Chapter 195 - The Awakening

The news about the death of a demon king spread wide and fast throughout the world.

In the grand high-vaulted chambers of the human kingdoms, reports delivered by breathless scouts were met with stunned silence. Monarchs sat frozen upon their gilded thrones, the parchment letters trembling in their hands.

"Morcant... is dead?"

A veteran general whispered, his face devoid of color as he looked at the royal council.

In the capital of the Empire, behind tall iron gates where silver-armored paladins stood guard, the high council of the Holy Church gathered beneath the looming statues of their gods.

"The Red Ancient Disaster... slayed on a dirt road?"

"Is the news true...?"

"There’s just no way, right?

Priests in embroidered robes murmured in hushed, panicked tones, their sacred scriptures falling to the floor. The holy relics, which usually hummed with divine radiance, flickered weakly as if reacting to the dark seismic shift in the world’s power hierarchy.

"The fourteenth did not just emerge..."

"He slaughtered one of the original seats. Heavens preserve us..."

The High Bishop muttered, staring at the blood-stained report brought directly from the outskirts of Sionnan.

And then, far beyond the human borders, in the shrouded, unmapped realms where shadows ruled... the reaction was no less profound.

Deep within abyssal castles carved from black obsidian, resting on bone thrones hidden behind impenetrable miasma, ancient entities opened their eyes. The remaining Demon Kings felt the sudden, complete erasure of Morcant’s soul resonance.

They did not speak, nor did they send emissaries, but the heavy, suffocating mana that blanketed their hidden domains rippled with a rare, quiet caution. A seat had fallen. A peer had been bested.

The Demon Kings were absurd creatures that were at the absolute pinnacle of power in this world.

Their numbers were low, but those numbers never moved.

For hundreds of years, armies had been raised, heroes had been chosen by divine decree, and grand crusades had been launched into the dark lands—yet the seats of the Demon Kings remained entirely untouched. They existed like immortal beings refusing to die, haunting the entire world with fear and maintaining an unyielding dominance over the continent.

So when the numbers suddenly increased, when it moved for the first time—it shook everyone.

The birth of the fourteenth Demon King had already sent shockwaves through every continent, prompting kingdom rulers to draft emergency alliances and churches to summon their highest knights. But then, not long even after that... The numbers moved again!

It returned to the original count.

Not because the new one had perished... The new demon killed an old one!

To the human kingdoms and the surrounding monster tribes, Morcant was far from an obscure name. Morcant was a pretty well-known Demon King for the humans, he was called the Red Ancient Disaster back then.

Centuries ago, historical records documented his horrific marches across the eastern plains. He was a force of nature—a chaotic calamity wrapped in crimson skin. He would leave every place he went to into ruins, kill everyone, and just leave them.

Morcant didn’t eat them, torture them, or capture them. He didn’t care for territory, riches, or slaves.

He just liked destroying and killing on impulse. Entire fortresses had been reduced to ash simply because Morcant felt like flexing his claws on a Tuesday afternoon.

And that continued until now!

Though his scale dropped down to destroying a few villages in his free time for some reason, his terrifying presence was still something every border commander feared. The mere rumor that the Crimson Demon was wandering near a territory was enough for entire towns to evacuate overnight. He was an unstoppable, unkillable monster who answered to no one.

And yet, that very same monster’s severed, giant head was now spiked on a wooden post like a common bandit’s, its dried blood forming a message that mocked the entire world.

[Thirteen Demon Kings. I have restored the count.]

As the morning sun fully rose, the trade path near the City of Sionnan became overcrowded with panicked merchants, fleeing mercenaries, and galloping imperial messengers. No one dared touch the wooden stake. No one dared step near the crimson letters carved into the dirt.

The message was clear, brutal, and impossible to ignore.

The world knew how strong Morcant was. They knew the sheer level of destruction he was capable of bringing with a single breath.

And so, naturally... They realized how much of a threat the newest Demon King was—Verc.

He was not just a fledgling who got lucky with a title. He overpowered and completely killed off an ancient calamity in a single night.

... ... ...

... ... ...

... ... ..

*****

Far away from the chaotic trade routes and the whispering royal courts, inside the quiet, stone-sealed facility deep within the Cursed Forest...

The door to the private office remained tightly shut.

The heavy scent of iron and dense vampiric mana still clung to the air. On the blood-soaked stone floor—

"..."

Verc lay completely motionless beside the shriveled, mummified remains of Morcant’s body.

His chest did not rise. His pulse remained completely still. His skin was a pale, deathly gray, covered in the dark, dried blood that had violently purged from his body hours prior.

Outside the thick stone walls, the faint sounds of his people working could be heard—the quiet footfalls of Diyael’s scouts, the heavy shifting of rubble by the orc warriors, and the soft murmurs of Tatum and Jed monitoring the recovering villagers. None of them knew the state their master was currently in. None of them dared interrupt his requested solitude.

Inside Verc’s silent, unmoving frame, the physical vessel appeared entirely dead. But deep within the innermost layer of his magic core, a drastic, silent evolution was taking place.

The chaotic, volatile essence of the Red Ancient Disaster was no longer thrashing!

The dark crimson mana had been completely crushed, broken down to its fundamental particles, and forcibly woven into Verc’s own body.

The stolen life force settled into his bone marrow, rewriting his physical limits, refining his mana pathways into thick, indestructible channels, and expanding his core to a volume that no ordinary fledgling could ever hope to contain.

Slowly... agonizingly slowly...

A faint, deep vibration resonated from the center of his chest.

THUMP-

The sound was quiet, almost imperceptible in the sealed room.

A minute passed in complete silence...

THUMP-

The second heartbeat echoed, stronger this time. A surge of dense, dark crimson mana pulsed outward from his core, rushing through his newly reconstructed veins like a tidal wave of liquid fire.

The pale, gray tint on Verc’s skin rapidly receded, replaced by a smooth, refined vitality. The deep cuts on his arm and the self-inflicted wounds on his lips closed instantly without leaving a single scar.

THUMP-THUMP—!

His heart resumed its steady, powerful rhythm.

Verc’s eyelids twitched slightly. The dark, dried blood covering his face began to crack and flake off as a subtle, terrifying aura began to leak from his body, vibrating against the stone floor tiles.

He had paid the price. He had survived the inferno.

And as the rest of the world trembled at his written warning, the newly awakened ruler of the Cursed Forest...

"..."

Slowly opened his eyes.