Chapter 463
Chapter 463
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 463
Chapter Title: Results Announcement (5)
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A vast, empty space where the thrones of the nine lords stood.
A silence unlike any they had ever experienced settled over them.
They repeated the cruel choices laid before them, unable to believe their eyes.
A 10% chance that part of their own race, including themselves, would become slaves.
Or, sacrifice two of their nine for certain, guaranteeing the safety of the rest.
No matter the choice, at least one or more of them faced death—or worse humiliation.
This was impossible.
For eons beyond measure, "choice" had always been something they imposed on others.
Submit, or perish.
Surrender, or resist and be crushed.
Every path ended in their absolute authority and victory.
But now, with a blade at their own throats, they had to decide which wrist to slash.
Not since the Void's master vanished and the Great War ended in ancient times had those nine thrones ever wavered.
They were the absolute rulers of the Abyss, their authority seemingly eternal.
Yet here they were—no enemy swords clashing, no war lost—facing a decree of annihilation.
A mere system message threatened to erase their very existence.
Only then did they faintly begin to grasp it.
The despair and misery of those countless weakest races, always dead last in the Racial Wars.
They had watched it all as mere entertainment.
Seated on their jade thrones, like emperors spectating gladiators.
The fallen race's champion weeping as they offered up their people as slaves or signed humiliating pacts mortgaging their future—they had savored every moment to stave off boredom.
The losers' screams were sweet background music, their tears a spice finer than vintage wine.
It was simply the natural order of the Abyss: the strong dominating the weak.
The defeated paying the price was the arena's fundamental rule.
But no.
Stagnation, where growth halted and even newborns hit level 99's unbreakable wall without spreading their wings once.
Yesterday's ally becoming today's foe, future hopes turning to past despair—an endless helplessness.
For their race's survival, helplessly watching kin—children, parents, siblings—dragged off as slaves to other races!
The soul-brand could never be erased by any magic, the humiliation passed down generations.
One last place finish, and they could never rise again.
Defeat bred more defeat, despair deeper despair.
Once the scales tipped, they never balanced.
It was a straight path to ruin, no other way.
No future, no hope, nothing.
Just enduring day by day in agony, awaiting the day their race vanished from Abyss history.
That was the fate they had forced on the losers.
And now, that fate boomeranged back at them.
They were no longer spectators.
They had become the most wretched protagonists on the cruel stage they built.
Locked in the most intricate prison they themselves designed.
[......This is.]
For the first time, regret tinged one lord's will.
A foreign sensation, forgotten over tens of thousands of years—unneeded until now.
[......This is the truth we turned away from.]
But the regret came too late.
They had only one hour left.
In that time, they had to decide their own fate with their own hands.
Whatever the choice, it would stain the demons' glorious history with indelible blemish and decline.
For the first time, they shuddered before the weight of choice.
[......Sacrifice.]
Cold mockery edged the Master of Colossal Evil's will.
Yes. "Sacrifice" held no place for them.
It was a sentimental word for the weak, absent from a ruler's lexicon.
Their minds instantly spun toward the most efficient, self-serving path.
Two options.
First: Offer 10% of the population as slaves.
A 10% risk including even their nine lords.
Second: Annihilate two of the nine lords.
Safer for themselves, but crumbling the demons' greatest pillar of power.
[The nine thrones must not waver.]
One lord declared firmly.
The others silently agreed.
[If two of us vanish, the balance with the Twelve Sovereigns shatters completely.]
That was their top concern.
Seven thrones couldn't face twelve transcendents, each race's pinnacle sovereigns.
The moment the fragile power balance collapsed, the Twelve would pounce, tearing into demon lands and eroding their authority.
It would spell the demons' total loss of hegemony—a greater doom.
But sacrificing 10% of demons at random?
[Yes. Even if one of us unluckily falls, eight thrones remain intact. We won't yield to the Twelve.]
The demons would decline, but their foundation endures.
12 billion lost would hurt, but given demons' tenacious vitality and greed, recovery was possible.
[Preserving our nine thrones matters more than 12 billion lowly demons.]
The conclusion came effortlessly.
The nine lords broadcast their coercive will across the entire Abyss to every demon.
Their voice was an absolute sovereign decree, brooking no doubt.
-All demons, vote immediately for the first option, 'Living Sacrifices.' This is the will of I, your lord and ruler. Any who defy will perish by my hand before punishment falls.
They ordered their subjects to willingly risk becoming slaves.
For their own safety.
But why were demons demons?
The moment the nine lords' coercive command echoed across the Abyss, the same selfish, cunning calculations sparked in countless cities, territories, and the deepest hells.
"......10%?"
A demon king muttered, stroking his chin from his throne. No awe for the lords in his eyes—only cold calculus gleamed.
"10%. Not a low chance. I could get unlucky and be picked."
His thoughts echoed the myriad demons scattered across the Abyss.
Loyalty? Reverence for the lords?
Mere ornaments, discarded before power's logic.
Their sole concern: their own survival and gain.
'What if two of the nine lords vanish instead?'
A horrific, irreverent thought.
Yet irresistibly tempting.
Second option: 'Fall of the Kings.'
Zero risk to themselves—100% safe.
No need to gamble the 10% slavery chance.
Just watch two distant thrones empty from afar.
Of course, losing lords would weaken the race.
'But what does that matter to me?'
Better, even.
Two lords gone meant vast lands and powers left masterless.
In that chaos, ambitious demon kings like him might seize new opportunities.
Perhaps he could claim a vacant throne as a new 'lord.'
Such dangerous, thrilling fantasies ignited the demons' greedy souls.
10% uncertain risk.
VS
0% certain safety—and potential massive gains.
To demons, it wasn't even worth pondering.
One hour.
Every demon in the Abyss, hidden in private chambers or thrones, evading lordly watch, quietly sealed their fate.
And at last, when the promised time arrived.
The results were announced.
The nine lords never doubted their victory.
No fool would defy their command.
But the system's result mocked their arrogant certainty.
The nine lords' consciousnesses froze in that instant.
The absolute nine kings betrayed by their own subjects.
They never imagined the dominion built on eons of terror crumbling so futilely.
The system issued the final verdict without delay.
[How dare you!]
The Master of Colossal Evil's will erupted in pure rage for the first time.
[How dare a mere system! Annihilate two of us great nine lords?!]
Resonating with his fury, uncontrollable killing intent burst from the other thrones.
They were the Abyss's rulers, beings above the laws.
They had no intention of yielding lives to some mechanical judgment.
But the system was merciless.
As if mocking their rage and bloodlust, nine throne symbols materialized above the system window.
And like a slot machine, they began spinning rapidly.
A cruel roulette deciding their fates.
At last, the spin halted, the first symbol locking in.
[......!]
The moment his name was called, the Master of Colossal Evil's consciousness stalled.
And in the next instant, the entire Abyss quaked with his incredulous scream.
[Me? How dare you target me!]
But his scream echoed into void.
The system felt no emotion.
His authority, his rage—meaningless.