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In simpler terms, if a Baron-level demon was a formidable 7-star oppont, th these Viscounts were a terrifying leap in power, they had \'laws\'.

The problem wasn\'t just their individual might, though. Each Viscount commanded a grotesque army – lesser demons, twisted creatures snarling with bloodlust and monstrous beasts clawing for a taste of flesh. These hordes crashed against the hastily formed defses like a tide against a crumbling dam.

The various soldiers of the Elnovan Contints, clad in steel and fueled by a desperate courage, fought with unwavering determination. Mages unleashed barrages of arcane ergy, painting the sky with streaks of fire and lightning. But against the sheer number and power of the demonic forces, their valiant efforts seemed like a child throwing pebbles at a mountain.

The air crackled with the clash of steel and the unholy shrieks of the demons. Cries of pain and the clang of armor being cleaved echoed across the battlefield, a grim symphony of war. Hope dwindled with each fall soldier, with each defsive line breached.

Geral Silas Ironheart slammed his fist on the war council table, his weathered face contorted in disgust. A holographic map of the demon-infested border flickered before him, a stark reminder of the precarious situation.

"Another Viscount sighting," he growled, the words scraping against his throat. "The 3rd Legion is requesting reinforcemts. How many casualties?"

A young mage, barely out of his apprticeship, consulted the data stream. "Heavy, sir. They estimate at least… 500 soldiers."

Silas snorted. "Overwhelmed, as always." Under his breath, he muttered, "Or so they claim."

A hush fell over the room. Everyone knew the unspok truth. While the constant demon incursions were indeed a threat, they were also a perverse source of profit for some. The lesser nobles, ever opportunistic, used the chaos to inflate the severity of attacks, milking aid from the ctral governmt.

Their tactics were transpart. Cry wolf ough times, and evtually, the real wolf wouldn\'t be readily believed. Exaggerated reports of overwhelming forces delayed reinforcemts, allowing the demons to chip away at the borders. The delay, however, served a more sinister purpose.

By the time reinforcemts arrived, the lesser nobles, oft with "minimal losses" on their d, would swoop in to "finish the job." They\'d "liberate" ravaged towns, seizing any remaining resources and claiming the spoils of war for themselves.

And the cycle continued. Demons attack, nobles feign helplessness, resources flow, and th the "liberation" – a thinly veiled land grab disguised as heroism. It was a sicking game everyone was aware of, but one that remained unchallged.

King Alaric, the grizzled human leader, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he began, his voice heavy with a calculated neutrality, "we should re-evaluate the allocation of resources. Maybe the southern territories, consisttly under siege, require a more… and ev a permant presce from the Knight Orders."

A knowing smile played on Silas\' lips. The Knights, though seemingly above the fray, wasn\'t above playing the game themselves. A bigger, permant Knight Orders presce meant a tighter leash on the southern nobles, a way to sure their(the lesser nobles) "heroism" wasn\'t as profitable.

Of course, this move wouldn\'t be without cost. The Royal Guard received a hefty cut of any "liberated" resources. But for Alaric, it was a necessary price to pay. A controlled system of corruption was better than the unchecked chaos currtly plaguing the borders.

A sigh escaped Silas\' lips. This war wasn\'t just against demons; it was a war against the insidious rot within their own ranks. And as he surveyed the faces a the table, each calculating their own personal gain, he wondered if the demons were truly the bigger threat.

***************

Geral Aella slammed her fist down on the holographic map, the blue glow flickering with the demonic incursion pushing deep into Beastm territory. Gone were the days of fding off Baron-level skirmishes; this was a full-blown demonic onslaught led by multiple Viscounts, a terrifying escalation that st a tremor of fear through the war room.

"Five Viscounts, confirmed," Aella growled, her voice as fierce as the tiger she resembled. "They\'re coordinating their attacks. One\'s targeting the grasslands, the source of our cavalry\'s food supply, another\'s laying siege to the Eastern Pass, and the third…" she trailed off, a glint of grim understanding in her amber eyes, "…is heading straight for Leonidas\' territory."

