Chapter 535: The Return of the Demon General
Philbert huddled inside the cramped carriage, clutching his knees as he trembled. The people who once bowed to him, the courtiers who always greeted him with warm smiles, the soldiers who swore their undying loyalty—now, enemies surrounded him on all sides.
A single wrong glance could unleash a murderous intent so palpable it made his skin crawl. Tears welled up in his eyes. He couldn’t believe the situation he found himself in. Where had it all gone wrong?
As far as he knew, his father was a benevolent king. His mother, a wise queen. So why had things turned out this way?
Suddenly, a voice shouted from the front of the carriage. “You scoundrels! Do you not fear the wrath of the gods?”
It was his father.
“Father!” Philbert screamed internally, but no sound escaped his lips. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed his father was surrounded by dozens of enemies, his back to the carriage. Calling out to him would only reveal Philbert’s location to their foes.
Drip… drip…
Something fell beside his father’s feet. Blood. He must have been gravely injured.
“Why don’t you just rest in peace now?” a voice sneered.
“Duke Rachel…!”
“What are you waiting for? Escort him to his final rest.”
“Yes, sir!”
At Duke Rachel’s command, soldiers lunged forward, their weapons aimed at his father. The clash of steel rang out briefly, then silence fell.
And then, with a thud, his father collapsed, eyes wide open. In his final moment, he locked eyes with Philbert and blinked once. That was the end. He died without uttering a single word, his body bristling with spears and swords.
Soldiers dragged his father’s lifeless body away. Somewhere, a woman’s scream pierced the air.
“Mother!” Philbert clamped a hand over his mouth, tears streaming down his face. His mother, dragged out by the soldiers, glared defiantly at Duke Rachel. When she saw her husband’s lifeless form, she cried out in horror.
“Your Majesty!”
Smack!
Duke Rachel slapped the queen across the face. As she glared at him with hollow eyes, he spoke coldly, “Silence.”
“Duke Rachel! You traitor…!”
Smack!
He struck her again, her head snapping to the side, hair falling messily over her face.
“I said, silence.”
“The gods will not forgive…”
“Tsk, tsk. You rely on the gods because you can’t trust yourself. Even the gods help those who help themselves. They don’t reach out to those who just sit and pray.”
With that, Duke Rachel gestured to the soldiers. “Clean her up and bring her to my chambers.”
“Understood…!”
In a flash, the queen snatched a sword from a soldier’s belt. The soldiers near Duke Rachel drew their weapons, ready to defend him. But the queen’s blade wasn’t aimed at him.
In an instant, she slit her own throat.
“Mother!” Philbert watched from beneath the carriage, biting his lip so hard it bled, tears flowing freely. This was no nightmare; it was a reality more horrific than any dream.
As the queen’s blood sprayed like a fountain and she collapsed, Duke Rachel clicked his tongue. “What a stubborn woman. Dispose of her.”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldiers grabbed her legs and dragged her away. A familiar face approached Duke Rachel, reporting, “I’m sorry, sir. The crown prince has escaped.”
Smack!
The report earned a harsh slap, sending the man reeling.
“Then why are you reporting to me? Find him immediately!”
The soldiers scattered, and Duke Rachel sighed before walking off. Once everyone had left, an eerie silence settled over the battlefield, now littered with the dead.
How long did he cry? Philbert hugged his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. When he finally looked up, he saw the north gate of the inner castle wide open. If he moved now, he might escape unnoticed.
But where would he go? Everyone he trusted had betrayed him, killed his parents. The world was indifferent, chillingly so. No one came running to ask about the king’s safety. The people who once bowed to his father were nowhere to be seen. They were likely just watching, indifferent to the chaos.
He had to escape, to survive. Just as he was about to slip out of the carriage, a voice echoed in his mind.
Startled, Philbert almost answered aloud but realized it was some kind of magic. He responded silently.
‘Who are you?’
‘Where are you?’
A thought struck Philbert. ‘Ah, the dark sorcerer!’
‘But there are guards there.’
’…’
Philbert hesitated, then nodded. He had nowhere else to go. Perhaps the dark sorcerer’s help was his best option. The most dangerous criminals were always kept in the deepest cells. Now, even such a person could be an ally.
Seizing his chance, Philbert dashed toward the underground prison. The voice echoed in his mind again.
Philbert nodded as he descended the stairs. As a child, he had once visited the prison with his father. While his father spoke with the warden, Philbert had wandered down to the deepest cell and spoken briefly with the dark sorcerer. He had been scolded harshly for it.
The voice continued. - Do you remember what I told you then?
