Demon King After the End-Chapter 35

The morning sun beat down on the training grounds, but unlike a month ago, the demons standing in formation weren’t gaunt or shaking from hunger. Their muscles were filling out, their skin had regained its natural sheen, and their eyes held the sharp focus of predators.

But there was a problem.

CRACK.

A sharp, splintering sound echoed across the field.

Leon watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, as a young demon sprawled into the dirt, clutching a bruised arm. Standing over him was Gorran, holding a massive wooden club.

On the ground lay the remains of a shield—shattered into jagged pieces of rusted iron.

"Pathetic!" Gorran roared, tossing the club aside. "You call that a defense? A stiff breeze would have punched through that guard!"

The young demon scrambled up, flushing with embarrassment. "It... it wasn’t me, Commander! The shield just—"

"I know!" Gorran interrupted, his voice thick with frustration. He kicked a shard of the metal. It crumbled into flakes of rust against his boot.

Leon stepped down from the viewing platform, his boots crunching on the gravel. "At ease, Gorran."

The minotaur turned and bowed his head slightly, though his scowl remained. "Your Majesty."

Leon picked up a piece of the broken shield. It was light, brittle. "Oxidation. Metal fatigue. This thing belongs in a museum, not a battlefield."

"Everything we have belongs in a scrap heap," Gorran grumbled, gesturing to the rows of soldiers. "Look at them. We have food now. We have water. We have walls. But we’re arming them with farming tools and scavenged trash. If a human patrol comes... or a beast horde... we can’t fight them with pitchforks and rotted iron."

Leon tossed the scrap metal aside. Gorran was right.

They had stabilized the Kingdom’s belly, but its claws were dull. The dark elves had brought agriculture, and the system had provided sanitation, but neither of those produced swords.

"We need a forge," Leon said. "And ore."

"The old mines were collapsed by the humans fifty years ago," Gorran replied grimly. "And we don’t have a blacksmith worth his salt. The goblins can tinker, but they can’t forge fortress steel."

As if waiting for that specific keyword, a familiar mechanical chime rang in Leon’s mind.

Ding!

A blue translucent screen materialized in front of him.

[System Notification: Resource Scarcity Detected]

[Analysis: Territory Defense Rating is Critical (F-).] [Current Status: The populace is fed, but defenseless.]

[New Mission Unlocked: The Iron Grave] ➤ Location: The Forgotten Armory of Vulk (15km North). ➤ Description: An ancient demonic ore refinement site and armory abandoned during the Great War. It is rich in Iron and Mana-Steel veins but is currently overrun by dungeon inhabitants. ➤ Objective: Clear the dungeon and claim the territory. ➤ Rewards:

Ownership of the Iron/Mana-Steel Vein.

[Blueprint: Demonic Blast Furnace].

[Unlock: Blacksmithing Facility].

+2000 System Points.

Leon’s lips curved into a smirk. "Well, ask and you shall receive."

He turned to Gorran. "Gather a small team. We’re going out."

Gorran’s ears perked up. "A raid?"

"A supply run," Leon corrected, eyes gleaming. "I found us some iron."

An hour later, the team was assembled at the northern gate.

Leon decided to keep the group small and elite. He needed speed, not a caravan.

"Are we really bringing the weed?" Gorran asked, eyeing the tiny figure hovering above Leon’s shoulder.

"I am not a weed!" Mora shrieked, glowing an angry lime green. "I am a high-ranking spirit of nature! I can strangle you in your sleep with poison ivy!"

"Relax, Mora," Leon said, adjusting his leather gauntlets. "Gorran, stop antagonizing the support."

Besides Gorran (the tank) and Mora (support/light), Leon had summoned one more retainer.

A shadow detached itself from the castle wall and solidified into a humanoid shape.

Brahmir. The Shadow Demon.

He was lean, wrapped in dark, tattered cloth that seemed to smoke in the sunlight. His face was hidden beneath a hood, revealing only glowing white eyes. He held twin daggers that looked wicked, though pitted with age.

"Your Majesty," Brahmir rasped, his voice like dry leaves skittering on stone. "I am ready."

"Good," Leon nodded. "Brahmir, you’re on point. I need eyes ahead. Gorran, you’re the vanguard. Mora, keep us buffed and light up the dark spots."

"And you, Majesty?" Gorran asked, hefting his chipped battle-axe.

Leon smiled, a dark glint in his crimson eyes. "I’m going to test out a new trick."

He opened his status window and glanced at the class he hadn’t had a chance to use properly yet.

[Class: Necromancer] Current summons: 0/10

"Let’s move."

The journey north took them out of the lush, terraformed zone of the Garden of Bloom and back into the scorching wasteland.

The contrast was jarring. One moment, the air was cool and smelled of damp earth; the next, it was dry, hot, and tasted of dust.

