Chapter 201: The Calling

Back in the Sunstone Lands, the Demon Gamma Gate was awaiting the Heroes' Party.

Aethelstan stared at the swirling blue-gray vortex, the thick, viscous smoke bleeding from its edges like a wound in the world itself.

The knot of paralyzing terror in his gut threatened to root him to the spot, to chain him in place with invisible shackles of dread, but the Prince of the Human Kingdom refused to yield.

He thought again of Percival Nightstar. He thought of the Outworlder's cold, indifferent eyes, and the intended humiliation of Omares's words.

That memory burned hotter than any fear.

What was Aethelstan's dream? To be glorified. To be loved and praised more than every other person in Evernia's history.

It was why he despised the Heroes of the past, and why he particularly despised this Hero who was fortunate enough to be summoned when Prince Aethelstan Highcourt was alive.

Aethelstan swallowed hard, forcing his arrogant fire back to the surface. He would not be outdone by a peasant. He would not be humiliated again.

This is the next step to his imminent glory.

So he took one step closer, then another, his blue eyes narrowing as the system interface shimmering above the Gamma Gate populated its details.

⸢Gate World: The Calling⸥

⸢Rank: C⸥

⸢Description: Beware the voices that shatter the soul.⸥

Aethelstan scoffed, a forced, hollow sound that echoed too loudly. "Voices," he muttered. "A coward's warning."

He drew his gleaming broadsword, the steel ringing in the quiet vineyard like a bell tolling for something none of them yet understood. He turned to face his divided party, puffing out his armored chest.

"We move! Heroes, into the Gate!"

"Wait." Nessa's voice paused everyone that was already about to move, including the Prince. Aethelstan looked back with irritation.

She stepped forward from the back of the group, her dark eyes sweeping across the Gate with calculated assessment. "We need a plan, Aethelstan. You do not march blindly into a Demon Gate World without a strategy."

Aethelstan's jaw clenched. "I am the leader of this party, Assassin."

"I didn't say you weren't. But if you want a party to lead," Nessa shot back, her dark eyes completely unyielding, blazing with unbroken will, "you have to give us a plan so we don't all die inside there."

As usual, Omares watched in silence.

Everyone else was quiet as well for a while, the tension between the former friends became a coiled serpent. The rest of the party held their breath.

Aethelstan grudgingly lowered his blade an inch. "Fine." The word was forced through clenched teeth. "The plan is simple. Deron, Bromm, and I will lead the frontal charge. We draw aggro and crush whatever is waiting on the other side."

*Vadrian, Teson, Calarin, you flank. The Mages stay in the center." He pointed the tip of his sword at the Elven Princess. "Corisande, the moment we engage, I want you to use that S-Grade Skill of yours to weaken their ranks."

Corisande grimaced.

"The rest of the support party watches our rear,x Aethelstan continued. "This is simple and effective. We attack each time with overwhelming force. Now, move."

Without waiting for another word of dissent, Aethelstan turned and marched directly into the swirling abyss. Vadrian, Stenya, Bromm, and the rest of the frontline fighters quickly filed in behind him, their forms swallowed by the dark smoke.

Nessa and Corisande lingered near the back, watching the party disappear. A deep, unsettling dread pooled in Nessa's stomach—slow and cold and heavy, like swallowing poison and waiting for it to take effect.

Corisande noticed her expression. "You don't feel so confident about this, huh?"

Nessa looked at the prison, but was quiet for a while. "What do we actually know about Demons, Corisande?" she finally spoke.

"It seems the only thing we've heard is that no one has cleared the Gate Worlds they're from."

Corisande frowned, her elven ears twitching as she dug through her royal education. "We've only been educated on Demonspawns. If these are anything like them, they are likely going to be resistant to physical attacks."

They both stared at the Gate. The dark smoke seemed to twist into mocking faces before dissipating. Like it was leering and laughing, because it knew something they did not.

Corisande's breath hitched when a thought struck her. "Nessa... if Demonspawns are resistant... could it be then that Demons are completely resistant to physical attacks?"

Nessa's eyes widened to impossible proportions.

The realization hit them both at once, like fist to the sternum that drove the air from their lungs.

Aethelstan's entire plan relied on Knights, Swordsmen, and Barbarians leading the charge with heavy steel. If physical attacks were useless, they were walking into a slaughterhouse.

"Wait!" Nessa screamed at the swirling vortex. "Hold on! Everyone stop!"

But it was too late. The last of the Dwarves—old Bromm, with his braided beard and his stubborn chin—had just stepped through the Gate, his form dissolving into the dark smoke like a stone sinking into black water.

Nessa cursed under her breath and dove into the Gate after them.

Corisande spun around desperately. She glared at the Great Scholar, who stood perfectly still in the ruined vineyard with a faceless expression as always.

"Did you know?" Corisande demanded, her voice shaking. "Master?!"

Omares stayed perfectly silent. His blank, white eyes revealed nothing.

Corisande let out a frustrated, terrified cry, turned and leaped into the abyss.

After the rippling transition, Corisande's boots slammed into soft, damp earth with a force that jarred her teeth. She opened her eyes and saw that the Sunstone Lands were gone.

They stood in a sprawling, unnatural forest bathed in the gloom of eternal nighttime.

It was a place deeply haunted yet terrifyingly beautiful, like a crypt adorned with gold, still filled with the dead.

The scattered tall trees had twisted, silver bark that looked like braided bone, their branches reaching up like skeletal hands grasping at a starless, bruised-purple sky.

Bioluminescent flora—glowing sickly greens and pale blues—pulsed weakly in the underbrush like the hearts of dying animals, casting long, warped shadows.

A thick, chilling mist rolled continuously over the massive, gnarled roots, curling around ankles like the fingers of drowned men.

The party stood in a tight cluster, their weapons drawn, their eyes wide. Bromm gripped his heavy axe tightly, and his shield in his other hand Vadrian was visibly shivering. Stenya rubbed her arms, her eyes darting nervously between the silver trees.

"Took you two long enough," Aethelstan sneered as Corisande and Nessa materialized. "Did you lose your nerve?"

"Listen to me, all of you!" Corisande yelled, pushing her way to the center. "We have to leave. Now! Or at the very least, reform the entire plan!"

Ugmar looked at Jorik and Dagna. "When did the Princess get so loud?"

"What are you talking about?" Deron asked, lowering his shield in confusion.

Nessa stepped up beside Corisande. "The Princess and I have figured out why these Demons are so difficult to kill. They're like Demonspawns, but since they're just Demons, they might be entirely immune to physical damage. Swords and axes won't work. We need the Mages at the front, or we need to retreat and inform the Kings!"

"Absolute nonsense," Aethelstan snapped, his pride instantly flaring. "You are guessing! You want us to turn tail and run from a C-Rank Gate based on a theory? Do you know how that will look? The Heroes of Evernia, fleeing in terror from an ordinary Gate!"

"He's right," Dagna the Druid chimed in, crossing her stout dwarven arms. "You're just jealous of the Prince's bravery."

"We are not sabotaging anything, you fool!" Corisande pleaded. She looked desperately around the group. Calarin and Teson nodded in agreement with Aethelstan, tightening their grips on their weapons.

Corisande turned to the Elven Healer Mage. "Corvell, please. You are my friend. You know I wouldn't lie about this. We must leave now."