Chapter 153: Viona Part 2

Viona lowered her gaze, staring at the stagnant puddle of water between her boots.

The Black Trench. The mere mention of the name brought a bitter, suffocating chill back to her chest.

Three hundred years ago, neither of them were divine legends.

Leon had been an orphan from the western plains, chosen by the ancient holy shrines, wielding a sacred blade as the realm’s native hero. And Viona had been nothing more than an exceptionally gifted mortal sorceress from the royal academy—brilliant, ambitious, and consumed by a desperate desire to master the fundamental truths of primordial magic.

Together with four trusted companions, they had marched north during the Great Calamity, sworn to slay the Demon Lord Malakor. They had believed in the kingdom. They had believed in the holy scriptures, the blessings of the high priests, and the golden promises of the Sun King.

It had all been a lie.

The Demon Lord Malakor was not a beast to be easily felled by a handful of mortal champions. He was an ancient, immortal titan of primordial destruction whose power dwarfed mortal comprehension. When their party finally penetrated the inner volcanic fortress of the Blighted Wastes, half-starved and bleeding from weeks of continuous combat, they discovered the horrifying truth: the imperial army that was supposed to reinforce their rear flank had turned around and sealed the mountain gates with heavy rune-carved stone.

The royal court never intended for a victorious hero to return. A living hero who commanded the love of the peasantry was a direct threat to the crown; a sorceress who understood the deep secrets of forbidden mana was dangerous to the corrupt priesthood. The king had sent them north not to conquer, but to die in mutually assured destruction, hoping the Demon Lord would slaughter them while exhausting his own strength.

The battle in the dark was a butchery.

Their four companions were ripped apart, their blood soaking the ash around them. Leon had his left eye torn from its socket by a demon general’s serrated claw, his shoulder tendons shredded as he desperately held the line. Viona had barely survived by hiding beneath the severed torso of her closest friend, eating the raw, toxic mana crystals of fallen beasts to keep her fading life force from extinguishing entirely.

They had failed. The Demon Lord Malakor was not slain.

He was wounded, driven into a deep, dormant slumber within his volcanic stronghold, slowly regenerating his monstrous strength over the centuries. But he was alive. Breathing. Waiting for the day his dark legions would march south once more to drown the world in fire.

In that pitch-black crypt, surrounded by the rotting flesh of their companions, Leon and Viona had sworn a blood oath.

They would never be pawns for mortal kings again.

They would never bleed for an empire that would discard them the moment the battle was done.

They would seize the power of this world for themselves.

"We swore to take it all," Viona whispered, her fingernails scraping against the stone flags until they bled. "We swore that we would climb so high that no king, no senate, and no army could ever look down upon us again."

"I remember," Leon said quietly, his gaze lifting toward the cavern roof. "You used your high illusion arts and consumed the forbidden celestial relics we scavenged from the northern ruins. You fabricated the identity of ’Goddess Viona.’ You took over the Solarian crown from the shadows, turned the royal house into your puppets, and built a religion of four million worshippers to harvest their faith and mana."

That had been their secret pact from the very beginning.

Viona was never an immortal deity descended from the heavens. She was a mortal archmage masquerading as a god, feeding her internal mana pool with the daily prayers, tithes, and devotion of an entire empire.

Yet, even with three hundred years of accumulated faith and magical supremacy, she and Leon knew the hard truth: their power alone was still not enough.

When the Demon Lord Malakor fully awakened from his long slumber, their combined mortal strength would still fall short against his primordial core. To defeat him, they needed overwhelming combat potential—which was why Viona had devised the grand summoning rituals to rip S-rank heroes from another world.

The plan was clear: use the otherworld heroes as an unstoppable, disposable vanguard. Bound by the Torment Bands, the heroes would lead the imperial legions north, break the demon defenses, and pin down Malakor. Once the Demon Lord was mortally wounded, Leon and Viona would deliver the final blow and carve out the Demon Lord’s Heart—the primordial mana nexus that held the secret of eternal life.

By fusing the sacred faith of four million worshippers with the primordial essence of the Demon Lord’s Heart, Viona and Leon would shatter the mortal ceiling together.

They would ascend as true God-Kings. Unkillable. Absolute. Beyond the reach of any mortal king or demon general.

"And now the entire plan is falling apart," Leon stated bluntly, his single amber eye fixing on her. "You lost your vanguard, Viona."

Viona flinched as if struck.

"Ayanokoji... Kenji... Miyuki...and others" she muttered, her voice trembling with frustration. "They were our strongest assets. S-rank potential. The only ones whose cores were dense enough to survive the direct clash with the demon generals. Daiki and the others were already wiped out during the naval fire."

"So what do you have left in the capital?" Leon asked.

Viona let out a ragged, bitter groan, leaning her head against her good shoulder.

"Second-rate rejects," she hissed. "A-rank and B-rank summoners. Spellcasters who panic when an arrow flies near them, swordsmen who can barely maintain a wind blade for five minutes, and healers whose spiritual pathways clog after treating ten wounded men. None of them have the raw, overwhelming stats needed to break through Malakor’s vanguard, let alone pierce the Demon Lord himself."

"And while the Demon Lord sleeps in the north, you brought a plague of gray iron down on our heads from the sea," Leon added, his voice cold and devoid of sympathy. "Who is this commander? John Smith?"

At the mention of that name, Viona’s remaining eye flared with pure, venomous malice.

"An insect," she snarled, her breath hissing between her teeth. "A summoned dog who possessed zero mana! When the summoning array tested his soul, the stones didn’t even flicker! He was an E-rank reject! I ordered him thrown down the palace steps to starve in the alleys! How does a mortal ant with no magical aptitude command weapons that shatter the sky?!"

"Because he doesn’t fight with magic, Viona," Leon said, his deep voice cutting through her hysterical rage. "I told you a month ago: do not underestimate things you don’t understand. I watched his scouts from the ridge lines. His soldiers don’t chant. They don’t pray. They don’t care about bloodlines or divine favor. They build machines of steel. They coordinate through wires and invisible waves. They manufacture lightning and fire by the thousands of tons."

Leon pushed himself away from the stone pillar, walking slowly across the cracked floor until he stood directly over her.

He looked down at the battered sorceress who had ruled an empire for three centuries, his scarred face completely impassive.

"You treated him like dirt, and now he has taken your greatest port, secured your coastal trade, and crushed your strongest heroes without losing a single man," Leon said. "He is not just a threat to your church, Viona. If he marches his iron divisions past the mountain passes, he will dismantle the entire imperial army before we ever reach the north."

Viona looked up at him, her lips trembling with desperate, frantic urgency.

"What do we do, Leon?" she whispered, clutching the hem of his dusty cloak with her good hand. "Tell me! What do we do?!"

Leon reached down, grabbed her by the arm, and hauled her to her feet with a grunt of effort.

"We retaliate of course."