Chapter 81: The Strong Devour the Weak

Chapter 81: Chapter 81: The Strong Devour the Weak

Ifrith had wanted to believe the sovereign, when he said he would deal with the prince himself. But a part of him couldn’t let it go, the part that always thought of his family, and the certainty that the prince was involved in the killing of his family.

Then his gaze shifted back.

And landed on the prince.

The anger in his eyes was no longer something that could be hidden. It burned with an intensity that seemed to consume everything around it, raw and unfiltered. The expression on his face had transformed into something primal, something that reminded everyone present that beneath the surface of this young demon lay a power that had not yet been fully unleashed.

The entire arena seemed to freeze beneath that gaze.

The prince noticed it immediately.

His body stiffened, muscles locking into place as if he had been turned to stone. For a brief moment, he simply stared at Ifrith, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. The creature before him no longer resembled the demon he had mocked and dismissed. This was something else entirely. Something far more dangerous than he had ever anticipated.

Then Ifrith moved.

The Primordial Sovereign reacted almost instantly.

"Wait!"

His voice thundered across the arena, carrying the weight of his authority. He stepped forward, intending to intercept Ifrit before he could reach his son. Ancient power gathered around his form, ready to be unleashed.

But he was too late.

Ifrith was already gone.

His figure blurred, becoming nothing more than a streak of motion that defied the eye. The distance between them disappeared in the blink of an eye, as though space itself had bent to accommodate his speed.

The prince barely had time to raise his hands in a pathetic gesture of defense.

A hand seized his hair.

"Ah—!"

His scream never finished.

Ifrith pulled him forward with terrifying force and slammed his face into the ground.

BOOM!

The arena floor cracked beneath the impact, sending spiderwebs of fractures racing across the stone. Dust erupted into the air, obscuring the scene for a brief moment.

The prince’s body bounced once before collapsing onto the stone like a discarded doll.

A wave of shock passed through the spectators.

Nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

The prince slowly lifted his head, blood trickling from his nose and mixing with the dust on his face. His vision was blurred, his thoughts scattered. He could barely understand what had happened. One moment he had been standing, the next he had been driven into the ground like a nail.

Then he felt his hair being pulled again.

"No..."

His voice trembled, weak and pathetic.

"Please..."

There was fear in it now. Pure, undiluted terror that he could not hide no matter how hard he tried. The arrogance that had defined him had evaporated, replaced by the desperate instinct of a cornered animal.

Ifrith dragged him toward the edge of the high seating area.

The prince clawed at the ground desperately, his nails scraping against the stone until they bled.

"Father!"

His voice echoed through the arena, piercing the silence.

"Father, help me!"

The Primordial Sovereign stood several steps away, his expression difficult to read. His ancient face betrayed nothing, revealing neither anger nor concern. He simply watched as his son was dragged across the ground like a piece of meat.

His son looked at him.

Their eyes met.

The prince’s eyes were filled with desperation, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the blood.

"Father!"

Ifrith reached the edge.

The prince’s fingers desperately grabbed onto a stone, his body hanging over the precipice.

"Please!"

But Ifrith kicked him away from the edge.

The prince’s body went over.

"AAAAAH!"

He fell.

His body struck the arena floor below with a violent crash, the sound of breaking bones echoing through the cavernous space. Several nobles flinched, their faces pale with horror.

The prince groaned weakly, his entire body shaking with the agony of the impact. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, his breathing ragged and labored.

Then—

Ifrith jumped.

He descended from the high seats and landed beside him.

BOOM!

The arena floor cracked beneath his feet, sending shockwaves through the ground.

The prince’s eyes widened, pupils dilating with fear. He scrambled backward, his broken body protesting every movement.

"No..."

His palms slipped against the stone, slick with his own blood.

"No, no, no..."

He tried to stand.

His legs refused to cooperate.

He fell again, his body crumpling beneath him.

"Father!"

He looked toward the high seats, his voice cracking with desperation.

"Father, please!"

The Primordial Sovereign remained where he was, unmoving as a statue.

The prince stared at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Father!"

His voice broke, tears streaming freely now.

"You’re the Primordial Sovereign!"

The entire arena was silent, not a single sound breaking the oppressive stillness.

"You can stop him!"

The Primordial Sovereign looked down at his son, his ancient eyes unreadable.

For a moment, nobody knew what he would do.

He could save him.

At least, that was what everyone believed.

He was the Primordial Sovereign. The ruler of this realm. The strongest authority present. If he wanted to stop Ifrith, surely he could.

But the Sovereign did not move.

He simply looked at his son, his expression betraying nothing.

Then he spoke.

"The strong will always kill the weak."

The prince froze.

His mouth slowly fell open, the words striking him like physical blows.

The Sovereign’s voice remained cold, devoid of any warmth or paternal affection.

"That has always been the rule."

Silence.

The prince’s expression collapsed, the last remnants of hope draining from his face. He looked at his father as though those words had struck him harder than any blade ever could.

