“I’ll escort you inside.”

At Neville’s words, several soldiers moved in formation, leading Clay and his party. Walking beside Neville, Clay asked,

“They don’t recognize me?”

“They do, Lord Clay.” Neville shook his head, “These men all know your true identity.”

“Yet they don’t seem particularly wary.”

“They were selected specifically because they wouldn’t be.”

“Selected?”

Clay tilted his head, prompting Neville to explain.

“They’re all survivors—people who lived because you fought Vald.”

If it weren’t for Clay, these very soldiers would have been massacred by Vald.

“They’ve already pledged their loyalty to you.”

To think they had made such an oath even in his absence. Clay nearly let out a chuckle.

Not a bad thing, though.

In fact, it worked in his favor.

As expected, Neville’s competence is exactly what I hoped for.

Even without direct orders, Neville filled in the blanks himself—across a wide range of fronts.

Yaphenon may be too small for him in the long run.

Clay could already see a greater territory in Neville’s future.

“Neville. Has there been any resistance to your rule here?”

“There has. It’s not major, but I’ve heard that a few groups of shamans have been targeting me.”

“Shamans, huh.”

Clay had already seized the Origin Prayer for himself. But that didn’t mean all shamanic power had vanished.

Those who had reached the essence of spellcraft through their own means—without relying on the Prayer—could still use their powers.

“If you’d like, I can eliminate them quickly.”

“No, I’d rather meet them.”

“…Pardon?”

“I want you to relax security around me.”

So that the shamans could reach him.

“But Lord Clay, they’re not the type to be intimidated by a Demon King. These are madmen—driven only by their spells.”

“To hear that even from you,” Clay murmured.

“No need to worry. Shamans, at their core, draw strength through communion with spiritual entities. It’s different from magic, which manipulates the laws of the world.”

Even the Origin Prayer was little more than a legacy passed down by some unknown force.

“In other words, someone is still granting them power.”

Elhaen’s divine power was still referred to as “holy power,” but in a way, it was the same phenomenon.

Of course, since this power came from non-divine spiritual beings, it couldn’t exactly be equated with divinity.

“But I want to know who—or what—is behind it.”

More precisely, he wanted to meet that being.

“The Origin Prayer I took from Yaphenon’s king was just a tool that made people think they were the source of their own power. The true origin lies elsewhere. That’s why, even after I seized the Prayer, there are still shamans who can cast.”

If he could track down that original source of power and seize it, it would make even battles against those who mastered the laws of the world more manageable.

“…Is this because of the Tower Master of the Blue Tower?” Neville asked cautiously.

“I won’t deny it.”

Yuru had already stepped into an entirely new realm as a mage. With time, her strength would only grow.

If she ever reached the point of bending the laws themselves, Clay’s current power might not be enough to stop her.

“I must keep improving, Neville.” Clay declared, “And I hope you’ll provide me with the support I need.”

“I will.”

As their conversation continued, they entered the royal palace. Inside was opulent, like any other seat of power. Golden decorations gleamed from the walls and pillars. The mounted heads of monsters—killed in hunts—froze in their last roars, as if forever trapped in the moment of death.

“Not everything’s been taken down, I see.”

Clay had half-expected Neville to have sold these off to fund Yaphenon’s reconstruction, but clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“You are the Demon King, Lord Clay.”

Neville responded as if he had anticipated Clay’s reaction.

“I believed certain symbols of dominance were still necessary.”

“So you knew I might be staying here for some time.”

“Yes. This is likely to become a forward base.”

He spoke with a firm expression.

“Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sent me here.”

“Well done, Neville.” Clay nodded in approval, “You understand my intent better than most. With this level of initiative, I won’t need to give orders at all.”

“You flatter me.”

“Yes. I’ll be using this place as a forward operating base.”

Yaphenon sat directly against Krata’s border. There was no better location from which to launch an offensive. Neville had been chosen as a leader the people of Yaphenon could accept—providing legitimacy for their control.

“And thanks to you, that foundation is now solid.”

“But how did you know Krata wouldn’t act directly?”

“If they had, it would’ve caused too much backlash.”

Rumors had already spread that Krata had released Vald. If they had moved to take Yaphenon openly, public outrage would have been explosive.

But now? Krata’s crown prince was here, quietly integrated into Yaphenon’s system. It wasn’t a bad situation for them either.

“Lutan probably doesn’t think you’re truly cooperating with me. He doesn’t know your strength.”

As a Hero, Clay had once heard Lutan speak. He’d seen his son as little more than an obedient puppet—someone who would follow orders without resistance.

“But I know you’re not weak.”

Clay stared directly at him.

