Reincarnated as the Demon King's Son

With a heavy heart but a resolve steeled by the recent encounter, Aldred made his way back to his own flagship, accompanied by Elralya and Cellaeth. The journey was silent, each lost in their thoughts, the weight of Anariel’s rejection hanging over them like a pall.

As they boarded Aldred’s ship, a stark contrast to the elven vessel with its utilitarian design and the air of readiness for battle, Aldred couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. The divide between his kind and the elves felt wider than ever, a chasm deepened by centuries of distrust and betrayal.

“Well, we know convincing the elves won’t be easy,” Aldred said.

“My kind can get stone head sometimes.”

“I understand their viewpoint.” Aldred nodded. “Any other race would do the same.”

Elralya offered a faint smile, acknowledging the truth in Aldred’s words. “Yes, the wounds of the past are deep, and the path to trust is long and winding. But your willingness to stand with us, despite those wounds, speaks volumes, Aldred.”

Cellaeth, who had remained quiet, finally spoke, his voice carrying a mixture of resolve and sadness. “Perhaps, in time, the barriers of old can be dismantled. For now, we must focus on the threat at hand and prepare as best we can.”

Their discussion, brief as it was, revolved around the logistics of their newfound alliance—sharing intelligence, coordinating defense strategies, and ensuring that, even without the full support of the elven council, they would be ready to face whatever darkness loomed on the horizon.

Elralya and Cellaeth left after a short discussion, leaving Aldred by himself.

After both the elves left, Aldred raised his hands and the demons that attacked the elven ships appeared.

It was him who actually sent the demons to attack the elves. He did it to make an opportunity to become their hero. But seems like it wasn’t enough.

“One or two act of heroism isn’t enough for them. What they need is concrete benefit. These elves aren’t fools.”

In the dim light of the command center, Aldred stood contemplative, the revelation of his machinations hanging heavy in the air. His strategy, bold and fraught with moral ambiguity, had failed to bridge the gap he had hoped it would. It was a gambit, one that risked much in the pursuit of an alliance he believed was necessary for the greater good.

With a determined exhale, Aldred invoked another spell, more intricate than the last. The air before him shimmered, coalescing into the form of Shuzib, the most knowledgeable scholar in the Celestial Platoon. Shuzib’s arrival was marked by a flicker of arcane energy, his presence commanding yet imbued with an innate kindness that had made him a trusted friend and adviser to Aldred for years.

“Shuzib,” Aldred greeted, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and resolve. “I need your counsel regarding the elves.”

Shuzib nodded. “You want the elves to work together with you. It won’t be a simple matter.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“Pride. The elves are known for their pride. And they will protect their dignity. Feed that dignity, or make someone step on it. And then you will see that the elves are easily steered.”

Aldred raised an eyebrow. “Thank you. Now, I know what I have to do.”

Shuzib vanished immediately after he nodded.

Aldred’s eyes flashed with a sharp glint.

…

In the aftermath of the attack, the elven vessel became a hive of activity, with Anariel leading the repair efforts with unwavering determination. Her commands were clear, her leadership unquestionable, as she moved amongst her people, coordinating the complex process of restoration. Despite the severity of the damage inflicted upon their ship, her spirit, and that of her crew, remained unbroken.

Anariel, well aware of the need for additional support, had sent out a call for reinforcements soon after assessing the full extent of the damage. The response had been swift; help would arrive in 128 hours, a fleet of elven ships poised to lend their aid and bolster the defenses of their beleaguered brethren.

As the hours passed, the ship gradually began to regain its former strength, its magical and mechanical systems meticulously restored by the skilled hands of the elven engineers and mages.

The crew worked tirelessly, their efforts fueled by the promise of reinforcements and the unwavering resolve of their captain.

“Commander.” An elven soldier approached. “We detected unidentified vessels.”

“We are ready for any attack.”

“No. They are not coming towards us, instead, they are approaching a nearby elven world.”

“An elven world is capable of handling any attack.”

