Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Victory

Vanian Year 1104

 

The dreaded Demon King died with all the dignity and grace of a dog.

 

In the dimly lit bedchamber, the Demon King was slumped over his desk - eyes wide open in surprise, his face illuminated by a lone candle. The warm crackling of braziers were punctuated by the sound of blood dripping onto the floor, pooling around the desk. Prince Julius carefully sidestepped the blood and leaned over to pull his dagger out of the Demon King’s head.

 

Marianne von Edelhardt-Schönau was born on the eve of war. Seventeen years ago, a tide of darkness swept across Creation - the Crescent Alliance. The demon continent of Gehenna had unified directly under the noses of the human realms, and their conquest came without warning. Hundreds upon thousands of demons and monsters landed on the shores of Vania, bringing with them blight and devastation.

 

One by one, the human realms fell under the relentless march of demonkind. The Crescent Alliance seemed unstoppable until the human realms finally responded with their own unified front - the Solar Alliance.

 

It must’ve been no more than three years ago, that right after his coming-of-age at fifteen, did Prince Julius flee from his royal home to undertake a self-given quest to defeat the Demon King. Marianne could understand the sentiment - after all, Julius was only the third prince, he must’ve wanted to prove himself. 

 

At first, Marianne had believed that it was her duty as his betrothed to endure the anxiety of being separated from her husband-to-be. That was, until she heard the rumours that Prince Julius had run off without royal sanction. That changed matters, because if the prince was to die on his suicidal mission, then it would be the duty of his betrothed to shoulder the responsibility. Marianne would become a cursed bride, whose partner had died before they even got married.

 

She would fail in the single duty she had to her family. 

 

So on the eve of nightfall Marianne had a change of heart, and stole away into the night to join him. In hindsight, it was not the brightest decision she could’ve made - after all, she had only been a fourteen-year-old girl with nary even the slightest inkling of martial experience.

 

On their journey, they had scaled white-peaked mountains and crossed the unforgiving sea. They had picked up many a hand willing to aid their noble cause, of which too many she did not know the fate of. Finally, they set foot in the demonic capital, Babel - but only four of them made it.

 

Looking at the still-warm corpse of the Demon King, however, she couldn’t help but feel some pride at their accomplishment. Now that Prince Julius has achieved his long-cherished dream of defeating the Demon King, all that is left is to return to Neuchatel in triumph, and celebrate the victory of mankind.

 

But that was for the future, not now. Despite the joyous mood welling up in their party, Marianne knew there was no time for rejoicing - they were still deep in the heart of Gehenna, leagues away from the Solar Alliance.

 

“We aren’t done yet,” Marianne said firmly, “No celebrating until we leave Babel, and Gehenna.”

 

“Come on, Maria!” Lucien cried, “We just killed the Demon King. Killed! Loosen up a little!”

 

Sir Lucien, a wandering knight of Fierueux. Marianne knew him to be a well-meaning soul, blessed with all the flowery charm a man of the west would have. The man was ever the romantic, and she could not help but wonder if all western chivalry would be like him. Nevertheless, he was a cunning man, she knew, and for all his languid bearings the man’s mind was as sharp as his blade.

 

“Your Highness,” Marianne ignored him anyway, “Please cut off the Demon King’s head.”

 

“Eh?” Hildegard flinched, “Why does he have to do such a disgusting thing?”

 

“The sheltered Saintess might not know, but it is custom to return the enemy’s head in order to prove that they have been defeated,” Marianne explained, “If we return shouting we have killed the Demon King without proof, the people would think us mad-as-hares.”

 

“But His Highness is the prince!” Hildegard cried, “And I’m the Saintess! Aren’t our words proof enough?”

 

“Indeed,” the prince sniffed, “Why would I have to prove anything? I wouldn’t ever tell a lie like this.”

 

Prince Julius was naive yet, but it wasn’t Marianne’s place to say that. Humans were fickle - they can doubt, and they can be doubted. Not only that, but it must be impressed upon the Crescent Alliance that their leader was truly dead. 

 

“Presenting the Demon King’s head to the royal court would also most certainly give glory to your name, Your Highness,” Marianne tried.

 

The prince’s eyes widened, “Really?”

 

He stepped forward, and in a single swing of his silver blade he separated the Demon King's head from his body. Marianne gingerly picked up the head and inspected it - by all accounts, she would've thought the Demon King to be human if it was not for his four horns. Starting at his temples, one pair curved forwards and upwards, while the other pair curved backwards - making a crown-like shape that wreathed his head.

 

Marianne wrinkled her nose in distaste, and shoved the head in a sack. 

