Assault on the Capital (1)
Assault on the Capital (1)
“The great Apostle of the End. Show some manners—you’re headed to the afterlife, after all.”
No sooner had Zal’karin finished speaking than the Dark Elf’s black hand shot forward.
His clawed grip seized Johan’s face in an instant.
The boy’s slight body was lifted clear off the ground.
Holding Johan aloft in one hand, the Dark Elf spoke.
“Human, I asked you—what are you?”
Johan couldn’t answer. The crushing force on his cheek made it impossible to open his mouth.
If this keeps up, my skull’s going to crack.
Pain stabbed through his cheekbones as if they would shatter.
The truth was, it hurt like hell. Even stifling a groan was a challenge.
It was all Johan could do to maintain a neutral expression.
Fortunately, Raguel read the situation and jumped in.
“What are you doing! Let him go right now!”
He rushed in and tried to shove the Dark Elf away.
The demon didn’t budge—his jade eyes stayed locked on Johan, as if piercing him.
Then he roared like a beast.
“Human! I asked you—what are you!”
The black grip tightened further.
At this rate, Johan’s head really might be crushed.
Raguel clung desperately to the Dark Elf’s wrist.
“He’s Mapheltan! The Apostle you made a deal with! If Johan dies, the contract’s over—everything’s over!”
In desperation, Raguel even bit the demon’s arm.
The Dark Elf was so taken aback that he could hardly process it.
“Let’s talk with your hand off him first!” Raguel insisted.
The demon ground his teeth, barely keeping his temper in check, and released his grip.
Johan dropped to the ground.
Landing, he rubbed at his cheek.
“…Violent as hell, aren’t you?”
He spoke as if unfazed, but truthfully he wanted to roll around clutching his face.
Black mana began to seep from the Dark Elf’s whole body.
His voice was low and chilling.
“Speak. What are you, really?”
“I don’t know.”
“What?”
“I was simply born a half-breed and given the role of Apostle by someone. That’s all I know.”
It was the truth—every word of it.
The Dark Elf was momentarily at a loss for words.
Johan didn’t seem to be lying… it was just hard to accept.
“…And I’m supposed to believe that?”
A being that blended human and demon flesh, and a thirteenth Apostle at that? Johan was smashing every shred of common sense he had.
“Believe it or not, the facts don’t change,” Johan said. “You keep your promise and assault the capital, and I’ll pay you in full. Our contract still stands.”
The Dark Elf’s eyes narrowed.
“A human like you claims you’ll betray the Moon?”
Johan chuckled.
“Human? Betrayal? I’m half-demon. I’ve never served the Moon to begin with.”
“Before I listen to your twisted logic, I’ll have to confirm it for myself. Where’s your proof you’re half-demon? For that matter, how do I know you’re even the same fiend I made a deal with?”
True, Johan’s aura was nearly identical to Mapheltan’s. But that alone wasn’t definitive proof.
He’d have to see it with his own eyes.
“You’ll see soon enough,” Johan said. “Just wait.”
“Right now—”
Raguel cut him off.
“When the sun sets, Johan turns into a demon. Just wait a few hours.”
Johan frowned.
“That long?”
In the mausoleum, it was impossible to track the exact time—sunlight or moonlight barely reached this deep underground.
One had to guess by rough instinct.
But Raguel was different. As a High Elf, his senses were honed to the extreme—he could detect even the faintest sunlight.
“About two hours,” Raguel said.
Johan turned to the Dark Elf.
“You’ve waited five hundred years. Two hours isn’t much, is it?”
A sinister glint flashed in the Dark Elf’s eyes.
“…If there’s even a sliver of falsehood in your words, I’ll give you the most horrific death in history.”
Johan smirked.
“Funny, I’ve heard almost that exact line from someone else before.”
The Apostle Beris had said the same thing, yet Johan was still here.
“Don’t get cocky,” the Dark Elf growled. “Etch my warning into your bones.”
Johan shrugged.
“Sure. Now let’s get moving.”
Before nightfall, everyone here needed to gather at the mausoleum’s entrance.
Thousands of beings had to pass through a narrow exit in one night—time was short.
Better to arrive early and prepare.
As Johan started walking, the Dark Elf stared at his back in disbelief.
“…Brazen as ever.”
“Hurry up. We don’t have time,” Johan called over his shoulder.
Their destination was the mausoleum’s ceiling—climbing the massive roots of the World Tree to line up before the exit.
Johan moved quickly.
His physical abilities were so poor now that he had to work harder than the rest.
***
Thousands of fiends were climbing the World Tree’s roots.
It looked like a swarm of termites moving up a trunk in search of food.
Watching the sight, Johan wiped the sweat from his brow.
I’m dying here.
Every muscle was cramping; his lungs ached as if they’d burst.
