One knows their own situation best. Although he was still in his prime and living quite comfortably now, he knew that within ten years, he would inevitably be on the decline. By then, looking for a way out would be too late.
So, upon hearing this news, he immediately set his sights on Jaemar Voss. He found an opportunity to recommend himself and demonstrated some of his abilities, successfully gaining the prince's trust.
In his own view, he was a man of real talent and ability. As long as he could change his identity and use the royal heir's influence to clean up his past, obtaining a noble title was a sure thing. After all, the royal family had no reason to reject someone like him—and with their power, it would be a trivial task to whitewash someone's background.
It was a good plan, practical and grounded—not some wild fantasy.
The only problem was… things weren't going according to plan.
The summoning ritual, which had cost him a literal bloodbath to prepare, was showing no reaction at all. That was fatal!
He had never encountered a situation where magic outright failed.
"The magical tomes clearly say that as long as the ritual is performed step by step, the chances of failure are virtually nonexistent!"
As he recited the incantation a second time, already thinking of how he could bluff the Crown Prince behind him, the magic circle suddenly began to emit a faint red glow. A strange and primal sense of dread rippled through the hearts of all living creatures nearby—an instinctual reaction to the presence of a higher-tier predator.
Their genes were screaming at them: something extremely dangerous was about to emerge!
Animals, with keener senses than humans, immediately began to panic.
Sleeping beasts awoke in terror and fled from their dens without hesitation. Birds shrieked sharply and took to the skies, leaving behind trails of droppings in their wake. Even the frogs and insects that normally croaked and chirped endlessly fell silent.
"…What is that…?"
After calming down his panicked warhorse with considerable effort, Duren stared at the increasingly brilliant glow from the distant magic circle. An unprecedented fear gripped him, and the hairs on his body stood on end.
His warhorse had been raised with the utmost care since birth—trained to remain fearless even on the battlefield, daring to retaliate against a charging lion. Yet now, before even seeing the creature within the summoning circle, the horse was trembling and nearly lost control of its bowels, staggering so badly that the baron almost fell from the saddle.
From behind came a chorus of crashes and startled cries.
Turning back, Duren saw that among the two hundred cavalrymen he had brought, only three or four warhorses were still barely managing to stand. The rest had either collapsed, refusing to rise no matter how their riders coaxed them, or were trying to bolt, dragging their handlers along.
Ignoring the chaos, Crown Prince Jaemar remained composed. Though he had been momentarily unbalanced when his mount began to thrash, his years of knight training allowed him to quickly steady himself and avoid any injury.
Strictly speaking, although Jaemar had never truly drawn his sword in open battle—having at most executed a few prisoners—his combat strength still ranked among the top three of all the knights present.
Thanks to excellent bloodlines.
The royal family had only ever married the strongest warriors or the most beautiful and intelligent individuals for centuries. After dozens of generations, such selective breeding left little room for incompetence.
Coupled with the best instructors in martial arts and access to rare and expensive resources, even an average descendant would become formidable with enough effort.
Were it not for the obligations of a crown prince—spending countless hours on literature, administration, and etiquette—Jaemar's strength would undoubtedly be far greater, reaching levels unimaginable to most.
Casting a glance at the ashen-faced Baron who was walking over to report the losses, Jaemar listened silently and then calmly nodded, pointing at the glowing summoning circle in the distance.
"What do you think is going to come out of that?"
Not understanding what prince was thinking, Duren hesitated before replying stiffly, "I'm not sure. I've slain many monsters myself, but none ever gave off such an overwhelming aura…"
"I may have an idea," Jaemar said slowly. "There's a record of a similar phenomenon in the royal family's ancient tomes. They called it an 'Abyssal Summoning.' It's said to summon demons."
"Demons?!" Duren's face instantly turned pale, as though he had seen a ghost.
Though monsters and demons were often lumped together in casual speech, they were fundamentally different beings.
Any creature that could wield magic was considered a monster—but demons were something else entirely.
According to the sacred teachings of the Church, demons were born to destroy. Wherever they appeared, they brought indiscriminate slaughter and ruin.
"Malice is their nature. Brutality is their instinct. There is no room for negotiation, no possibility of coexistence. They are enemies of all life, harbingers of death and annihilation. Slaughter is their greatest joy. Fear is their favorite feast. They will burn the world and lay all things to waste."
Just recalling these descriptions made Duren shiver. He couldn't imagine what such a creature looked like, but he knew one thing for sure—it was definitely no friend to mankind.
A trace of hesitation flashed across his face.
