The demons—a cruel, cunning, bloodthirsty race.
Chaos was their defining mark. Humans, elves, dwarves, orcs—each race had clear features: pointed ears, short stature, tusks, and so on.
Demons, however, were different. No two looked the same. Their forms were twisted, bizarre, as if their very existence mocked natural order. People claimed their appearance depended on what their parents had devoured. A demon who consumed more of a certain monster would pass those traits down to its children.
Whether this was true remained unproven. Some had tried raising demons on a vegetarian diet, hoping for "plant people." None had ever been born.
In short: horns on their heads, tails whipping behind them, blackened skin, and grotesque mutations—that was the face of demons.
They were no less intelligent than humans, yet their lust for slaughter dwarfed mankind's. Across the continent, their name inspired fear.
Every hundred, two hundred, sometimes three hundred years, a supreme being rose among them: the Demon King. When that happened, all demons obeyed, and calamity swept the land.
But each time a Demon King appeared, heroes also rose to oppose it. And in every age of history, the Demon King had never once triumphed.
For now, demons remained sealed within the western continent, awaiting their king's revival.
So how had they appeared inside the Sein Dungeon?
The Kingdom of Yanor was boxed in: the sea to the east, endless fog to the north, desert to the south, and to the west—the demon continent.
Fortunately, towering mountains separated the two lands, holding back the foul miasma. Few dared live near the frontier.
Bedford City lay in the southwest. It wasn't directly on the border, but it was hardly the heartland either. It sat awkwardly in between.
For demons to reach here, they would need to slip through dozens of major cities. Border checkpoints bristled with detection magic. So how had these ones survived the journey?
And more importantly—what was in Bedford City worth the risk?
"I'll just catch a few and interrogate them," Wade muttered, watching from his scrying crystal.
Even though his body was undead and his daily work was tormenting adventurers—most of them human—he still thought of himself as one.
And demons? To him, they deserved only death.
They were universally hated. Personally, he despised them. Professionally, they were bad for business—if demons butchered too many humans, his dungeon would have fewer paying customers.
Mana was mana, true. He could, in theory, feed on demons instead of humans. But he preferred humans. Simple as that.
His decision was swift: capture a couple for questioning, then break the rest and toss them outside. Let the world handle them.
He continued to track the five demons through the swamp.
"They're headed that way… if I remember right, that's where I set a new trap. Perfect."
The five trudged through the muck, their dim eyes shadowed, their presence unsettling.
They didn't speak. They didn't even acknowledge one another. But whenever monsters attacked, their movements aligned with chilling precision.
"Clatter, clatter—"
Several skeleton soldiers, under Wade's control, rushed the demon with arms shaped like blades. Normally, skeletons were resistant to slashing.
The demon clearly knew this. He twisted slightly, and with a deep whoosh, an iron ball the size of a human head swung forth, smashing the skeletons to pieces.
It wasn't a weapon. It was part of him—his left arm was a writhing tentacle, fused with that ball of iron.
Each demon fought through its mutations: one slashed with blade arms, another battered foes with wings, another crushed them with unnatural limbs.
"Not bad," Wade murmured.
He unleashed wave after wave, but no matter the ambush, the demons cut their way through. They took wounds, yes, but they survived.
By the fifth wave, two were heavily injured, three lightly so.
And then their flesh writhed. Muscles twisted, skin crawled, wounds sealed shut in moments. Their regeneration was monstrous.
Still, fatigue showed in their staggering steps. Even demons couldn't recover stamina so easily.
"Just scary on the outside. Their real strength might even be weaker than Stella's." Wade snorted. Without realizing, he had begun measuring everything against people he knew.
Good news: they weren't that strong. He could handle them.
Bad news: if this was what managed to slip into Bedford unnoticed… what were the guards even doing? Were the teleport gate watchers blind?
The demons, hounded by monsters, grew frantic. They scattered like headless flies. And yet, no matter how dire the chase, they still couldn't resist slaughtering anything that blocked their path.
Bloodthirsty to the core. Addicted to killing.
That madness slowed them down.
And then, ahead in the swamp, appeared a treasure chest. It sat alone among a circle of withered trees, with only one narrow opening leading inside.
The demons paused. They didn't speak, but their eyes met. Agreement passed in silence. Together, they approached.
One tapped the chest, testing it. With a jerk, he pried it open.
Inside—was not treasure.
A slimy, writhing tongue shot out. Rows of sharp fangs lined the lid.
A mimic.
Two withered arms lashed out, dragging the nearest demon forward. The chest's gaping maw clamped down, tearing away half his body in a single bite.
The others reacted instantly, shredding the mimic in a storm of attacks.
But it was too late.
When they turned to leave, the exit was gone. The withered trees had closed in, forming a cage. Even the sky above was blotted out.
Magic circles flared across the ground, two dozen at least.
One by one, monsters began to form within them.
"Finally took the bait."
Wade's undead face twisted into a chilling grin.
This trap? He had thought of it while reminiscing about Sword Art Online.(Season 1 Episode 3)