Chapter 329: Chapter 328 - The remaining demon generals.
A while later, in an unknown location.
The chamber was carved from black stone, windowless, and lit only by the faint red glow of the veins that pulsed through its walls like sluggish blood.
Shadows swam in the corners, alive, shifting, and heavy with dread.
Two pairs of eyes gleamed in the dark—one silver, sharp as a blade, the other a nervous, sickly yellow that flickered like a candle in the wind.
The silver belonged to Vaelthar, the Portal General—the one who had ripped holes in space and carved pathways for the demon armies to swarm through.
He was the one responsible for transporting the demons to the neutral faction and then to the capital.
His calm presence alone was enough to freeze most demons in place, though tonight even he seemed unsettled.
The yellow eyes belonged to Moriz, the weakest among the summoned generals.
He hunched low, his claws twitching against the stone floor, his voice quivering though he tried to hide it.
"They’re gone," Moriz muttered.
"All ten of them. Four to that human boy—Jake, they call him. The rest... true death, at the hands of Raven." He spat the name as though it burned his tongue. "Tell me, Vaelthar... a dragon? Since when does a mortal brat wear the skin of a dragon?"
Vaelthar’s silver gaze narrowed, but he didn’t answer immediately.
His claw traced the air idly, rending a hairline crack in space itself, a reminder of the power that had kept him among the strongest of their kind.
His voice, when it came, was low and weighty.
"We underestimated them," Vaelthar said. "I thought Jake was a nuisance. Now he’s an executioner. As for Raven... He’s completely different from the rest. He has become something we must avoid at all costs, as he can make any of us experience a true death."
Moriz hissed, his voice breaking. "Then what can we do? We were twelve. Twelve generals! Still, ten of them fell. Even if we summon again, it won’t matter. We aren’t enough. Not against Raven. Above all, we still don’t know how powerful the rest are!"
His silver eyes flashed, and for a moment, Vaelthar’s calm mask cracked. His hand clenched, space warping around his fist like paper crumpling. "You speak truth," he growled. "Lamashura themselves were enraged. Do you know what they did, Moriz? They reached for the demons who had summoned her to fight, and they killed them again. True death, stripped from their own hands. They laughed when they did it."
Lamashura.
A name that sent a shiver down Moriz’s spine, as he knew how powerful and cruel they were.
Lamashura was the demon tyrant summoned by the demon generals in the capital of Velmoria, and it was said that they were frustrated after being disturbed yet failing to descend.
That frustration needed an outlet, and it was found in the surviving demon generals, whose souls had returned to the demon realm after being killed by Jake.
Moriz froze, shivering. "...Did they say anything about the others?"
A bitter curl tugged at Vaelthar’s lips. "They wished that they had wanted to do the same with the rest, but Raven robbed her of that satisfaction."
The yellow eyes flickered with unease. "So, what do we do now? What does Lamashura command now?"
Lamashura was, in fact, their supervisor on the mission of overtaking the Velmoria kingdom.
So, their words were always followed.
That was why Moriz wanted to know what their commands were.
Vaelthar’s voice dropped, and even the walls seemed to grow colder. "They told us to stop and said that this realm cannot be taken. Not by us—not unless we can bring down beings above the tenth rank. That path is sealed. Our seeds are gone. The anti-sovereign faction made sure of that."
Moriz’s expression changed the moment he heard the words ’anti-sovereign faction,’ as he growled, "That bitch Zarethia (A.K.A. Mistress) and her goons. They always destroy our plans."
Vaelthar also snarled, his expression cold before his claws clicked once, softly, like a ticking clock. "Anyways, Lamashura said... we are wasting ourselves here."
Silence pressed down like a suffocating weight.
Finally, Moriz whispered, "Then... what now? We can’t leave. The war is already set in motion."
"Of course, we can’t leave!" Vaelthar barked. "Just because one demon tyrant said so, this mission wouldn’t stop. After all, these were the demon sovereign’s orders. Lamashura would need to change the demon sovereign’s mind to stop us."
"B-But..." Moriz shrank, fidgeting. "What can we even do? We can’t fight Raven and his group."
Vaelthar’s eyes gleamed cold. "What we can do is the only thing left to us. Gather the nobles. Start the war. Spill blood—enough that more than one demon tyrant could descend. Death is the only currency that will open that door."
The words hung in the air like a noose tightening—until the chamber doors slammed open.
A figure stumbled inside—a demon warlord, chest heaving, black ichor dripping from wounds across his arms. His eyes glowed wide with terror as he fell to his knees before them.