 

"What a barbaric practice - truly, you easterners…" Sir Lucien scrunched his face, "Discarding that thought, there must be many more riches here, yes?"

 

The knight made a show of looking around the Demon King's room. The bedchamber was remarkably bare for the lord of an empire, for Marianne daresay her own room back home was far more furnished than this.

 

“We must be light on our feet if we are to escape unseen,” she shook her head, “We have succeeded in cutting off the head of the snake, let us not get over ourselves.”

 

“Ah- look over here! Isn’t this the Demon King’s sword?”

 

Marianne turned around to see Prince Julius carefully holding up a bejewelled longsword, which’s blade was of murky grey, rippling with shimmering white waves. Indeed, it was a fortunate find - should the Demon King’s head be insufficient, nobody would be able to deny his personal weapon. After all, even Marianne - who was not blessed by the divines, could feel the pulsing waves of miracles imbued in the blade.

 

While the rest of her companions were admiring the sword, Marianne was more drawn to the desk of the Demon King. She saw many parchments, but could not read the demons’ unearthly script - instead her eyes were taken by a more recognisable object. Gingerly picking up the unassuming piece from the table, she found it of a different design to what she was familiar with - but knew it to have the same purpose. A seal.

 

A nondescript block of redwood, lacquered over. But it was the bottom of which was most valuable - a metal sheet, stamped with the signet of the Crescent Alliance. A quartered shield and skull, supported by two great beasts - clearly displaying all the symbols of the allied demon races.

 

Marianne wordlessly pocketed the object.

 

“Now,” she said, catching their attention, “We must make haste, and leave the city before the sun rises.”

 

They exited the room into the gallery. As Sir Lucien slowly closed the door behind them, Marianne glanced around for guards. 

 

There were none.

 

It was truly strange that there weren’t any permanent guards stationed at their king’s chambers, but she could hear the marching of the night patrol echoing down the gallery nonetheless. Marianne forced herself to remain calm and analyse the situation. The gallery was a single hallway, and the footsteps were coming from their right. If they travel left, they should make it to the platform from which they snuck in.

 

Turning around to tell the others of her plan, Marianne’s eyes suddenly widened when she saw that Prince Julius and Sir Lucien had their hands on their swords. She deftly reached over to stop them, but it was too late. The ringing of steel being drawn echoed throughout the hallway, and Marianne silently winced at the terribly loud noise in the dead of night.

 

Julius wielded a langschwert with a leather sheath, but Sir Lucien used an estoc with a metal sheath - which was the culprit of the noise.

 

The steady sound of marching suddenly turned into frantic hammering of boots against stone. Well, now that this was the case, their best option was to let Julius and Lucien kill the patrols and escape before anyone else notices.

 

Saintess Hildegard swiftly called upon a blessing, imbuing the two men with the strength of arms. 

 

The moment the horned-heads rounded the corner, Julius and Lucien set upon them like lions. Sir Lucien fought beautifully, dancing in his metal plate most gracefully, the point of his blade hunting down the weak points in the horned-heads’ armour. Prince Julius, on the other hand, fought like a man possessed - with one hand on the hilt of his sword and other halfway up his blade, he cut down his foes easily.

 

Within a moment, the patrols were dispatched.

 

“Please step away from the blood,” Marianne finally got out, “We do not want to be tracked.”

 

“Ah!” Sir Lucien danced away from the pooling blood, “Most sharp, my lady.”

 

Without any more obstacles, they swiftly ran in the direction Marianne had planned. As expected, they came across a large sculpted archway that led to an open-air platform. Stepping under the blue moonlight, beheld the vast capital of Gehenna. Babel carpeted the land like a sea of lights, its outskirts straddling the colossal River Hinnom. Distant settlements and towns raised along the banks of the river created adjacent golden ribbons that flowed alongside the black waters of the River Hinnom.

 

Just leaning over the edge of the platform, the terraced foundations of the Tower of Babel could hardly be perceived through the darkness, and the gloom seemed to boil and swirl in her eyes. Marianne hastily stumbled backwards before she lost her balance.

 

There was a sudden jolt, and the platform began rumbling down the side of the Tower along grooves carved into the structure’s surface. 

 

After several long minutes, the platform hit the bottom with a thump. The Tower of Babel was designed in such a way that the bottom floors were stepped, tapering until it became a sheer vertical wall. Since the platform only stopped at the bottom of the vertical, they now had to sneak down the terraces, using the criss-crossing stairways and arches that defined the Tower’s foundation.

