Chapter 80: Another Accomplice

Chapter 80: Chapter 80: Another Accomplice

The darkness came.

A violent wave of dark mana erupted from behind him, spreading across the arena entrance like a living tide. The walls disappeared first. The nobles vanished next. The throne itself dissolved beneath the thick blackness. Even the floor beneath their feet seemed to evaporate, leaving nothing but an endless void.

Within seconds, the entire entrance had become pitch black.

"What is this?!"

"Release us!"

"Asmodeus!"

"Where is he?!"

The nobles stumbled over one another, their hands reaching blindly through the oppressive darkness. Their voices cracked with panic as they collided with each other, grasping at anything solid that might anchor them to reality.

But Asmodeus was nowhere.

Not a trace of his presence remained.

It was as if he had merged with the darkness itself, becoming one with the suffocating void that now surrounded them. The air grew heavy. Their lungs fought for breath. Every instinct screamed at them to flee, but there was nowhere to run.

One of the primordial nobles slammed his fist against an invisible barrier that pulsed with dark energy.

"Asmodeus! Release us this instant!"

Another noble shouted from somewhere nearby, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.

"You bastard! If you don’t release us, I’ll kill you!"

For a moment, there was no answer.

Then a voice came from the darkness.

Calm.

Cold.

Almost amused.

"You fools."

The nobles froze.

"You will be my sacrifice."

The words sent panic through the crowd like a blade through flesh.

"What?"

"You said we were going to escape!"

"You promised us!"

"Asmodeus!"

The darkness seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on their shoulders like the weight of mountains. Their legs trembled. Their hearts pounded against their ribs.

The nobles finally understood.

They had never been his allies.

They had never been part of his plan.

They were nothing more than sacrifices. Pieces on a board that Asmodeus had been moving since the very beginning. Their ambitions, their greed, their desperate need to escape—he had used all of it against them.

Several noblewomen began screaming.

"Please!"

"It’s not my time to die yet!"

"Someone save me!"

"Where is the Sovereign?!"

Their voices overlapped until the entire entrance became a mess of panic and despair. Some fell to their knees. Others clawed at the darkness as if they could tear it apart with their bare hands. A few simply stood frozen, their minds unable to process what was happening.

But one person wasn’t shouting.

The silver-haired girl stood quietly among them, her crimson eyes moving through the darkness with unsettling calm. Her silver hair shimmered faintly, seeming to catch light that wasn’t even there. Even surrounded by that unnatural blackness, the strands carried an almost ethereal quality, as if they belonged to a different world entirely.

She closed her eyes.

She tried to sense Asmodeus.

Nothing.

She searched for his mana.

Nothing.

His aura had disappeared completely, leaving no trace behind. It was as if he had ceased to exist.

Her brows tightened.

Where is he?

The darkness wasn’t simply hiding him. Something about it was connected to his body. A technique that tied the darkness directly to his primordial form. Destroying the barrier would mean destroying part of him.

But she couldn’t determine where his true body was located.

She opened her eyes.

Across the darkness, she could barely make out a figure.

Ifrith.

He stood alone in the middle of the chaos, his father’s sword still in his hand. The blade rested against the ground, its edge catching the faint light that seemed to emanate from nowhere. He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t panicking. He simply stood there, his expression growing increasingly irritated with each passing moment.

The nobles continued screaming around him.

"Boy!"

"Do something!"

"Release us!"

He didn’t answer.

He slowly raised his head, his gaze cutting through the darkness like a blade.

"You primordial nobles..."

His voice carried through the chaos, sharp and cold.

"...have really fallen in power."

Several nobles went silent, their mouths snapping shut as if they had been struck.

Ifrith lowered his eyes toward the sword.

"Enough."

His fingers tightened around the hilt.

Then he moved.

The sword rose from below, not as a downward strike or a simple horizontal swing, but with explosive force. He brought the blade upward, the motion carrying all the weight of his frustration and disgust. Then he swung it toward his right side.

The darkness split.

A tremendous shockwave tore through the black dome, sending cracks racing across its surface like spiderwebs. The nobles stumbled backward, their hands flying to their ears as the sound echoed through the arena.

But something else came with the slash.

Black miasma poured from the sword.

It wasn’t ordinary mana. It was thick and heavy, almost alive, pulsing with a malevolent energy that made the nobles’ skin crawl. The black substance spread outward as Ifrith’s sword completed its arc, clinging to the darkness like oil on water.

At the same moment—

His eyes turned pitch black.

The darkness engulfing the arena shattered.

Light returned.

The nobles stared in disbelief, their eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. The barrier was gone. The walls had returned. The throne stood where it had always been.

And standing several meters away was Asmodeus.

His body was covered in wounds. Blood ran down his face from a gash on his forehead, mixing with sweat and dirt. His breathing was rough and ragged, each breath a struggle. He leaned heavily against the wall, his legs trembling beneath him as he fought to remain standing.

Ifrith looked at him.

Then his eyes moved toward the remnants of the black dome, which were dissolving into nothingness like morning mist.

Something clicked.

He understood.

His gaze returned to Asmodeus.

"It was actually connected to your primordial body."

Asmodeus’s expression tightened.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

His condition was proof enough. The technique had been connected directly to him, drawing on his own life force to maintain its power. Destroying it had damaged its source, leaving him broken and bleeding.

Ifrith began walking toward him.

One step.

Then another.

