"Kill him?"
Adele stared at Charles in disbelief. "Just us? Is that even possible?"
Charles took a long, steadying breath.
"It is!" His gaze was fierce. "We have no other choice. Follow my command, Adele!"
"As long as you can keep him bound for one minute, I guarantee I can take him down at least three times over!"
Adele snapped her mouth shut and began prepping her spells. Deep down, she knew—unless they abandoned all the women and children here, feeding every last life and soul to the Abyssal Lord, Charles was their only hope.
But at the same time, she couldn't help but wonder: Where did Charles get such confidence?
The truth was, even Charles was uneasy.
Just how different were the game's data and mechanics from the rules of this real fantasy world?
At lower levels, things were straightforward—everyone was more or less a regular person; take a sword or spell to the face, and you died, no exceptions.
But… what about at higher levels?
Does it still work like that?
According to game stats, Montport—Demon Lord or not—shouldn't be able to nearly one-shot a raging barbarian like Torun. And when those Storm Warhammers rained down, a goristro should've been reduced to ashes, not still rampaging across the field.
The game balanced data for class experience, for fun and playstyle. But in the real world? There was no team of designers rebalancing the gap between the strong and the weak. Here, the line between power and helplessness was a chasm, uncrossable.
That core reality was why Charles always hesitated to face Montport head-on: until he understood just how strong Demon Lords really were in this world, he wasn't about to poke the hornet's nest.
After all, according to official lore, these were raid bosses meant for parties of Level 17+—the ultimate endgame threats.
But today, Montport had skipped the main front to teleport straight onto the evac route, blocking all escape. Charles had no choice, no other path forward.
It was kill or be killed!
Montport—you're an Abyssal Lord, right?
I still don't know exactly how Demon Lords scale in real-world terms, but based on the game data—
Give me one minute, and even Demogorgon could be blasted to death three times!
His heartbeat pounded. Battle-fury he hadn't felt in ages surged up: by now his gear and stats were top end—better than what most old school players could afford before seventeenth level.
For Eldritch Blast builds, this was a dream kit—borderline graduation gear.
And he still had a ton of mana left!
On his bracer'd hand, Charles gripped Rahman's ultra-rare +3 Battlemage's Wand. He muttered, "System, level up!"
He'd racked up over 20,000 Purification Points clearing out Demons with the dwarves earlier; today, with the Chthonian and the endless dretch, he'd nearly hit 40,000.
He'd saved his points for a moment like this.
Now he dumped 14,000 Purification Points in one go to level from eight to nine—his whole body suffused with soft white light.
His maximum spell slots shot up from 44 to 57, his highest spell tier unlock jumped to five.
He even picked up a new 5th-level spell—Banishing Smite.
Not that it mattered right now; it was pure spell slots he needed.
Drawing a steadying breath, Charles recited a quick spell. His eyes locked onto the Demon Lord.
"Hex!"
Hex—a 1st-level spell—to make the foe more vulnerable, to ensure any damage hit even harder.
Then another invocation: "Hexblade's Curse!"
As a Hexblade, his class feature Hexblade's Curse gnawed at Montport, warping the fiend's insides to maximize harm from Charles's strikes—this one, far nastier than Hex alone.
With both vulnerabilities layered on the Abyssal Lord, Charles's expression hardened.
"Adele, bind him! Now!"
Adele immediately began a lengthy incantation, pouring all her focus into the spell. "Heightened Spell—Wrath of Nature!"
She burned a Metamagic feat—Heightened Spell—fueling the druid's exclusive 5th-level Wrath of Nature!
The earth trembled. Giant roots surged up, locking Montport's limbs and torso. The monstrous lord became a sitting duck, rooted in place and helpless to dodge—left to soak every incoming blow.
Charles raised his +3 Batttlemage's Wand with one hand, chanting a brisk spell:
"E.B.!"
Four massive magic circles—the size of wagon wheels—burst open in the air above him. Beams of raw force blasted from their centers, zeroing in on the wound in Montport's chest!
And that—was just the start. Before the first volley even struck, Charles was already chanting again. "E.B.!"
Another four gigantic circles spun open up above, spraying four more eldritch blasts toward Montport's one weakness.
A normal cantrip Eldritch Blast—with verbal and somatic components—would take at least five seconds per cast.
With his 8th-level quickened spell feat, Charles could compress anything under 10 seconds down to two, or even a single second—stacking up maximum firepower in the shortest window imaginable.
In the air above, the next wave of circles spun out—before the first faded, the third set materialized, then the fourth.
From afar, it looked almost absurd—sixteen gigantic arcane arrays, blasting continuous torrents of energy at Montport's gaping wound.
To everyone watching, the sight was staggering—a miracle of magic.
"No way…"
Adele stared up, trembling. "Even 9th-level spells… shouldn't be able to do this…"
"Master…" Sophia could only whisper, heart soaring. She knew every spell and invocation Charles used; she'd studied them all herself.
But in her wildest imagination, she never thought this "ordinary" toolbox could be combined and supercharged to allow a mere 9th-level warlock to slay a Demon Lord.
Incredible—her Master's creativity was boundless!
Excitement overwhelmed her so much, she even reflexively blurted out his true title, but, thankfully, everyone else was too spellbound to notice.
Even the lurking mind flayers—secretly watching—were floored. Their psychic chatter exploded in shock:
"Power beyond expectation."
"Metamagic feats, brilliantly leveraged."
"A deliberate, synergistic build. Difficult to replicate."
