Chapter 239
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 239
“Ugh…”
I let out a low groan and slowly forced my eyes open.
“Oh, he’s waking up! He’s waking up.”
“Aki, go get some water. Quickly.”
I heard the frantic stir of movement and voices nearby. Waking from what felt like a deep, eternal slumber, I looked around dazed. At first, the darkness was absolute, but as my vision adjusted, the surrounding scenery began to take shape.
Stalactites and stalagmites jutted out like jagged teeth. Massive, grotesque stone pillars supported a jagged ceiling. I was inside a cavern.
I remembered collapsing from sheer exhaustion during my final struggle against Iscariot. So why was I in a cave?
Just as I began to piece my fractured memories together to make sense of the situation…
Ting!
A notification window flickered into existence before my eyes.
[The Main Quest has been updated.]
The main quest changed?
I frowned and opened my status window.
*
[The Worst Student Council President]
- As the character ‘Roen Devalis,’ maintain your position as the Student Council President of the Academy Union until graduation.
⇒
[Savior]
- As the character ‘Roen Devalis,’ prevent the end of the world.
*
Just as I’d suspected, the primary mission I’d been given when I first fell into this world had been altered. It had shifted from a quest to remain student council president until graduation to a grandiose, terrifying mission to save the world.
“…”
After confirming the new quest, I closed the status window with a heavy heart. This meant I no longer needed to live as the student council president. The role of Roen, the president, was over.
A hollow ache settled in my chest. It felt as if all my hard-earned efforts and the bonds I’d painstakingly forged had crumbled into ash. But looking at the new quest, I couldn't exactly call it a failure. In a way, it was proof that I had been diligently fulfilling my previous duties. Perhaps this transition was a necessary step to move forward.
As I let out a deep sigh, a grimy boy approached and offered me a bowl of water.
“Here. Drink.”
“Thanks.”
I took the bowl and gulped it down. I must have been unconscious for a long time; my throat was parched, and the water felt like a lifeline.
Clank.
The cool water felt good, but as I swallowed, I felt something foreign and heavy around my neck. I frowned, my hand fumbling at my throat.
This is…
A thick iron chain was wrapped tightly around my neck. I tried to wrench it off, but it wouldn't budge. As I struggled with the metal, an old woman watching from the shadows spoke up.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your head will explode. Not that you could take it off even if you wanted to.”
“…”
The old woman warned me while taking a long, harsh drag from a cigarette. She was short with a bulbous nose, resembling a dwarf. To be precise, she was a dark dwarf—a demonic offshoot with charcoal skin. A chain was also fastened around her neck, though it looked much smaller and looser than mine.
A slave?
I noticed the thick, jagged calluses covering her hands. I also caught the rhythmic, distant sound of pickaxes striking rock echoing through the tunnels.
A cave, chains, demons, pickaxes.
I connected the dots and reached a grim conclusion.
“This is… an underground labor camp in the Demon Realm.”
A massive mine where they excavated obsidian and mana stones—the raw materials for dark mana stones—along with other rare ores. It was a dumping ground for exiled criminals, the weak who had fallen behind in the Demon Realm’s survival-of-the-fittest hierarchy, and demons of low birth.
I knew of this place. It was a hellhole where hundreds died every day from the harsh conditions, grueling labor, and constant infighting. It was the final destination for the weak, the old, and the sick. Any demon sent here became a disposable tool, meant to be used until they broke.
The old woman looked me over and clicked her tongue.
“Tsk, tsk. I don’t know what crime you committed to end up here, boy, but you won’t last long.”
“…”
I checked my chest and back, feeling for the wounds Iscariot had inflicted. I didn’t know what had happened after I passed out, but the injuries were completely healed. If he intended to kill me, he should have finished it. Why heal me only to abandon me in a place like this?
Questions swirled in my mind, but I had more pressing matters to attend to. I started by trying to draw upon my magic. Magic was essential for survival here.
Woooong—.
With a tremor from my Mana Heart, mana began to gather at my fingertips. But it never manifested into a spell. The heavy chain constricting my neck scattered the mana before it could take shape.
In that case…
I tried to use my Authority to break the chain. I was wearing nothing but a single rag; Derod’s ring was gone.
Tssss—.
At my will, demonic energy gathered at my fingertips in the form of an orb without resistance. But as soon as a certain amount of Authority accumulated, it, too, dispersed. Just like my mana, it was suppressed by the chain’s interference.
I can’t use magic or my Authority?
