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Chapter 30

While the battle raged fiercely outside Eslyn’s gates, an insidious plan was unfolding beneath the city.

Deep below the bustling streets and sacred temples, ancient tunnels stretched like a forgotten labyrinth.

These passages, remnants of a bygone era, had been sealed long ago by the city’s architects.

The humans believed them to be inaccessible.

But their secret had not eluded Korran, the cunning general of the Demon King’s army.

Using the intelligence gathered by his spies, Korran devised a way to infiltrate the city undetected.

In the shadows of the tunnels, the Demon King himself, accompanied by Korran, Movok, and a handful of monsters, advanced with purpose.

The group moved in eerie silence, their footsteps echoing faintly in the damp, stale air.

The sealed tunnels posed no obstacle to the Demon King’s forces.

Horned moles, grotesque creatures with sharp, drill-like horns on their heads, scurried ahead of the group.

With their powerful bodies and natural tunneling abilities, they began breaking through the barriers that had kept the tunnels closed for centuries.

The sound of rock and dirt being torn apart reverberated through the passageway.

Dust filled the air, but no one faltered.

The Demon King stood at the center of the group, his massive form casting a foreboding shadow.

His crimson eyes glowed faintly, illuminating the tunnel around him like smoldering embers.

Finally, the moles broke through, and a faint glimmer of light seeped into the tunnel.

The hole they had created revealed the surface of Eslyn City.

The Demon King stepped forward, his towering presence filling the breach.

He gazed upward at the bright sky above and the buildings around them.

His dark armor seemed to absorb the light, a stark contrast to the holy city they had just infiltrated.

“Is this it?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.

“Yes, my lord,” Korran replied, bowing slightly.

His eyes gleamed with malice as he added, “I can sense the presence of humans above. They’re close.”

The Demon King gave a single, curt nod. “Good. Begin.”

At his command, the horned moles resumed their work, widening the breach until it was large enough for the entire group to emerge.

One by one, monsters crawled out of the tunnel: hulking lizardmen, shadowy creatures with sharp claws, and beastmen with bloodlust in their eyes.

As the monsters climbed out of the ground, a small group of human guards patrolling nearby noticed the disturbance.

Their faces paled as they turned to face the sudden appearance of an enemy force in the heart of the city.

“Sound the alarm—” one of them started to shout, but the words never left his lips.

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Movok, the brutish lizardman general, was upon them in an instant.

His claws slashed through the first guard’s throat, silencing him.

The others tried to draw their weapons, but Movok’s soldiers overwhelmed them.

In mere moments, their bodies lay lifeless on the ground, blood pooling beneath them.

Korran smirked, his fangs glinting. “Humans are so fragile,” he muttered, shaking his head.

The Demon King surveyed the scene with cold detachment.

His expression was unreadable, but the malice emanating from him was palpable.

“Your orders, my lord?” Movok asked, bowing before him.

“Spread out,” the Demon King commanded.

His voice was calm but carried an edge of finality.

“Leave nothing standing.”

“As you command, my lord,” Korran and Movok said in unison, their voices brimming with zeal.

The two generals turned to their respective forces and split up.

Korran’s group, consisting of beastmen moved swiftly toward the residential areas.

Meanwhile, Movok led his lizardmen and other brutish monsters .

As his generals departed to sow chaos, the Demon King remained still for a moment, his crimson gaze fixed on the towering temple in the distance.

The holy aura emanating from it was a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded him.

With measured steps, he began to walk toward the temple alone.

Each step felt deliberate, as if he were weighing the significance of every move.

Under the Demon King’s orders, Movok led his lizardmen through the streets of Eslyn City, their scaled bodies blending eerily with the shadows cast by the city’s buildings.

Their mission was simple: destroy everything in sight.

Anyone who crossed their path—be it soldier, priest, or civilian—met a swift and brutal end.

Movok’s cold, reptilian eyes scanned the area ahead, his massive greatsword resting casually on his shoulder.

His lizardmen followed closely behind, their claws stained with the blood of those who had been too slow to escape.

As they turned a corner, Movok’s nostrils flared.

He could feel it—the divine energy radiating from nearby.

A cruel grin spread across his face.

“This must be it,” he hissed. “The hero’s lair.”