Jaemar seemed to see through him and shook his head. "Put away that idea. The royal records clearly state: once a summoning circle activates, it means the summoning has already begun. The demon from the Abyss has answered the call. At this point, even if you kill the ritual's caster, you won't stop the process. In fact, doing so will only cause the demon to go completely out of control, since no one will be able to command it. That would create an even bigger disaster."
Upon hearing this, the Baron, who had been moments away from defying orders to kill Tharion before the demon emerged, deflated like a pierced balloon. He had no choice but to give up on his plan.
To be honest, if Jaemar had known that Tharion's so-called plan to summon a powerful otherworldly being relied on demons, he would never have agreed to be involved. Demons were simply too unstable—too likely to go berserk.
Still, he wasn't overly concerned. He knew the summoning of a demon was only temporary. Tharion didn't have the power to make it permanent, nor could he summon anything truly powerful.
Every major demon-related disaster in history had been caused by top-tier summoners—individuals so strong they could destroy kingdoms on their own. According to Jaemar's knowledge, no one on that level had appeared in over 300 years.
Plus, the kind of sacrifices required to summon such powerful demons weren't something that could be satisfied with a few dozen prisoners.
So no matter how he looked at it, Tharion simply didn't have the means to cause a real catastrophe.
From Jaemar's perspective, the situation was a bit unexpected—but still manageable. As long as the demon didn't break free, it could actually be a pretty decent weapon.
He would soon regret thinking that.
Because what Jaemar had underestimated—or perhaps overestimated—was Tharion himself.
At that moment, Tharion, in the midst of his second incantation, saw the ritual finally respond. He immediately became energized and began chanting even more fervently.
The cultists beside him, having just witnessed this "miracle," became even more excited than him and chanted with wild devotion, as if their lives depended on it.
As if responding to their anticipation, fervor, and excitement, a sudden burst of flame erupted from the center of the magic circle.
The fire burned on the ground without consuming anything and gradually expanded into a ring. When the ring fully formed, a four-meter-tall flaming archway appeared above it.
Tharion couldn't see what lay beyond the arch, but he could sense a terrifyingly powerful presence approaching.
The next moment, a pillar of fire shot skyward from the plaza, and a figure stepped through the arch of flame.
The moment it appeared, an overwhelming stench of blood and gore filled the air. Compared to this, the dozens of corpses scattered around the plaza smelled like air freshener.
Tharion, Duren, Jaemar, and everyone else felt their hearts stop for a split second. An indescribable sense of mortal danger surged through them.
In that moment, Tharion instantly regretted everything.
He regretted ever coming to the Principality of Mardain.
Because as soon as Orsaga descended, Tharion realized a horrifying truth.
The creature before him wasn't even in the same category as the summons recorded in magical tomes. And worst of all—he had no control over it.
When Orsaga opened his eyes and lowered his head to look directly at him, Tharion felt a fear he had never known. Those cold, maddened eyes made him feel like a helpless rabbit being stared down by a lion. His heart pounded uncontrollably, and even his thoughts were paralyzed by terror.
Although this was only a projection, not Orsaga's true body, and carried no real power, the pressure and aura it exuded were no different from the real thing. No ordinary human could endure it.
Orsaga ignored the terrified insect before him and looked around the area.
'Good. No mages with tools. No clerics with holy water. No spies. A proper summoning.'
But something felt… off.
He glanced around with a puzzled expression.
Aside from the suspicious-looking humans and a pile of corpses, there was nothing else.
"Where are my sacrifices?"
"Don't tell me it's just those corpses on the ground?"
Excluding his summoners, Orsaga stared at the pitiful pile of bodies in confusion.
Sure, sacrifices weren't the main point of the ritual—but they were still a bonus. Where were they?
When he was being summoned, he had clearly sensed more—at least a thousand humans.
'Dozens of strong corpses? Fine. But just these? Not even a single soul?'
With that kind of offering, at best they could have summoned a barely-formed Minor Demon, and a pathetic one at that.
And yet here he was—a Lesser Demon, being called by this?
Still, no matter how he looked, there wasn't a single sacrifice worthy of his stature.
In his confusion, a possible explanation occurred to him.
An explanation that… actually made him a little excited.
So he turned his gaze downward and began carefully examining the runes etched into the magic circle beneath him, interpreting them one by one.
And just as he suspected—his guess was absolutely correct.
______
Hey everyone! 💫
If you're enjoying the story and want to support the translation, please consider voting with your Power Stones! 🌟
Every vote motivates me to keep bringing you more chapters, faster and better. Your support means the world!
Thanks for reading, and see you in the next chapter! 🙌