“Not this time. They are requesting for reinforcement because the planet unexpectedly entered a turmoil state. Tsunamis, typhoons, all the active volcanoes exploding. Most infrastructures are disables by this natural disaster. It will cost them a lot of lives if a squadron of enemies attack.”

Anariel frowned. “How many of our ships are still battle-ready?”

Only eight of our ship can enter the warp-drive and reinforce the planet.

“And how many ships the enemy brought?”

“Sixteen vessels.”

“So they are twice our numbers. That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Are we going to attack?”

“Swiftly. We go in. Destroy them without they expecting it and return to this place

As Anariel and her elven fleet hurtled through the warp, the tension aboard each ship was palpable. The elven ships, marvels of both magic and technology, slipped into stealth mode, becoming invisible shadows against the backdrop of space.

Their approach towards the beleaguered elven world was swift and silent, their presence undetected by the enemy vessels that orbited the planet, poised to take advantage of the chaos wrought by natural disasters.

Anariel, standing on the bridge of her flagship, watched the tactical displays with an unwavering focus. Her mind was a calm center in the storm of activity around her, her orders precise and decisive. “Prepare the harpoons,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the din of the bridge.

The elven engineers and mages worked in unison, channeling their magic and technology into the creation of a weapon as ancient as it was deadly. The harpoons, designed to be launched at incredible velocities, were not merely physical projectiles but were imbued with spells of seeking and disruption, capable of tearing through the enemy shields and hulls with devastating precision.

As the elven fleet emerged from the warp, still cloaked in their stealth, they positioned themselves with strategic precision. The enemy vessels, sixteen in number, were unaware of the imminent threat, their sensors unable to pierce the veil of elven magic that shrouded the attackers.

With a silent command, Anariel initiated the assault. The harpoons, glowing with arcane energy, were launched, each one slipping through the quantum tunnel created by elven mages, emerging near their targets at velocities that made them nearly impossible to evade.

The air around the harpoons shimmered with the power of their enchantments, their paths unerringly accurate as they streaked towards the enemy ships.

The impact was immediate and catastrophic. The enemy shields, unprepared for the magical nature of the attack, buckled and shattered under the onslaught. Hulls were pierced, critical systems were destroyed, and chaos erupted among the invaders as they scrambled to respond to the unseen attackers.

In the space of a few heartbeats, the elven fleet decimated the enemy formation, their ships unable to mount a defense against the ferocity and precision of the elven attack.

One by one, the enemy vessels were either destroyed or crippled, their threat neutralized with a clinical efficiency that spoke of the elves’ mastery of both war and magic.

Aldred saw this from light-years away was impressed.

“The harpoon entered a warp tunnel and re-appeared mere inches away from its target. Not only that, it appeared with incredible speed, making them impossible to dodge. The elven technology are admired for a reason.”

Smiling, Aldred leaned back. “Thankfully, I already prepared for this.”

As the elven fleet reveled in their swift victory, their relief was abruptly shattered by the emergence of a sinister red portal. From its depths, an armada of demon vessels poured forth, their numbers overwhelming—a total of sixty formidable ships, their designs grotesque and imbued with a malevolence that chilled the very space around them.

The elven ships, revealed by their recent offensive, found themselves suddenly exposed and outnumbered. The stealth that had cloaked their approach was now useless, their position compromised. The demon fleet, with a coordination that spoke of dark intelligence behind their movements, adjusted their formations, setting their malevolent gaze upon the elven defenders.

Anariel, upon witnessing this alarming development, stood rigid on the bridge of her flagship. Her frown deepened, not merely in response to the immediate threat but at the underlying implications. “This…is no simple attack,” she murmured, her strategic mind piecing together the events with unnerving clarity. “This level of coordination, the timing…it’s too precise.

These demons are not acting on mere instinct.”

Her crew looked to her, awaiting orders, their faces etched with concern but also with trust in their captain’s wisdom. Anariel, her resolve hardening, issued her commands with a calm urgency. “Prepare for battle. Signal the fleet—evasive maneuvers and ready all offensive spells. We may be outnumbered, but we will not fall easily.”

Handling twice their number was no problem. But this was eight times their total vessels!