 

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As usual, there were only a handful of patrols. It was truly strange, in Marianne’s mind - did the Crescent Alliance believe their homeland to be so impregnable against agents and spies? Or did they simply believe that none could be so foolhardy as to infiltrate their capital?

 

Was it pride, or necessity? Because another explanation could be that all their troops were already on the continent of Vania, fighting on the frontlines.

 

Alas, this was no time to dwell on fortunate tidings. 

 

Because the bells were tolling, each mighty clang sending shockwaves throughout the city. With an overwhelming ringing sensation in her ears, Marianne could only watch in rising dread as the Tower of Babel came alive - every archway and fanlight bursting to golden light as shouts rang out across the night sky. 

 

It was Sir Lucien who snapped to his senses first, quickly grabbing them by the arms and throwing them down the stairs.

 

Catching herself, Marianne swiftly stumbled down the stairs, leaping over multiple flights at a time. Demons seemed to emerge from the darkness, the gloom curling off their steel-clad forms. Saintess Hildegard wasted no time in blessing them with the swiftness of wind, and together they danced through the blockade, evading the guards. Racing into the city, they hastily threw their hoods on and let themselves be swallowed by the growing crowds drawn from their homes by the bells.

 

Sir Lucien led the way, his deft eyes scanning the twisting and winding streets of Babel. Inconspicuously moving through the crowd, they quickly cut into a sidealley and began tracing their steps back to their hideout. 

 

The truth was, they would’ve never been able to assassinate the Demon King without help from someone familiar with the city. It was fortunate, then, that Babel was filled with human slaves all eager to help their cause. It is indeed so that amidst the lands of Gehenna, their party had come across many, many slaves from Vania. Due to the vast armies the Crescent Alliance was fielding, Marianne had to guess that there was a substantial manpower void on Gehenna itself, which must’ve necessitated the capturing of slaves.

 

Yet in the end, Marianne was able to create a simple network using these slaves, in anticipation of their return journey. With these holdouts scattered across Gehenna, at least they could safely trace their path back to the continent’s western coast. 

 

After all, compared to the rest of Prince Julius’ companions, Marianne was dead weight. She was no knight or warrior, nor was she a cultist like the saintess, who could call upon miracles to great effect.

 

Marianne was an educated noble however - albeit a minor one. The House of Edelhart-Schönau were minor counts in the Kingdom of Reichenau, from which she was born into. With her meagre understanding of finances and diplomacy, Marianne had somewhat successfully funded and fed their party until they entered the Crescent Alliance’s territory.

 

Once they did, however, she was effectively useless once more. Thus, this small effort was the least she could do. 

 

Navigating to the outskirts of Babel, the urban environs of hovels opened up into vast fields of wheat that fed the city. It seemed that even demons ate bread and grain, for all the stories of their savagery on the battlefield - feasting upon the corpses of the dead and such. 

 

They swiftly entered a livestock barn that sat between the fields and the city, and barred the doors behind them. The smell of stagnant air, animal faeces, and dried hay greeted them like a speeding carriage. Marianne consciously breathed through her mouth as several figures emerged from behind the wooden beams.

 

“Y-Your Highness…?” one man called out hesitantly.

 

“I’ve returned,” Prince Julius confirmed, “We have taken the Demon King’s head.”

 

“Oh-!” a noticeable sigh of relief rippled outwards, “Good, good. Quickly, take off your arms and armour and hide them under the haystacks!”

 

“Can’t we leave the city tonight?” Julius asked, “The horses are ready, right? And the sooner we leave, the better.”

 

“You were noticed, Your Highness,” the slave, Marcel, swallowed, “We saw the horned-heads marching out to set blockades on all the roads out of Babel. We heard from our friends at the port that no ship is allowed to leave - the entire River Hinnom has been closed.”

 

Marcel was a Caroline, from the western kingdoms of Vania. As such, by all accounts he was a countryman of Lucien’s. Except, Marcel was born in Gehenna - his father was a farmer-turned-soldier who was captured early in the war. Marcel has told them that his father had died of exhaustion, leaving him, his mother, and his younger sister alone. 

 

With the help of their friends working in the city proper, they had provided their party with shelter and food, as well as intimate knowledge of the workings of Babel - guard shifts, patrol routes, and every nook, cranny, and street they knew of. Without their help, Prince Julius would’ve never been able to set foot in the Tower of Babel at all, much less stick a knife in the Demon King’s head.

 

Settling down in a dark corner, Prince Julius and Sir Lucien stripped themselves of their arms and buried them under the haystacks. The mother, Margareta, shared with them some canteens of water and stale bread, to which they eagerly feasted upon to satiate their hunger and thirst. The little girl, Marie, stared up at them with wide eyes, greedily looking at the food in their hands.

