The survivors from the First and Second Castles did not march in triumph.
They regrouped in silence.
Two armies—once proud, once roaring with confidence—now stood shoulder to shoulder amid shattered ground and burning banners. Armor was dented. Robes were torn. Weapons were chipped and dulled by demon blood that refused to dry.
Of the five thousand superhumans who had entered the Seoul Great Gate, less than half remained standing.
And worse than the casualties was the knowledge.
The Third Road had fallen.
The Fourth Road had been annihilated.
Entire elite squads had vanished.
Hundreds of B-ranked and A-ranked superhumans were dead.
Entire formations had been erased in minutes.
The few survivors who had escaped the disaster of the Third Road arrived battered and broken, carried upon stretchers of reinforced steel and conjured light.
The sight alone was enough to silence even the most hardened veterans.
Beast King Tigre lay unconscious.
The towering warrior who had once charged through demonic armies without fear now barely breathed.
His massive frame was covered in wounds.
Bandages soaked red wrapped around his torso and limbs.
Nearby, Fallen Angel Lucy sat propped against a ruined barricade.
One of her wings was gone.
Not damaged.
Gone.
Nothing remained except charred flesh and drifting black feathers.
Her expression remained calm, but the pain behind her eyes was impossible to miss.
Necro Warden Hades stood nearby.
Silent.
Motionless.
His skeletal hands trembled as he stabilized the souls he had barely managed to pull back from oblivion.
For a necromancer who commanded death itself, the helplessness in his eyes was difficult to watch.
When Gerald saw them, his jaw tightened.
The Diamond Fist surveyed the wounded in silence.
Then he spoke.
"This is not a dungeon."
His voice was low.
Heavy.
"This is a warfront."
White Panther Jacob wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and looked toward the horizon.
His instincts screamed a warning.
Something was coming.
Then the ground began to hum.
Not tremble.
Not shake.
Hum.
A low vibration crawled through the battlefield.
Through stone.
Through armor.
Through flesh and bone.
Every superhuman present felt it.
The sensation settled deep within the chest.
Like standing before an approaching storm.
From the direction of the destroyed Fourth Road, the demon host emerged.
Not a swarm.
Not a mob.
An army.
Dark Knights marched in disciplined ranks.
Their shields overlapped perfectly.
Their formation never broke.
Behind them strode Dark Berserkers, towering silhouettes that cracked the earth beneath every step.
Above them flew hundreds of high demons.
Their wings darkened the blood-red sky.
The sheer scale of the force made even veteran superhumans tighten their grip on their weapons.
And at the center of it all—
Luxuria.
She did not walk.
She drifted.
Barefoot above the ground.
A crimson gown flowed around her without ever touching dust, blood, or stone.
Golden hair floated behind her as though submerged beneath invisible water.
Her crimson eyes were half-lidded.
Amused.
Unconcerned.
To her left stood Bathin.
The Eighteenth Demon Lord.
Calm.
Elegant.
His hands rested behind his back like a scholar observing an experiment.
To her right stood Botis.
The Seventeenth Demon Lord.
Silent.
Still.
Terrifying.
His mere presence distorted the atmosphere.
Every step he took felt like an invisible hand squeezing the heart.
Even Gerald felt sweat gather along his spine.
"This..."
Magneto Anton's jaw clenched.
"...this aura is wrong."
Jacob nodded slowly.
His instincts screamed louder than ever.
"Botis and Bathin."
His eyes narrowed.
"They're not ordinary Demon Lords."
A long silence followed.
Then he finished.
"They're far stronger than their rankings suggest."
Luxuria smiled.
"Oh, don't look so frightened."
Her voice drifted effortlessly across the battlefield.
Soft.
Playful.
Dangerous.
"I've only brought what's necessary."
She lifted a single finger.
The battlefield froze.
Even demons watched her.
Because every demon understood what was coming.
Among Demon Lords, rankings were not absolute.
Power varied.
The strongest ten Demon Lords possessed strength comparable to weaker Demon Kings.
And Botis and Bathin—
Though officially ranked seventeenth and eighteenth—
Were exceptions.
They had hidden their true abilities for centuries.
Had they sought advancement, they could easily have entered the Top Ten.
But they never tried.
Because they had already chosen their allegiance.
The Top Ten were valuable assets.
They were often claimed by the First or Second Demon Kings.
Refusal was not an option.
Service became obligation.
Bathin and Botis had avoided that fate.
They belonged to Luxuria alone.
The air shimmered.
A wave spread through the demon army.
Dark Knights straightened.
Berserkers roared.
High demons expanded.
Muscles thickened.
Wings spread wider.
Eyes burned brighter.
The transformation wasn't fueled by rage.
Or madness.
Or bloodlust.
It was desire.
The desire to win.
To dominate.
To survive.
To triumph.
Luxuria's power wrapped around her army like silk.
Every demon grew stronger.
Faster.
More resilient.
More dangerous.
Salvatore stepped forward.
Golden light erupted around him.
His staff struck the ground.
"She's empowering them."
His voice remained calm.
But concern lingered beneath it.
"All of them."
Gerald rolled his shoulders.
Diamond skin spread across his arms.
Crystal facets reflected the crimson sky.
"Then we hit harder."
The battlefield exploded.
Gerald launched himself forward like a living meteor.
The impact shattered the front line of Dark Knights.
Armor burst apart.
Bodies flew.
