DEMON CASTLE-Chapter 105

Dirty and covered in tiny wounds, with lifeless, dull eyes that reflected the absence of hope—Hazard was not the kind of champion who would play the role of a sympathizer for these Abyssal creatures. Under his command, many humans, far closer to him, had suffered torment and even worse fates. Yet, given the pull he felt, could his grand destiny lie among them? If that were the case, then with their current condition...

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Nonetheless, his gaze sharpened as he noticed something. Out of hundreds of wagons, two contained only human women, their tattered clothing strikingly familiar to Hazard. Without hesitation, he swiftly approached, ignoring the main movement of the goblins.

Reaching the cages filled with women dressed in filthy, torn modern garments brought back memories of his past life. Although he barely recalled fragments of it, these people—if by some chance they were from his world—could help him cling to what little he still remembered. However, seeing the psychological state of these humans, deprived of even the slightest touch of magic's favor, made Hazard pause. With a forceful grip, he tore open the cage bars—thick iron bending and snapping like mere paper in his hands.

The goblins, who had been in attack mode just moments before, suddenly launched their assault with the battle cry of their elderly shaman. Some even moved other wagons away to prevent the captives from being harmed in the battle.

Hazard couldn't help but scoff at the individual power of these creatures, yet their collective strength was beyond his current limit. Even the Mare Queen refrained from intervening. Of course, Hazard knew that in the end, she would step in, and he resolved to endure until that moment.

A horde of creatures merely one and a half meters tall stood against a ten-meter giant, the sheer gap in magical power making the goblins seem like infants challenging their father. But this father was not merciful. Any goblin caught in his grasp was crushed and used as a weapon against others who dared to approach. Meanwhile, the goblins bombarded him with a flurry of spells, illuminating the battlefield as they clashed against Hazard's barriers.

But as an undead and a legendary sorcerer, Hazard couldn't rely solely on protective magic. He summoned thousands of tiny miasma blades that whirled around him like a meat grinder. Though they lacked cutting power due to the limited miasma invested in them, they inflicted necrosis, killing cells upon contact. Within seconds, nearly thirty thousand goblins collapsed, writhing in pain, as the demonic undead wreaked havoc.

The elderly shaman, casting a grand spell of willpower to shield the goblins from their enemy's legendary aura, fought to maintain the morale of his kin. Even a momentary lapse in his magic would flood the minds of the goblin warriors with terror—standing against a mythical undead was not something their psyche could withstand. Yet, the shaman himself was suffering. The undead's miasma had begun eating away at his stomach, forcing him to carve out the dead flesh and regenerate cells through painful, agonizing healing magic.

The casualties mounted. The number of standing goblins dwindled at such an alarming rate that even a hundred rows of dominoes would pale in comparison. Hazard, however, also felt the toll of battle after an hour. Mana depletion and the burning sensation in his body were evident. His magical robes were completely shredded, goblin flesh clung between the folds of his body, some of his golden veins and tissues had been consumed, and cracks had formed in his bones.

The Abyssal Goblins were not weak. Their various weapons and spells had managed to drive Hazard back and even counter his attacks effectively. However, after such prolonged combat, the goblins had suffered immense losses—nearly half the tribe lay in pools of their own blood, their lifeless eyes pleading toward the elderly shaman in their final moments, silently begging him to save them.

But the shaman, drenched in sweat, had long since exhausted his mana. He was now sacrificing his own life force, his rapidly aging body bearing testament to his struggle. Neither side had any hope of victory. Whichever side won would be left devastated.

And then—a meteoric impact.

A new entity descended upon the battlefield, crushing the elderly shaman beneath its might, shattering his aged body. The moment this being revealed its presence, its aura alone spread sheer terror among the goblins. Without the shaman's spell reinforcing their resolve, they were left unprotected. His magic had been the only thing keeping their courage intact.

And now?

Without willpower, they turned their gaze upon two figures—the legendary undead who had slaughtered half their kin and the newly arrived being of myth, whose mere presence forced them to their knees.

Fear paralyzed them. One by one, their heads began to explode in a gruesome chain reaction, blood splattering across the battlefield, until not a single goblin remained.

Hazard was left alone, facing the Mare Queen.

Alone? No.

Behind him, a single wagon remained intact—the only one untouched. And the reason for his mana depletion? The shield that had not only withstood an army's attacks but had also repelled even his own strikes.

A serpent-like figure watched, waiting for an answer, as Hazard approached the wagon. He reached through the bent metal bars, freeing the captive women, desperately trying to determine which of them—or perhaps their children—had unknowingly led him to this place.

The Mare Queen, witnessing Hazard's serious demeanor, chose to observe silently, curious about what was unfolding in his mind.

Yet no matter how much Hazard searched, he couldn't grasp what was so special about these women.

Abandoning them here or taking them along—either choice carried immense consequences for his journey.

But for the first time, despite the risk, he was willing to gamble.

He turned to the Mare Queen and declared:

"My god has revealed to me that I must bring these humans to his church."

The Mare Queen was stunned. Such a claim could explain Hazard's sudden and reckless actions. But receiving direct revelation from a deity like the God of Destruction? That was no trivial matter.

Did this mean she was also under divine scrutiny?

A wave of terror washed over her, and she dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to the ground.

Even if Hazard were lying, she dared not show the slightest disrespect toward his god.

To offend the God of Destruction in even the smallest way was to invite certain death.

She had heard the stories—of how the God of Destruction had, on occasion, annihilated even his own high-ranking divine subordinates on mere suspicion of betrayal, without investigation or trial. Worse still, he had cursed their very souls, ensuring that they would never even find their way into the cycle of reincarnation.

A fate darker than death, an eternal void from which there was no return.

And now—who was she?