"Generals—!" He gasped, clutching his chest. "The nobles... the nobles we had on our side—they are gone! Captured. Every last one was dragged in chains to the human capital. Their houses were silenced in one night!"
Vaelthar’s silver eyes flared. "What did you say?"
"They—" The warlord wheezed, trembling. "The humans moved. A counterstrike. They bound them all without mercy. Not one noble escaped. When the demons tried to fight back... they died miserably."
The chamber fell into silence, colder than a grave.
Moriz’s yellow eyes darted to Vaelthar, fear clear in his voice. "...Then... the humans move faster than us now. What’s left, Vaelthar?"
Vaelthar didn’t answer. His hand hung suspended in the air, claws trembling as he stared into the shifting void he had created.
For the first time, even the Portal General did not appear to be a commander of armies. He looked like a cornered beast.
The silence that smothered the chamber broke—not with words, but with sound.
A whistle.
Thin and sharp, winding through the halls like a knife cutting the air.
The tune was playful, almost cheery, but twisted in the way a nursery rhyme sounds when sung too slow and too off-key.
Whi—whee—whiii—doo...
The sound echoed against the black stone, joined by the deliberate tap of footsteps.
Each step was unhurried, echoing as though the intruder walked not in the corridors but directly inside the demons’ heads.
The three demons in the chamber froze.
The wounded warlord trembled, ichor dripping from his jaw. Moriz’s yellow eyes darted wildly, his claws scraping stone.
Vaelthar’s silver gaze narrowed, his body tense, as though even space itself leaned away from the sound.
Whii—whee—whiii—doo... tap... tap... tap...
Then, a voice.
Old, eccentric, cracking with humor, and deranged warmth all at once.
"Ohhh, my, my, my. Look what I’ve missed while I was gone! I spend a little while in seclusion—just a tiny nap, a teensy retreat, no longer than... ohhh, say... a month or so—and the whole damned world flips itself upside down."
The click of the tongue was heard.
"Honestly. No manners, no patience. Can’t an old man rest without you demons mucking up my doorstep?"
The footsteps drew nearer and closer, the whistle breaking in and out of the rambling words.
"I wake up, I stretch these old bones, and I ask around—what’s new, what’s hot, and what’s burning down? And what do I hear? Hmm? That cheeky little Jake brat carved up ten of you like a roast piglet! Ten!"
A cackle was heard, pride dripping from the voice.
"But it didn’t end there, as it got even better! My precious disciple, my dearest boy Raven—ah, you should’ve seen me beam when I heard this—deleted some of you with a single attack. Poof! Gone! No ashes, no bones, no bargaining chip for resurrection. Ohhh, I nearly wept. Truly, I did. My Raven... such a fine lad."
The demons stiffened. The warlord coughed black, shrinking toward the wall.
The whistle trailed off into silence. Then the voice returned, sharper.
"...Then. Then I hear the other news. That Faron... Hamilton... and those bright people who enjoyed being old like I did—slaughtered."
The footsteps quickened, echoing louder, angrier.
"That... made me mad. Very, very mad. And I said to myself, ’Well, isn’t that a fine excuse to get some exercise?’ So I decided: why not find those nasty generals skulking about? Why not tear them to pieces, hmm? Only problem..."
The voice chuckled, rasping.
"You bastards are sneaky. Real slippery. Nobody could sniff you out. Until—"
The whistle again. A low, rising whooo-eee.
"Until those kids of mine—the hunters, the clever ones, subduing your noble friends—made a teensy mistake. One little blunder. They let one of you wriggle away."
The voice paused, as if realizing something.
"Ohhh, I guess I’ll need to give them an earful later. They’ll get the lecture of a lifetime. But that blunder? That oh-so-glorious slip-up? That’s what brought me here. To you."
The steps stopped.
The chamber doors creaked.
With a groan of stone and iron, they opened wide.
There, standing right before them, was he.
A tall, handsome man with long, unkempt white hair and piercing red eyes, his clothes ragged, his frame lean but corded with quiet strength.
His smile was bright, too bright, his presence somehow filling the room like both a hearth’s warmth and a grave’s chill.
He spread his arms, head cocked, and said almost cheerfully, "So here I am."
The three demons’ eyes widened, glowing in horror.
"You..." The word slipped out of them all at once.
For a moment, they thought it was him—the only one who could claim Raven as a disciple. Crisaius.
But it wasn’t.
Their brows furrowed, voices dropping like knives.
"...Who are you?"
The man at the door froze mid-step, his grin faltering.