I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me-Chapter 340: Breistan

Breistan was one of the oldest and most significant cities in the Demon Kingdom, steeped in history and battle-hardened traditions. It stood as a testament to the resilience and power of the Demonic race, its foundations laid by warriors who once clashed in bloody struggles for dominance. The origins of the Demon Kingdom could be traced back over three thousand years, to an era when numerous demon clans waged relentless war against each other, each vying for supremacy in a world where only the strong could carve their legacy.

Among these fierce factions, one of the most powerful emerged victorious, claiming the land that would one day become Breistan. Their chieftain, a warrior of unparalleled skill and cunning, had fought countless battles before ultimately pledging allegiance to a man who would later rise as the first Demon King. This decision shaped the course of history, uniting the scattered and warring Demon tribes under a single banner.

In the present day, the lineage of that ancient warrior still endured through Duke Nakon Breistan, the current ruler of the city and a loyal vassal of the Demon Kingdom. He had served faithfully under the previous Demon King, bound by duty and respect, though not without reservations. Unlike his former sovereign, Duke Nakon had never fully agreed with the relentless expansionist ambitions that had driven the Demon King into endless wars against the other kingdoms. Greed and conquest, he believed, could lead to the kingdom's downfall. Yet, despite his doubts, he had no choice but to fight alongside his king, if only to ensure the survival of his people and the protection of Tenebria.

Fate, however, had taken an unexpected turn. The Demon King had since relinquished his throne, passing it down to his daughter, Queen Azariah. Unlike her father, the young queen was level-headed and pragmatic, choosing diplomacy where war had once been the only answer. Duke Nakon regarded her with a cautious optimism, hoping that under her rule, the Demon Kingdom would find stability rather than endless bloodshed.

Now, he sat in his grand hall, his thoughts heavy as he reclined in his throne-like chair. The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows across the cold stone walls, the banners of his house swaying gently in the draft that swept through the chamber. He had much to ponder—more than he cared for.

A few days prior, an event had shattered the peace that Breistan had enjoyed for years following the war's end. A single man had arrived at their gates, proclaiming himself a chosen Hero of God. His demand had been nothing short of audacious—he commanded that the entire city surrender to him. The arrogance of his words had left Nakon in stunned disbelief, swiftly followed by irritation. The sheer audacity to expect them to yield without resistance was nothing short of lunacy.

Naturally, Nakon had refused outright, his answer as firm as steel. The only Hero to whom the Demons of Breistan would ever bow was their Lord Commander, Samael—the Hero of Darkness. He alone had earned their unwavering respect through deeds of unparalleled strength and valor. To them, the so-called 'Heroes of God' were nothing more than self-righteous zealots who had no understanding of their struggles. Their loyalty lay with Samael, and with him alone.

But the self-proclaimed Hero had not taken the rejection kindly. To everyone's shock, he had launched an attack on the city by himself, without an army, without allies—just one man against an entire city.

Nakon had immediately dispatched his finest warriors to crush the insolent fool, but what followed was beyond anything he had anticipated. The Hero fought with terrifying power, cutting through his forces with unnatural ease. He wielded strength that could not be denied, defying all expectations. At first, Nakon had dismissed his claims as mere bluster, but after witnessing his capabilities firsthand, he could no longer deny the truth.

This man was indeed a Hero.

Breistan had learned the cost of defiance through a heavy and bitter price.

More than two hundred of their finest soldiers had perished in the battle, their lives sacrificed to keep the self-proclaimed Hero at bay. Though they had managed to hold their ground and prevent him from completely overtaking the city, the damage he had inflicted was undeniable. The once-impenetrable walls of Breistan now bore gaping wounds, shattered by the sheer force of his attacks.

But the Hero was not invincible.

Despite his overwhelming strength, he had been forced to retreat. He needed time to recover, to replenish his strength. More importantly, he had sustained an injury to his arm—proof that he was not beyond harm. And yet, Duke Nakon Breistan found little comfort in this temporary reprieve. If anything, it filled him with dread. The Hero would return; of that, he was certain. Perhaps he would come back with an improved strategy, or worse, with reinforcements. If the first battle had cost them dearly, how much more would the next one demand?

More than anything, Nakon needed to understand. Why was this so-called Hero attacking them? What was his true purpose? Why did he want Breistan?

