Chapter 1027 - 1026: Come Meet Us

The moment Grand Elder Dread Crown finished speaking, voices rose throughout the colosseum.

Daemons leaned across the spaces between their seats, calling to companions who were often too occupied with their own conversations to answer. Those who had remained standing during Severin’s attack finally sat down.

Their eyes, however, continued to follow the figure in the arena.

"So he’s one of us now."

A broad-shouldered daemon released a breath and loosened his grip on the railing.

The Daemoness beside him looked at his fingers.

"Were you expecting something else?"

"No. I’m just glad I wasn’t the one who challenged him."

She wanted to laugh, but after another glance at Simon, she found that she understood the feeling.

A little farther away, a blue-haired daemon was counting on his fingers.

"Wind, earth, ice, fire... Four affinities. How does one daemon possess that many?"

"Having them isn’t even the frightening part," his companion said. "Did any of them look weak to you?"

The silver-haired daemon slowly lowered his hand.

Most of them had been too caught up in the battle to consider everything Blackmoon had displayed. Now that it was over, recalling one ability brought another to mind.

His physical strength. His speed. The different affinities he had used.

And he was still a Greater Demon.

"Imagine him becoming a Demon Lord or a Demon King."

Several nearby daemons turned toward the speaker.

He was a young man with dark scales along his jaw, and the excitement in his voice made an older daemon beside him frown.

"I’m more interested in how he’s still alive."

The older daemon gestured toward the damaged arena.

"That was a Demon King’s attack."

"Severin did not use his full strength."

"Would he need his full strength to kill you?"

The reply died in the young daemon’s throat.

A woman seated behind them rubbed her left shoulder.

"I saw his arm come off."

"So did everyone else."

"And now he’s moving it."

The young daemon followed her gaze.

Blackmoon’s left arm rested naturally at his side. There was no visible hesitation when he moved it, no sign that it had been torn from his body moments earlier.

The woman’s hand remained on her own shoulder.

"He was healing while that thing was crushing him. His body kept breaking, and he kept recovering. How do you fight someone like that?"

"End the fight quickly," the older daemon muttered. "Or don’t fight him at all."

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Elsewhere, the conversations had already moved beyond the battle.

"Doesn’t this mean he could become a Blessed?"

The question silenced several daemons within earshot.

The one who had spoken glanced between them.

"What? The Heart Reaper was a Blessed. Blackmoon killed him despite being at a lower rank."

"He only just joined."

"And?"

That single word caused the others to hesitate.

A newcomer becoming a Blessed on the day of his admission?

Some instinctively wanted to dismiss the thought, but the ruined arena made it difficult.

"Strength and talent aren’t the only requirements," a daemon with a long scar across his neck said. "Contributions to The Abyss matter as well. There are other conditions, but we don’t know all of them."

"Exactly." Another daemon folded his arms. "Being stronger than the Heart Reaper doesn’t make Blackmoon entitled to everything the Heart Reaper had. He still needs to prove his loyalty."

Several heads nodded.

"He hasn’t done anything for The Abyss yet."

"Let him complete a few missions first."

"There’s no reason to rush."

A woman at the end of the row gave them an incredulous look.

"No reason? You watched the same battle I did, didn’t you?"

The scarred daemon turned to her.

"Nobody is denying his talent."

"Then why should someone with that much talent be treated like an ordinary newcomer? The elders should make him a Blessed now."

"And trust him just like that?"

"Do you think the elders themselves would publicly admit a daemon who intends to harm The Abyss?"

A few voices rose in agreement with her.

They were fewer than those arguing against Blackmoon’s immediate elevation, but they were no less insistent.

As the disagreement spread to the neighbouring rows, Simon continued toward the arena’s exit.

He could hear enough of the discussion to know what occupied them. Whether they approved of him becoming a Blessed was not something he cared about.

And he definitely had no intention of becoming one.

There was someone waiting ahead.

Enigma stood near the entrance to the passage, watching him approach with a light smile.

Simon raised a hand in greeting.

"Enigma. Good to see you."

"You bastard."

