Chapter 77

Chapter 77
The Next Morning
The plaza was in ruin. But life? Life hadn't surrendered.
Under the canopy of new banners hastily raised by volunteers, music softly resumed. Lanterns floated once more, magic rekindled. Robinson Pavilion stood—scarred but open.
Elvie, Ella, Felix, and Kael refused rest. With city medics and Robinson staff, we distributed crates of Earth-style meals: warm cup noodles, yoghurts that pulsed with mana-boosting enchantments, hotdogs, golden fried chicken wrapped in banana leaves, and bottles of clean water. Mamon bread sweetened every corner.
Saintess Athena arrived by noon with the Queen herself, both descending the palace steps with healers in tow. The King, sober-eyed and solemn, met me amid the ashes.
"You saved them," he said. "And at great cost."
"They came for me," I said. "They always will."
He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Then we'll be ready." And the people saw. Not just the fire. Not just the death. But the rise again—the unity, the defiance. They saw Flare, wings outstretched. They saw Flare by my side. They saw the team that would not break. And from those ashes, they saw a town—not a name—but a force: Robinson. Not just a place. A promise. A flame that no darkness would ever put out. Not while I still drew breath.
Just you wait, demon lord.
A few hours passed in a blink; the smoke had cleared, but the stench of blood still clung to the air like rot beneath a fresh rain. Ash drifted like snow over the broken plaza, where scorched stones bore the blackened memories of last night's horror. The once-bustling heart of the capital now resembled a battlefield. Twenty-three souls were gone. Their names had been read that morning in a quiet ceremony, and even the birds had stayed silent.
I stood at the edge of the plaza, staring down at the scorched earth where my pavilion once stood. Flare lay nearby, curled around the rubble like a silent sentinel, his flames dim and solemn. Elvie and Ella stood beside him, her hand on his scales, their eyes hollow.
I could still see the boy clinging to his mother's skirts, his sobs echoing in my skull. I remembered the look on Agnes' face as she coughed blood into my arm. And the way the illusions fell away, like masks melting off devils. The rage bubbled in my chest again.
But I wasn't allowed to grieve just yet.

The Royal Council Hall — Later That Day
The castle's war chamber buzzed with tension. Nobles, advisors, generals, and mages stood in stiff silence around a long obsidian table. Maps of the continent were unfurled and weighed down by crystal markers. Coloured flags denoted troop movements, borders, outposts... and now, sites of demon activity.
At the head of the chamber sat King Ernest, flanked by Queen and Saintess Athena, her staff glowing faintly with divine light. The Queen's jaw was set tight, her hands clasped so hard her knuckles were white. Across from them sat members of the Royal Council—Duke Vaylen, General Corth, the High Priest Hector, and a few others whose eyes darted uneasily every time mine landed on them.
I stood to the side, not seated—still dressed in my scorched leather armour, ash on my boots. I had not come for comfort. I had come for the truth.
"Let it be clear," King Ernest said, his voice cold and steady, "Yesterday was not a bandit attack. It was not a rogue faction. It was a declaration of war."
The chamber fell utterly silent. The High Mage cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, with respect, we were under the impression the ceasefire held. The Demon Lord signed the Accord of Seven Hands—"
"He spat on it," the Queen snapped. "And he spat on every soul who died last night. Children died under that accord, Mage Eldrin. Do you truly wish to speak of paper when bodies are still warm in the streets?"
He paled, shrinking back. The king turned his gaze to me. "Dirk Robinson. You were there. You saw them—these illusions, these disguised beasts. Tell them what you saw."
I stepped forward slowly, boots thudding on the polished floor. All eyes turned to me. I could feel their weight, their doubt, their fear. I didn't bother softening my words.
"They came prepared," I said. "They were , not berserkers. Coordinated. Cloaked in powerful illusion spells that masked them as nobles, merchants—even children. Someone fed them names, locations, and defences. This wasn't chaos. This was execution."
Whispers surged around the table.
Saintess Athena narrowed her eyes. "And you believe this came directly from the Demon Lord?"
"Yes," The magic signatures—what few traces we recovered—match the ones we encountered near Demonland's borders last year. This wasn't a splinter group. This was a message."
"And what message would that be?" growled Duke Vaylen, though his tone trembled slightly.
I looked him straight in the eye.
That silenced them.
The king exhaled slowly. "Then the ceasefire is broken. By his hand. And we will answer. Not with parchment. But with steel, fire, and the will of the people."
He stood, his crown gleaming under the chamber's light.
"We strike at Demonland's eastern stronghold by week's end. The retaliation will be swift and absolute. We will no longer wait for death to come to our doorsteps."
He turned to me.
"Dirk Robinson. I am formally requesting your aid. You and your warriors, your machines, your flames. You defended this kingdom when we could not. Will you stand with us now—not as an outsider but as a commander of this war?"
The chamber waited.
That evening, I stood before the survivors. The broken plaza had become a gathering ground again—but this time, no music played. People came for answers, for hope, for direction. Hundreds stood in the soot-covered square. Men with bandaged arms. Women clutching children. My warriors, lined up, still scarred from the battle. Nobles and commoners, side by side for once, their eyes all fixed on me.
I hadn't prepared a speech. I didn't need one. I stepped up onto the half-burnt fountain base and let my voice carry.
"I won't pretend last night wasn't hell," I said. "You all saw it. You it. We lost good people. Good lives. Twenty-three names. Twenty-three futures that were stolen while our backs were turned."
I paused, scanning the crowd.
"The Demon Lord thought he could break us. That he could take from us and silence our will. He thought we'd retreat. Hide. Mourn in the dark and do nothing."
I clenched a fist.
"He was wrong."
A murmur surged through the crowd.
"We are broken. We are defeated. We are alive. And we will not wait for the next fire to take more of our people. I swore I'd protect this realm. I meant it. So I say this—"
I raised my voice, letting it echo across the stone and ash.
"—We march ! Not for conquest. Not for vengeance. But for justice! For the children who cried and the mothers who bled. For the fire that scorched our homes and the courage that survived it!"
Cheers rose. First hesitant, then thunderous.
"If the Demon Lord wants war, then we'll give it to him! We'll bring our own kind of fire. My warriors, my machines, my dragon—we stand with the Kingdom. We march for the fallen. And we until the Demon Lord answers for every life he stole!"
The crowd erupted.