That afternoon, Alistair convened a meeting, summoning the chiefs and elders to a dimly lit room.
"What is it, Sir Alistair?" Chief Helga asked as she took her seat, her voice tinged with concern.
Alistair leaned forward, his face serious. "I also want the three of you to hear Reva's findings," he said, signaling Reva to begin. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the weary elf woman standing at the center.
Reva took a deep breath, her face etched with exhaustion. "From what we know a demon is the one behind all the attacks and the who controls the undeads, but we don't yet know its true identity or even its purpose."
"That's why we're here in Carowa," she continued. "When milord asked me to investigate, the first thing I did was gather information from the villagers. Two out of five pointed to the forest three kilometers east of the village."
"When we ventured deep into that forest," she began, her voice steady but heavy with the weight of their ordeal, "the first sign of trouble was the eerie stillness and the unnatural fog that hung heavy in the air. As we pressed on, we encountered a figure cloaked in tattered robes. It warned us to turn back."
A hush fell over the room as Reva paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. "We didn't turn back, but we even pushed deeper into the forest. That's where we came across an ominous altar covered in ancient runes and unknown symbols. As we approached the altar, a group of undeads began to emerge from the fog."
Chief Helga leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in concern. "Undead? In the middle of the day?" she repeated, her voice a mix of disbelief and fear.
"Yes," Reva confirmed, her tone grim. "But these undead were different—stronger and more intelligent than those that attacked yours and the other villages."
Alistair, his brow furrowed in thought, interjected, "Reva, why didn't the undead burn even though it was daytime?"
"I believe the fog was the reason," Reva replied. "As we delved deeper, the fog thickened, shielding the undead from the sunlight."
"That makes sense," Alistair said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "But what did you find at the altar?"
"There's a hidden chamber beneath it," Reva revealed. "Inside, we encountered a powerful figure cloaked in darkness—a lich. It controlled the undead and attempted to stop us from disrupting its magic. We fought fiercely, and with the help of our mages and priests, we managed to break the runes powering the dark magic."
Elder Olka, his expression grave, asked, "Did you defeat the lich?"
Reva nodded. "Yes, but it wasn't easy. The lich warned us that this was only the beginning. As we broke its hold, it disintegrated, but then the chamber started to collapse. We barely escaped with our lives."
Alistair, who had been listening intently, spoke up. "This lich—did it mention anything specific about what's to come?"
Reva shook her head. "No specifics. It just told us that we cannot defeat 'HIM,' implying there's someone or something else behind him."
Alistair's face hardened. "It's the demon. It might not be a lesser one but something more formidable."
Elder Olka nodded in agreement. "We need to research these symbols and the dark magic. There might be clues in ancient texts or forgotten lore."
Elder Erik, still deep in thought, added, "We also need to consider the possibility of traitors within the empire. If this threat is as powerful as it seems, it might have agents among us."
"If there's a spy, we must inform the empire immediately," Alistair said, his voice tense with urgency.
"No, not yet," Chief Helga countered, her voice firm. "That would only alert the spy. We should continue the investigation first."
"Chief Helga's suggestion is sound," Elder Erik agreed, his voice calm but resolute.
"Then let's proceed. Finding the truth is our priority," Alistair said, concluding the meeting. The leaders nodded in unison, a silent pact forming among them.
The next day, back in the forest, Reva and her team resumed their investigation, now accompanied by Alistair and the village chiefs and elders. The forest was eerily quiet, the fog still lingering like a shroud. They moved cautiously, every step measured, every sound scrutinized.
As they pored over ancient texts and consulted with the village's scholars, a clearer picture of the unknown symbol began to emerge. It was an ancient language, far older than any of them had realized, with roots that stretched deep into the history of their world. The symbols were complex, their meanings layered and obscure, but slowly, they began to decipher them.
"We need to understand the symbols and the rituals," Elder Olka said, his voice filled with determination. "There must be something in our history that can help us."