The sound of his boots against the stone floor echoed through the silent arena. The nobles watched, their fear replaced by something else. Relief, perhaps. Or satisfaction. They had seen Asmodeus brought low, and despite everything, they found themselves enjoying the sight.

Asmodeus slowly backed away.

"Wait."

Ifrith continued walking.

"Boy, wait."

The blade dragged across the ground, the sound grating against their ears.

Scrrrrkkk.

Asmodeus’s face became pale. His back pressed against the wall. There was nowhere left to run.

"Listen to me."

Ifrith stopped in front of him.

The tip of his father’s sword rose until it rested against Asmodeus’s neck. A thin line of blood appeared, beading along the edge of the blade.

Asmodeus swallowed.

"Please."

Ifrith stared into his eyes, searching for something. Remorse. Regret. Anything that might prove there was still something worth saving in this creature.

But there was nothing.

"Someone like you..."

His voice was cold, flat, devoid of emotion.

"...who was willing to sacrifice his own kin isn’t worthy of staying alive."

Asmodeus’s eyes widened, his lips parting as if to speak.

"Boy—"

The sword lifted.

The silver-haired girl saw what was about to happen.

She didn’t move.

Not because she wanted Asmodeus to die.

Her body was still recovering from the effects of the black miasma. Her breathing was uneven, and the strength that had been drained from her was only slowly returning. Every muscle ached. Every nerve burned.

She couldn’t stop him.

And perhaps, somewhere inside her, she understood that Asmodeus had already crossed a line that couldn’t easily be forgiven. He had made his choice and had chosen power over loyalty, ambition over kinship.

Ifrith’s sword began descending.

Then—

"I didn’t do it alone."

The blade stopped mid air.

Ifrith’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt.

"What?"

Asmodeus breathed heavily, his chest heaving with the effort. His lips curled into a faint smile, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I had an accomplice."

Ifrith stared at him, his expression unreadable.

"What are you talking about?"

Asmodeus’s voice became a whisper, barely audible above the sound of his own ragged breathing.

"I planned it together with someone."

Ifrith lowered the sword slightly, but kept the blade pressed against his neck.

"Who?"

Asmodeus didn’t answer.

Instead, he slowly lifted one trembling hand. His finger pointed toward the highest seat in the arena.

The throne.

The Primordial Demon Sovereign.

Ifrith’s eyes followed the gesture.

The Sovereign stood motionless, his face carved from stone. His ancient eyes watched the scene unfold with an expression that betrayed nothing. If he felt any concern, any fear, he didn’t show it.

For a moment, their gazes met.

Asmodeus watched them both, a bitter smile playing at his lips.

*At least if I’m going down here...*

His smile deepened.

*I won’t go down alone.*

I’m bringing you down with me.

Ifrith vanished.

A thunderous crack erupted beneath his feet. The ground fractured as his body launched forward, leaving behind a crater of shattered stone. He crossed the distance between himself and the throne in an instant, his speed so great that the air itself seemed to scream in protest.

The Sovereign’s eyes widened.

Too fast.

Ifrith appeared directly before him, the sword already rising.

The Sovereign immediately moved, his ancient body responding with reflexes honed over millennia. His hand shot forward, dark energy coalescing around his palm.

But before either of them could act—

"IT’S THE PRINCE!"

Asmodeus screamed, his voice carrying through the arena like a thunderclap.

The Sovereign turned sharply.

His gaze landed on his son.

The Crown Prince.

The arrogant young demon stood frozen near the edge of the arena, his face drained of all color. His hands trembled at his sides. His eyes darted between his father and Ifrith, desperately searching for an escape that didn’t exist.

The Sovereign’s eyes widened.

"...You?"

The prince didn’t answer. His throat worked, but no sound came out. His lips moved, forming words that died before they could be spoken.

Ifrith stared at him.

And then he remembered.

The insult.

The mocking smile.

The way the prince had looked at him as though he were nothing. A lesser demon. A peasant. A creature that didn’t deserve to stand in the same place as him. The contempt in his eyes. The sneer on his lips. The way he had dismissed Ifrith’s very existence with a wave of his hand.

And now—

Asmodeus had just named him.

The prince.

The Sovereign’s only son.

The heir to the Primordial Demon Realm.

An accomplice.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The nobles stared at the prince, their expressions shifting from confusion to disbelief to horror. They had followed him, and had trusted him. They had believed that he would lead them to freedom.

And now they understood.

They had been fools.

The prince had played them just as surely as Asmodeus had. He had used them, manipulated them, guided them toward their own destruction. And for what? Power? Revenge? A chance to overthrow his own father?

The Sovereign rose from his throne.

His movements were slow, deliberate. The weight of ages seemed to press down on him as he stood, his ancient eyes fixed on his son.

"You..."

His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried through the arena like a blade.

"You planned this with him?"

The prince finally found his voice.

"Father, I can explain—"

"Explain?"

The Sovereign’s voice cracked like a whip, cutting through the prince’s words.

"You conspired with Asmodeus. You plotted against your own kin. You were willing to sacrifice every noble in this arena—"

"Father, please—"

"Silence."

The word fell like a hammer.

The prince’s mouth snapped shut.

The Sovereign turned to face the nobles, his expression unreadable.

"I shall deal with him myself."

The nobles exchanged glances, but no one dared to speak.

Ifrith lowered his sword slightly, his gaze moving between the Sovereign and the prince. His jaw tightened.

This isn’t over.