Chapter 320: Chapter 319 - Two Old Men.
An hour ago.
The meeting of the neutral factions was decided to be held in Marquise Benedict’s mansion.
When the meeting began, the chandeliers above the long hall of the mansion trembled faintly, their crystals swaying as if they too sensed the weight of the decision just made.
Twenty nobles sat in a wide arc of lacquered chairs, silks and brocades rustling as they leaned forward, final words still heavy in the air.
Baron Veylan’s (father of Courage the mutt) thin fingers had been the last to rise, sealing the outcome: War.
The neutral faction had spoken. The demons were no longer an option—they were a threat.
The demons had killed one of the key figures of their faction, so there was no way they were going to side with the demons.
Of course, not all of them agreed to it.
Still, since they had decided not to prosecute anyone because of their choices, they hadn’t said anything to Marquise Benedict, Viscount Layan, and Baron Karani, who wanted to support the demons.
But just when everyone thought that they should return to their places and the instant relief touched those gathered, the betrayal came.
Benedict’s lips twitched, almost a smile, his gaze sliding toward Viscount Layan and Baron Karani.
The three of them shifted in perfect unison.
Beneath their feet, the floor glowed.
Lines of chalk, hidden until now, surged with bloody light. A circle drawn into the very foundations of the mansion cracked to life, jagged sigils burning as if etched into the world itself.
The air went thick. Heat pressed down on the lungs of every noble. The chandeliers shattered one by one, glass raining like broken stars.
Then—they arrived.
Six figures, each too tall, too wrong for the room. Horns curled like living metal. Eyes glowed with molten hunger.
The pressure they carried crushed the breath from throats, broke knees against marble, and pressed foreheads to the floor.
Screams tried to rise but choked into silence.
Marquise Benedict and his allies merely knelt with practiced reverence, faces smooth as stone.
The rest—seventeen nobles, once proud—were little more than prey.
They realized now that Benedict and his companions never planned to let them leave.
It was all a trap, and the rest had walked into it.
Among the seventeen nobles was Benoit Colombore, who had arrived instead of his dead father.
Now, his chest heaved as he fought the invisible weight, his arms trembling.
Every muscle begged him to collapse fully. His vision tunneled. Yet he did not bow his head.
Not again.
Not after he’d watched a demon tear his father’s beating heart. Not after he’d seen Raven’s fire turn that same monster into ashes, proving demons could bleed.
His teeth cut into his lip until blood ran. His knees dug against the marble. But still, he glared upward.
His intention was clear. Even if he had to die, he would never give in to a demon.
Unfortunately for him, one of the generals noticed him.
The creature’s head tilted, slow and serpentine, his lips curling into something almost human. Almost.
"Oh?" The demon murmured, his voice dripping with silk and venom. "You glare at me, little boy? Even with your bones begging to break?"
His eyes flared brighter. "How delightful."
The nobles around Benoit whimpered, sweat soaking their collars. But the general stepped closer, his shadow stretching over Benoit like a blade.
"We came to erase you all," he said, talons flexing lazily. "Except for the wise three who already know their place."
His grin sharpened. "But you... Yes, perhaps I’ll have a little fun first. It’s been a long time since I played with one that doesn’t break easily."
"End this quickly," another demon drawled from behind him, flicking his claws as though brushing dust from his sleeve. "We came only as insurance. If someone strong appeared, we would cut them down. But no such person is here. So, finish, and let us return."
The first demon chuckled low, dragging out the sound like a blade on stone. "Of course, of course... but a moment of indulgence?"
His gaze locked on Benoit, and for the first time, Benoit felt real fear claw up his spine. His glare wavered, if only for a heartbeat.
It wasn’t fear of death but something else.
It was something about the demon’s gaze and the way it licked its lips that made Benoit want to run away.
The demon saw it and smiled wider.
His claws rose, inching closer to Benoit, but before they could reach—
—A cannonball of fire screamed through the air.
It struck his talons with an explosion that shook the hall, shattering what glass had survived.
Flames burst, then scattered like sparks against a wall, the demon flicking them away with a casual sweep.
From the smoke, a voice growled, "You damn fool."
An old man walked forward, white hair flowing, beard as thick as his arms. His chest was bare save for scars carved by decades of war, muscles hard as stone. His eyes, burning red, cut through the gloom.