"No, it's copyable—with enough effort and experimentation."
"This man—his intellect eclipses even his own kind."
"A rare super-genius. Recommendation: critical observation and tracking."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
"Hnnngh—!"
Blasted continuously by this bombardment, even the mighty Abyssal Lord couldn't withstand it. Agony escaped him in muffled howls; he burned to retaliate, but the roaring roots from Adele kept him utterly pinned!
He lifted his twin-bladed polearm to slice the roots—when a golden streak suddenly flashed toward him: "Die, Demon!"
It was Anno!
Blown aside moments earlier, she now came roaring back, sword blazing with flames, Divine Smite ringing with golden light. Her blade came crashing down on the Demon Lord's mutated flesh.
Sizzle—
Montport's demon-hardened flesh peeled open like gelatin, black mist billowing and vanishing to nothing!
"Gkk—augh!"
Montport bellowed in pain, pure terror at the holy radiance clawing at his mind. He forgot the roots, he stopped caring about anything but slashing at Anno.
But Anno—prepared, hasty, and well-armed—rolled with near-supernatural reflexes, shield at the ready.
"Shield!" she called, activating the spell Charles had stored in her Ring of Spell Storing.
CLANG—!
A wall of shimmering force blazed into existence, the impact sending her rolling—but she bounced right back, armor aglow with protective light, sword shining with holy flame.
She matched Montport, blow for blow, wound for wound—her enchanted gear and quick-trigger Shield spell leveled the playing field.
Normally, a paladin her level could never stand up to a Demon Lord. But with magic gear fit for a king? For a few precious seconds, everything was possible.
"Damn you, paladin!" Montport roared in rage at her resilience. But with his legs locked, his attacks wild, Anno danced out of reach, striking only when she saw an opening—Divine Smite after Divine Smite, every hit biting deep.
She was buying time—she saw that Charles' sixteen arcane wheels weren't just a show. He was the one really killing Montport with relentless fire.
Her job was to keep Montport distracted, give Charles an unbroken firing window.
She could do it—she could draw the demon lord's wrath for at least another 24 seconds!
And while she occupied him, sixteen magic arrays fired and fired, bombarding Montport's chest—a storm of force that never let up.
Hex and Hexblade's Curse were burning into him, rending his body and soul, tearing his organs apart. In just twenty seconds, the all-mighty Demon Lord was already riddled with ruin.
"NGAAAAHHH!"
Death's shadow loomed over the Abyssal Lord at last. Montport's howl echoed uncontrollably.
He'd screwed up so badly. He'd thought these mortals were a band of paupers, unable to even afford magical weapons—Demon Lords are immune to ordinary steel, so who could threaten him?
He never dreamed magic could be harnessed like this—or that a "weakling warlock" lacking even sixth-circle spells could deal him a lethal blow!
Failure. Failure. Failure!
No! No, my artifact is one step away! I can't die here!
I'll finish it—I'll finish my artifact with this fool's blood!
"RAAAAAH!"
Losing all reason, Montport's mind snapped. Instinct and rage replaced every ounce of discipline and cunning; at heart, he was a Demon, a true Abyssal Lord—chaos and evil incarnate.
"HROOOOAR!"
A cataclysm of magical power exploded from him. He ignored Anno entirely, swept his polearm, sliced free of the roots, and stormed toward Charles with four thunderous strides.
He swore: he would take Charles' head, whatever it took!
"Danger!"
Realizing she'd lost his focus, Anno paled. She threw herself after him, hacking with all her might to regain his attention.
"You demon—DIE!"
And Luger, the Giant Bear, finally lunged from behind—throwing his whole mass into Montport's tail, desperate to slow the monster down.
But the Abyssal Lord was single-minded now. Their attacks were nothing. Only Charles was in his eyes.
"Hnnn…"
Behind him, Adele gasped in pain. Her Heightened Spell was shattered by Montport's rampage; the psychic feedback made her soul ache as if torn in two.
She'd failed her promise. She'd underestimated an Abyssal Lord's resistance to magic—and overestimated her own spellcasting.
But with Montport barreling toward Charles, she shoved her own pain aside and tried to reach him. "Danger! Let's go—I'll get you out!"
She tried to cast a teleport, but blood began to stream from her nose. She was already at her limit.
Meanwhile, Charles, watching the beast's charge, finally let his arms drop, exhausted.
Quickened Spell came at a price. In half a minute, nearly forty spell slots vaporized—that level of exertion could fuel three 9th-level spells.
And, for all that, it wasn't quite enough. Even after twenty barrages—eighty devastating Eldritch Blasts—the demon wasn't dead yet.
As he thought: game stats were an imperfect fit for real life.
Eighty Eldritch Blasts, back in the game, would've killed even Lolth's avatar by now.
Still, no matter. Montport's health bar was nearly empty—death was close now.
Watching the enormous demon bear down on him, Charles calmly dug a mana pearl from his bag and drained it, his eyes never leaving Montport's silhouette.
Come on, Abyssal Lord—come to me!
Let me purify you, make you my next batch of Purification Points!
He steeled himself—just as a brown-skinned shadow swept in, greataxe raised high: "Haw—thorne—!"
It was Danche. Eyes wide, roar torn raw from his throat—a dying man's last defiance—he threw himself between Charles and the charging demon.
"I'll block him! You keep pouring on the fire!"
The half-orc leapt, axe swinging at Montport in a suicidal charge.
Even if he could only buy Charles a single second more to strike—he'd do it without regret!
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