Chapter 27

  Oxenarrikhon — or King Ox, as everyone in the Third Ring called their glorious, ruling demon lord — had enough self-restraint to hold back as he punched Bovinarros in the face. His level 52 strength had proved to be an effective way to permanently dispatch incompetent aides, but also a problem when it came to replacing them. And this one right here was one of the better ones he’d had. It would have been a shame to just kill him; he was useful enough, doing a decent job sorting through and organising reports, relaying instructions to generals he himself didn’t want to talk to, and to keep him updated on everything he needed to know.

  The aide flew back and bounced off the dark, stone wall of the throne room of the castle, then picked himself up, black blood oozing from his nostrils. The level 34 minotaur aide dusted his armour down and rushed back to stand in front of the king.

  ‘As … as I was saying, my king.’ Bovinarros resumed delivering his report under the sneers of the king’s personal guards. ‘At least a third of this ring is under our undisputed control, from the gate all the way to Orroth, Yzorath, and now Ashtor. The remaining armies of the fiery ones are still confined to cities, and won’t be able to break out, nothing new there. I … I know it is unfortunate that we had to divide our forces more than you had planned, my king, but considering the price would have been the ruling demon lord himself along with his title, I’d say it was worth pushing all the way through the realm, even if he slipped away. I have five thousand troops watching that strange building down there, and another ten thousand searching the surrounding Wilds just in case. It’s a matter of time, my king. And you have the castle now, the very centre of the Fourth Ring.’

  King Ox just grunted. The Castle? An insignificant consolation price: without the title to truly control it, it was nothing more than a sturdy heap of stone and metal they had managed to take because the fire-demons had abandoned it. No way to disable its weakening aura emplacements, no way to turn it to his Seat of Power in this Ring.

  King Ox narrowed his eyes at his aide. He liked how Bovi could bounce back and carry on reporting as if nothing had happened, knowing displeasing news carried the reward of a punch to the face. A good quality for an aide to have, and he wished some of the previous ones had had the ability to not be rattled by a few punches here and some kicks there. That much was to be expected, wasn’t it? And he wished he himself had not been rattled by that small but deadly creature that had come out of that building. What even was that thing? Something from the Fifth Ring? It could have been for all he knew; supposedly the gate to that wretched realm was hidden somewhere in that enormous building. Should he worry about the horrors of the Last Ring invading? No, if that was the case everyone here would be dead already. But even if that thing was from there, would it explain how a creature less than half his size, and from what he had sensed having less than 40 levels, could push him back? Injure him? Embarrass him? Fifth Ring or not, levels worked the same way throughout Hell — or they were supposed to — and something with at least 10 levels below him shouldn’t have been able to punch holes into his hide and knock him back that hard. A champion perhaps? Even then, that little critter shouldn’t have been able to push through his troops, scatter them, then snatch the heir and get away with her. He had been close, so very close: a minute more and the title would have been his, and this stupid throne in this stupid castle would have been his, the emplacements strengthening him and his armies instead of weakening them.

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  ‘Bovi! It’s been five days. Five days! I want more troops down there. Send them into that building, send them out to the Wilds, send them to scour the entire southern region,’ he ordered his aide. ‘No-one is to rest until that brat is found and brought before me. Our victory depends on that title, and it belongs to me and no-one else.’

  ‘Yes, my king. I’ll let Toroserakh know. I’ll have him send half of his army.’ Bovinarros nodded. ‘Shall I contact Taurelakh as well, my king? He can keep Etryon under siege with half of what he has.’

  ‘Hm,’ the king hummed, thinking it through.

  He had crushed four enemy armies already along with Ugrathar’s personal guards. It had been a hard fight for his generally lower-levelled troops — half a million of them had fallen at the blades and spells of the higher-level fire-demons of those armies. It was worth it. And still the Third Ring was teeming with an unmanageable number of minotaurs and other, lesser beast-demons he could and soon would call on. He was sure his champion, Rutharox, had killed the demon lord, too, even if he himself had died in the process. And that was fine, that was a champion’s job. Even if the title had stayed with the heir, the remaining seven armies of the Fourth Ring didn’t even pose half the threat they would have with their lord still alive. His victory, his rule of this realm, was all but assured. The one and only thing still missing was the title itself, and the rights that came with it.

  ‘Yes. Inform Taurelakh of his new orders …’ King Ox began to say but stopped as something changed, and the air and the throne room froze for a moment along with everyone in it.

  The king recovered first and looked around just to make sure he wasn’t the only one who had felt it. Bovinarros was staring into nothing with his beady eyes wide open, the guards looking around as if searching for a threat. Yes, this had really happened.

  ‘My king!’ Bovinarros suddenly came to. ‘This … this is …’

  ‘The defensive aura and Hell Mana emplacements are gone,’ the king announced, stepping down from the dais on which the throne stood. ‘This castle is no longer the Centre of the Fourth Ring.’

  ‘My king, that means the heir has …’

  ‘There is a new Center,’ Oxenarrikhon uttered the words as his senses informed him of the changes taking place. ‘The heir … no. The ruling demon lord of this realm has established a new Seat of Power. Bovi, where is it?’

  ‘My king, the place is … not that far from the south-end, where the gate to the Fifth is supposed to be. A four, maybe five-day march through the Wilds,’ the aide reported, no doubt consulting his own abilities and senses that his position and title as aide to the king had afforded to him.

  ‘Hm. So they have escaped that building after all. And they’ve been busy,’ King Ox mused, his face twisting into a grin. ‘Bovi, orders to all generals! Get every single soldier to march on the new Centre of the Ring and get them there yesterday! We will surround whatever pitiful village they have chosen to rule from, and we will crush them under our hooves until the title is mine. Hop to it you useless excuse for a minotaur!’

  Bovinarros yelped a quick “yes my king” and rushed away to relay the orders to the generals. King Ox wasn’t worried; he knew Bovi would tell them to leave a bare minimum of troops behind to keep the cities and the enemy armies at bay, but even so, over a million of his soldiers would march, and they would make short work of whatever the demon lord of the Fourth had in store for them. He turned to his guards.

  ‘You too get ready. We’re leaving. The title is waiting, and this time I’m not letting it slip away.’

  The guards moved instantly, running after the aide to collect the rest of their fellows, and King Ox followed them out of the throne room.

  Yes! Finally, the search was over, and the time for one last big push had arrived. And then? Then victory!