-Once the enemy is inside the city, its walls become an enemy as well.-

In the midst of a camp full of demons, Astaroth stood at the front of his palanquin, addressing a pack of canid monsters gathered below him.

“Scouts,” he called in an authoritative voice, “it would seem that word of our declaration of war hasn’t made it to this city yet, but a messenger could come at any moment. Go hide on the road to the southeastern gate, away from the eyes of the guards, and kill anyone who approaches the city.”

The dogs, including the three wolves who participated in the distraction earlier, howled to show their understanding, and promptly ran off.

Next, Astaroth turned his gaze on Giyeridon, the Minotaur who had gathered the scouts for him.

“Bring me one of the human slaves. Someone who looks haggard, but well enough to journey from the last settlement to here.”

The bull nodded, walked deeper into the camp, and returned, dragging a prisoner behind him by his neck.

“Will this one work?”

“Good enough,” the Devil Prince nodded, and with a swift motion of his claws, he severed the man’s vocal cords. He tore the man’s clothes and tossed the scrap in front of the terrified human. “Write on that. Say that the nearby settlements are being attacked. Do that and I’ll stop the bleeding. And don’t worry: it’s better if your hands shake a little.“

Covering his bleeding neck with one hand, the man desperately pushed his fingers into the dirt and scribbled words onto the scrap of cloth. As promised, Astaroth lit a small fire in his hand and sealed the man’s wound.

Healing another properly? It was one of the few things Devils were incapable of. But blood indeed no longer flowed from the cauterized wound.

“Now,” the Devil leaned in close and whispered, “deliver that to the guards. And don’t think you’ll die painlessly if I see any clever tricks.”

Fire and brimstone burned in the eyes that glared at him—at least the prisoner felt sure he’d seen it. With a terrified nod, he scooped up the scrap and staggered toward the northwestern gate.

“Watch him,” Astaroth ordered, and a faint beating of wings could be heard departing.

That was his familiar: a purely magical entity created to mimic an actual lifeform and serve its creator. Astaroth’s familiar was modeled after an imp, a kind of lesser Devil from the Hells; it was able to fly and turn invisible just like a real imp.

Astaroth could summon actual Devils to his side, but he didn’t want to weaken his territory while he was away. Not to mention, it could be dangerous to show any of his more useful subordinates his weakened state.

But speaking of imp familiars, Giyeridon had one as well. It was the pact boon he had chosen as Astaroth’s third Warlock—the last one the Devil Prince had made a pact with so far. It was quite a useful boon for a supervisor like him. Because his familiar was watching the war prisoners, he was able to stand next to Astaroth like this; a familiar and its master could share senses within a short range.

Cassius and Rahashik had chosen different boons for their pact when the opportunity came, so they couldn’t create such familiars.

Fortunately, the vision through the eyes of Astaroth’s familiar showed a downtrodden man too petrified to scheme anything.

#

It hadn’t even been long enough since the wolf attack near the gate for the shift to change before a shaken and shambling figure came into view. The guards gave each other skeptical looks and waited for the stranger to arrive.

He was clearly in bad shape, looking like he’d half escaped from a mauling. The look of terror deeply set in his eyes was still fresh.

When he was finally close enough to the gate guards, he practically lunged at them, forcing a filthy cloth into their hands.

“Whoa, hold on. State your…” the guard being lunged at trailed off when he saw the wound on the stranger’s neck. He glanced down at the rag and saw messy writing on it. He could make out the words “village” and “monster attack”.

Suddenly the stranger looked less mad and more heroic, having struggled so hard to deliver this message.

“Mm. Some of this is smudged. Nod when I say the right settlement name.”

After a series of questions, which the mute seemed thrilled to answer as quickly as possible, the guards were able to get the details they needed.

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In the gate outpost, the captain on duty instructed a messenger. “Contact the headquarters again. Let them know that a monster attack on one of the settlements has been confirmed. That’ll bump up our departure time.”

After the messenger nodded and ran off, he faced the other soldiers. “Let’s get ready to depart as soon as the order comes.”

#

“So this is a church?” Cassius spoke out loud without realizing it. From floor to ceiling, the building he was standing in was carved from marble and gilded in gold. Art and gems glittered on the walls. The wealth simply lying around was more than anything else he had seen in the settlement so far.

“Is this your first time?”

Cassius turned his head to see a woman in white robes greeting him with a smile. She was about his mother’s age—if she hadn’t died a few days ago—with honey brown hair and blue eyes. Just like the building, she was more beautiful than the city’s standard.

