Fire Mage-Chapter 662: Demon Fortress

Chapter 662: Demon Fortress

His blade slid out in one swift motion, resting coldly on Dorian’s neck—just enough to draw blood.

Before Dorian could react, something pierced deeper—his Inner World quaked.

Inside, a figure cloaked in violet flame began destroying memories like they were paper in fire. Every time one of Dorian’s clone-consciousnesses tried to intervene, they were instantly consumed.

"@$*I%U! @$*I%U!" Dorian screamed in an unknown language, panic setting in. He threw both hands up in surrender.

"Smart choice," Charles said, lips curling into a faint smirk. He lowered the sword.

A drop of blood floated into Charles’s palm. He pressed it into his skin, crafting an identity imprint, then spoke in Rune Language.

"Can we talk now?"

Dorian stepped back, eyes flicking toward the blade, then gave a stiff nod.

"Good." Charles smiled faintly, casting [Curse of the Overlord], and casually sheathed his sword.

"Relax. Just answer my questions, and I’ll let you walk away."

"How can I trust your words?" Dorian snapped but bit his tongue almost immediately.

A wry smile formed on his face.

"Oh? So you do understand your position." Charles chuckled. "You never had a choice."

He pointed at the fortress-like structure in the distance.

"My first question: how many strongholds like that exist in this layer?"

Dorian considered lying, but something deep inside warned him otherwise. It gnawed at him, making his chest tighten.

Tsk. Better not take any chances.

"Twelve, my Lord," he said, bowing slightly. "Each is inhabited by thousands—people from different worlds and races. The fourth layer serves as a convergence point for explorers. Of the twelve, three belong to the demon race, two to the devilkin, three to elves, one to humans, and the rest to neutral villages where lawful races gather."

"Twelve, huh?" Charles frowned. "And what about the time limit? Who governs these strongholds?"

"Each is commanded by a leader. Unlike previous layers, you can remain here indefinitely—provided you form an Oath with Lord Nyxen. If you gain his trust, he may even grant you access to the next layer."

"Lord Nyxen?" Charles’s brow arched. "I thought we had to kill the boss of the fourth layer to advance."

Dorian gave him a strange look and shook his head.

"Killing Lord Nyxen?" he laughed dryly. "No one has managed that in over five thousand years. But don’t worry. If you prove yourself, he’ll allow you through."

So Lord Nyxen is the Devil Crow... but if I can’t kill him, how do I obtain the Wicked Flame? Would he teach it if I demonstrate my flame spells? Unlikely...

"You mentioned something about an Oath. What exactly is it?" Charles pressed.

"I can’t say..." Dorian trailed off. "If I do, I’ll—"

His voice choked, eyes widening in panic.

"Oh? You don’t want to tell?" Charles’s gaze darkened. "Then I guess I have no choice."

He cast [Burning Thoughts] again, diving into Dorian’s mind.

So... revealing anything about the Oath triggers a black flame that even consumes the soul?

"Argh!" Dorian shrieked in agony. Black flames erupted from his skin, engulfing him in moments.

Charles watched, stunned, as the fire devoured not only his body, but his very essence. Clothes, flesh, bones—gone. Even the purple consciousness Charles had implanted burned to ash.

It reached his Inner World? No—

He sensed it—the soul itself was being incinerated.

In seconds, the space where Dorian once stood was empty.

He was erased from existence... This spell is on par with Runeth’s [Erase Existence].

Charles exhaled slowly and sat on a nearby rock, heart pounding.

I want that spell. No matter what it takes.

His thoughts turned to Causality Manipulation.

This skill lets me alter the sequence of events—twisting fate itself. He activated it immediately.

A rush of visions overwhelmed his senses:

A sealed coffin buried in a shadowed chamber.A drunken, winged demon staggering through a dark alley.A tunnel leading to a chained tree made of bones and flesh.A spatial rift guarded by humans in bluish robes, each bearing an eye symbol.A black egg resting in a cavern deep underground.

These aren’t just visions... they’re clues—pieces of the path forward.

Determined, Charles activated the identity imprint and shifted into Dorian’s form, mimicking his face and attire—black formal robes.

Only problem: I have no memories of his life. Just the name and rank. He knew he had to act fast and stealthily.

He released his Wisdom Power, levitating into the sky and flying toward the fortress. Below, the lava lake glowed ominously.

As he approached the stronghold, Charles took in the sight.

The fortress was a looming structure of black stone, covered in carvings and arcane symbols pulsing with power. Giant gates stood at the front, their surfaces covered in runes and menacing reliefs. Fiery braziers cast flickering shadows, illuminating monstrous statues and grotesque murals that dripped with infernal history.

Demon guards stood watch, their eyes sharp with suspicion. Towering battlements offered full views of the terrain—especially the lava lake.

Two winged, snake-headed demons stood at the entrance. As Charles approached, they nodded and greeted him in Abyssal.

He nodded back and entered the fortress.

At once, he cast [Shadow Stealth], melting into the ambient shadows.

Inside, the fortress was no less forbidding. Purple torches flickered along long, cold corridors. The air reeked of sulfur and metal. Echoes of conversation bounced off the walls—in Abyssal, Nether, and other unrecognizable tongues.

Demons, devils, undead—creatures of all shapes and races roamed the halls.

They’re all as strong as me. If my identity is exposed... I’m dead.

He kept his demeanor calm and continued moving, using his stealth to gather as much intel as possible.

Hours passed. Charles gradually picked up Abyssal phrases, uncovering critical details about Dorian.

Dorian belonged to a scouting unit—’Shadowstalkers’—assigned to monitor the Lava Oasis. There are seventy-two demons in the squad, from various chaos races.