 

Marianne looked around, and suddenly realised that they were eating their food, and that the slaves would go hungry for the night. Splitting her bread in two, she offered one half to the little girl.

 

“I’m not so starved,” she lied, “Can you take half for me?”

 

Little Marie was delighted, and quickly snatched the bread from her hands. Lady Margareta looked apologetic, but she had no reason to - this food originally belonged to them, after all. Glancing around, she found Julius and Hildegard busy indulging themselves, blissfully unaware. Sir Lucien, on the other hand, was staring at her strangely as if he was confused by her actions.

 

“How shall we leave this place?” Marianne finally asked, “What do you suppose, Mister Marcel?”

 

“I don’t know…” Marcel shook his head despondently, “Even putting aside that the entire city is under lockdown… it will be difficult.”

 

“Damn it all,” Julius muttered, “We don’t have any time to waste!”

 

Marianne felt like pointing out that it was his fault for engaging the patrols back in the Tower, for if they had not the Demon King’s death likely wouldn’t be realised until morning. Alas, there was no point in dwelling on the past, they had to make do with what they had now. Besides, she had many of her own mistakes before - Marianne could hardly count the number of times she had held the party back.

 

“Your Highness,” Marcel said, “There are three ways out of Babel. First is on the River Hinnom, by stowing away on a boat to the sea. Second is by tracing your steps, and taking the southern road to Ophir.”

 

Marianne was well aware of those two choices. But even despite the lockdown, both posed major challenges. First, the River Hinnom flowed east, not west. If they hid themselves on a ship bound for Vania, they would have to survive for many moons as the ship circumnavigated the entire northern half of Gehenna. 

 

Second, was that there was a massive lake between Babel here and the western coast. The only safe way to cross the lake was through the city of Ophir at the southern tip of the lake, where it connected to a river. Ophir boasted the only bridge across the river, and would close said bridge once they heard about the Demon King’s death. Even the slaves that helped them before in Ophir would be useless. Furthermore, once they passed this barrier, they still had to cross the massive mountain range that spanned north to south across the entire continent.

 

“The last option,” Marcel hesitated, “Would be to take the northern road, and travel around the entire mountain range.”

 

Through leagues upon leagues of hostile territory, Marianne added in her mind. Utterly impossible. They would have to travel to the northern tip of the continent, before travelling halfway south to the port town which they first arrived in. Impossible.

 

“I see no other choice but to risk the road back to Ophir,” Sir Lucien leaned into the haystack behind him, “At the very least, we still have friends there who could help us.”

 

“...I agree,” Prince Julius finally said.

 

“Perhaps the roads will be opened soon,” Marianne suggested, “If the demons don’t want to spread the news about the Demon King’s death, they should quickly lighten up the restrictions or else rumours will spread.”

 

“You speak as if demons have the same sense as humans, my lady,” Sir Lucien pointed out.

 

“They built this city,” Marianne countered, “And they field the largest army in the world. How could they not?”

 

“There’s no need to worry, Your Highness,” Marcel interjected, “Tomorrow, the roads will surely open.”

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

The Caroline grinned, “Do not underestimate what we slaves can do?”

 

Sir Lucien suddenly sat up, his body rigid, “Are you saying you will cause a distraction - a riot? Many of you will die!”

 

Marianne eyed the knight carefully. Of course, Sir Lucien was a Caroline knight - and Marianne had heard many a tale about the honour of the west. Of course he would feel honourbound to protect the innocent, the slaves. Only, he was a wandering knight - or a hedge knight, as her people called them - not bound to any master or lord. Marianne had seen many a horror caused by hedge knights on their journey out of Vania, for those men had taken advantage of the chaos brought by the war to bandit and loot.

 

“A distraction, yes,” Marcel said, “But not one of such a scale. Rest tonight, and leave early tomorrow - the roads will be open, just leave it to me.”

 

“I wish I could bless you with fortune, Mister Marcel,” Saintess Hildegard said despondently, “But I fear I have no standing with the divines of those kinds.”

 

“Your prayers are enough, my lady,” Marcel bowed his head, “Come, all of you must rest. Tomorrow will be a long day for you, so I shall take watch over the night.” 

 

Indeed, Marianne can already feel the exhaustion creeping up on her. As she sunk herself into the bedding of hay, she could see Marie snuggling into her mother’s arms as Marcel stood up and walked away to stand guard. 

 

As she drifted off into the land of dreams, Marianne witnessed a city of marble set alight.

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