Sam’s plan had been deceptively simple—to turn Movok’s own forces against him.


    From the very beginning, he had seen the truth.


    Movok ruled not through loyalty, but through fear.


    The monsters under his command obeyed because they dreaded his strength, not because they followed him willingly.


    And fear, when given an alternative, could turn into rebellion.


    All Sam needed to do was offer them a better future—one where Movok no longer existed.


    Of course, it was all a lie.


    He had no intention of letting these monsters live after the battle.


    The plan was to let them weaken Movok… and then eliminate them as well.


    At first, his own comrades rejected the idea outright.


    "Work with them? With those who slaughtered our people?" Steven had growled, gripping his weapon so hard his knuckles turned white.


    It was unthinkable.


    To negotiate with the monsters who had burned their villages, killed their families, and hunted them like animals?


    But Sam remained firm.


    "Our goal is Movok," he had said, his voice steady. "We can kill them too, once he’s gone."


    Silence had followed. No one liked it, but everyone knew it was their best chance.


    And so, the first approach was made.


    The barbarians were the first.


    Proud, savage warriors who despised taking orders—especially from a lizard.


    Movok had crushed their previous chieftain beneath his heel and forced them into servitude.


    There was no love for him among their ranks—only resentment, simmering and waiting to explode.


    The moment the offer was made, their leader, Greg, grinned wickedly.


    "About time. That bastard killed my father."


    Convincing the ogres was just as easy.


    They valued respect above all else.


    But Movok? Movok did not inspire them.


    He demanded obedience without respecting them.


    And in their eyes, that made him unworthy.


    They agreed without hesitation.


    The gnolls and goblins, however, were another matter.


    Fear ran deep in them.


    They had seen what Movok did to traitors.


    They had heard the screams of those who had dared defy him.


    For them, betrayal meant death.


    But Greg and the ogres spoke with fire in their voices, with conviction in their words.


    "We have no future under him. You think he won’t turn on you next? He will. Just like he killed the others."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The words spread like wildfire, igniting long-buried doubts.


    And in the end, fear of Movok was replaced by something stronger—hatred.


    One by one, they turned.


    Only the trolls remained untouched.


    There was no point in approaching them.


    They were not Movok’s followers—they belonged to Tores, another of the Demon King’s generals.


    And Tores’ trolls were unshakable in their loyalty.


    If they had been brought into the scheme, everything would have collapsed.


    So Greg and the other monster chiefs had carefully avoided the trolls and the most loyal lizardmen.


    And now—


    The trap was sprung.


    Movok stood alone, surrounded on all sides.


    Betrayed. Outnumbered. Hated.


    His once-loyal warriors had become his executioners.


    But despite this—


    He did not waver.


    He did not fear.


    Instead, he stood tall, his grip tightening on his greatsword.


    His yellow reptilian eyes burned—not with despair, but with fury.


    A slow, cruel chuckle escaped his lips, the deep rumble like distant thunder before a storm.


    "So, this is your grand plan?"


    His gaze swept over the monsters, over the humans, over every face twisted with hatred and treachery.


    He raised his hands, his claws glinting under the moonlight like wicked scythes, and beckoned the traitors forward.


    His eyes gleamed, a terrifying mixture of amusement and bloodlust.


    "Come. Show me your strength. Or die like the filth you are."


    A chorus of furious roars erupted from the horde, the sound trembling in the cold night air.


    Then, they charged.


    Weapons gleamed in the light, their eyes burning with desperation and the mad hope of bringing him down.


    Four gnolls and three goblins sprinted ahead, blades raised high, their snarls twisted with rage.


    Fools.


    Movok didn''t even brace himself.


    With two slow, deliberate steps forward, he lifted his greatsword effortlessly in one hand and swung.


    A monstrous arc of steel cut through the night.


    A wet, sickening crack shattered the air.


    Their bodies exploded.


    The sheer force of his strike sent flesh and bone spraying in every direction.


    Shattered limbs tumbled through the air, chunks of meat slapping against the cold earth.


    Blood sprayed like a crimson wave, warm droplets pattering against Movok’s face, staining his pale scales in streaks of red.


    A severed arm twitched at his feet. A head, eyes frozen in terror, rolled to a stop near the others.


    The survivors halted mid-charge, their weapons lowering as they stared at the carnage before them.


    Their fallen comrades lay in steaming, butchered remains, the dirt soaked in thick, pooling blood.


    Silence stretched over the battlefield, deep and suffocating.


    Then—


    Movok moved.


    A barbarian barely had time to blink before Movok’s claws wrapped around his skull.


    The pressure was instant, crushing, unbearable.


    "Pathetic," Movok muttered.


    With a casual twist of his wrist, the barbarian’s neck snapped with a sharp, brittle crack.


