Chapter 240
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 240
As they emerged from the centurion’s quarters, a throng of beastkin prisoners blocked their path.
Glet barked a warning. “What is the meaning of this? I will lodge a formal complaint with the Great One!”
In the hierarchy of the underground labor camp, the ranks began with decurion, followed by centurion, chiliarch, and commander of five thousand. At the very pinnacle of this order stood the myriarchs.
Those who commanded ten thousand prisoners were titled "Great One" and received special treatment. A Great One acted as both lord and administrator, ruling over an entire section of the camp. They existed outside the standard rules and were free to leave the labor camp at any time.
However, in Sector 13—the territory of the mixed-bloods—there was no one worthy of the title. It was a stark testament to how weak the mixed-bloods were within the Demon Realm and how poorly they were treated.
In response to Glet's warning, a fierce-looking tiger beastkin stepped forward, baring his fangs.
“Complain to our Great One? This was a direct order from him. I heard there's a special-management prisoner in this sector. Hand him over. If you don't, I'll kill you and every last prisoner under your command.”
As the tiger beastkin snarled his threat, Glet swallowed hard. He glanced at Roen, trying to gauge his reaction, his mind racing. He was debating whether it was worth handing Roen over to satisfy the beastkin’s demands.
Roen, sensing the hesitation, posed a question of his own.
“The choice is yours, Glet. Will you hand me over and cling to a hollow peace in this lightless pit? Or will you become my first follower and walk out of here with me?”
“…”
Glet bit his lip, mulling over the offer. His rank as a centurion was enough to live without worry; he was long past the point of performing backbreaking labor himself. As long as he met the ore production quotas, his superiors rarely interfered, allowing him to live comfortably by managing those beneath him.
But the truth was simple.
I want to get out of here.
Glet clenched his fists. This dark, damp hellhole was rife with conspiracy and death. The demonic energy here was so oppressive that even demons found it difficult to endure. He wanted to go outside, to breathe fresh air and feel the sun on his skin. He craved true freedom, not the precarious liberty of a prison overseer.
This boy was said to have killed a Venerable of the beastkin. If he sided with him, perhaps real freedom was actually within reach.
Right. I’d rather take a gamble than rot and die in this hole.
Having made his decision, Glet shouted, “I will not hand over the special-management prisoner! This is our sector. Get out!”
“Foolish bastard. Kill them!”
At Glet’s refusal, the group of beastkin unsheathed their razor-sharp claws in unison. Judging by their fluid, unhesitating movements, they had never intended to resolve this with words.
As the beastkin prisoners lunged, Glet and the other mixed-bloods manifested their racial traits to meet the charge.
At their head was Roen.
Fwip—.
In an instant, Roen closed the distance to the tiger beastkin leader and slammed his palm upward into the creature's jaw.
CRACK—!
“...!”
His lower jaw shattered, and the tiger beastkin was sent reeling. Roen rubbed his tingling wrist and smiled.
It works.
Demonic energy body enhancement. The principle was identical to how knights utilized mana to momentarily bolster their physical forms—gathering the demonic energy within his body to a single point and releasing the force at the exact moment of impact.
Thud—.
The tiger beastkin, his skull crushed from the jaw up, collapsed in a heap. Although the backlash made Roen's wrist ache, the fact that it worked against a physically superior beastkin proved its power was sufficient. Moreover, since he didn't need to enhance his entire body, the efficiency of his demonic energy consumption was excellent.
Tat—.
Roen began to systematically subdue the beastkin, distributing demonic energy precisely where it was needed—his feet, hands, legs, or arms—depending on his stance.
CRUNCH—. THWACK—.
This was pure hand-to-hand combat, devoid of artifacts, magic, or Authority. If he had fought recklessly in the past by relying on his lineage and demonization, now was the time to build his power from a solid foundation. This was his chance to read the flow of demonic energy, internalize it, and be reborn as a true warrior.
And then...
“Kishaaak!”
As a lizard beastkin charged from his blind spot, Roen blasted a spell directly into its face.
“Fire Bolt.”
BOOM—!
The lizard beastkin’s upper body melted away, consumed by the violent flames erupting from Roen's hand. It was a brutally powerful spell woven from raw demonic energy. Its precision was still lacking, but its destructive potential was undeniable.
Roen looked at his own palm, reddened from the heat, and clenched his fist.
The strongest warrior and the strongest mage.
If his previous struggles to become stronger had been the path of the human Roen, then this underground labor camp was the crucible where he would forge the power of the demon Roen.
For six months, I will push this power to its limit and awaken my latent abilities.
And then...
I will rise beyond the ranks of centurion and chiliarch to become the Great One of the mixed-bloods. I will lead them and subjugate every other race here.
He would eliminate the old monsters of the Demon Realm residing in this camp and reign as its king. He had a mere six months to achieve this great work. It would be anything but easy, but…
...it's not impossible.
Roen grinned and charged back into the fray.
*
The Flooded Region, Glyphish.
Iscariot and the other Venerables had departed, and the demonic beasts under their command had vanished. The battle was over, but the city of water—once famed for its breathtaking scenery—bore the deep, jagged scars of war.
The Flooded Region Coalition, led by Ariel, began the grim task of recovering the dead and restoring the ruined city. Troops and restoration teams dispatched from the Empire played a vital role in the effort. Furthermore, through the contractor of the Spirit King Yggdrasil, they created a new Spirit King's Jewel to form a barrier protecting the city.