Even with Derod’s ring deactivated, I didn’t feel the same sense of overwhelming power as before. At best, my stats were only slightly higher than my usual, feeble state. It seemed the massive iron chain around my neck was a high-level sealing artifact—one that nullified all but the most minimal use of power. It was on a completely different level from the ones worn by the other prisoners.
As I sat lost in thought, the young girl cautiously asked a question.
“Big brother, what crime did you commit to come here?”
“A crime.”
If there was a reason why I, who was revered by the Venerables as a Successor, had ended up in a place like this…
Is it because of Girena’s death?
I had stood with humanity and dealt a devastating blow to the demons. The most fatal among them was the death of Girena, one of the Venerables. The Twelve Venerables were the heads of the factions that comprised the demon race. Since I had killed one of their leaders, this treatment was almost merciful. Normally, I would have been executed on the spot, but it seemed they had settled for this because they still needed my Authority.
I looked at the boy and girl, their eyes shining with curiosity, and asked, “Are you two siblings?”
“Yes, I’m Mary. This is Aki.”
They looked to be in their early teens. Judging by the light in their eyes, they hadn’t been in the labor camp for long.
I turned to the old woman. “Are they criminals too?”
“…What crime could children this young commit? If being born a half-blood is a crime, then I suppose they’re guilty.”
“Half-blood.”
Looking closely, the siblings appeared to be of mixed dark elf heritage. And now that I looked again, the old woman seemed to be a mix of dark dwarf and human.
I see.
Now I understood the intention behind locking me away here.
I am a half-blood—of demon and human descent.
The message was clear: while my powers were sealed, I was to live among other half-bloods, win their hearts, and become their representative. I was to prove my worth by crawling out of this hell with my own strength. Not with the magic I learned in the human world, nor with my innate Authority, but with the pure power of a demon.
Furthermore, by exiling me to this labor camp, they were protecting me from the immediate threats and political maneuvering of the other Venerables.
Having finished my deductions, I spoke to the old woman.
“Bring me the decurion who commands you. A centurion will also do.”
Even a labor camp had a hierarchy. I needed to meet someone in charge immediately. But the old woman looked troubled.
“There’s no kind-hearted decurion who would take us in. What good is an old woman and two kids for labor? We’re just a drain on the food supply.”
The labor camp was a society of strict top-down command and performance-based rewards. The elderly and children, useless as laborers, were not taken in by any organized group. They were simply left to rot.
It seems there’s no organization managing them.
I couldn't ask for help from within their circle. I stood up.
Stagger—.
For a moment, the world spun. My wounds were healed, but I was starving. I leaned against the cave wall and asked, “…Do you have anything to eat? If you help me now, I will repay you a hundredfold.”
“I don’t need a hundredfold. Here, take this.”
The old woman tossed something at me. I caught it—a piece of jerky. A rare luxury in a place like this. I hurriedly chewed and swallowed it.
“Thank you. I will be sure to repay this kindness.”
The old woman shook her head and gestured toward the two siblings.
“Kindness? There’s no need for that. I don’t have much time left… Just get those kids out of here someday.”
I nodded, then stood up and walked out of the cave.
“Where are you going?” Mary asked.
I clenched my fist. “To meet someone important.”
Underground Labor Camp, District 13.
This was the residential area for the ‘half-bloods,’ those who weren’t even considered a proper demon race because they had no Venerable to represent them.
A boy had appeared before Glet, the centurion. He had a massive chain wrapped around his neck; he was the prisoner who had been dumped here recently, labeled as a ‘special-management’ case.
Thud.
The boy dragged several unconscious decurions and threw them at Glet’s feet.
A special-management prisoner, indeed.
Even with a magic restraint, he had handled decurion-level opponents with ease. Glet, sitting arrogantly in his chair, sighed.
“What do you want? I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to get involved.”
Special-management prisoners were those who had fallen out of favor with the higher-ups. Nothing good came from associating with them. Besides, a centurion like Glet lived well enough here. He couldn’t leave, but he could live like a king within these walls.
The boy spoke.
“No, you’re already involved. The mere fact that I am here will make you an enemy of the beastkin.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Glet shot back, his face twisting.
The beastkin’s residential area was District 10. There was no reason for them to invade the half-blood district.
The boy said, “I am the Successor. I am Roen, the one who killed Girena, one of the Twelve Venerables.”
“…!”
Glet had heard the rumors that Girena was dead. But this brat was the one who killed him? He gritted his teeth. Bullshit. That’s total bullshit.