‘The ritual to summon a demon?’
‘Horrible. I can’t trust anyone. I want to destroy everyone in this world. I want revenge!’
Normally, Philbert would never have voiced such dark thoughts. But witnessing his parents’ deaths had unleashed a fury and despair he couldn’t contain.
‘If only I had power…!’
‘How?’
‘A demon?’
‘But how do I release you?’
‘I’m too young; they won’t listen to me.’
Philbert reached the entrance to the underground prison. The warden’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Your Highness…? What brings you here?”
The warden and two guards rushed over, bowing hastily. In the dim light, they hadn’t noticed the bloodstains on Philbert.
“I need to see someone. Open the door.”
“But at this hour, for what reason…?”
The warden was baffled. Such a request was unprecedented. The three exchanged confused glances, but Philbert was resolute.
“Hurry! There’s no time!”
“Then, with all due respect, we should report to His Majesty first…”
In a flash,
Swish, clang!
Philbert lunged, snatching the sword from the warden’s belt. His training with Malon had paid off.
The warden, shocked, looked up as Philbert declared, “Get down, or I’ll end my life right here!”
The guards paled, shouting, “Your Highness! Please, calm down!”
They dropped to their knees, panic-stricken.
In the next moment,
Slash!
“Gah!”
Thud!
“Argh!”
Philbert swiftly beheaded the warden, stabbed the guard rising to his left, and slashed the neck of the one trying to flee.
‘I killed them…!’
His hands trembled violently. But there was no time for remorse.
Philbert quickly retrieved a set of keys from the fallen guards and made his way into the underground prison.
Descending the winding stairs to the deepest part, he was met with the sight of an old prisoner whose eyes glowed white amidst the stench.
The old man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.
“So, you’ve come.”
It was the same voice that had echoed in his mind.
**
“Who is that old man?”
“Wait, isn’t that kid…?”
“Look! It’s the crown prince! We’ve found the crown prince!”
In the middle of the castle courtyard, an old man and a boy walked calmly. The old man looked as if he hadn’t bathed in years, while the boy was covered in blood, clutching a sword.
The soldiers, shocked by the sight, shouted in alarm.
Soon, they rushed forward, brandishing their weapons at the pair.
But the old man, unfazed, turned to Philbert and said, “Stay close to me.”
Together, they walked to the center of the courtyard, surrounded by dozens of soldiers. The old man suddenly stopped and spread his arms wide.
With a resounding whoosh, an invisible force radiated outwards, sending the soldiers flying.
“Ugh!”
“Ahh!”
As the soldiers fell, the old man looked back at Philbert and said, “Use that sword to carve this symbol onto my body. Make it large, across my chest and stomach.”
He showed his palms, revealing a symbol etched as if by a blade—a pentagram encased in a circle.
Philbert, bewildered, asked, “With a sword?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure about this?”
The old man nodded.
Philbert clenched his jaw and nodded back. It was something he would never have imagined doing under normal circumstances—carving into the frail body of an old man. But now, there was nothing he couldn’t do.
Slowly, Philbert began to etch the symbol. Blood started to flow, but the old man didn’t flinch. Instead, the soldiers watching them grimaced, unsure of what to do.
“What is going on here?”
Rachel appeared just then, frowning at the sight of the old man and Philbert in the courtyard.
Seeing Rachel made Philbert’s anger flare up once more.
When the symbol was finally complete, the old man gave a faint smile and spread his arms wide, chanting in a language Philbert couldn’t understand.
Rachel, alarmed, shouted, “What is he doing? Stop that madman!”
But the soldiers couldn’t get close, as if an invisible barrier kept them at bay.
Finally,
A brilliant golden light burst from the old man’s body, blinding everyone.
Above the castle, enormous golden letters swirled in the sky, forming a vortex. Dark clouds gathered, slowly taking shape.
Rumble…
The clouds, crackling with light, began to form a figure—a woman with long, flowing hair, each strand writhing like a snake.
The sound of ghostly wails echoed as if the spirit of a lion was struggling to break free.
Finally, a long vertical crack appeared on the woman’s belly, and with a whoosh, a massive dragon emerged, flapping its wings.
A man rode on the dragon’s back.
In an instant, the swirling clouds vanished, leaving only the mysterious man and the dragon descending slowly toward the castle.
Philbert instinctively knew this was a being of immense power.
“Adler. As promised long ago, I have come to see you. What is it you need?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty. But it wasn’t I who summoned you—it was this child.”
The old man, called Adler, stepped aside, gesturing to Philbert.