leaders were finally staring down the barrel of a threat that transcended their petty squabbles. sea??h thё N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.
General Aella straightened, her regal bearing unwavering despite the dire situation. "We can no longer afford petty politics. Inform Leonidas," she declared, her gaze sweeping across the room, "We mobilize the full might of the his Lionkin army. This time, we fight as one."
A grim determination settled over the warriors present. The comfortable game of inflated threats and delayed responses was over. The demons were playing for keeps, and the races of the world, for the first time, were forced to confront a threat that could consume them all.
A holographic map flickered across the war council table, a grim tapestry woven with the threads of demonic incursion. General Aella, her amber eyes narrowed in fierce concentration, traced the movements of the demonic forces across the continents.
"The Beastmen hold firm," she announced, her voice echoing in the tense chamber. "We have pushed back the Viscount''s forces from the grasslands, securing their food supply and the tigerkin war sisters are coming." The Beastmen, with their unmatched ferocity and coordinated warbands, were proving to be a thorn in the side of the demonic invasion.
"The Elven Glade," she continued, tapping a shimmering image of a sprawling forest, "has managed to repel the Viscount''s vanguard. Their mastery of archery and hit-and-run tactics are proving highly effective."
A grim silence descended upon the room. While the Beastmen and Elves boasted minimal losses, the news from other continents was far less optimistic.
"The Dwarven mountains," a grizzled dwarf general rumbled, his voice thick with frustration, "are under constant siege. The constant tremors from their infernal explosives are hampering our defenses."
A human mage chimed in, his face etched with worry, "The southern city-states continue to struggle. Their reliance on mercenary companies is proving unreliable, and their fortifications are simply inadequate."
A wave of pity washed over Aella for the humans. They were the most diverse race, yet lacked the cohesion of the Beastmen or the natural prowess of the Elves.
"And the Dragons?" she inquired, already dreading the answer.
A sigh escaped the lips of an aged Dragonborn ambassador. "Pride comes at a cost," he rasped. "While the purebloods remain largely unscathed, the hybrid settlements and lesser dragons bear the brunt of the attacks. They fight valiantly, but…" he trailed off, his voice heavy with unspoken grief.
The truth hung in the air. The Dragons, with their immense power and unmatched arrogance, refused to fully commit to the war effort. They saw themselves as above the fray, content to see their lesser kin bleed while they protected their own.
Aella clenched her jaw. The demons were clearly adapting their strategy. The initial attacks led by Barons had been easily repelled, but the arrival of the Viscounts, with their cunning tactics and specialized armies, was proving to be a significant challenge.
The war council meeting stretched on, a grim discussion of troop movements, resource allocation, and desperate pleas for assistance from the less fortunate races. The initial illusion that this was a war for profit shattered, replaced by the stark reality of an existential threat.