“How did this place get so rich?” the boy asked genuinely.

With a modest chuckle, the woman gestured to one of the artworks on the wall. It depicted a human-like being with wings casting gold light on a kneeling knight.

“The angels bestowed healing powers on precious few humans, and we gather in churches like this one to share the light with those who are sick and wounded. Those who are grateful sometimes give us gifts to support us. It just so happens that there are many soldiers who get injured here, and we receive many gifts.”

“Aren’t you scared someone will just take this stuff?” Cassius pointed at a gemstone embedded in the wall.

“No, child. Bad deeds are punished and good deeds are rewarded.”

Cassius hummed and dropped the topic to get to what he was here for.

“Can you do other things besides healing? Like defeat bad people?”

“Usually, that’s a job for soldiers,” the woman smiled, “but the holy light of angels can be used by priests to defend themselves.”

Cassius kept trying, but the people in the church were slippery with their words, and Astaroth had forbidden him from mentioning Devils specifically. After an hour of trying, he left the church and whispered a message.

“Master? I’m sorry. All I got from the priests is that they use some kind of holy light. They can heal people and maybe fight monsters with it? I don’t think they want people to know it if they’re strong.”

“Really?” the Devil’s voice came back. “They’re a wild card then. Oh well. Get into position and wait for my signal. It’ll be time soon.”

Cassius swallowed a nervous knot in his throat. He had been forced to kill humans during the last two village raids, but he was still far from comfortable with it. He didn’t have a choice though: Astaroth had his soul and Aewyn.

“… Yes, master.”

#

Astaroth’s familiar saw a sizable group of soldiers leaving the city toward the north, on their way to rescue a village that they believed was being attacked right that moment. He smiled and cast open the curtains of his palanquin, ordering the camp to pick up and move to the southeastern gate, where monsters wouldn’t usually come from. He sent a message to the canid scouts not to rejoin them but to focus on picking off people who flee.

Once the monster army was in position, slaves and all, Astaroth messaged Cassius and Rahashik.

“It’s time. Cause as much chaos as you can, just don’t get killed or captured.”

The Devil watched from the sky via his familiar. Plumes of smoke began rising from several spots in town. Bells started ringing and guards ran about with pails of water. Once the forces inside the city were sufficiently spread out and the fires were still going strong, he turned to Giyeridon.

“Your turn. Storm the gate.”

The Minotaur nodded, exhaling a stream of hot breath from his snout.

#

Bells rang incessantly inside the city, and people tripped over their own feet in the scramble to get out of the streets.

Damn, there’s a fire! They thought on one side of town. Another group thought the same in a different part of town, and so on and so forth. The people in the city who were well informed had deep frowns on their faces now, knowing that fires were spreading everywhere.

Something like this couldn’t be an accident, right?

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you for a favor, Bishop L'oral,” said a man in stuffy clothes and with graying hair.

He was the lord of this city, Count Matthew Aldermane, and in the midst of this crisis he was seated in his reception room, having an urgent meeting with the leader of the local church over tea.

“The guards can’t keep up with all the fires, and I have no men left to investigate my suspicions. This is clearly a coordinated attack, and finding the culprit is of the utmost importance.”

Bishop L’oral, listened to the lord’s words with a calm expression, sampling the tea while he was at it. He was a man in his late fifties, with long, fair hair and a neat beard, dressed in the glowing white of the Church of Angels.

“I understand,” he answered with a polite smile. “My priests will manage the fires, so you may redirect your soldiers elsewhere.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” Count Aldermane exhaled a breath of relief and raised his hand to draw the attention of a nearby guard, who promptly approached. “If you could send a message to—”

The shrill noise of warning horns and the clear ringing of bells invaded the space. It was a sound warning of an attack at the gate. The city lord’s face darkened as he realized what the goal was for the instigator of this chaos… and that he had been too slow to stop it.

“Dammit. Forget that last order. Just get all available men to the northwestern gate as soon as possible.”

“But, my lord,” the guard lowered his head, “the bells rang in two-beat intervals. The trouble is at the southeastern gate.”

The southeastern gate? But that gate led to the heart of the Waren Republic. There weren’t enough monsters in that direction to ever merit a warning signal. Count Aldermane felt his stomach sink at the horrifying prospect of a rebellion.

Bishop L’oral glanced at his city lord’s pale face and issued a short prayer. “Man shall find salvation in the light of heaven. Salu Celestia.” And he sipped his tea.