Chapter 633: Majin

Several bodies lay covered in white sheets outside Damian’s residence, their forms arranged in a neat row along the stone pavement. The night had been anything but peaceful. Broken weapons, shattered armour, and dark stains marked the ground where the fighting had taken place, while demon soldiers moved through the estate, inspecting the damage and securing the surrounding streets.

A few soldiers carried the bodies away on stretchers. Others questioned the surviving guards, while patrols moved between the outer walls and the mansion’s entrances, determined to ensure no intruder remained within the premises.

Damian stood at the doorway, his black night robes hanging loosely around his frame. His long hair fell over his shoulders, and the exhaustion on his face was difficult to conceal.

He rubbed his forehead and watched a group of soldiers carry away another body. The Order of Demons had made a serious mistake by attacking his residence in the Imperial Capital. Someone would have to answer for it.

However, Damian had neither the patience nor the desire to deal with the matter himself. He had already entrusted the investigation to Astaroth and Paimon, and he intended to hold them to that responsibility.

He turned away from the doorway and returned inside.

The mansion’s main chamber had been cleared of the servants who had gathered during the commotion. Only two figures remained seated around the low table: Duke Astaroth and Duke Paimon. Between them rested the sealed artifact box that had once contained Majin’s Shadow.

The eye at its centre had closed, and the intricate patterns carved into its surface no longer emitted the faint glow they had displayed before.

Paimon held the box carefully in both hands. His striped ears had lowered slightly, and his whiskers twitched as he examined the lifeless artifact. Astaroth sat opposite him, his expression unusually grave.

Neither spoke for several seconds. Eventually, Paimon lifted his head.

"You said the Abyss absorbed the remnants of Lord Majin’s consciousness?"

Damian nodded firmly.

"I had no control over it," he replied without hesitation. "The shadow attacked, and it was absorbed directly into me, strengthening my abyssal talent."

The lie came easily.

Both Dukes studied him with tired expressions.

Astaroth’s eyes remained on Damian’s face for a moment longer before he released a defeated sigh. Paimon followed with one of his own, his broad shoulders sinking slightly.

Neither Duke believed the entire explanation. But neither pressed him.

"We must keep this matter a secret," Paimon said at last, setting the box on the table.

Astaroth shook his head. "The other Dukes are bound to notice. An artifact of this importance cannot simply disappear without attracting attention, especially when it was kept within the Demon Lord’s Armory."

He folded his hands together, considering the political consequences.

"The only thing we can do is place the blame on Zepar. We will say he attempted to absorb Lord Majin’s consciousness and tame it for its power, but failed and went mad. It was because of this that he attacked the residence of the Prince of Velmora, and that was when he was cut down."

Paimon nodded slowly. The explanation was plausible enough. Zepar had stolen the artifact, and attacked Damian’s residence. His ambitions were already clear, and the Duke’s death would leave little room for him to dispute the accusation.

The more difficult question was what the Order of Demons would do in response.

"Some will demand an investigation," Paimon observed. "Others may suspect that we are concealing something."

"Let them suspect," Astaroth replied. "Suspicion is not proof. Zepar’s actions provide more than enough grounds to justify his execution. If the Order wishes to preserve its reputation, it will be wise to distance itself from his recklessness."

Damian nodded in agreement while rubbing his eyes.

Honestly, he did not care what excuse they came up with. They could accuse Zepar of attempting to overthrow the Demon Emperor, stealing every artifact in the Armory, or conspiring with Heaven itself. As long as the matter was handled without requiring him to attend endless meetings, he would gladly leave the details to them.

His eyelids felt unbearably heavy.

"While you are at it, can you make sure I don’t have to worry about the Order of Demons attacking again?" Damian asked.

Astaroth immediately straightened.

"I apologize for allowing such a thing to happen." The Duke inclined his head in a formal bow. "The security of the Imperial Capital should have prevented an incident of this nature. I will personally ensure that the Order investigates its ranks and that no one attempts something similar again."

Paimon followed suit.

"It is my fault as well. The police force answers to me. We should have noticed something was wrong before Zepar reached your residence."

