The three representatives—Captain Ivan Sketcher, Lady Serene Duispec, and First Son Draven Wrathor—finally arrived back in the Eastern Shirefort Continent after their journey to the Northern Ireleone Continent.

They had set out in search of Westmont’s savior, but instead, they had returned empty-handed.

Despite their authority, none of them were the actual Family Lords of their respective Fated Families.

Captain Ivan Sketcher was a high-ranking warrior, commanding a strong force within the Sketcher Household’s military. He was tan-skinned, with black hair streaked with silver, and a scar running down the left side of his face.

Lady Serene Duispec was the youngest sister of the Duispec Family Lord. She wasn’t the lady of the house, but her influence was undeniable. She had bloodred hair, a signature trait of the Duispec lineage, and her height made her stand out among noblewomen.

Draven Wrathor was the firstborn son of the Wrathor Family, one of the smallest of the Fated Families. His status granted him authority, but his family lacked the influence of the larger houses.

Upon their arrival, they wasted no time.

They immediately reported to Great Elder White Fang, the man who oversaw all the Fated Families.

The Great Elder was a man of strict discipline, and upon hearing that the three representatives had returned, he refused to listen to their report alone.

“This concerns all the Fated Families,” he declared.

And so, he called for a meeting.

It took hours for all the Lords and Ladies of the Fated Families to gather in the great hall of the White Fang’s ancestral home.

When they had finally assembled, the meeting began.

The three representatives stood before the gathered leaders, prepared to deliver their findings.

Ivan Sketcher stepped forward first, his scarred face grim.

“As you all know,” he began, “we traveled to Northern Ireleone in search of the mysterious figure who saved Westmont from destruction.”

Serene Duispec followed up, her tone sharp and commanding.

“We began in Ryedale, the city from which we first received information about the attack. There, we met with their leaders, and after negotiations, we locked down the city.”

Gasps filled the room.

Locking down a city was a bold move, even for them.

Draven Wrathor spoke next. “The lockdown was necessary. We wanted to ensure that if Westmont’s savior was hiding there, we’d find them. But—”

His lips thinned.

“We found no one matching the description.”

A wave of unease settled over the gathered nobles.

The search had yielded nothing.

Ivan continued, “After failing to find our target in Ryedale, we moved to Westmont. There, we met with their Town Lord—Ellian.”

Lady Serene took a deep breath, choosing her next words carefully.

“The Lord of Westmont confirmed that a single young man had saved the town,” she revealed.

Murmurs spread through the room.

Draven Wrathor crossed his arms. “The most important detail Lord Ellian provided was the name of this savior.”

The air grew tense.

“And that name was—”

“Damien.”

The hall fell silent.

At that moment, all eyes turned toward one man.

Lord Ashbourne Terrace.

Lord Ashbourne Terrace did not move.

He merely sat still, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest of his chair.

The name Damien was all too familiar to him.

His firstborn son had once carried it.

But that son—Damien Terrace was dead.

He had exiled the boy to the Forest of Twin Disasters, a death sentence.

There was no way his son could have survived.

Yet, the name lingered in the air, and a seed of doubt was sown in his heart.

Serene continued, “At first, we thought it was merely a coincidence. After all, the name Damien isn’t uncommon.”

“But then,” Ivan added, “the description given by the Town Lord matched far too closely.”

“Silver hair,” Serene murmured. “Blue eyes. A beast user. We still don’t know if he’s a summoner or a tamer.”

More murmurs spread through the hall.

Lord Ashbourne exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.

“A coincidence,” he said firmly.

“But my Lord,” Ivan countered, “how many silver-haired, blue-eyed summoners could possibly exist?”

“More than you think,” Ashbourne replied, his voice calm, controlled.

Serene narrowed her eyes. “And yet, the only one we’ve ever known of was Damien Terrace.”

Ashbourne met her stare without flinching.

“My son is dead,” he said coldly. “I made sure of it.”

Silence followed.

Draven spoke next. “Then why does this Damien also control beasts? Why does he match the exact description of your son?”

Ashbourne’s fingers curled slightly.

“If he truly was my son,” he said, his voice like steel, “then he would have died in that cursed forest long ago.”

He rose from his seat.

“This discussion is pointless.”

The others, though uncertain, did not argue.

Though doubt still lingered, the Fated Lords agreed—Damien Terrace was dead.

This “savior” of Westmont must have been someone else.

Even so, Lord Ashbourne’s mind was troubled.

For the first time in years, he wasn’t entirely sure of his son’s fate.

With the topic of Damien set aside, the discussion turned to another matter—

A rising dark faction.

Great Elder White Fang leaned forward, his expression grim.

“There is a new group forming in the shadows,” she revealed.

“They call themselves the Twin Disasters.”