Beside him came another—lean, dark-haired, his face lined with age and sleepless nights. Wrinkles carved valleys around sharp black eyes. He still held his hand forward, smoke curling from his fingers.
The white-haired elder sighed. "Faron, shooting fire at a demon general like that. You know that’s a death sentence."
The lean man chuckled, voice dry. "Like you’re one to talk, Hamilton. I saw you ready to rush forward if I didn’t make the move."
They looked at one another, then both laughed—hoarse, humorless, but steady.
"Perhaps we’re both getting old," Hamilton said.
But before they could move forward, from the shadows at the hall’s edge, figures appeared. Five, then six, cloaked in black, their faces hidden but their voices firm.
"We couldn’t just stand by," one said. "Not when the elders of Vaise march to die."
They were the information gatherers of the Vaise family.
Hamilton turned, his expression hard. "You should not be here. You’re young. Your lives matter more than ours. If blood must be spilled tonight, let it be the old men’s blood."
The lean man, Faron, nodded in agreement. "Our disciples, Alex and Jake, are our legacies, but you don’t have anything like that. So go. You don’t need to sacrifice yourself."
Before the information gatherers could even reply, the demons sneered, and the one who was about to jump at Benoit laughed, his voice rattling the bones of the hall.
"You Vaise dogs. Ever so noble. Ever so foolish. You think you can choose who dies tonight?" His eyes narrowed, locking on the elders. "No one leaves. Not you, not your whelps. You come onto our stage and think of walking away?"
Another demon snorted, baring fangs like daggers. "They waste time. Kill them. Let us return."
Hamilton exhaled slowly, the weight of the air settling on his shoulders. He could feel the gulf—power that dwarfed his own, death written into the air like scripture.
Still, he smiled faintly.
"Seems we have no other option."
His fists clenched as he crouched a little, using his martial technique, the same one that he had taught Alex. Faron unsheathed his sword, ready to perform the quick slices he was famous for, defiant against the suffocating aura.
"If we are to die," Hamilton said softly, more to himself than anyone else, "then let us buy enough time. Enough for the reinforcements to arrive."
The black-clad Vaise shadows shifted behind them, blades ready, voices steady despite the tremors in their hands.
Viscount Layan whispered prayers. Baron Karani smirked cruelly at the chaos. Benedict remained kneeling, eyes alight with triumph.
Then there were Benoit and the other nobles, still pinned to the ground, staring at Hamilton and Faron with wide eyes.
Not fear, this time.
Hope.
...............................
Present.
Raven hit the earth like a falling star.
The blast split the cobblestones, a crater opening beneath his boots as the shockwave rippled outward.
Dust and shards of stone burst into the air. His pants were half-burnt away, threads still smoking where the fire had devoured them, but he hardly noticed.
His chest heaved once, sharp and ragged, before his crimson eyes lifted.
The mansion was gone.
What had once been Marquise Benedict’s proud hall of marble and chandeliers now stood as nothing more than a skeleton of ruin.
Walls crumbled into heaps of broken stone, beams jutted out like ribs, and smoke clung to the night air in choking sheets.
The ground still glowed faintly where fire had kissed it, as though the destruction were not finished but only pausing to breathe.
Raven stepped forward slowly, boots crunching on blackened debris. His senses reeled—the stench of blood was everywhere, copper-thick and clinging, so heavy he felt as though he could reach out and grip it.
Then, from within the rubble, he heard it.
Groans.
Muffled, desperate, agonized. He couldn’t tell if the ones groaning were men or women, nor could he tell which debris they were buried under.
The night wind shifted, scattering the smoke just enough for him to see red streaks pooling between the stones.
He didn’t need to imagine the rest.
It was then that a shiver crawled through the ruins as shadows passed overhead.
The screeches of unnatural wings broke the silence, and then the others descended—Selena’s devourer creatures, carved of shadow and malice, landing in jagged arcs around the crater.
Clara, Siris, Lia, Graye, Jessy, Rufus, and Alex leapt down, eyes wide as they took in the carnage. Nibbles clung to Alex’s shoulder, ears flat, tail bristling.
None of them spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Together, they surged forward into the ruins, into the blood, into whatever awaited, while the night seemed to hold its breath.