The Dark Elf eyed him with suspicion.
“You’re either an idiot or you were lying earlier. Which is it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You could have just waited until you transformed and flown up. No need to pant and wheeze like this.”
“It’s training.”
“…What?”
“I still have to live in this human body. I need to build up my stamina.”
He meant it—Johan intended to use every chance like this to strengthen his body.
The Dark Elf stared for a moment, then snorted.
“If that’s nonsense, it’ll come out soon enough.”
Johan smirked.
“Right now, in fact. Watch.”
The beads of sweat dripping from him began to turn pitch black, dissolving into wisps of smoke.
His whole body was soon wreathed in ominous vapor.
In the darkness, red eyes gleamed.
The Dark Elf’s pupils trembled.
“Ha…!”
The smoke dissipated slowly.
In place of the boy stood a black demon.
Mapheltan’s lips curled into a long smile.
“Mortal… it’s been a week.”
The Dark Elf stumbled back a few steps.
“…How is such a thing possible?”
He wanted to tease him more, but there was no time.
If he’d transformed, that meant night had fallen—under a full moon, no less.
“It’s time to go,” Mapheltan said.
He pointed to the base of the World Tree.
Like the entrance, the exit was set into a face carved in the wood, screaming in eternal agony.
The Dark Elf, hiding his unease, took out the Heart-Core Pill.
With a sorrowful voice, he whispered, “Forgive me, Mother.”
Mapheltan clicked his tongue, snatched the pill, and pressed it to the tree.
The World Tree screamed.
The Abyss Gate opened once more.
***
In the Valley of Death, a massive magic circle was inscribed on the earth.
A spatial transference array—something only a mage of the highest caliber could prepare after many days of work.
Mapheltan whistled in admiration.
Impressive.
It was Illea’s handiwork.
Two weeks ago, she must have come here to set it up.
By now, she was likely in the capital, opening the receiving gate.
Once activated, the array would send everyone here straight to the capital.
The Dark Elf scanned the formation.
“The Witch’s work?”
“That’s right. It’s linked to the capital.”
“You’ve prepared thoroughly. I’ve been played into your hands.”
There was a trace of emptiness in his tone.
“Well, everything’s gone according to plan,” Mapheltan said.
This Abyss run had gone almost without a hitch.
Even the relics he’d brought had gone unused.
He was pleased by that.
The Dark Elf’s gaze sharpened.
“Your tricks end here. With the contract written so tightly, you can’t tamper with it now.”
Mapheltan chuckled.
“Still worried? Even after writing it that rigidly?”
The Dark Elf had reason to worry.
This fiend before him was unlike anything he’d known. Even in the short time since they’d met, he’d realized—assuming anything about Mapheltan was folly.
“It’s just a warning. Remember it.”
“Sure. Now, let’s begin.”
Mapheltan gestured to Zal’karin.
The little demon pulled a small cube from his pack—a treasure that could convert demonic energy into mana.
It was essential for powering the transference array.
Suddenly, the Dark Elf roared.
A shrill scream rang across the Valley.
At once, countless fiends moved onto the magic circle.
The rest formed ranks and waited.
“We’re ready,” the Dark Elf said.
“Then let’s fire it up.”
Mapheltan began feeding demonic energy into the cube.
It floated into the air, then broke apart into fragments. From the gaps, deep blue mana poured out.
The array’s lines began to glow faintly.
Mapheltan frowned.
Still short.
There wasn’t nearly enough demonic energy to run the calculations.
The Dark Elf’s eyes curved into a crescent.
“Some Apostle—you can’t even manage this much?”
He had no excuse—it was a simple lack of power.
“Lend me a hand,” Mapheltan said.
The Dark Elf laughed and stretched a hand toward the cube.
“Fine. Call it a service.”
Mapheltan smirked.
Look at him.
Now they’d each given the other a “service” once.
The Dark Elf’s thick demonic energy poured into the cube.
At last, the array flared bright.
“Raguel, get off the circle,” Mapheltan ordered.
The Dark Elf frowned.
“And you?”
“I’m going with you.”
He intended to show himself in the capital.
“Not the smartest plan.”
If the capital was anything like it had been five centuries ago, no ordinary demon could survive there.
If Mapheltan died, it would be a crippling blow—the contract would have no one left to fulfill it.
“It’s an excellent plan,” Mapheltan said evenly. “The risk of my death is almost nil, and the rewards are immense.”
Demons grew by feeding on the fear of other sentient beings.
They could also raise their rank through acts of evil.
By unleashing countless fiends into the capital and then making a personal appearance, Mapheltan stood to gain a great deal.
The Dark Elf said, “…Just don’t forget our contract.”
Mapheltan nodded.
“Die well.”
The array erupted, swallowing the Valley whole.
In an instant, every figure vanished.