Greg stood at the edge of the camp, the morning light of the demonic realm filtering through thick, blood-red clouds.
The air carried the faint metallic tang of yesterday's battles, mixed with the lingering scent of campfires and mana residue.
His group gathered around him, eyes sharp, bodies rested, ready once more.
"I hope everyone had their rest," Greg said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "Because we're moving on the next demon lord today.
The goal is to occupy two demon provinces before the day runs out."
They had spent the entire previous day recovering, replenishing mana, mending wounds both physical and magical, and letting the adrenaline of Azazel's defeat settle into quiet confidence. No one complained. No one hesitated.
Greg opened his system interface with a subtle gesture. The translucent panel materialized before him, glowing faintly against the dim sky.
[You have defeated two demon provinces]
