Demon Lord: Erotic Adventure in Another World

Two days later, the hills grew drier and the air thicker.

The road that once curved gently now pressed forward like a spine of old stones cracked in parts and thick with dust.

Vinea travelled light, only ten knights at her side. Ygrenne, quiet as ordered, sharp as a blade. Their horses trotted without hurry, but never lazily. Vinea didn't like silence for too long. Silence on the road this far south made her wary.

Birdsong had faded into a dull hum of insects and wind. Even that began to disappear around noon, as they crested a low ridge and spotted movement down the slope.

Two riders.

Both dismounted, taking a break near a stream.

Vinea didn't slow.

Only when she came within thirty strides did one man raise his hand casually, palm out, fingers relaxed. It was a greeting, not a warning.

"I thought you looked familiar, dear princess," the younger man said.

Simon.

His beard was a little fuller now, but the dual blades on his back were the same. The wide-brimmed hat, dust-worn, cast a shadow over his amused expression.

Beside him, Paul leaned against a tree, chewing on a sprig of mint.

"Greetings, Your Highness. I didn't expect to see one of the King's wives out here."

Vinea dismounted without a word, her eyes scanning both men for anything strange. "You're late. You were meant to reach the citadel yesterday."

Paul gave a slow shrug. "We stopped at a few way stations, trying to gather strange rumours and listened to the guards asking odd questions."

Simon added, "some of the Grigorian knights have resigned and moved to Baltimore... it's not one or two either."

"My uncle?"

Paul nodded. "If it's his doing, he's not acting like himself."

"Should we tell my husband or head to the south like he wanted us to?"

Simon grinned. "And we were just starting to enjoy the sun."

She mounted again without responding.

Dust lifted from their horses' hooves and curled behind them like smoke on the wind.

Something had shifted.

And if Alan was no longer the man they once knew, there must be a reason for his sudden change.

The sun dipped lower by the hour, casting long fingers of orange across the cracked road.

Vinea led the way, her posture straight, cloak tugging in the wind. The knights followed in a tight formation, Paul and Simon riding just behind her on borrowed horses. No one spoke for a while.

The southern road was too quiet.

"Not a single caravan," Simon muttered, glancing off the road. "This route's usually crawling with hauliers."

"They've either been rerouted… or scared off," Paul replied. His voice was calm, but his hand hadn't left the hilt of his short sword for over a league.

Ygrenne rode at Vinea's side, her brows slightly furrowed while the demon knights followed behind.

"Two more patrols missing near the woods, Your Highness," she said. "No signs of struggle. Just… gone."

Vinea didn't answer. Her gaze followed the thinning treeline. Burned stumps scarred the edges of the forest. Someone had cleared them recently—too clean, too fast.

"Smoke," Simon said.

All heads turned.

A dark smear of ash curled into the sky ahead, maybe a mile out.

This shouldn't happen, because the only villages near the border were Grigorian.

The group broke into a faster pace, boots clicking against stirrups as the horses surged forward. As they neared the source, the faint coppery scent of blood drifted in from the wind.

It wasn't a battlefield.

It had once been a village, and only remnants remained.

Charred houses leaned at odd angles, blackened walls steaming faintly in the midday heat. Dead livestock rotted in the dirt paths. A single wagon lay broken on its side, wheels still spinning weakly.

And silence.

No screaming, no crying. Just the crackle of dying embers.

Paul dismounted first, stepping lightly through the soot. "No arrows. No siege."

"It was a purge," Vinea said coldly. Her voice didn't rise, but the knights around her shifted with unease.

Simon crouched near a corpse—human, throat slashed, no armour.

"They weren't soldiers. Just civilians."

He stood and looked at her, his face grim. "This was no accident. But why make this sudden attack?"

"Isn't it to make others wary towards the north? Are they trying to ruin the peace talks?" Vinea tapped her lip, squishing them as her brain kicked into gear.

"Oh?" Paul's eyes also flashed when hearing her words.