They entered the sacred training grounds.

At the center of the open chamber sat the hero, his golden hair glowing faintly as he meditated, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding around him.

He was surrounded by a ring of paladins, each one standing tall with their weapons drawn, their eyes unwavering.

At the far end of the chamber stood the Pope, his presence exuding calm authority, and beside him, the Saintess, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her robes.

“You monsters! How did you get in here?” the Pope demanded, his voice booming across the chamber.

Movok tilted his head, amused by the display of defiance.

“You must be the Pope,” he sneered, his voice like gravel.

He turned his gaze to the Saintess, who flinched under his scrutiny.

“And you… the Saintess. And that,” he said, pointing his greatsword at the meditating figure, “must be the hero.”

“Leave this place!” the Pope commanded, raising his staff.

Movok let out a guttural laugh.

“Leave? Oh, I intend to, old man… but not before I finish all of you.”

He raised his hand, signaling his lizardmen. “Kill them all!”

With a guttural roar, the lizardmen charged forward, their claws gleaming and fangs bared.

Before the monsters could reach their targets, a golden barrier materialized around the hero and his guardians.

The light from the barrier cast a divine glow across the room, forcing the lizardmen to halt in their tracks.

“My child, you must escape at once,” the Pope said urgently, turning to the Saintess.

“But I can’t just leave you!” the Saintess cried, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Go now!” the Pope insisted, his voice firm. “I can’t hold them off for long. Warn Duke Driesell!”

The Saintess hesitated for a moment before nodding, her face pale but determined.

She turned and ran toward the exit, her heart pounding as the sounds of battle erupted behind her.

Several lizardmen attempted to chase after her, but the Pope raised his staff, strengthening the barrier.

The monsters snarled in frustration as they clawed uselessly at the glowing wall of light.

The paladins stepped forward, their armor shining with the divine blessings of the gods.

“For the holy city!” one of them shouted, raising his sword.

The clash began.

The lizardmen charged with raw, primal fury, but the paladins met them head-on, their blades slicing through the air with precision.

The chamber echoed with the clash of steel and the guttural cries of monsters.

The Pope stood at the center, his staff raised high as he chanted prayers.

Holy magic flowed through the room, empowering the paladins.

Their strikes were sharper, their movements swifter, and their endurance seemed limitless.

One of the lizardmen lunged at a paladin, its claws aiming for his throat.

But before it could land the blow, the paladin’s sword slashed upward, severing the creature’s arm.

A second strike cleaved its head from its body, and the lizardman fell lifeless to the ground.

The paladins fought valiantly, their unity and training shining through.

The death of one of his lizardmen made Movok’s blood boil.

He growled, his sharp teeth bared, and gripped his massive greatsword tightly.

“You humans are starting to annoy me,” he snarled.

He moved with terrifying speed for someone of his size.

The first paladin who tried to stop him was lifted off the ground by Movok’s claws and thrown like a ragdoll into the stone wall.

His lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

Another paladin charged, aiming for Movok’s neck, but the lizardman general caught the blade with his bare hand.

With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the sword in two and swung his greatsword in a wide arc.

The paladin’s body was cleaved in half, blood spraying across the chamber.

“Protect the hero!” the Pope shouted, his voice ringing out over the chaos.

The remaining paladins formed a defensive line in front of the meditating hero, their shields raised.

But Movok was unstoppable.

He plowed through their ranks, cutting down anyone who dared to stand in his way.

Finally, Movok reached the Pope.

The elderly man stood his ground, his staff glowing with holy energy.

"You will not prevail, beast,” the Pope said, his voice calm despite the danger before him.

“The gods are watching. You will face their wrath.”

Movok sneered. “Let them watch,” he growled.

“It won’t change a thing.”

He raised his greatsword and swung with all his might.

The Pope raised his staff to block the blow, but the sheer force of the strike shattered it.

The blade sliced through the Pope’s abdomen, and he fell to the ground in a pool of blood.

As his lifeless body hit the floor, the room fell silent.

The blood splattered from the blow landed on the meditating hero, painting streaks of crimson across his serene face.

And then, suddenly, the hero’s eyes snapped open.

Golden light poured from his gaze, filling the chamber with an overwhelming radiance.

The tide of battle was about to change.