"Father..."

His voice was barely audible, a broken whisper that carried no weight.

The man he had trusted.

The man he believed would always protect him.

Had just abandoned him.

Not because he could not save him.

But because he believed the weak deserved to die.

The prince’s breathing became ragged, each inhale a struggle.

"No..."

His eyes filled with terror, genuine and absolute.

"I am your son."

The Sovereign said nothing.

The prince looked around desperately, searching for anyone who might help him. At the nobles. At the people who had watched him grow. Their faces were frozen, expressions ranging from horror to morbid fascination.

Nobody came.

Nobody stepped forward.

Nobody dared.

Then the prince felt something.

A shadow fell over him, blocking out the light from above.

He slowly looked up.

Ifrith stood directly in front of him, his face expressionless. The anger that had burned in his eyes moments ago had become something colder. Something far more frightening. A stillness that spoke of absolute resolve.

The prince’s body trembled, every muscle quivering with fear.

"Ifrith..."

He swallowed, his throat dry.

"Wait."

Ifrith raised his weapon.

Dark mana crawled across the blade, pulsing with malevolent energy. It was different from before. Stronger. Denser. The darkness around it seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting like a living entity. It wrapped around the blade like a serpent coiling around its prey.

The prince stared at it, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing.

"What... what is that?"

Ifrith did not answer.

He simply stared down at him, his gaze unwavering.

The dark mana continued to emanate from his weapon, growing with each passing moment. The more Ifrith used it, the stronger it became. Every battle fed it. Every strike. Every ounce of power. Every moment he remained in combat.

The mana grew.

And Ifrith could feel it.

The power inside him was changing. Expanding. Becoming something that even he had not fully understood yet. It responded to his will, to his emotions, to his deepest desires. And right now, all it wanted was to consume.

He tightened his grip.

The prince began shaking violently, his body convulsing with terror.

"Please."

Ifrith’s eyes remained cold, devoid of mercy.

"Please, I don’t want to die."

The prince crawled backward, his broken limbs protesting every movement.

"I’ll apologize."

Nothing.

"I’ll give you anything."

Nothing.

"Money."

Nothing.

"Power."

Nothing.

"I’ll leave the empire!"

Still nothing.

The prince’s breathing became frantic, his chest heaving.

"I’ll never come back!"

Ifrith raised the blade.

The prince closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Father!"

One final scream.

Then—

SHING!

One slash.

That was all it took.

The blade passed through his neck with surgical precision, severing flesh and bone in a single motion.

For several seconds, nobody moved.

The prince’s head separated from his body, rolling across the arena floor with a wet sound. The body collapsed, blood pooling beneath it and staining the stone.

Silence swallowed everything.

Ifrith remained standing, his posture unchanged. Dark mana continued to leak from his blade, crawling along the weapon’s edge before slowly dispersing into the air. It pulsed with a life of its own, as though it were feeding on the death that had just occurred.

Ifrith lowered his arm.

He stared at the blade.

The dark energy was still there. He could feel it pulsing beneath his fingers, responding to his heartbeat. It was stronger. Much stronger than before. The power had grown, feeding on the battle, on the death, on the fear that had filled the arena.

His fingers tightened around the weapon.

It grows.

That thought entered his mind, cold and clear.

Every time I use it... it grows.

The realization sent a strange sensation through him. This power was not static. It was evolving, adapting, becoming more potent with every moment of use. The more he fought, the more it responded. The more he used it, the more powerful it became.

Ifrith slowly lifted his eyes.

His gaze moved toward the Primordial Sovereign.

The Sovereign was still standing above him, his expression having changed. Only slightly. But enough.

Ifrith could see it.

The Sovereign was staring at the weapon. At the dark mana still emanating from it. Something flickered in those ancient eyes. Caution. The first hint of uncertainty.

Ifrith stared at him for several seconds, their gazes locked across the arena.

Then he looked around.

The arena. The nobles . The countless people who had witnessed everything. They were all frozen, their faces masks of shock and disbelief.

Nobody dared to speak.

Nobody dared to celebrate.

Nobody dared to condemn him.

Ifrith slowly lowered the blade.

Then he looked upward.

A massive dome still covered the arena, shimmering with magical energy. It had been created to contain the battle. To prevent his prey (the Nobles) From escaping. The barrier pulsed with protective magic, a testament to the skill of those who had woven it.

Ifrith raised one hand, his voice calm.

"Dispel."

The word echoed across the silent arena.

Nothing happened at first.

Then—

CRACK.

A fracture appeared across the enormous dome, splintering the magical construct.

Another.

Then another.

The entire barrier began to break apart, fractures spreading like cracks in ice.

BOOM!

The dome shattered.

Fragments of magical energy scattered into the sky before disappearing, dissolving into nothingness.

The arena was exposed to the outside world.

Everyone looked upward.

The scenery beyond the broken barrier was breathtaking. The sky was painted in colors that seemed almost impossible, crimson blended with gold in a magnificent display. The clouds were illuminated from beneath, golden light spilling across the world.

