Chapter 69

Chapter 69
Flare—who had been curled lazily beside the manor’s hearth—let out a sharp, warning roar and launched into the sky.
I dropped everything and sprinted. By the time I reached the lake, the clearing was a mess of smoke and torn earth. Trees burnt. The water churned violently. Felix and Karl were already there, weapons drawn, but no sign of Silvarya.
Only a mark scorched into the grass: a sigil of the Demon Duke. A teleportation brand.
Silvarya was gone. My lungs burnt. My hands trembled. “No,” I growled. “Not again.”
Ella stepped beside me, her voice trembling. “Dirk, the seal on her memory—it must’ve broken more than we thought. They were waiting for it. Planning for it.”
I clenched my fists. “She trusted me. She told me she didn’t want to be anyone else but herself.”
Flare landed nearby, his golden eyes burning with fury and worry. He let out a low snarl that echoed through the woods.
“We’re going after her,” I said. “I don’t care if I have to burn through ten thousand demons. They messed with the wrong town.”
Kael arrived, scrolls and maps already unfurled. “We have one lead. The teleport sigil leads to the Ashen Gate in the Demon Lands. But we’ll need more firepower than ever before.”
“Then we’ll get it,” I said. “Get Agnes. I’m unlocking the vault.”
Elvie raised her blade, her voice sharp and certain. “We’ll bring her back, Dirk.”
“I know,” I muttered. Because this wasn’t just about war anymore. This was personal. I was furious as I screamed at my warrior.
Then we thundered down the forest trail in three HUMVEEs, tyres kicking up a cloud of dust behind us. The setting sun cast an angry red over the treetops, painting the world in blood and urgency. My grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles white beneath my gloves. Silvarya—Elsie—was gone. Taken.
“They picked the western lake route,” Kael said through the radio. “Duke’s signature was last detected an hour ago.”
“Good,” I muttered, voice low with fury. “Then we’re not far.”
Felix rode shotgun, checking the mounted machine gun. “We’ll get her back. Bastard won’t know what hit him.”
From the back, Karl and two beastkin warriors loaded mana-charged bullets into rifles. Even Raymond had joined, dressed in battle gear for the first time since I’d known him. Silent, focused, dangerous.
The radio crackled. “Team two is approaching the ridge. Contact in two minutes.”
We burst out of the forest and onto a blackened hill. Below lay the lake—still and glimmering like silver glass. On the opposite shore, surrounded by ash trees and withering grass, stood a towering figure in dark crimson armour. The Duke of Demonland.
And Silvarya knelt at his feet, unconscious and shackled in rune-bound chains.
Rage flared in my chest. “Deploy,” I commanded.
All three HUMVEEs screeched to a halt. My men poured out with practised precision, setting up cover behind rocks, drawing weapons, and readying grenades.
The Duke raised his head. Even from this distance, I could feel his magic—a thick, choking darkness that made the air heavy.
“So you’re the one she remembers,” his voice echoed unnaturally, amplified by dark mana. “Interesting. But she belongs to the Demon King now.”
I stepped forward, cocking my rifle and strapping a mana grenade to my belt.
“She’s not yours to take.”
A slow grin formed on his grotesque face. “She was once ours. The Guardian of the First Flame. She just forgot. But we didn’t.”
I didn’t wait for another word. “Open fire!”
My men unleashed hell. Gunfire lit up the hillside like thunderclaps, tracers streaking through the air. Mana grenades flew in an arc, exploding with radiant bursts that tore into the blackened soil.
The Duke raised his gauntlet, forming a shield of crackling dark magic—but even he stumbled under the sheer force. Felix manned the mounted gun, spraying continuous fire as Kael activated wind runes and darted into position.
“Flank him!” I shouted, sprinting down with my mana-enhanced boots, faster than any human should’ve been.
The Duke retaliated with a roar, releasing a shockwave that sent several of my men sprawling. But Karl leapt forward, anchoring himself with earth magic, and slammed a hammer into the ground, creating a wall to block the follow-up blast.
I ducked under a swipe of dark energy and threw two flashbang grenades. As they exploded, I slid beside Silvarya and slashed the chains with a mana-infused combat knife. Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.
“Dirk…?”
“I got you,” I whispered. “Hold on.”
But the Duke wasn’t done. He lunged, a spear of shadow forming in his hand.
“My lord!” Raymond threw me a glowing vial—a fire rune-enhanced bomb.
I caught it, twisted midair, and flung it with every ounce of strength.
The impact was a sunburst of flames, a dome of white-hot fire swallowing the Duke. His scream echoed like thunder as his armour cracked and blackened.
Felix grabbed Silvarya and hauled her into the back of the HUMVEE. I dove in after them as Kael and Karl covered our retreat, unleashing volleys of magic and bullets.
“GO!” I shouted.
The engine roared as we sped away, leaving behind fire, smoke, and a stunned demon noble.
Back at the town’s edge, as our gates opened, the townsfolk rushed to meet us. Elvie and Ella stood at the front, eyes wide at the sight of Silvarya cradled in my arms.
“She’s safe,” I said breathlessly. “But this war just got personal.”
As the gates closed behind us, I knew this was only the beginning.
Demon Land
A jagged hall of obsidian pulsed with red veins of lava, casting eerie shadows on the ancient, cracked walls. Thorned pillars rose toward a sky of roiling smoke and blood-coloured clouds, while monstrous guards lined the throne path, silent as death.
Upon the blackened throne sat the Demon Lord, his form cloaked in shifting smoke, crown of bone upon his brow. His red eyes burnt brighter than ever as he stared into the swirling pool of divination magic before him.
It showed the valley—the ambush, the rain of firepower, the retreat.
“You failed me.” His voice dripped with venomous calm, yet the tremor in the air made every lesser demon nearby flinch.
The image shifted, now revealing Duke Ghorvak kneeling before the projection, armour scorched, half his mask melted, and blackened blood crusted around his temple.
“She was protected, my lord… They were prepared. Their weapons tore through my magic—”
“Human weapons.” The Demon King rose. The sound of his movement alone silenced every whisper of flame in the chamber.
“Yes,” Ghorvak hissed. “But they were unnatural. This Dirk… he commands tools not of this world. They burnt through my guards like parchment.”
The Demon King’s fists clenched. “And yet you were sent for one task.”
“She awakened slightly,” the Duke offered, as though that would lessen the punishment. “When he called her name… she responded. Silvarya—the First Guardian of the Flame. She is truly the one from the prophecy.”
A long pause.
The chamber fell still, as if even time dared not breathe.
Then, the Demon King’s eyes narrowed. “So she lives. She has remembered enough to resist. And this mortal boy—this Dirk Robinson—interferes again.”
He raised his hand.
A flash of dark light surged from his palm. Duke Ghorvak screamed as the spell struck him, his body writhing with cursed fire.
“Return and recover,” the Demon King snarled. “Your failure will not be forgotten. The next time you go… you do not return without her.”
As the pool’s surface stilled, the Demon King turned to his war generals.
“Summon the Circle of Blood. I want an army ready to march within the month. Begin preparations for the Siege of Robinson Town.”
One of the warlocks bowed. “But the girl—if she awakens her full power—”
“That is exactly why we must strike now,” the King growled. “Before she remembers everything. Before she reclaims her place as Guardian.”
He turned back to the pool.
“Let the mortal play his games with fire and steel. When we strike… we erase him from history.”
The pool shimmered once more—this time showing Dirk cradling Silvarya under the divine tree.
The Demon King’s lips curled in disdain. “Enjoy your peace, Dirk Robinson. The next time I see your face... will be the last.”