Belial's Summoning
Thud. Thud.
"Whoa. This place really does feel like heaven."
Alteir held the severed head of the elf elder Priscilla as he gazed out over the breathtaking beauty of Alfheim, openly impressed.
Only a few hours earlier, four cultists in deep-hooded robes and Durandoor had slipped into Alfheim with him—six of them in total.
"Hey. What the hell did you people even come here for?"
"……"
"……"
Even under Alteir's questioning, the four cultists said nothing and simply kept walking.
"Creepy bastards. Not a word out of them."
"By the way—did you double-check the Dragon Hearts?"
Durandoor, watching their rear, asked Alteir.
Before they had infiltrated Alfheim, the Pope and Alteir had spoken alone.
"Of course. Got them both, safe and sound."
Alteir smiled at the memory.
He had half-expected a lie, but the Pope had truly handed over the remaining one. Thanks to that, two Dragon Hearts now slept inside his spatial bag.
"You take this."
Whoosh.
Alteir tossed the spatial bag to Durandoor.
He was the type who fought hard and dirty; carrying it himself risked damaging the contents.
"So we just escort you to the World Tree and then we're free to leave?"
"That is correct."
"Oh? First time one of you opens his mouth."
He had expected more silence, yet this particular question earned an answer.
Still, the more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed.
Why were these people so determined to reach the World Tree?
And the escort was only as far as the destination. After that, they needed no further protection.
Just then—
"……Alteir. Something's coming. Fast."
"Haa…… This is exactly why you never deal with cult freaks. They're already breaking the contract."
Durandoor's warning drew an irritated scowl from Alteir.
At that speed, whatever approached had to be at least an A-Rank Awakened—or stronger.
"They said this was a hidden path the elves wouldn't know about……"
Rustle.
"Who are you?! How did you find a path even we don't know—!"
An elf burst through the foliage, already drawing his bowstring taut.
Whoosh—!
"I'm billing the Pope extra for this."
Flash!
While Alteir was still shaking his head, Durandoor shot forward and snatched the three incoming arrows out of the air.
Hum.
"The power packed into these arrows is ridiculous."
Thud!
Grab!
"Ghk! You…… bastards……"
Crack.
In a single motion Durandoor seized the elf by the throat and snapped his neck.
Even a simple wooden arrow had carried terrifying force. Dragging the fight out and giving the enemy distance would only have made things messier.
"Alteir. We need to move. Now."
"Yeah. The second they notice this guy's gone, the whole pack will be on us."
Alteir nodded.
The dead elf had almost certainly been on patrol and wandered near this path by chance. Sensing presence, he had come to investigate.
"Hey, fanatics. You still got legs? Keep up. Fall behind and we leave you."
Flash!
Durandoor took the lead at a full sprint; Alteir followed hard on his heels. Moments later the cultists raced after them as well.
"Damn."
Covered head to toe in blood, Alteir stood before the World Tree and let out a low whistle of awe.
He had seen it from a distance, but up close the tree was not merely large—it was colossal. More than that, a fragrant scent and a strangely comforting warmth washed over him.
Whoosh.
Thud.
"Any tracks?"
Alteir, still staring at the World Tree, turned as Durandoor arrived behind him.
On the way here they had encountered more than eleven elves. Killing each one in turn had left both men painted red from head to foot.
"I tangled the trail pretty thoroughly. Pursuit should take a while."
"How long?"
"Seven or eight minutes, roughly."
Even that was a hard-won delay. No matter how carefully they erased their traces, the elves somehow kept tracking them. This time Durandoor had deliberately left false trails in multiple directions.
"Hey, fanatics. We're leaving. Whatever you're planning, finish it fa—"
Alteir turned and narrowed his eyes.
Before he had even finished speaking, the four cultists were already moving in perfect unison in front of the World Tree, working on something.
"A magic circle?"
No—something was off. It looked nothing like an ordinary magic circle. They were scattering blood across the ground and drawing strange, intricate patterns.
Thud-thud-thud.
"They're chanting."
"It's not magic, though."
The four deep-hooded cultists stepped onto the blood-drawn diagram and began intoning an incomprehensible litany.
Booooom!
Red light.
As the chant rose, crimson radiance erupted from the pattern they had drawn.
Ssssss.
Sniff. Sniff.
"What the hell is that smell?"
Alteir wrinkled his nose and cocked his head.
The moment the chanting began, a strange odor had started to spread.
"Is that coming from me?"
"No. It's rising from that diagram."
Durandoor narrowed his eyes at Alteir's words.
What was this nameless unease? From the instant they had begun traveling with the cultists, a constant alarm had been ringing somewhere in the back of his mind.
"I've smelled this somewhere before……"
"……Sulfur."
"Ah! That's it! Sulfur. Yeah—this is sulfur."
Alteir clapped his hands at Durandoor's identification.
He had once visited a volcanic region; the stench was identical.
"They're not trying to set off a volcano, are they?"
"If they were, they'd just cast Volcano magic."
"True. But why have you looked so grim this whole time?"
"Just…… uneasy."
"About the elves?"
"No. Just…… something keeps……"
Rustle-rustle-rustle.
While they spoke, the distant trees began thrashing violently.
"You said seven or eight minutes."
Sensing the elves' approach, Alteir shot Durandoor a reproachful look.
Barely four minutes had passed, yet the pursuit was already here—and more than twenty strong.