The sight was beautiful.

Almost peaceful.

It was completely different from the blood-covered arena below.

Ifrith looked toward the sky, the golden light reflecting faintly across his face. For a moment, he said nothing. He simply stood there, letting the light wash over him.

Then he looked back down.

His gaze passed over the arena. Over the nobles. Over the people who had watched him fight.

Finally, his eyes stopped on the people closest to him staring as if they were still alive.

His family.

His expression became strangely calm as he said.

"I hope..."

His voice carried across the arena, clear and steady.

"I have been able to avenge you all."

Nobody responded.

Ifrith continued.

"Father."

His gaze moved toward the Primordial Sovereign.

"Mother."

Then toward the woman beside him.

"Brother."

The last word hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

His voice contained no anger. No hatred. No regret. That somehow made it worse. There was nothing left to say. Nothing left to explain. The deed was done, and he would not apologize for it.

He turned away.

The arena remained silent.

The dead prince lay on the ground, blood staining the stone. The dark mana around Ifrith’s weapon slowly faded, retreating back into the blade.

Yet nobody could forget what they had just witnessed.

The battle was over.

But the consequences had only begun.

---

Elsewhere—

Duke Asmodeus ran.

He did not look back.

The moment the dome disappeared, he turned and fled, his feet carrying him through the corridors with desperate speed. His footsteps echoed through the empty halls, fast and uncontrolled.

His breathing was heavy as he pushed through the enormous doors, his heart pounding in his chest.

He had never run like this before.

Not from an enemy.

Not from an army.

Not from a battlefield.

From what he had just witnessed.

His mind replayed the scene again and again, each repetition more vivid than the last. The prince. Ifrith. The blade. That single slash. And the Sovereign’s words.

*The strong will always kill the weak.*

Asmodeus clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"What the hell..."

He could barely speak, his voice strained and breathless.

Behind him, the nobles began moving.

Panic spread through the arena like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. Some rushed toward the exits, their fine robes billowing behind them. Others shouted for their guards, demanding protection that could not come fast enough. Some simply stood frozen, unable to process what had happened.

The atmosphere that had once been filled with confidence and superiority was gone. Replaced by fear. Raw, unadulterated terror that made even the strongest among them tremble.

Whispers began spreading, carried on the wind.

"He killed the prince..."

"Did you see that power?"

"That mana..."

"It was stronger than before."

"How is that possible?"

"Someone stop him!"

"Stop who?"

Nobody answered.

Because everyone knew the answer.

But nobody wanted to be the one to face him.

The nobles scattered, their dignity forgotten in the face of survival. The arena emptied little by little, people fleeing in all directions. Some hurried away without even looking behind them. Others pulled their family members along, desperate to escape.

The royal guards were confused, standing at attention with no clear orders. They had no command from the Sovereign, and without that command, none of them dared move.

One by one, the people disappeared.

Yet there was one person who remained.

A girl.

She stood quietly among the abandoned seats, silver hair flowing down her back. It caught the crimson and golden light from the sky, shimmering with an ethereal quality that made her seem almost otherworldly.

She had not moved.

Not when the prince was attacked.

Not when the Sovereign refused to save him.

Not when Ifrith ended the battle.

Not even when everyone else began running.

She simply stood there.

Watching.

Her Crimson eyes remained fixed on the arena below, on the figure of Ifrith standing amidst the carnage. There was no panic in her expression. No attempt to flee. No fear.

Only silence.

The girl tilted her head slightly, her silver hair shifting with the breeze that swept through the abandoned seats. Her gaze was steady, thoughtful.

Everyone else had run.

But she stayed.

And perhaps she was the only person in the entire arena who understood that what had just happened was not the end.

It was only the beginning.

Far below, Ifrith stood beneath the crimson-and-gold sky, the wind stirring his clothes. The arena was almost empty now, only a few scattered figures remaining. The dead prince lay behind him, a reminder of what had just occurred.

The nobles were gone.

Duke Asmodeus was already far away.

Yet Ifrith did not chase anyone.

He simply stood there, his weapon still in his hand.

The wind passed through the arena, carrying with it the scent of blood and dust. His clothes moved gently in the breeze.

And deep within his body, that dark power stirred again.

Growing.

Waiting.

Hungry.

Ifrith slowly closed his eyes, letting the silence wash over him. The world around him became quiet, the chaos fading into the background. But somewhere within that silence, something had changed.

The battle had ended.

The prince was dead.

The dome was gone.

And the balance that had existed within the sovereign family had been shattered.

There was no returning to what had been before. Not after today. Not after that single slash. Not after everyone had seen what Ifrith was capable of.

The crimson sky slowly darkened, the colors shifting toward deep purple.

The golden light began to fade.

And beneath the changing heavens, Ifrith opened his eyes once more.

This time—

there was no hesitation in them.

Only resolve.

{BACK TO THE PRESENT}