Beyond that, eleven other groups existed within the fortress:

PlaguebearersVoidshiftersSummoner EnclavesDread CommandosSoulreaver CavalryDeath ArchersAbyssal KnightsCursed Sorcery CovenBloodbound BerserkersHellfire BringersInfernal Legion

All were commanded by one entity: Drakaroth the Flameheart.

The Demon Fortress housed a total of 1,253 demons.

Charles took a deep breath.

This place... it’s a fortress of nightmares.

For now, I need to find that drunken winged demon from the vision. That’s the next piece.

He moved stealthily through the corridors.

Chapter 676: Blackiron Stronghold

As Charles wandered the main corridor of the Fortress’s central building, he suddenly froze. A flicker in his senses warned him—the [Curse of the Overlord] spell had been cut off.

Someone from the True Lords group just died.

Before he could even react, another connection snapped.

Within a minute, five people from the group were dead.

Only Alistair’s connection remains... Charles could vaguely sense the survivor’s location, but not his condition.

Tsk. I planned to use them to locate the other strongholds, but they died before serving any purpose. Then again, I never intended to let them live for long. At least Alistair’s still breathing.

As he mulled over the situation, a tall, humanoid demon with crystalline skin approached from the other end of the corridor. Nearly two meters tall, the demon had pure white eyes, snowy hair, and looked like a frozen statue of a man.

"Dorian, the Shadow Leader has summoned your team," the Ice Demon said in a commanding tone. "He’s currently at the northern outpost tower."

The leader of the Shadowstalkers? Odd timing.

Charles didn’t respond. He simply turned and left the building without a word.

Behind him, the Ice Demon narrowed his gaze, studying the small serpent coiled around Charles’s neck.

Why’s he carrying a familiar inside the Blackiron Stronghold? And wasn’t his favored companion a Shadow Eagle? When did he replace it with a snake? A rank-1 beast, no less... He’s acting strangely.

Though curious, the demon said nothing and walked away.

Charles ignored the scrutiny and headed toward the northern section of the castle. As he passed through the outer yard, he observed dozens of demons hauling magical catapults and siege weapons. Others were directing four-meter-tall gargoyles like living war machines.

This Stronghold’s power is terrifying. If these demons invaded the Edhen World and the Gods didn’t interfere, humanity wouldn’t survive a single day.

His thoughts shifted.

What’s the name of this Stronghold anyway?

As he moved, he eavesdropped on a group of nearby demons.

Invasion of Elves? Are they preparing for a defensive war? I need more intel.

He quickened his pace.

Within minutes, he reached the Fortress’s northern entrance and headed toward the outpost tower. Unlike the typical outposts, these towers were fused with the Fortress itself and outfitted with strange, oversized ballistas.

Three times larger than standard, and definitely enchanted.

He climbed a spiraling stone staircase that echoed with each step. At the top, a massive iron door loomed before him, etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly.

He inhaled deeply and pushed it open.

The room beyond was circular with a domed ceiling. More than a dozen demons stood inside, but it was the small, robed figure at the center that drew his focus.

Barely a meter tall, the being had purple skin and no human features—only jaw-like teeth extending from where ears should be, a bald head, and no eyes or nose.

A Voidweaver. Charles scanned him with caution. Shadow-based bloodline...

Standing before the Voidweaver were elite demons of many races, each radiating power. They were Shadowstalkers—the covert unit behind the Fortress’s darkest missions.

Charles quietly joined the group.

The Voidweaver’s gaze swept the room, then landed on him.

"It seems everyone from the Gram Team has arrived," he said. "Dorian, Gorg reported you returned earlier than usual and didn’t submit a report. What happened?"

Charles didn’t flinch. He had anticipated this.

"Nothing of note, Lord Vorloth," he replied. "I saw no anomaly, so I left my Blood Familiar at the Lava Oasis to monitor the area."

"Hm." Vorloth nodded and changed the subject.

"Two hours ago, our team’s Chronomorph, Naptr, had a troubling vision and warned me to prepare for battle. I sent word to the Lord Commander. If the prophecy is accurate, a major war could erupt."

Chronomorph? That’s a race name, not a title.

Before Charles could dwell on it, one of the demons let out a derisive laugh.

"Kekeke... Lord Vorloth, you’re taking his vision seriously? Naptr’s only a Greater Demon—lowest of his kind. He’s a decent strategist, but I’ve never seen him receive divine prophecy. He’s not even a High-Rank Demon, let alone worthy of a Demon Lord’s attention."

An Ice Demon beside him shook his crystalline head.

"Did you not hear our Lord? Naptr had a vision through his bloodline skill."

Vorloth nodded again.

"Regardless, we must be prepared. The Elves are plotting something. While the Lord Commander prepares for war, your task is infiltration. Learn what the Elves are scheming."

He pointed to specific demons.

"Dorian, Agrath, Sozrun, and Sestran—you’ll infiltrate Silvermoon Citadel. Thelmored, Agmizak, Olgrollan, and Jur’gadoch—your target is Obsidian Fortress. The rest of you will head to Celestial Hold."

With that, Vorloth dismissed the group.

Charles turned and left silently, mind racing.

This is going to be bothersome. But if I want to achieve my goal, I need to follow the clues. Heading to the Elves’ base is a waste of time—but I can’t leave the Fortress yet.

Luckily, his assigned group was acting independently. Demons rarely trusted each other and followed only strength, not loyalty. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

First, I need to find that drunken Winged Demon. A mental image of a goat-horned, black-winged demon surfaced in his mind.

I only saw him briefly, but I remember his face clearly.