Reva nodded, her resolve hardening. "We will find it. We must."
Days turned into weeks as they delved deeper into their research. The more they uncovered, the more they realized the scope of the threat they faced. This was no ordinary dark magic—it was the work of a powerful demon, a being of immense power and malevolence.
As they gathered around the table once more, Reva presented their findings. "We believe the demon we're dealing with is a primordial one, known as Sataniel."
Elder Erik's face paled. "Sataniel? If the legends are true, we are in grave danger. My mother told me that in the shadowy abyss of Mesphelheim, where the infernal fires burn eternally and the skies are forever shrouded in dark, roiling clouds, reigns Sataniel, the Lord of Wrath. His dominion is a vast, hellish landscape of molten rock, sulfurous fumes, and rivers of searing lava that form the lifeblood of his realm. As the Demon King, Sataniel commands legions of twisted, malevolent beings, each more terrifying than the last.
"Sataniel's origins are shrouded in mystery, a tale whispered among the oldest of demons. Some say he was born from the very essence of wrath itself, a primal force that coalesced into a being of immense power and rage. Others believe he was once an archangel who fell from grace, consumed by his insatiable thirst for vengeance and dominance. Regardless of his beginnings, Sataniel's rise to power was marked by a trail of destruction and conquest.
"He seized the throne of Mesphelheim through sheer brutality and unmatched strength, overthrowing the previous Demon King Baal in a cataclysmic battle that shook the very foundations of the infernal plane. His victory was absolute, and his coronation was heralded by the anguished screams of those who dared oppose him.
"His power is legendary, even among the other six demon lords. He wields control over the element of fire, summoning infernos and forging weapons of unimaginable heat. His roar can incite uncontrollable fury in the hearts of mortals and demons alike, turning them into berserkers who fight until their last breath. In battle, he wields a massive, flaming warhammer, a weapon said to be forged from the core of a dying star.
"Under Sataniel's rule, Mesphelheim has become a crucible of endless war and suffering. He revels in the chaos and carnage, constantly pitting his demonic subjects against each other in brutal gladiatorial contests to weed out the weak and forge the strong. His domain is a place where only the most ruthless and powerful survive, and those who earn his favor are granted positions of power and authority within his infernal court.
"Sataniel's influence extends beyond Mesphelheim, reaching into the mortal realm through cults and dark pacts. Those who seek his power must offer sacrifices and perform heinous acts of violence to prove their worth. In return, they are granted a fraction of his might, enough to wreak havoc and spread his doctrine of wrath and vengeance."
Sataniel's legacy is one of relentless fury and unending strife. His name is a curse on the lips of mortals and a rallying cry for those who embrace the chaos of wrath. Heroes and champions from across the realms have attempted to challenge him, seeking to end his reign of terror, but none have succeeded. His existence is a constant threat, a dark force that looms over all, waiting for the moment to unleash his wrath upon the world.
Yet, even in his dominion of fire and fury, whispers of rebellion and dissent grow. Some believe that Sataniel's insatiable rage will be his undoing, that his own wrath will consume him in the end. Until that day comes, Sataniel, Lord of Wrath and Demon King of Mesphelheim, remains an indomitable force of destruction, a being of pure, unyielding rage.
"How does your mother know this kind of story?" Alistair asked.
"I don't know she only told me the lore." Erik replied with confusion in his eyes.
"I think we really need to inform the empire," Chief Helga said urgently to break the dense atmosphere.
Meanwhile, in Mesphelheim, Sataniel watched them with amusement. "They've discovered my identity. I suppose I shouldn't have left those tracks," he mused, laughing maliciously. "But no matter, my objective is already accomplished. The undead attack was just a distraction, right, Lucifiel? Oh, my mistake again, Laura the Prideful traitor."
Back on the surface, another caravan arrived at Carowa, but their purpose differed from Alistair's. The leader of the group, Knight Captain Irst Claus, brought news from the capital.
