Chapter 13 – I Didn’t Authorize This Invasion

The Market District looked like a tornado had thrown a temper tantrum and set everything on fire for good measure.​

Stalls lay overturned, produce scattered across the cobblestones in a mess of crushed vegetables and broken pottery. Flames licked up wooden beams, black smoke coiling into the sky like the world’s worst barbecue. Civilians screamed and scattered, some dragging injured friends, others just running blindly in whatever direction seemed least deadly. The air smelled like burning wood, sulfur, and pure chaos.​

And in the center of it all stood the source of my current nightmare.

The Berserker Demon was massive, easily eight feet tall, with crimson skin that looked like someone had dipped him in blood and left him to dry in the sun. His horns curved back from his skull in wicked arcs, and his armor was all spikes and edges, the kind of design that screamed I make bad life choices and I want everyone to know. He wielded a flaming greatsword that left trails of fire in the air every time he swung it, and he was currently using it to demolish a fruit cart like it had personally insulted his mother.​

I skidded to a stop at the edge of the square, my bare feet sliding on loose gravel. I stared at the demon, my brain automatically pulling up information like I was reading a stat sheet hovering over his head.

Level 40. Mid-tier trash. Berserker class.​

This guy was barely a mini-boss. He wasn’t even elite tier, just a standard grunt with anger management issues and a weapon that looked more impressive than it actually was. Why was this guy here? Lilith would never send someone this weak on a solo mission. Berserkers were cannon fodder, the kind of units you threw at enemy fortifications to soften them up before the real army arrived. They acted on instinct, not strategy, which made them terrible at anything requiring subtlety or coordination.​

The demon grabbed another cart and hurled it across the square. It crashed into a bakery, wood splintering, bread rolls flying through the air like edible shrapnel.​

“Run, humans! Run and tell your precious Hero that the Demon King is coming for him!”

I felt a vein throb in my forehead. That was my line. Technically. Except I wasn’t coming for anyone, I was trying to prevent a war from spiraling out of control, and this moron was out here making promotional threats on my behalf without permission.​

He spotted me.

His yellow eyes locked onto my position, and for a second everything went still. He stared at me standing there in my silk pajamas, barefoot, holding a decorative sword that probably cost more than his armor but had the combat effectiveness of a butter knife. His lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing rows of sharp teeth.​

“Die, Human Scum!”

He charged.

I was offended. Genuinely, deeply offended. I was technically his boss. I was the Demon King. I signed his metaphorical paychecks. And here he was calling me human scum like I was some random civilian instead of the literal ruler of his entire species.​

I wanted to yell, You’re fired. Pack your desk. Security will escort you out.

Instead, I raised my sword and shouted the line I was supposed to say.

“Halt, vile beast!”

It sounded so corny coming out of my mouth. Like a line from a bad stage play where everyone was overacting and the props were made of cardboard. But I was stuck in this role, stuck playing the Hero, stuck pretending I didn’t know exactly what this demon’s favorite food was or how many vacation days he had accrued.​

The Berserker didn’t halt. Shocking. He kept charging, his flaming sword raised high, ready to bring it down on my head in a strike that would probably vaporize me if I didn’t have maxed defense stats.​

“Darling!”

Elizabeth’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife through silk.

She appeared at my side, her white dress somehow still pristine despite the smoke and fire. Her rapier was drawn, the blade gleaming silver in the flickering light. She didn’t position herself next to me or behind me. She stepped directly in front of me, her body blocking mine, her rapier pointed at the charging demon like a warning.​

“Don’t look at him!”

Her voice was venomous, shaking with barely contained rage. She glared at the Berserker with an intensity that could melt steel, her cyan-blue eyes blazing with protective fury.​

“You filth! You’re making him overexert himself!”

The Berserker skidded to a stop, confused. He looked at Elizabeth, then at me hiding behind her like a damsel in distress, then back at Elizabeth. His brain was clearly struggling to process why the Hero was being protected by a girl in a fancy dress.​

“Move, wench! I want the Hero’s head!”

“Over my corpse.”

Elizabeth’s grip tightened on her rapier. Magic flared around her, holy light crackling along the blade in sparks of gold and white. She was ready to throw down, ready to fight this demon solo while I stood uselessly behind her like a prop.​

This was a disaster. I couldn’t fight effectively with Elizabeth treating me like a porcelain doll. She’d intercept every attack, block every opening, and probably kill the demon before I could even swing my sword. Which would be fine, normally, except I needed to interrogate this guy. I needed to know who sent him, why he was here, and whether this was an isolated incident or the start of something worse.​

I leaned in close to Elizabeth, my lips brushing against her ear as I whispered.

“I need you to clear the civilians.”

She went rigid. I felt her breath hitch, felt the way her entire body reacted to my proximity like I’d just injected her with adrenaline directly into her bloodstream.​

“Only I can hold his aggro. Trust me.”

Her hands trembled on the rapier. She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at me from the corner of her eye. Her expression was torn, caught between the overwhelming need to protect me and the desire to follow my orders.​

“You’re not strong enough.”

“I’m strong enough to distract him.”

I placed my hand over hers on the rapier grip. I squeezed gently, pouring every ounce of reassurance I could fake into the gesture.​

“People are trapped in those buildings. They need you more than I do right now.”

It was a lie. A calculated, manipulative lie designed to redirect her obsessive protectiveness away from me and toward something productive. But it worked. I watched the internal struggle play out across her face, watched logic fight against instinct until logic won by the narrowest margin.​

“If you die, I’ll kill you.”

She stepped aside, lowering her rapier just enough to give me room to move. But before she fully retreated, she turned to face the Berserker. Her expression shifted into something cold, something absolutely terrifying.​

“If you scratch his face, I will peel your skin off in strips and feed it to the dogs while you watch.”

Her voice was calm. Conversational. Like she was discussing the weather or recommending a good restaurant. Which made the threat ten times more horrifying.​

The Berserker actually took a step back. Even demons had survival instincts, and those instincts were currently screaming that Elizabeth was more dangerous than any holy magic or legendary weapon.​

“Then I’ll use your bones as wind chimes.”

She smiled. It was the kind of smile that belonged in a horror movie, right before the killer revealed their true nature.​

“And I’ll keep your skull as a decoration for his room.”

She turned on her heel and ran toward the burning buildings, her dress flowing behind her like angelic wings. She didn’t look back. She trusted me to handle this, which was both flattering and absolutely terrifying because now I actually had to handle this.​

I stepped forward, my bare feet crunching on broken glass and scattered coins. The decorative sword felt light in my grip, almost weightless compared to the massive weapons I’d seen other heroes wielding. But I had maxed stats. I could probably kill this demon with a spoon if I wanted to.​

The Berserker recovered from his temporary shock. He shook his head, snorted like an angry bull, and raised his flaming greatsword again.​

“You think you can fight me, Hero?”

He laughed, the sound booming across the square.

“I’ll crush your weak body and bring your head to the Demon King as a trophy!”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab him by the horns and shake him until his brain started working properly. I was the Demon King. There was no trophy. There was only a severance package and a strongly worded letter about unauthorized military operations.​

But I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t reveal the truth. So I did the only thing I could do.

I raised my sword and hoped my weak body excuse would hold up long enough to survive this absolute circus of a situation.​

“Come at me, then.”

The Berserker charged, roaring like a feral beast, and I braced myself for the most awkward boss-versus-employee confrontation in recorded history.