His tone carried genuine displeasure. The Imperial Capital’s security had been established precisely to prevent powerful demons from settling their disputes through violence within its walls. Zepar’s ability to bypass the checkpoints and infiltrate Damian’s mansion was a failure that could not be dismissed as an ordinary oversight.

Nevertheless, Damian merely shrugged.

"Just make sure it doesn’t happen again."

He pushed himself away from the table and rose to his feet, one hand clutching the side of his head. A dull pressure had settled behind his eyes, and the urge to sleep had become almost unbearable.

It was strange.

He had experienced exhaustion before, especially after prolonged battles. But this sensation was different. His body did not merely feel tired. It was as though something deep within him were pulling him towards unconsciousness, demanding that he surrender to it.

He could barely remember the last time he had felt this sleepy.

"I will meet you two at tomorrow’s council meeting," Damian said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "For now, let’s give this matter a rest and talk about it another day."

The two Dukes exchanged troubled glances.

"Are you sure you are okay?" Astaroth asked.

Damian nodded weakly.

"If anything strange happens, you will be the first to know."

He did not wait for another question. Turning away from the table, he walked towards the corridor leading to his chambers.

Paimon watched him leave, his ears still lowered. Once Damian disappeared around the corner, the Duke turned towards Astaroth.

"Do you think the absorption damaged him?"

"I don’t know," Astaroth admitted. "But I would prefer not to discover the answer by watching him collapse during tomorrow’s council."

His gaze returned to the sealed box. For now, they would have to trust Damian’s assurance that he was fine.

Damian, meanwhile, had already reached his room.

Elsa was sitting near the bed when he entered. She had changed out of her earlier attire, and her golden hair fell loosely over her shoulders. She looked up at the sound of his footsteps, preparing to ask about the incident outside, but the words died before they reached her tongue.

His condition was immediately apparent.

The Prince of Lust looked as though he could barely remain upright. His face was drained of its usual composure, and his eyes were half-closed. Whatever had happened after the battle had taken a greater toll on him than he was willing to admit.

"Damian, what happened? Are you—"

He walked past her without answering.

Elsa rose from her seat, but before she could reach him, Damian reached the bedside and fell forward onto the mattress. His long hair spread across the sheets, and his arms settled loosely at his sides.

His eyes closed.

For a moment, Elsa thought he was simply resting. Then she noticed how completely still he had become, his breathing so light that she instinctively leaned closer to check whether he was all right.

"Damian?"

There was no response.

She placed a hand against his shoulder and felt the warmth of his body. He was breathing, but he had fallen asleep so abruptly that it was almost unnatural.

Elsa frowned.

She had seen him sleep before, but never like this. Damian was usually capable of maintaining his awareness even when exhausted.

Damian opened his eyes and he was standing on a beach.

The sand stretched endlessly beneath his feet, pale and smooth, while the ocean extended towards a horizon that seemed to have no end. Yet there was something profoundly wrong with the landscape.

Everything was black and white.

The sky held no colour, the clouds were frozen in place, and the ocean moved beneath a colourless light that cast no warmth. Waves rolled towards the shore and dissolved against the sand, only to reform and repeat the same motion. There was no wind, no distant cry of seabirds, and no sound beyond the steady rhythm of the water.

Damian looked down at his hands. They were intact.

His night robes remained on his body, but their dark fabric appeared almost grey beneath the lifeless sky. He could feel the sand beneath his feet and the cold air against his skin, yet the sensation lacked the natural quality of the physical world.

Damian turned towards the ocean. A figure stood at the water’s edge, facing away from him.

The stranger wore black armour that covered his body from head to toe. A crimson scarf hung from his neck, its long ends stirring despite the absence of wind. The ocean reached around his boots, but the waves seemed unable to touch him. His silhouette was tall and imposing, and there was something ancient about the way he stood, as though the passage of time held no meaning to him.

"You are finally here."

The figure’s voice was impossibly deep, carrying a weight that seemed to resonate through the beach itself. Beneath the main voice, countless others spoke in perfect unison, creating a layered chorus that sounded as though a million voices had been compressed into a single sentence.