"They closed in faster than I expected."
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh!
Trees whipped aside as twenty elves burst into the clearing.
Thud-thud-thud.
"You vermin! How dare you enter Alfheim and slaughter elves!"
"We'll take your heads and soothe the souls of our fallen kin!"
"Ugh. Since when do elves have such foul mouths?"
Alteir shrugged and stepped forward.
In that instant—
Flash!
Rumble-rumble-rumble-rumble.
The diagram the cultists had drawn erupted with blinding light, and the ground itself began to quake.
"I-It can't be……"
"This power……"
As the light poured forth, the elves' faces went rigid with recognition.
Long ago, they had felt this power before.
"S-Stop them!! Kill the ones in front of the World Tree!"
The leader of the pursuit squad barked the order, face deathly pale.
"You bastards!!! You came to summon a demon!"
"A demon?"
Watching the charging elves, Alteir tilted his head.
Had the cultists' ritual been a summoning all along?
"Durandoor. How much time left on our contract?"
"Six minutes…… no. Five minutes fifty-nine seconds."
"The second it hits zero, we pull out."
Booooom!
Crash!
Alteir slammed both fists into the earth. A hundred-meter radius of ground heaved and flipped over.
Crunch.
Thud.
"Haaah…… I'm wiped."
Alteir finished the last elf and caught his breath.
Why had a mere twenty opponents been so exhausting? Half of the pursuit force had been S-Rank, the rest SS-Rank Awakened. When they attacked in concert, the pressure had been nearly suffocating.
"Two minutes left."
"Two minutes, huh……"
At Durandoor's report, Alteir smiled.
The next wave would need at least two minutes to reach them. In that window he and Durandoor could vanish.
"So those fanatics came all the way to the World Tree just to summon a demon. That thing really was a summoning circle."
"Why summon it here of all places?"
If they wanted a demon, they could have done it on Earth. Why drag everything to the World Tree?
"Who knows what goes through a cultist's head? We're out of here the second those two minutes are up."
"I should check the escape route."
Just then—
RUMBLE-RUMBLE-RUMBLE-RUMBLE-RUMBLE!
The summoning circle twisted into a crimson vortex, and the earth shook violently.
Then—
Zwaaaaaang.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
Something began climbing out of the red whirlpool, each footfall a heavy impact.
"……"
"……"
As the vortex opened, Alteir and Durandoor froze solid.
What…… the hell is that……
This is…… a demon's power?
The force radiating from the whirlpool was impossibly vast. No—beyond vast. It was terrifying.
Goosebumps raced across their skin. Their mouths went dry. Their limbs trembled. The crushing pressure was far worse than anything they had felt facing a dragon.
Ssssss.
A few more seconds passed, and a colossal figure finally emerged from the vortex.
"Kuhahahaha! It's been far too long, Alfheim."
In the Demon Realm there exist seventy-two noble-ranked demons and the seven Great Demons who rule them—the Demon Kings.
The being that now stood before them was Belial, a sub-baron and the sixty-eighth ranked demon noble.
Thud. Thud.
Two mere steps, and the entire surroundings quaked.
"Alfheim is as lush as ever. Which means……"
Swoosh.
Whoosh.
ROOOOOAAAAAR!
"……it needs to burn."
Belial flicked his hand, and the nearby forest erupted into towering flames.
"Hm?"
Then two humans entered Belial's sight.
The cultists he already knew. But these two?
"What are you?"
"W-We're New Age."
"New Age…… Never heard of it."
A chill ran down their spines.
"Dodge!"
Thud!
Boom!
"How dare a mere human speak so casually to me."
Belial's kick caught Durandoor. The blow had been aimed at Alteir; Durandoor had shoved him aside and taken it instead.
"GAAAAAAAH!"
One kick. Both of Durandoor's legs vanished.
"Durandoor!!"
Seeing it, Alteir roared and charged.
Clatter.
"Hmm? What's this?"
A small spatial bag tumbled from the screaming Durandoor's inner pocket. Belial picked it up.
Rip.
"Oh-ho. Aren't these Dragon Hearts?"
"His Holiness the Pope prepared them as a gift for Lord Belial, knowing the summoning would leave you drained."
The previously silent cultists bowed their heads and spoke at last.
"Kuhahaha! Our Pope even prepared gifts like these…… The Demon God's grace shall surely descend upon him."
"……"
Alteir, cradling Durandoor, trembled with pure rage.
The Pope……
Grit.
He bit down so hard blood welled from his lip.
That bastard Pope had played them from the start.
He had requested Alteir's help solely so the Dragon Hearts could be offered to a demon.
He already knew I was hunting Dragon Hearts……
From the Pope's perspective, no one could have been more perfect: strong enough to protect the cultists from the elves, and desperate enough to want Dragon Hearts. That man was Alteir.
And once Alteir was disposed of, the troublesome New Age would collapse as well. The Pope would solve several problems at once.
"RAAAAAAH!"
Unable to contain his fury any longer, Alteir lunged and drove a fist straight at the demon.
He was an SSS-Rank Awakened. The demon's power was monstrous enough to inspire pure terror—but he had no intention of dying quietly.
"And what is that?"
"A slave we brought so Lord Belial might loosen his limbs. Play with him as you like, then kill him."
"Is that so?"
Whoooooosh.
At the cultists' words, Belial's face split into a grotesque grin as he thrust his fist toward Alteir.