In the village square, bustling with activity, Irst Claus's voice rang out, "Where's Sir Alistair?"
The villagers paused, turning their attention to the knight captain standing tall amidst them.
Alistair, engrossed in the meeting's aftermath, heard his name called from the square. Curiosity piqued, he made his way to the door and opened it, stepping out into the sunlight that bathed the village square.
"Who called me?" Alistair inquired, scanning the crowd until his gaze settled on Irst Claus.
The knight captain hurried towards him, the urgency evident in his stride. He knelt before Alistair, a sign of respect and the weight of the news he bore. "Milord, the king orders your return. The investigation shall be halted," Irst declared solemnly.
Alistair's brows furrowed in surprise and concern. "Why so sudden?"
Irst Claus looked up at him, his expression grave. "The war is starting."
"What?" Alistair exclaimed, disbelief and worry creasing his features.
"Yes, milord," Irst confirmed, his voice steady despite the gravity of the news. "The king requires your presence immediately. We are to prepare for war."
Alistair glanced back at the meeting room, his mind racing with the implications. "But what about the investigation here? The threat we uncovered—"
Chief Helga, having overheard, approached them with a somber expression. "You must go, Sir Alistair. The safety of the empire comes first. We have managed to secure our village and uncover the identity of the demon. The rest will have to be entrusted to others."
Alistair nodded reluctantly, his duty clear despite his reluctance to leave. "Prepare for departure," he instructed his teams, the weight of the decision heavy upon him.
In the ensuing hours, Carowa bustled with activity as preparations for Alistair's departure were hastily made. Supplies were gathered, horses were saddled, and farewells were exchanged amidst an air of solemn determination.
As dusk settled over the village, Alistair stood at the edge of Carowa, gazing out towards the horizon where the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and crimson. Beside him, Chief Helga and Irst Claus joined him silently, their faces etched with concern and resolve.
"You have been a stalwart protector of our village, Sir Alistair," Chief Helga said, her voice tinged with gratitude. "May the gods watch over you in the days to come."
Alistair nodded, a mixture of gratitude and determination in his eyes. "Thank you, Chief Helga. I will do everything in my power to ensure our homeland remains safe."
Irst Claus stepped forward, handing Alistair a sealed scroll. "This contains the king's orders and strategic details. It is imperative that you reach the capital swiftly."
Alistair accepted the scroll with a nod of acknowledgment. "I understand, Knight Captain. You have my word."
With a final exchange of nods, Alistair mounted his steed, his trusted companions and fellow knights readying themselves alongside him. As they rode out of Carowa under the cloak of night, the village watched in silence, their hopes and fears intertwined with the departing figures silhouetted against the fading twilight.
Somewhere in the village, Sasa was frantically searching for Hiro. "Hiro, where are you?" she called out, her voice echoing through the empty streets. Receiving no response, she entered Hiro's home, hoping to find him there. She pushed open the door and found Hiro packing his belongings.
"Hiro, you're leaving?" Sasa asked, her voice a mix of surprise and concern.
Startled, Hiro turned to face her. "Sasa! Yes, I'm leaving."
"Do Gin and the others know you're leaving?" Sasa asked, her voice betraying her hurt.
"Only Gin," Hiro admitted, his shoulders slumping slightly.
Sasa's eyes filled with tears. "I'm very upset, Hiro. I'm also your friend. Why didn't you tell me too?"
Hiro's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Sasa. I planned to tell you before I left. I'm very sorry."
"No, it's fine," Sasa said as she wiped her tears. "But next time, you need to tell me too."
"Okay," Hiro said.
"Okay. Anyway, I'll help you pack. Yours is a mess," Sasa said, managing a small smile. "So, tomorrow is your departure. Where are you heading?"
"The North," Hiro answered, his eyes distant, filled with determination and a hint of uncertainty about the journey ahead.