Glet recalled a time when one of Girena’s close aides had come to the labor camp for an inspection. A wolf with a silver mane who had displayed truly overwhelming power. A power so great that only a chiliarch, or perhaps a myriarch, might have stood a chance. If a mere subordinate of a Venerable possessed that much power, how could this boy have defeated a Venerable?
It was unbelievable, but Glet asked, half in doubt, “A Successor… Don’t tell me you’re a participant in the Rite of Succession?”
“I am.”
“…”
Glet leaned back in his chair as if collapsing.
The Rite of Succession. In truth, anyone could declare their candidacy if they wished—as long as they met the minimum number of sponsors. If one fought and won in the succession battles, they would be granted the status of a Venerable along with a special power. It was a battlefield every inhabitant of the Demon Realm dreamed of.
But who would dare risk their life? Defeat meant not only their own death but the death of all their sponsors as well.
As if sensing Glet’s doubt, the boy suddenly asked, “How long until the Rite of Succession?”
“…Twelve months. Candidate registration is in six months.”
At this, the boy stroked his chin and murmured, “Six months… I’ll have to conquer this labor camp and get out before then.”
“Conquer?”
Conquer this labor camp in six months? This place, teeming with a hundred thousand prisoners?
Just as Glet tilted his head in bewilderment, the door burst open and a decurion rushed in.
“L-Lord Glet! A gang of beastkin has swarmed our district!”
“Beastkin? Why now?”
“I-I don’t know! I heard the order came from above!”
Glet looked at the boy, stunned. The boy smiled faintly.
“They’re here. Leave it to me.”
Within the Demon King’s castle, in Carmilla’s domain.
Looking uncharacteristically anxious, Carmilla tapped her foot restlessly. “Will he really be okay?”
“What are you talking about?”
At Amur’s indifferent question, Carmilla frowned.
“The Successor. I’m talking about the Successor.”
The Successor, who had been transported to the Demon Realm after the invasion of the Sea of Trees and sent to the underground labor camp. Carmilla was worried.
Amur let out a short, humorless laugh. “Ha. To think I’d live to see the day you worry about someone else.”
“It’s not worry. I’m just concerned things might go wrong.”
She didn’t care about Roen’s life. But it was a different story if he died or was incapacitated before he could even participate in the Rite of Succession.
If Iscariot or the immortal clan’s successor inherits His Majesty’s Authority, it’s all over.
Carmilla, Amur, and Gilean, who had sponsored Roen, would be left with nothing. If things went south, they could even be expelled from the Demon Realm entirely. They could end up like the beastkin, most of whom were enslaved and dragged to the labor camps after Girena’s death.
But Amur replied nonchalantly, “Stop worrying and do your job. What’s that, by the way?”
Amur’s gaze fell on a small pouch in Carmilla’s hand. She tossed it in the air.
“This? A subspace pouch. It belonged to the Successor, but I’m holding onto it. I’m curious what’s inside.”
As Carmilla made a show of untying the pouch, Amur clicked his tongue.
“Tsk. Don’t get any funny ideas. Just give it to him when he gets out. There might be something in there that could help him.”
Besides, a subspace pouch couldn’t be opened by anyone other than its owner—unless one possessed an Authority that could manipulate space.
Just as they were chatting, a dark mist spread out, and Gilean emerged from within. Carmilla shot up from her seat.
“How is it? The situation?”
Gilean, who had just returned from checking on the Successor in the labor camp, reported, “The Successor has awakened. He has realized what he must do and is moving to make the labor camp his own.”
“…But is that even possible?”
Although the underground labor camp was a place for losers, it was no pushover. It was a place where past giants who had lost in the Demon Realm’s power struggles lay dormant. It was uncertain whether Roen, with his power sealed, could defeat them.
Gilean’s face hardened. “This is not the time to wonder if it’s possible. It must be possible.”
Roen’s opponent, Iscariot, was an undeniable monster—the most likely candidate to become the next Successor. And the other successor sponsored by the immortal clan… a successor who had been reborn of their own will, had also begun their training. They were preparing to transfer to a new body and become a true, complete being.
If Roen couldn’t survive the labor camp, he wouldn't stand a chance in the rite.
Gilean said, “Six months until candidate registration. He must get out before then. And then another six months until the Rite of Succession. Within that time, our successor must become a complete being.”
Gilean clenched his fist, his eyes gleaming. Roen was the one fit to achieve their great cause—the savior the Demon Realm had long awaited.
And… he was the key to fulfilling Gilean’s own long-held wish.