Simon lowered his hand.

"That’s a rather unfriendly welcome."

"You almost gave me a heart attack, Blackmoon." Enigma looked him over before meeting his gaze again. "Did you hear yourself when you were responding to Severin?"

"Of course? I spoke those words didn’t I?"

"You know what I mean."

Simon shrugged.

"I thought you’d appreciate not having to speak on my behalf."

Enigma stared at him, then let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Next time, allow me to decide whether I appreciate it."

He stepped away from the entrance, leaving room for Simon to pass.

"But seriously. Where did you get the confidence to remain that calm? You were speaking to Severin as though he couldn’t kill you."

A smile appeared on Simon’s lips.

"I’m always calm and fearless. Regardless of the circumstances."

Then he paused.

The memory of The One surfaced before he could dismiss it. He remembered the fear, and how unfamiliar it had felt after so long without it.

His expression became a little strange.

"...Ninety-nine percent of the time."

Enigma’s brows rose.

"That’s a very specific correction."

"An important one."

Simon walked into the passage, and Enigma fell into step beside him.

He had no intention of giving a more detailed answer.

Fearless had helped him remain composed, but he had not spoken carelessly merely because he could suppress fear.

Before Severin attacked, Simon had already judged how far he could push the situation.

As long as he did not go too far, such as refusing to return Joren’s corpse, he believed the elders would not allow him to be killed.

Or, to be more specific, refusing to return Joren’s ring.

Being attacked was another matter. He had known that was possible.

But why had he been so certain that the elders would protect his life?

It was simple.

He was almost certainly a talent they had never encountered before.

A hybrid with two Royal bloodlines, four naturally formed Seeds of Sin, and the ability to kill a Blessed above his own rank.

Considering the situation of The Abyss, and that of the Daemons as a whole, would they willingly lose him over Joren?

Joren was already dead. Killing Simon would not bring him back.

And Simon’s talent was only part of his value.

He possessed a bloodline evolution method the elders wanted. Behind that method was an unknown daemon whose existence had already attracted their attention.

Who was that daemon?

How old were they, and how powerful?

Were they an ancient daemon who had survived until the present, or someone born much later? Had they created the method themselves, inherited it, or obtained it elsewhere?

What other knowledge did they possess?

Simon doubted the elders had stopped considering those questions just because the duel had begun.

He was their connection to that unknown individual who was Lilith. Keeping him alive meant preserving the chance to obtain answers while bringing an extraordinarily talented daemon to their side.

One did not cut down a fruit tree before its first harvest.

The elders did not need to like him to recognise his value.

His judgment had also become firmer after he noticed Severin’s reaction upon receiving Joren’s ring.

The interest had been too obvious to ignore.

Severin certainly resented him for killing Joren, but the ring mattered far more than his complaints about the corpse suggested. Returning it had removed a reason for the situation to escalate further.

Simon had been willing to provoke the man. He had not been willing to keep something Severin clearly considered important just to provoke him further.

Still, all of that had been a gamble.

A calculated one, but a gamble nonetheless.

He glanced at his left hand and slowly closed it.

Knowing he might be attacked did not make the attack harmless. If his body and regeneration had been any weaker, he could have died before any of his calculations mattered.

He also doubted that the elders had watched him suffer solely to let Severin vent his anger.

They had most likely been testing him.

What gave a Greater Demon the confidence to speak so arrogantly before someone who could crush him?

Was he relying entirely on the elders to intervene?

Or did he possess something that allowed him to rely on himself?

Allowing Severin to continue had given them a chance to find out.

Simon’s fingers relaxed.

Grand Elder Dread Crown had intervened before he needed to reveal anything more. That helped him.

But even if the barrier had not appeared, he had already decided what to do next. He had his own means of protecting himself, and Severin would have discovered that retaliation was not beyond him.

Whether the elders had guessed that much was another question.

The noise from the stands grew more distant as they continued through the passage.

Then a voice sounded directly in Simon’s mind.

It belonged to Grand Elder Dread Crown.

[Blackmoon. Come to the Council Hall. We have important matters to discuss.]