    His body slumped, lifeless, before it even hit the ground.


    A gnoll, blinded by rage, lunged at him, howling, swinging its axe in a wild arc—


    Only to be split in two.


    Movok’s greatsword cleaved through the gnoll’s body like paper, splitting flesh and bone clean apart.


    The two halves of the creature collapsed to the ground with a wet slap, its entrails spilling out in a glistening heap.


    An ogre, one of the strongest warriors in the horde, saw an opportunity.


    With a guttural roar, he swung his massive war axe at Movok’s exposed back, the sheer force of the blow enough to split a boulder.


    The blade struck.


    A sharp, ringing clang echoed across the battlefield.


    The axe bounced off.


    The ogre staggered, his eyes widening as he stared at his weapon—at the unblemished scales of Movok’s back.


    Movok turned.


    The ogre barely had time to inhale before Movok’s claws plunged into his chest.


    Flesh ripped, ribs snapped, and Movok''s fingers wrapped around something warm, something still moving.


    The ogre gasped, a strangled, shuddering breath escaping his lips.


    Then, with a vicious yank, Movok tore the heart free.


    A gush of dark, steaming blood erupted from the hole in the ogre’s chest.


    He stumbled, his massive body convulsing, hands clawing weakly at the gaping wound—


    Then he collapsed.


    Movok tossed the heart aside without a second glance. It landed in the dirt with a wet squelch.


    Before it even stopped beating, he had already moved on.


    A barbarian turned to flee.


    He didn’t make it three steps before an axe spun through the air, embedding itself into his spine with a heavy, meaty thud.


    He collapsed, a final, ragged scream gurgling from his throat.


    Movok didn''t even look back.


    Blood dripped from his claws, staining the ground beneath him. His lips curled into a wide, satisfied grin.


    "Too easy."


    Then, his gaze locked onto his next prey.


    The weakest among them.


    The Goblin Chief.


    The goblin chief, realizing what was about to happen, let out a shrill, panicked screech.


    "N-No!"


    He spun on his heels and bolted, his tiny legs kicking up dirt as he fled.


    "Stop him! Stop him, you fools!" he wailed.


    His goblins scrambled to intercept Movok, their small forms trembling as they forced themselves to stand their ground.


    It was useless.


    Movok did not slow.


    He barreled through them like a beast, moving faster than their eyes could follow.


    One goblin lunged, thrusting a dagger at his leg.


    The blade snapped on impact.


    Movok didn''t even acknowledge it.


    Instead, he stepped forward—


    And stomped down.


    The goblin''s skull caved in beneath his foot with a sickening crunch.


    Blood and brain matter splattered across the dirt.


    Another goblin shrieked and turned to run.


    Movok snatched him mid-stride, lifting him effortlessly with one massive hand.


    With a casual flex of his fingers, he tore the goblin in half.


    The small creature’s spine snapped like dry wood, intestines spilling onto the ground in a steaming heap.


    Movok didn’t even glance at the corpse as he kept moving.


    The Goblin Chief had barely made it ten steps when Movok reached him.


    With one swift motion, Movok hurled his greatsword.


    The massive blade spun through the air—


    And crushed the goblin’s leg.


    A piercing, agonized scream tore through the forest.


    The Goblin Chief collapsed, clutching at the mangled remains of his limb, his fingers slick with blood.


    He tried to crawl away, his hands clawing desperately at the dirt, his breath coming in frantic, ragged gasps.


    Then, the light around him darkened.


    A massive shadow loomed over him.


    Cold, iron fingers wrapped around his throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air.


    The goblin gagged, his feet kicking helplessly.


    "How could you have thought about standing against me when you’re this weak?" Movok growled, his voice dripping with disgust.


    "P-please—f-forgive—"


    Before he could finish, Movok''s grip shifted.


    His claws latched onto the goblin’s skull.


    With one brutal motion, he ripped it clean from the body.


    A fountain of blood erupted from the severed neck, hot and thick, drenching Movok’s face and chest.


    The headless body twitched violently, spasming like a dying insect.


    Then it stilled.


    Movok tossed the severed head aside like discarded waste.


    It rolled, stopping near the feet of the remaining monsters.


    Silence.


    Pure, unbroken silence.


    Even Asael and his group, who had been watching from the sidelines, felt the weight of horror settle over them like a thick fog.


    Anne covered her mouth, swallowing back the bile rising in her throat.


    Movok turned his head slowly, eyes gleaming in the darkness as they locked onto his next target.


    The Gnoll Chief.


    The Gnoll Chief, a warrior who had once commanded legions without fear, now stood frozen.


    His fur bristled.


    His ears flattened.


    His breath came in shallow, shaking gasps.


    And in his eyes—


    Was pure, paralyzing terror.