As soon as the Demon King left, the tension in the room still lingered like a heavy fog.

The ministers, though visibly shaken, forced themselves to refocus.

King Serom broke the silence with authority in his voice, though it carried the undercurrent of unease.

"Quickly gather information about the three territories he mentioned—Lyshar, Kreyas, and Kaelor," he commanded.

The room stirred with renewed urgency as one of the ministers hastily bowed and left to carry out the king’s orders.

Lyshar was a crucial secondary fortress, a shield for the kingdom’s inner territories.

Kreyas, another secondary fortress, was a vital supply route to the northern regions.

And Kaelor, nestled in the mountain ranges, was a mining territory rich in ores and minerals that fueled the kingdom’s economy and weaponry.

Losing any of these territories would be disastrous.

The king turned toward Duke Driesell, the tension in his voice barely masked.

"Duke Driesell, what do you think about him?"

The duke’s stern face showed no trace of fear, only a calculated seriousness.

"He’s far stronger than I anticipated, your Majesty. I believe I can defeat him in a direct fight, but the cost would be severe. He could easily inflict catastrophic damage before I manage to bring him down."

Driesell’s gaze darkened as he recalled the Demon King’s unholy regeneration.

His earlier had thought to confront the Demon King.

But watching his regeneration capabilities.

He stopped as he knew even if he defeats him.

He would be able to hurt others even the king, in the process.

"I see," the king muttered, his hand gripping the edge of the table as though steadying himself.

"We must tread carefully."

Moments later, the minister who had been sent to gather information returned.

His hurried steps and pale face betrayed the gravity of the news he bore.

"What did you learn?" the king asked, his voice sharp.

"Your Majesty," the minister began, his voice trembling, "Lyshar is under attack by a horde of monsters, led by a towering lizardman."

Stolen story; please report.

A murmur of dismay rippled through the room. Malane, a fortress designed to hold against monster incursions, was faltering.

"And Kreyas?" the king pressed.

The minister’s face grew even more grave.

"The situation in Kreyas is… unusual. Internal chaos has erupted. The citizens are rebelling, attacking soldiers and nobles alike. It seems the Demon King has sown discord among the populace."

Gasps filled the room.

The idea of citizens turning on their protectors was unthinkable, yet here it was—proof of the Demon King’s sinister influence.

"And Kaelor?"

The minister hesitated, his lips quivering before he forced the words out.

"Your Majesty… Kaelor is already destroyed."

The room fell silent, as if the very air had been stolen away.

"What?" King Serom’s voice broke, disbelief and shock evident in his tone.

"The mining facilities have been razed to the ground, and the few survivors report that the Demon King’s forces swept through like a storm. Nothing remains," the minister said, his eyes lowered.

The king slumped back into his chair, his hand running through his hair as he tried to process the staggering speed and devastation of the Demon King’s campaign.

"How… how could this happen so quickly?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.

The room was heavy with despair.

The realization was dawning on everyone present: the Demon King wasn’t merely attacking territories—he was dismantling the kingdom, piece by piece, with a chilling precision that none of them had anticipated.

Duke Driesell clenched his fists, his voice cutting through the silence.

"Your Majesty, we must act immediately. If we allow this chaos to continue, the kingdom will crumble before we even have a chance to strike back."

The king straightened, his gaze hardening despite the heavy weight of the grim news. His resolve shone through the despair etched on the faces around him.

"Yes, you're right," he said, his voice firm but carrying a hint of urgency.

"Send word to our neighboring kingdoms. Inform them of the threat and ask for their assistance. Offer them anything they require—aid, alliances, even trade concessions. No price is too high for their support."

The ministers nodded, their expressions a mix of determination and unease.

"Yes, Your Majesty!" they chorused before dispersing to carry out his command.

The king then turned his focus to the towering figure of Duke Driesell.

"Duke, begin preparations immediately. Norvik must be protected at all costs."

Driesell bowed slightly, his voice resolute.

"As you command, Your Majesty."

But before the room could move further into action, Marquis Ebran stepped forward, his brows furrowed with concern.

"Your Majesty—"

The king’s gaze flicked to him, his patience thin.

"What is it now, Ebran?"

"We cannot ignore the rebels, Your Majesty!" Ebran said, his tone urgent.

The king exhaled sharply, his hand rising to his temple.

"Haa!" he sighed, the frustration palpable in the air.

The once-mighty kingdom, feared and respected by all, was now besieged by internal and external threats.

The rebels had grown bold, taking advantage of the chaos, and now the Demon King loomed as an even greater danger.

"Damn it," the king muttered under his breath.

His gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of his most trusted men.

"The Demon King is our most immediate threat. We can’t delay addressing him any longer."

One of them said.

Duke Driesell nodded in agreement.

"He’s right. If we waste time, Norvik will fall, and the kingdom will be exposed."

Marquis Ebran, ever the cautious strategist, stepped forward again.

"I understand, Your Majesty, but please—just one more time—hear my plan. If we act now, we might stop the Demon King before he reaches Eslyn."

The king pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of leadership bearing down on him.

"Fine, Ebran. Speak. I’ll decide after hearing you out."

Marquis Ebran approached the map laid out on the table, his finger tracing the routes.

"After attacking Norvik, the Demon King will likely move toward Eslyn next. From there, he’ll advance to Orvel and, finally, to Conrad itself."

The room fell silent as everyone’s eyes followed his finger across the map, the path of destruction he outlined sinking into their minds.

Ebran continued, his voice calm but intense.

"Between Norvik and Eslyn lies a dense forest route. The Demon King’s forces will likely be exhausted after the attack on Norvik. If we can station reinforcements from our allied kingdoms to intercept him from the front while the royal knights strike from behind, we might have a chance to trap him there."

"And if we fail?" Duke Driesell’s voice cut through the room like a blade, his sharp gaze fixed on the marquis.

Ebran didn’t falter.

"If we fail, you’ll already be stationed at Eslyn, Duke. It’s not only strategically vital but also home to the Holy Temple. Their divine powers and blessings will give us a significant advantage. Eslyn must be fortified as our last line of defense."

The duke frowned, his fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword.

Finally, after a long pause, he nodded.

"Fine. I’ll follow your plan one more time, but if this fails, the consequences will be dire."

Ebran gave a slight bow.

"I understand, Duke, and I will take full responsibility should it come to that."

The king, watching the exchange, finally spoke, his voice cutting through the tension.

"Good. It’s decided, then. We act as Marquis Ebran has outlined. Prepare immediately. Every moment we waste brings us closer to disaster."

The room buzzed with activity as the ministers and commanders hurried to their tasks, the weight of the kingdom’s survival pressing down on them all.

As the door closed behind the last of them, the king sank back into his chair, staring at the map before him.