Kiriel Silverwalker, the witness to a new covenant. The high elf bloodline had proven its purpose once again. The covenant between the Spirit King and the Children of the Forest was far from over.
While the city's restoration was in full swing, a certain individual visited Glyphish City Hall, which served as a temporary command center.
“You've arrived, Chairman.”
A portly man with a gleaming bald head and a warm, gentle demeanor entered. He wore a white suit and looked every bit the kindly grandfather. It was the Chairman of the Union.
The Union, much like Glyphish, had suffered a heavy blow. Four Venerables had led their forces to invade the Union simultaneously. However, most civilians were safe, thanks to the enemy's forces being split between the two regions. In a way, the Chairman's swift response had repelled the invasion with minimal casualties.
The incident had also served as a revelation; the fearsome magical prowess of the Chairman, long dismissed as a mere figurehead, was now known across the continent. Of course, the Chairman simply chuckled heartily with his usual good-natured smile.
“Thank you all for enduring such a difficult time. I am glad to see you are safe.”
The Chairman addressed the student council presidents of the Four Great Academies and the leaders of the Elf Kingdom.
“…”
However, their expressions remained grim. Kiriel clutched the necklace Isley had left her and gritted her teeth. They had suffered too much to feel simple relief. The Union had lost numerous faculty members, and the military strength of the Elf Kingdom was decimated. The city was in ruins, and many citizens who couldn't evacuate had been sacrificed.
In the end, they had even lost Roen, the enemy's primary target. It was a pyrrhic victory in the truest sense.
Sensing the somber atmosphere, the Chairman spoke in a calm, steady voice.
“I understand how you feel, but the living must go on. We cannot cling to the past. If you have regrets, you must strive to correct them—to ensure such a tragedy never happens again.”
The Chairman placed a hand on Kiriel's shoulder and smiled.
“I suspect you will be the first to break out of your shell, Miss Kiriel. A Spirit King's contractor appears only once every few centuries. You should be proud of yourself.”
Comforted by his words, Kiriel, who had been fighting back tears in silence, finally asked, “What... what will happen to Roen?”
Many precious people had died, but as the Chairman said, the living had to move forward. Roen was one of them. Was he even still alive after being dragged away by the demons?
Freya, Elena, and Beatrice all looked to the Chairman, desperate for an answer.
The Chairman sighed. “…I'm sorry, but I do not know what comes next. However, one thing is certain: Roen will be safe.”
The demons had taken Roen for a specific purpose; they wouldn't let him die easily. At least, not as long as he remained useful. Furthermore, the future would be determined by Roen's own choices, making it difficult even for Ain Soph to predict what lay ahead.
“Roen is surely fighting them even now,” the Chairman continued. “Fighting more fiercely than anyone to become stronger. He will not stop.”
To achieve the "Great Work" that the demons so fervently desired, one needed the proper qualifications for succession and the power to match. Roen would be fighting a silent war to move forward.
“Only his location and his duties have changed. Roen is still Roen.”
At the Chairman's words, the students' eyes hardened, and they quietly clenched their fists. Seeing their resolve, the Chairman nodded.
“And we must prepare for a war of our own.”
This invasion was merely a declaration. The real war between humanity and the demons was only just beginning.
*
The Demon Realm. The domain of the Undying.
Swoosh—.
It was a night where dark clouds choked the sky, blotting out the moon as the rain fell like a mournful sob. Around a blood-soaked altar, priests of the Undying draped in black cloth stood in silent rows.
[$#@!$#@#$!]
They chanted an eerie, incomprehensible otherworldly incantation, offering prayers to the altar. Amidst the resonance of the strange, low chant that seemed to drain the very soul from the air, a figure approached.
Step—.
The man took one step at a time toward the altar atop 666 steps. It was King Kaim of the Knight Kingdom Gilbert—the one known as the Reborn Successor. He ascended the altar to claim eternal life.
Step. Step.
[$#@!$#@#$!]
With each step, the eerie chant of the Undying priests grew louder, and the downpour intensified. Just as the priests began to bleed from their eyes, their minds succumbing to madness, King Kaim reached the summit.
Rumble—!
Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark night. Visible through the rain was the sacrifice for the ritual of eternal life. King Kaim looked down with a completely emotionless expression.
It was a handsome young man with golden-blond hair. His own son. His own flesh and blood. Jeremy Gilbert.
The ritual required the transfer of one's soul and karma to a new vessel. This was an indispensable step to becoming one of the true Undying—a successor worthy of achieving the Demon God's great work.
Gazing at the sacrifice with impassive eyes, the King swung his sword toward his sleeping son's heart.
*
Time passed. Six months later.
Screech—. Rumble—.
The massive stone gates of the underground labor camp—through which only minecarts laden with minerals and meager rations had ever passed—ground open. Sunlight pierced the deep darkness and chilling air of the abyss.
Following that light, a young man emerged.
Roen Devalis.
Stepping out of the cavern, he shielded his eyes from the blinding glare and looked up at the sky.
“It's been a while, fresh air.”
Behind him, a sea of demons followed, marching out of the labor camp.
And then, three Venerables approached the youth and bowed deeply.
“We have been waiting for you, Successor.”