They moved quickly. With their enhanced stats, a 15-kilometer trek was nothing more than a warm-up.

As they approached a jagged range of rocky hills, Brahmir raised a hand.

The group halted instantly.

"Movement?" Leon whispered.

"No," Brahmir replied, melting slightly into the shadow of a boulder. "Smell. Old death. Stale air."

He pointed toward a fissure in the cliff face ahead. It wasn’t a constructed gate, but a collapsed section of the mountain that had revealed a dark, gaping maw.

"That’s it," Leon confirmed, checking the system map. "The Forgotten Armory of Vulk."

"Vulk..." Gorran muttered, scratching his chin. "I heard stories. He was a master smith. Made armor that could bounce spells back at mages. They say he died defending his forge."

"Then let’s hope he didn’t leave too many traps," Leon said.

He stepped into the fissure.

The air inside was significantly cooler, carrying the metallic tang of rust and the musty scent of undisturbed earth.

"Mora, light," Leon ordered.

"On it, Boss!"

The tiny spirit fluttered forward. The flower on her head bloomed, emitting a soft, bioluminescent white glow that pushed back the oppressive darkness.

The tunnel was wide, hewn from solid rock. Old mine cart tracks, twisted and broken, ran along the floor.

Skitter. Skitter.

The sound echoed from the darkness ahead.

Gorran tensed, raising his axe. "Vermin?"

"Too heavy for vermin," Leon said, narrowing his eyes. [Dark Vision] allowed him to see outlines in the gloom.

From the shadows, shapes emerged.

They were low to the ground, multi-legged, and covered in pale, hardened plating. Their tails arched over their backs, tipped with jagged stingers.

[System Analysis]

Target: Bone Scorpion

Rank: E-Class

Description: Scavengers that feast on bone marrow. Their exoskeletons are as hard as iron.

There were six of them. Each the size of a large dog.

"Scorpions," Gorran grunted. "Nasty armored bastards."

"Don’t smash them too hard," Leon ordered, stepping forward. "I need the bodies intact."

Gorran looked confused but didn’t argue. "Hah!"

The minotaur charged.

The leading scorpion hissed and lunged, its stinger striking like a spear. Gorran didn’t even dodge. He caught the tail mid-air with his bare hand, his thick skin ignoring the barb, and yanked.

CRUNCH.

He swung his axe with his other hand, cleaving the creature’s head clean off. Green ichor sprayed the floor.

Brahmir was a blur. He vanished into a shadow and reappeared on the back of another scorpion, driving his daggers into the joints of its armor. It shrieked and collapsed.

Mora flew high, firing small seeds that exploded into vines, wrapping around two scorpions and pinning them to the floor. "Get off me, you creepy crawlies!"

One scorpion bypassed the tanks and rushed straight for Leon.

Its pincers snapped, drooling venom.

Leon didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t have one worth drawing.

Instead, he extended his hand.

"Mana Bolt."

A concentrated sphere of dark purple energy coalesced in his palm and fired.

BOOM!

It slammed into the scorpion’s face, cracking its exoskeleton and blowing it backward. The creature twitched and went still.

"Clear," Brahmir announced, wiping his blade.

The skirmish was over in seconds. Six dead scorpions lay on the cavern floor.

Gorran kicked a carcass. "Good eating in the tails, if you boil out the poison."

"We’re not here to eat," Leon said, walking over to the corpse he had just killed. "We’re here to recruit."

He stood over the dead scorpion and extended his hand again. This time, he didn’t summon a bolt. He reached into the cold, silent well of his new class.

[Skill Activation: Raise Undead]

A cold wind swirled through the tunnel, extinguishing the warmth in the air. Shadows seemed to pool around Leon’s feet, bleeding into the ground toward the scorpion.

"Rise," Leon commanded.

The black mist seeped into the cracks of the scorpion’s broken shell.

Snap. Crack.

The legs twitched.

Gorran took a step back, eyes wide. "What in the seven hells..."

Brahmir tilted his head, intrigued.

The dead scorpion jerked violently, then flipped itself upright. Its eyes, once dull and dead, now burned with a spectral blue flame.

It skittered in place, then turned to face Leon—and lowered its body in submission.

[System Notification] [Minion Acquired: Undead Bone Scorpion (Level 5)] [Control Capacity: 1/10]

Leon grinned. It wasn’t a skeleton warrior or a death knight, but it was a start.

"An undead scorpion?" Gorran looked disturbed. "That’s... unnatural, even for us."

"It’s a tool, Gorran," Leon said, patting the cold, hard shell of his new pet. "And unlike our soldiers, it doesn’t need food, sleep, or fear death."

He looked deeper into the tunnel.

"Now... let’s see what else is buried in here."