Unwilling to wait for answers to come at the edge of a blade, Nakon acted swiftly. He immediately sent a messenger bird to the capital of Tenebria, detailing everything that had transpired—the Hero's arrival, his impossible strength, the battle, and the destruction left in his wake. He urged them to respond, whether by sending reinforcements or someone capable of dealing with this powerful foe.

But deep down, Nakon knew that mere words might not be enough. He doubted the capital would take his warnings at face value. It was far too easy to dismiss his claims as exaggerations or paranoia. Perhaps they would believe the city had been attacked by a formidable warrior, but to accept that he was a Hero? That was another matter entirely. There was always the possibility that this was nothing more than an exceptionally strong individual toying with them.

That was why Nakon had made sure to include one crucial detail in his message—a reminder that the second princess of Tenebria, Queen Azariah's younger sister, Princess Ameriah, was currently in Breistan.

It was a calculated move. If there was even the slightest chance that a member of the royal family was in danger, the capital would have no choice but to take the matter seriously. Surely, they would not risk the princess falling into enemy hands. That alone should be enough to ensure that powerful warriors were sent immediately. At least, that was what Nakon hoped.

Now, in his private meeting chamber, the weight of responsibility bore down on him like an iron shroud. He sat at the head of a long table, his fingers pressing against his temple as he struggled to suppress his growing unease. The flickering candlelight cast restless shadows upon the stone walls, mirroring the turmoil within him.

"Still no news from the capital?" he asked, his voice tense with impatience. His advisor, a stern-faced demon standing beside him, shook his head.

"No, my lord. But I am certain they have received the message by now. They must be preparing their response," the advisor replied calmly.

Nakon let out a slow, weary sigh. "Will we still be safe by then?" The question hung in the air, heavy with doubt.

It had already been days since the battle. That Hero shouldn't have needed this long to recover. Unless… he was preparing something. A new plan. A new assault.

And if that were the case, Breistan might not survive the next attack.

To his people, it seemed as though Duke Nakon was overreacting. But deep within him, his instincts screamed that something was amiss.

This was still a Hero they were dealing with. No matter how much his soldiers dismissed the threat, Nakon knew better than to underestimate someone bearing that title—especially one who claimed to be from the second batch.

Even though the first wave of Heroes had ultimately failed to kill the Demon King, they had dealt catastrophic damage to the Demon Kingdom's forces. They had fought in the battles that led even the Demon King himself to retreat. The devastation they wrought had not been forgotten.

Nakon was certain that all of those Heroes had perished. And yet… decades later, one of them suddenly appeared?

Something was about to happen. He could feel it.

Just as that chilling thought crossed his mind, a sudden tremor shook his throne chair.

The vibrations were faint at first, but then the glass windows rattled violently. The very ground beneath them trembled as loose dirt and dust rose into the air.

A hushed panic spread through the room as the gathered nobles exchanged confused, alarmed glances before rushing toward the windows.

Nakon stood abruptly, his pulse hammering in his chest. Was it happening already? Had that Hero returned, this time with something powerful enough to bring Breistan to its knees?

He hurried toward the window, his breath catching in his throat. But what he saw in the sky was nothing he could have anticipated.

A massive shadow loomed over the city, its colossal form blotting out the sunlight.

Nakon's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He had only caught a glimpse of it, but he would have been a fool not to recognize what it was.

A dragon.

His blood ran cold.

Without a moment's hesitation, he bolted from the chamber, his knights and guards scrambling to follow. They barely kept pace as he rushed through the castle halls, his mind racing with possibilities. Who had come? Why was there a dragon over his city?

As soon as he reached the castle's stables, he mounted a horse and rode through the streets, his cloak billowing behind him. The people of Breistan had already taken notice of the golden dragon soaring overhead. Some stood frozen in awe, their mouths agape, while others fled, fear gripping their hearts.

It was several agonizing minutes before Nakon reached the city's entrance, where the dragon had begun to descend. Its massive body coiled as it poised itself near the gates, its towering form so enormous that even from beyond the walls, its head remained visible—casting an ominous shadow over the terrified onlookers.

Nakon's horse skidded to a stop as his eyes fell upon two figures standing at the city's entrance.

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One of them had stark white hair.

Recognition struck him instantly, and despite the unease churning within him, a nervous, wide smile stretched across Duke Nakon Breistan's lips.

He knew exactly who had arrived.