Chapter 880 - 879: Who Promised To Protect You?

Marek’s gaze shifted toward the seventh prince. Beside him, Korran’s expression tightened, while the Seat who had threatened Simon slowly drew back into position.

They understood.

Where Marek saw a danger to be removed, the seventh prince saw something worth keeping. Blackmoon had wounded a god’s vessel and survived. His killing intent had made a Demon Lord hesitate before an injured Archfiend.

Ordinary measures could not explain his value.

Varen did not want another subordinate who might leave when the rewards became insufficient. He wanted a weapon that would answer whenever he called, without the right to refuse.

Such a weapon could change his position in the struggle for the throne.

Given time to grow, Blackmoon might become the difference between the seventh prince remaining a prince and becoming the ruler of the Darkness Kingdom.

And Varen was looking beyond Blackmoon himself.

One of the Seven Seats glanced at Simon’s single horn, then at the unusual eyes beneath it. Whatever had produced this demon’s talent might pass to his children. Some could be weaker. Others might equal him.

Perhaps one would become even more monstrous.

And the prince intended to claim every possibility.

Korran looked down at the blood on Simon’s hand. He remembered how carefully Blackmoon had restricted an oath covering a single raid.

’And you are asking for his descendants.’

To those listening, the offer sounded more like a curse than salvation.

Yet none could confidently predict the answer.

Simon had been arrogant before commanders and royalty. But arrogance did not close his wounds or remove the god waiting beyond the rift. Faced with the choice between servitude and death, many demons would choose to live long enough to resent their oath.

The camp waited.

Simon looked up at Varen with one brow raised. His silence lasted until a drop of blood fell from his fingers.

Then his lips curved.

The smile held no warmth. The killing intent around him sharpened, and a demon behind Marek lowered his head again.

"You’re a greedy little bastard, aren’t you?"

The nearest Seat stiffened.

"One rescue," Simon continued coldly, "and you want generations of children born with your boot on their necks."

Varen remained calm.

"My life is not yours. Neither are the lives of children I haven’t even fathered."

Simon’s smile disappeared.

"You will die for trying to claim them."

A breath caught somewhere in the ranks. Marek glanced upward, waiting for the order that would follow.

He believed that Simon had just crossed the line by threatening to kill a prince of the Kingdom of Darkness.

The prince merely studied Simon.

"Think carefully, Blackmoon," he said gently. "You are threatening the one person here offering to preserve those lives."

"By owning them."

"By making their existence possible."

Varen let the words settle before continuing.

"Your descendants cannot resent an oath if they are never born. You cannot achieve anything while lying dead beneath the rift. I am offering you a future."

Simon stared at him.

"Your future, not mine," he replied.

"A living one."

The prince’s tone remained reasonable. He neither raised his voice nor demanded an apology.

"You speak as though I gain everything and give nothing. Look behind you. The being pursuing you is the God of War."

A few demons glanced toward the passage despite themselves.

"You have injured his chosen’s body, humiliated him before an army, and escaped after he tried to stop you. Do you expect his anger to fade while you decide how best to insult me?"

Simon kept his expression unchanged. Beneath the Chaos Wraps, something pulled painfully through his forearm.

Varen noticed the small movement.

"Your regeneration is impressive," he said. "But your wrist still cannot properly bear your sword. Those strange wrappings are keeping your arms together."

His gaze moved toward Simon’s shoulders.

"And every time you force power through those damaged pathways, you have to pretend it does not hurt."

Korran looked at Simon’s arms.

The prince had not come close enough to suffer the killing intent directly. He had remained above it and watched.

"Why are you still here?" Varen asked softly. "You told Marek you were leaving. Yet you have not teleported past us or flown away."

Simon said nothing.

"Because you need time."

A faint smile returned to the prince’s face.

"That is why you allowed the conversation to continue. You are repairing yourself while everybody listens."

Simon’s expression remained the same and he was not surprised that the prince knew that he was merely stalling for time.

"But the god is healing too," Varen continued. "You bought yourself a delay. You are spending it now, and he is repairing the very wounds that gave it to you."

The distant noise from Earth passed through the rift.

"Which of you will finish first?"

Nobody answered.

Varen’s words were doing what the Seat’s threats had failed to do. They were drawing attention back to Simon’s condition without denying the danger he posed.

"I can protect you," the prince said. "The kingdom can provide what you need to grow. Medicine. Instruction. Resources you could spend years searching for alone."

Simon scoffed.

"And the same kingdom would have to giive me the right to decide what I do with all of it."

"Service is the price of protection."

"Eternal service," Simon corrected the prince.

"An exceptional life requires an exceptional investment."

Simon released a quiet breath through his nose.

Even now, Varen called it an investment. He had already looked beyond the blood and broken arms to the things he expected Simon to earn him.

"Accept my offer," the prince continued. "You do not have to like me. You only need to understand that hating your protector is preferable to dying in your enemy’s hands."

Simon opened his mouth, then his expression changed.

He turned toward the rift.

The red opening remained steady, but something beyond it had become horribly familiar. His instincts tightened before the waiting demons noticed anything at all.

A few seconds passed.

Then a voice travelled through the passage.

"Is that so?"

It was quiet enough to resemble a question spoken nearby.

Every demon heard it.

Marek’s shoulders stiffened. Korran turned sharply, and the Seven Seats ceased watching Simon. The prince’s smile remained, but it no longer widened. Instead, his eyes had become extremely solemn.

A pressure entered the encampment that had nothing to do with the wounded Archfiend’s killing intent.

Simon tightened his grip.

The voice continued, carrying the God of War’s unmistakable amusement.

"You promise to protect him from me."

The question that followed was colder.

"Tell me, little prince. Who promised to protect you?"