Vinea turned her horse. "We head south. No stopping. We find who did this."

She didn't need to say the next part.

If the mainland was already moving in secret, Alan wasn't just compromised.

He was a lost cause.

And now, she would see what had taken root in the south with her own eyes.

***

The smell stayed with them for miles.

Even after the village fell behind, that scorched scent clung to their clothes, skin, and thoughts. No one cracked a joke, even Simon.

The road grew flatter as the hills gave way to dry plains. Small rocks littered the edges, and the fences lining the trail became less frequent, broken, and left to rot.

The farmland here appeared like it hadn't been tended in seasons.

They rode fast.

Twice, they passed abandoned carts, no signs of struggle, no blood—but still wrong. One had been stripped of supplies down to the bolts. The other carried only empty crates that once stored healing tonics and grain.

Paul finally spoke, his voice low. "This whole route feels off. I've taken it a dozen times in the past. Always met at least one patrol from the south."

"It was fine when we came north... what the hell is going on?"

Alan and Simon had passed through just days ago. The people were alive and well then, which made them confused and angry.

"Damn it...!"

Vinea didn't answer. She was already reaching for her waterskin, but she didn't drink. Just stared at the horizon.

Ygrenne came up beside her again. "If they're moving soldiers without permission, it might mean war."

"Or someone's preparing for it." Simon's horse kicked a stone loose from the path.

"What if it's not soldiers... and something else."

Vinea couldn't help but recognise the scent, and memories came back from a few weeks ago, when Asmodeus fought Mephisto with Alan.

The scent of death.

After an hour of riding, they passed an old shrine. Once a marker of peace between Grigor and the outer villages. Now, the statue of the war goddess was covered in dried excrement and crude symbols—symbols Paul couldn't place.

Vinea dismounted.

She knelt before the shrine and scraped a finger across a mark. Her lips thinned. "This isn't Grigorian."

Ygrenne's sword slid halfway from its sheath.

"What language is it?" Simon asked, peering closer.

"Old mainland dialect," Vinea replied. "It's a prayer. For cleansing fire to purge the impure."

Paul muttered, "Then the village wasn't just a message. It was a ritual."

Vinea rose, dusting her gloves.

"The prayer was addressed to the god of death, not Lumina."

"Let's keep moving. The faster we reach Baltimore, the sooner we'll see what's happening down here."

"Shouldn't we contact the Boss?" Simon asked.

"...I want to find more out, so we can help him."

"I see, just don't take too many risks." Paul finished before he sighed, his gaze lingering on the dark, ruined church.

She mounted again.

Her face was unreadable. But her fingers stayed curled around the hilt of her blade as they rode.

They didn't stop again.

The sun dipped behind the hills, casting long red shadows across the road.

Their group finally stopped at a prominent ridge, just before nightfall, where they could see the faint glow of fires in the distance—Baltimore.

The city shimmered like a dying star, too quiet, too contained. No smoke. No laughter from the outer camps. The stillness pressed like a beast hiding in the dark.

Vinea didn't dismount.

She sat stiffly in her saddle, eyes narrowed. "No outer guard posts."

Simon clicked his tongue. "I'd heard it was strict down here, but this…? This is martial."

Paul checked his sword straps. "Should we ride in?"

Vinea shook her head. "We approach at first light. No one moves without my order."

The others gave silent nods.

They would camp above the city, because the gates were already closed. Vinea stared down at the City longer than the rest. Something twisted in her gut.

Something was wrong.

Something deep.

She hoped Alan could still be saved. Maybe she could handle it herself, without Asmodeus.

Behind her, Ygrenne stepped closer. "Do you still think he can be saved?"

Vinea didn't look back. "I think someone has to try."

Night fell like a curtain.

They made camp without a fire.

Yet little did they know that below, in the heart of Baltimore, a pair of green eyes opened in the dark, watching. Waiting. Already aware of who had come, waiting to see what action they would take.