“You were strong enough to stand your ground with me. Even in our negotiations.”

“…I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Though it had been a one-sided negotiation, Neville had earned his place through capability. He turned his gaze slightly, not quite able to meet Clay’s eyes.

“This way.”

Neville led him to the throne once used by Yaphenon’s former king.

“You may use this to issue commands.”

The throne, draped in the pelt of a great beast, awaited him.

Without hesitation, Clay walked forward—and sat.

Syltanaro, with Naiad perched on his shoulder, walked up beside him. He looked down.

Below stood Neville, Athanasia, and Marcia.

As Clay watched the dozen or so soldiers standing guard in front of the pillars, he murmured in a low voice.

“Pathetic.”

Thinking of how the King of Yaphenon once sat here and roared like a madman made him want to scoff.

“All of you who pledged your loyalty before I even arrived, listen well.”

Clay looked at the soldiers as he spoke.

“I shall bestow upon you a reward befitting your loyalty. All of you, gather at the center.”

The soldiers clanked forward in their armor and knelt at the center.

“““We await your command.”””

The sight was enough to leave one speechless. Looking down at the reality Neville and Athanasia had created in just a month, Clay extended his hand.

“Syltanaro.”

In response, Syltanaro transformed into the form of a sword and landed in Clay’s grasp. Naiad shifted her seat to Clay’s shoulder.

“I shall share my power with you.”

The Origin Prayer.

Clay drew upon that power and formed a bond.

Sekwaks—a word meaning “follower”—was etched into Syltanaro before dissolving like melting ink. That very word then appeared, engraved onto the soldiers’ armor and weapons.

“I have inscribed upon you a mark that imitates my power. That mark will become a special incantation you alone can use.”

It was something only a Demon King could do.

Using the power of the Origin Prayer, Clay had committed something outrageous—he had enabled others to mimic the abilities of its wielder through the power of incantation.

“!”

“Th-this can’t be…!”

“This is…!”

Gasps erupted from the soldiers. A black aura was rising from their bodies. It was made from magia.

“You can now wield power akin to that of demons.”

In other words, humans had now become capable of handling magia.

“Magia?”

Athanasia’s eyes widened in shock.

“Humans wielding magia…!”

It was the result of shamelessly abusing the mechanism behind the Origin Prayer. Athanasia turned toward Neville with a sigh.

Even he wore a troubled expression, seemingly unable to imagine something like this.

“Khhh…!”

“I—I’ve been granted such power!”

But the soldiers, most of whom had been low-born and insignificant in Yaphenon until they found themselves in this position through a simple vow of loyalty, were awestruck and ecstatic at the sheer power they’d been given—something they had never dared to dream of.

Yaphenon had always revered power. It had only restrained itself because of its alliance with Krata. For people of Yaphenon, who didn’t discriminate much when it came to the type of strength—as long as they grew stronger—there was no reason to reject magia.

“Th-thank you, Demon King!”

“You saved us and now granted us this power!”

“We’ll follow you to the end!”

They shouted like zealots, their eyes wild with fervor. Even Neville looked momentarily taken aback by their madness.

‘Not a bad reaction.’

Clay, who had given them power as a test, found the results satisfactory.

‘I wanted to see how useful they’d be.’

He needed to know just how sincere their oath of loyalty had been—whether it was worth acknowledging.

‘At least I don’t have to bother disposing of them.’

Clay lowered Syltanaro, which he had been holding aloft. If any of them had shown hesitation or repulsion toward using magia, he would’ve executed them on the spot.

In the end, it had all unfolded quite satisfactorily for him.

“By using magia, you’ll become official enemies of Krata. Are you fine with that?”

“We are, Demon King!”

The soldiers shouted in response to Clay’s question.

“Krata abandoned us first anyway!”

“My family was killed, and I couldn’t even recover their bodies!”

“Who could criticize us for following the only one who helped us! Even Lord Neville borrows the Demon King’s power, doesn’t he!”

They no longer saw Neville as a representative of Krata but as someone entirely separate. To them, the Demon King was a savior.

‘Inspiring.’

The results exceeded even Clay’s expectations. Neville had become the only high-ranking official recognized as helping those crushed by catastrophe, and Clay—the Demon King—was revered as the force supporting him from behind.

‘This may progress faster than I thought.’

Due to Lutan’s foolish choices and negligent attitude, humanity had already begun to split. All Clay had done was place a finger on that growing fracture.

Crack.

As humanity crumbled, Clay twisted his lips into a grin—a sensation of ecstasy swelling within him that he never would’ve imagined back in his Hero days.

“I’ll be expecting much from your loyalty.”

The true catastrophe was about to begin.

(End of Chapter)

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