A chill ran through the hall.

The name alone was ominous.

“They are humans,” Elder White Fang said. “But they act like demons.”

Lord Sketcher added, “They worship the Dark Gods and seek to summon them into our world.”

Their methods were barbaric.

They raided towns, slaughtered innocents, and offered them as sacrifices.

So far, they had wiped out two villages.

“They’re still small,” Elder White Fang admitted. “But they are growing. If we do not act now, they could become something far worse.”

The Fated Lords exchanged uneasy glances.

Demon attacks were already on the rise—

And now, humans were joining their cause.

Ashbourne Terrace sighed.

“Then we must deal with them swiftly.”

The room nodded in agreement.

The decision was final.

The Twin Disasters would not be allowed to grow any further.

~~~~~

For weeks, Damien’s system had been silent.

Ever since his last mission, there had been no new tasks, no commands, and no forced objectives.

Damien had almost begun to believe that his system would only issue missions related to demon hunting.

But he was wrong.

Ding!

A familiar sound echoed in his mind, causing him to halt mid-step as he moved toward his ambush point.

His vision blurred for a second, and then—

A blue screen appeared before his eyes.

«New Mission Alert!»

«Mission: Your hometown, Westmont, will soon be claimed by a Conqueror. Defend and prevent Westmont from being captured!»

«Rewards: 15,000 units of Magic Essence, ??? (Hidden Reward), Title: Defender of the Forgotten Town»

Damien froze.

His hometown?

Westmont?

He wasn’t sure why, but the system’s wording caught him off guard.

“My hometown?”

Damien had never truly considered Westmont his home.

It was just a place he had stayed in for a while.

Yet, here was his system, addressing the town as if it belonged to him.

For the first time, the system had given him a mission that wasn’t about demons but instead, about protecting people.

A smirk slowly formed on his lips.

“Not like I planned on letting anyone take it anyway,” he muttered.

This just meant he had more motivation.

With the system rewarding him for doing what he already intended to do, it was a win-win.

And now it was time to execute his plan.

Damien had already closed in on Raegon’s army, watching them from the shadows.

From his estimation, there were around five thousand warriors.

Some were mercenaries, others were talented fighters, but many were simply men with minor magic abilities.

Still—they had numbers.

Lord Ellian had already told him that Westmont’s forces would be facing Raegon’s army just outside the gates.

That meant once Raegon’s forces fully engaged Ellian’s troops, they would be vulnerable from behind.

That was Damien’s moment to strike.

He waited.

The drums of war beat in the distance.

The clashing of steel rang out as the battle exploded in front of Westmont’s gates.

The town’s warriors and mercenaries engaged the invading force, and soon chaos unfolded.

Damien grinned.

“Now it’s my turn.”

Without hesitation, he summoned three of his strongest allies.

“Summon Luton, Fenrir, and Cerbe.”

Three blue portals shimmered in the air beside him.

From within, three powerful figures emerged.

Luton, the Stellar Slime—Damien’s creature feared not for its strength, but for its ability to consume anything.

Fenrir, the Monstrous Wolf, the beast of pure destruction.

Cerbe, the Flames of Hell, the Three-Headed Hound that once guarded forgotten ruins. At least in myths.

Their presence alone made the air heavier.

But Damien wasn’t done.

His eyes flickered, and with a single command—

“Activate the (Transformation) skill.”

«Transformation activated!»

«-120,000 units of Magic Essence!»

In an instant, a wave of magic surged around his summons.

Vwoooooshhh!!

Their bodies twisted and reshaped, morphing into human figures crafted by Damien’s mental image.

This was the first time Fenrir had ever taken a human form.

Luton had never transformed before either.

Only Cerbe had taken human form in the past.

As the transformation completed, Damien observed them carefully.

Each of them had distinct features that still reflected their original monstrous forms. Fenrir, now in human form, had long black hair, piercing golden eyes, and dark tribal markings running along his arms. His feral aura remained, making him dangerous even in this form.

Luton had transformed into a pale-skinned young girl with crimson eyes and an unsettling, amorphous quality to her body—her form almost seemed to shift subtly, as if she were barely holding shape.

Oddly enough, Cerbe, different from before, took the form of a crimson-haired man with three separate tattoos on his neck—one for each head of his original form. His eyes burned with fire, reflecting his demonic origins.

Damien crossed his arms, smirking.

“This will be your first battle in these forms,” he told them. “Don’t screw it up.”

Fenrir cracked his knuckles, a feral grin on his lips. “Took you long enough to let me fight properly.”

Luton simply nodded, her expression unreadable.

Cerbe laughed darkly, flames flickering across his fingertips. “I hope they scream.”

Damien’s grin widened.

“Time to give these bastards a taste of hell.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep