I Was a Loner, but My Class Got Summoned to Another World…-Chapter 305: Gathering of Demons

The demon generals gathered in one place, the weight of Dravor and Zyphor's defeat pressing upon them. None had expected such a setback this early in the war against the heroes.

Each demon sat upon a crudely crafted pedestal, shaped from earth, ice, or wood—formed according to their preferred magic. But Morax, master of space manipulation, chose to float, reclining in midair as though seated on an invisible throne of pure energy.

Despite his calm demeanor, every general in the room knew the truth—Morax was the most furious. The scarcity of mana had forced him to pour his own reserves into completing the grand-scale spell, leaving him dangerously drained.

The only saving grace in this disaster was that one of the heroes had been infused with enough mana to provide the final surge they needed to finish the ritual.

His voice cut through the tension.

"Can someone explain why I had to spend four hundred years' worth of mana fixing what two idiots failed to accomplish?!" Morax's tone was razor-sharp, his irritation barely restrained.

"If it was going to come to this," he continued, "we might as well have sacrificed Dravor and Zyphor outright. That alone would've given us enough mana to open even more gates!"

His words echoed through the chamber, his frustration palpable. His body trembled slightly, the strain of mana depletion weakening him to the point of feeling like a mortal.

Morax had always been ruthless, but unlike some of the others, he dressed in robes, preferring the appearance of a priest over that of a warrior—a facade that hid his true nature.

"Enough," Valker interjected, exasperation clear in his tone.

"We all sacrificed half our reserves just to complete the summoning."

Valker, the full-blooded vampire, had carved his legend into the Red Iron Republic, terrorizing its people while the heroes fought in the Pearl Isles.

Only retreating after absorbing enough mana, he had wiped out eight thousand troops, adding his own forces into the count—bringing the total souls claimed to thirteen thousand.

His appearance was a contradiction—delicate yet dangerously alluring, his thin yet imposing figure drawing admiration from both genders. Few in the room could rival his longevity, marking him as one of the oldest of his kind.

"Relax, everyone. We all contributed to finishing what we started," Zaryx said with a sneer, casually swirling the wine in his goblet as the others glared at him.

"This was unexpected, sure, but let's not forget—the hero summoning forced us to accelerate our plan. What was meant to unfold four years from now has already begun, and in the end, we reached our goal ahead of schedule. The loss of those two? Expected."

His dismissive tone did little to ease the tension in the room.

Xerath, the red-skinned demon, shifted on the massive stone boulder he had summoned from his dimensional space. Thick and jagged, the rock served as both his seat and his altar—a place where sacrificial offerings stained the surface with fountains of blood.

He leaned forward, his voice deep and commanding.

"So—how is the ritual? When will the lord and the others be summoned?" The red-skinned demon's voice carried a sharp edge of impatience.

"I've repeated the procedure four times," Morax replied, his tone unwavering. "It will happen when the moons align—two months from now. Until then, continue your attacks. The lord will require vast amounts of mana upon arrival. We must prepare a feast for him."

The words carried an almost religious fervor, Morax speaking as though he were a devoted follower of an almighty deity.

Valker scoffed, regarding the robed demon with undisguised disdain. He cared nothing for the demon king—the so-called lord of the blue-skinned demons. His only concern was his own people.

"I trust you'll remember my reward for taking part in all of this," the senior vampire interjected, reminding Morax of their agreement.

"Yes, yes," Morax muttered, frustration clear. "Word has been sent—your clan will be brought, unharmed and well cared for."

He despised dealing with the self-centered vampire—a creature that cared little for their true ruler. Vampires were but a minor tribe in the demon world, yet Valker carried himself as if he were an equal.

Morax's eyes darkened as he turned to Azrag, his voice filled with accusation.

"And Elondra? Have you found the traitorous wench yet?" His expression twisted with frustration. "You've spent seven years within the empire, and still she eludes you! Have you forgotten your role as a hunter?"

The space around him cracked with energy, his patience nearing its limit.

Azrag remained unfazed. He spit blood onto the ground—the liquid sizzling upon contact, its acidic properties forcing the others to step away.

"Did you forget? We have no leader. I pursued the thieving succubus out of my own accord," Azrag growled. "That you chose to divide the covenant in two—that is not my problem. If you truly understood the secrets the empire holds, perhaps you'd realize why she remains beyond your grasp."

"Have I not warned you, viper, to keep your venom to yourself?" Zaryx muttered, pulling his foot back instinctively.

"Let's just get to business. We have tasks to complete, and lingering here will only lead to another fight."

The memory lingered—last time the viper spat, the venom had landed on Dravor's tail, igniting a brutal battle between the two that raged for four days before ending in a draw.

The viper and dragon had always clashed, their rivalry unrelenting. But now that the dragon was no more, the viper's ego had surged higher than ever.

Morax, still brooding over the future, spoke with cold calculation.

"What is there to discuss? We need to kill at least two more heroes to present to the lord. Either that—or sacrifice thirty thousand low-leveled humans. I refuse to offer anything less to our king."

Morax's words carried a weight the other demons accepted, especially Valker, who had tasted the blood of a hero after draining his mana to near depletion. He loathed the fact that his victim had been a boy, eagerly anticipating the arrival of one of the female heroes who had been summoned.

"Say, Zaryx, didn't you have an informant within the heroes?" Valker asked, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "What happened to the lass?" His tongue flicked over his lips, making his intentions clear.

"Oh, that one?" Zaryx mused with mock amusement. "She was probably found out." He leaned back, casually swirling his goblet of wine, a smirk forming. "But my prized creation—the hero of taming—is doing well these days."

Xerath let out a deep laugh, pulling out his own goblet to drink alongside him.

"Prized creation? You haven't done much for the kid," he scoffed.

"Of course I have," Zaryx countered, his smirk deepening. "Did I kill him? No. And I led him north, didn't I? Made sure he stumbled upon the vampire mine—and turned him into the strongest hero of them all."

He chuckled to himself, thinking about what the boy was likely doing now while looking at Valker's response to the fake vampire experiment the humans created.

Zaryx chuckled as he recalled more information.

Last he heard, the hero had made his way to the Red Iron Republic, no doubt searching for rare creatures. Given the landscape, there was only one true prize the desert could offer—the hydra.

Morax sighed, his exhaustion creeping into his voice.

"Let's end this here. We will meet when the moons align, and when we have gathered enough mana to welcome our lord."

The hunt would begin again soon. Morax had already sacrificed much, but to restore his mana, he would need to go out and enter the war.