These wer\'t the impulsive Barons of yesteryear, easily outsmarted and overpowered. Viscounts were a differt breed(literally). They were strategists, deploying specialized demon armies unlike anything they had faced before.

The holographic map flickered, displaying cavalry units of skeletal war steeds ridd by hulking Barghests, infantry legions of spiked-armor Imps, and ev monstrous siege canons operated by twisted witches.

The situation was ev more dire in other contints. The Dragon Contint reported coordinated attacks from two Viscounts, one a fire-breathing behemoth wreaking havoc, the other a cunning shadow manipulator dismantling their defses from within.

In the Elv Glade, a supreme Viscount, radiating an aura of power that made the scre shimmer, led a squad of lesser Viscounts in a calculated assault.

The air in the war room crackled with a tsion as thick as dragon smoke. The carefully cultivated web of deceit and profit spun by the lesser nobles was ripped to shreds by the sheer scale of this demonic invasion. This wasn\'t a game anymore. This was a war for survival, and the human race leaders were finally staring down the barrel of a threat that transcded their petty squabbles.

Geral Aella straighted, her regal bearing unwavering despite the dire situation. "We can no longer afford petty politics. Inform Leonidas," she declared, her gaze sweeping across the room, "We mobilize the full might of the his Lionkin army. This time, we fight as one."

A grim determination settled over the warriors prest. The comfortable game of inflated threats and delayed responses was over. The demons were playing for keeps, and the races of the world, for the first time, were forced to confront a threat that could consume them all.

A holographic map flickered across the war council table, a grim tapestry wov with the threads of demonic incursion. Geral Aella, her amber eyes narrowed in fierce conctration, traced the movemts of the demonic forces across the contints.

"The Beastm hold firm," she announced, her voice echoing in the tse chamber. "We have pushed back the Viscount\'s forces from the grasslands, securing their food supply and the tigerkin war sisters are coming." The Beastm, with their unmatched ferocity and coordinated warbands, were proving to be a thorn in the side of the demonic invasion.

"The Elv Glade," she continued, tapping a shimmering image of a sprawling forest, "has managed to repel the Viscount\'s vanguard. Their mastery of archery and hit-and-run tactics are proving highly effective."

A grim silce descded upon the room. While the Beastm and Elves boasted minimal losses, the news from other contints was far less optimistic.

"The Dwarv mountains," a grizzled dwarf geral rumbled, his voice thick with frustration, "are under constant siege. The constant tremors from their infernal explosives are hampering our defses."

A human mage chimed in, his face etched with worry, "The southern city-states continue to struggle. Their reliance on mercary companies is proving unreliable, and their fortifications are simply inadequate."

A wave of pity washed over Aella for the humans. They were the most diverse race, yet lacked the cohesion of the Beastm or the natural prowess of the Elves.

"And the Dragons?" she inquired, already dreading the answer.

A sigh escaped the lips of an aged Dragonborn ambassador. "Pride comes at a cost," he rasped. "While the purebloods remain largely unscathed, the hybrid settlemts and lesser dragons bear the brunt of the attacks. They fight valiantly, but…" he trailed off, his voice heavy with unspok grief.

The truth hung in the air. The Dragons, with their immse power and unmatched arrogance, refused to fully commit to the war effort. They saw themselves as above the fray, contt to see their lesser kin bleed while they protected their own.

Aella clched her jaw. The demons were clearly adapting their strategy. The initial attacks led by Barons had be easily repelled, but the arrival of the Viscounts, with their cunning tactics and specialized armies, was proving to be a significant challge.

The war council meeting stretched on, a grim discussion of troop movemts, resource allocation, and desperate pleas for assistance from the less fortunate races. The initial illusion that this was a war for profit shattered, replaced by the stark reality of an existtial threat.