Stone collapsed.
Every punch carried enough force to flatten fortifications.
Every strike created shockwaves.
White Panther Jacob vanished.
One moment he stood beside Anton.
The next he was deep inside enemy ranks.
A blur of claws and motion.
High demons died before they realized he had arrived.
He appeared atop a pile of corpses.
Then vanished again.
Anton raised both hands.
The battlefield screamed.
Metal answered his command.
Swords tore free from demon hands.
Armor folded inward.
Entire formations were ripped into the air and hurled together in catastrophic collisions.
The sky itself became a storm of steel.
From the second army, Salvatore ascended.
His body blazed like a newborn sun.
Light poured outward in waves.
Demons disintegrated beneath its touch.
Every step he took left burning sigils across the battlefield.
Leonardo charged beside him.
His holy spear became a streak of radiant destruction.
Demons exploded wherever he passed.
John followed.
Frost spread across the battlefield.
A creeping tide of deathly cold.
Berserkers froze mid-stride.
Moments later, they shattered into frozen fragments.
For a brief moment—
A glorious moment—
Humanity surged forward.
Then Bathin sighed.
A disappointed sound.
Soft.
Almost bored.
"That won't do."
He stepped forward.
Reality shifted.
The change was immediate.
Terrifyingly immediate.
Demon formations reorganized.
Weak points vanished.
Counter-formations appeared.
Every human advance met exactly the response required to stop it.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Perfect efficiency.
Salvatore's attacks were redirected by overlapping defensive formations.
Gerald found himself striking units specifically positioned to absorb and disperse impact.
Anton winced as his control over metal suddenly weakened.
Demonic will fought back against his influence.
The battlefield itself seemed to turn against humanity.
Jacob snarled.
Realization dawning.
"He's not fighting."
Bathin wasn't.
Not really.
"He's commanding the battlefield."
Then—
Botis moved.
No warning.
No buildup.
One moment he stood beside Luxuria.
The next—
Gerald disappeared.
A deafening explosion erupted across the battlefield.
Half a kilometer away, the Diamond Fist slammed into the ground hard enough to create a massive crater.
Silence followed.
Only for half a second.
Gerald rose slowly.
Blood ran from his mouth.
Cracks covered his diamond skin.
Botis tilted his head.
Then vanished again.
This time Salvatore intercepted.
Staff met blade.
The collision shook the world.
Shockwaves exploded outward.
Mountains cracked in the distance.
Humans and demons alike were thrown from their feet.
The battlefield fractured.
Salvatore skidded backward.
His boots carved trenches through stone.
Botis remained motionless.
Unmoved.
Unaffected.
Salvatore stared.
Then exhaled slowly.
"Comparable to an SS-rank."
A pause.
His expression darkened.
"Perhaps stronger."
Luxuria watched from afar.
Her chin rested lazily upon one hand.
"How delightful."
The battle descended into controlled chaos.
SS-ranked superhumans clashed against monsters who should not have existed.
Every exchange shook the battlefield.
Every collision altered the terrain.
S-ranked superhumans fought desperately to protect the wounded.
To buy time.
To survive.
Necro Warden Hades unleashed everything he had left.
Skeletal giants erupted from the earth.
Towering undead titans held back waves of Berserkers.
Every second they gained mattered.
Lucy rose into the air despite her injuries.
Blood dripped from torn flesh.
One-winged and exhausted, she unleashed a desperate rain of corrupted light.
The attacks bought moments.
Only moments.
But those moments saved lives.
Gerald and Salvatore eventually fought side by side.
Brute force and divine radiance.
Perfectly coordinated.
Together they held Botis at bay.
Barely.
Meanwhile, Jacob and Anton relentlessly pressured Bathin.
Forcing him to divide his attention.
Forcing him to defend rather than command.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Humanity advanced.
Not by meters.
Not by feet.
By inches.
Luxuria watched.
And for the first time—
Her smile faded.
Only slightly.
But enough.
She saw it.
Humanity was adapting.
Learning.
Enduring.
Growing stronger through suffering.
That made them dangerous.
"Well."
Luxuria sighed.
Then stood.
The entire battlefield seemed to pause.
Her eyes gleamed with amusement.
"This has been entertaining."
A faint smile returned.
"But not decisive."
She turned away.
"Withdraw."
The command was soft.
The response was immediate.
The entire demon army obeyed.
Without hesitation.
Without confusion.
Without resistance.
Bathin stepped backward and vanished into warped space.
Botis lowered his blade.
His gaze lingered briefly upon Gerald and Salvatore.
Studying them.
Remembering them.
Then he disappeared as well.
The demon army retreated in perfect order.
Wounded carried.
Formations intact.
No panic.
No disorder.
Only discipline.
Silence slowly settled across the battlefield.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
Exhausting.
Humanity had not won.
But they had not lost.
Gerald dropped to one knee.
His body finally acknowledged its injuries.
Salvatore descended slowly.
The light around him dimmed as exhaustion overtook him.
Around them stood the remnants of two armies.
Bloodied.
Broken.
Exhausted.
Still standing.
And somehow—
That alone felt like a victory.
Far above, Luxuria paused one final time.
She glanced over her shoulder.
The smile she wore was no longer playful.
It was a promise.
"This isn't over."
Her voice drifted across the battlefield.
Soft as silk.
Sharp as a blade.
And for the first time—
Everyone believed her.