After emerging from the alleyway, Baldwin and Athan sprinted at full speed, blurring through the war-torn streets. Within moments, they reached the heart of the battlefield, where chaos reigned.
Baldwin's sharp gaze immediately locked onto her.
Velisara. The mother of Olivia.
Athan spotted her, too, but his reaction was different. To him, Velisara wasn't just some woman tied to Olivia—she was the fastest hero. A legend. A warrior whose name still echoed through history.
His breath hitched. His fingers twitched toward the seals binding his power.
He was ready to break them.
"Stop. She's not our enemy anymore," Baldwin said firmly, grabbing Athan's wrist before he could act.
"Not our enemy anymore?" Athan's voice was sharp, almost panicked. "What the hell are you saying?! She fought against the late Demon King, Azazel Greenblade! He was the last opponent she ever faced, and after that fight, he could never battle again. But her—she walked away unharmed!"
"Relax," Baldwin said, his grip unwavering. "She's not the same as before. And besides… she's my new mother now."
Athan froze.
His jaw dropped. "What?! Do you even understand what's going to happen when she realizes you're the one and only Demon King Baldwin VI?!"
Baldwin chuckled. "I'll tell you later. For now, just stay put." His eyes flicked over Athan's disheveled state. "And maybe—put on some real clothes. If Olivia sees you like this, half-naked…"
Athan blinked. "Olivia? Who the hell is that?"
But Baldwin was already gone.
A single leap, and he was on the rooftops, moving like a phantom across the city skyline. In seconds, he reached the outer gate wall. Without hesitation, he vaulted onto its edge, gaze locked onto the monstrous golem below.
His Demon King's eyes activated—deep crimson irises pulsing with ancient power.
Then, he saw it.
That damned white energy.
"The same damn energy from the gods…" Baldwin muttered.
It was unnatural. Humans wielded yellow. Vampires, red. Demons—depending on their bloodline—could command deep red, blue, green, silver, and more. A being's mana color was a reflection of their lineage.
But manak? That was different. That was something only a Demon King could wield. A force inherited from the founding ancestor of their bloodline.
Golems in labyrinths were typically lifeless constructs, devoid of mana. But this thing? This thing was pulsing with divine white energy.
Baldwin's expression darkened.
"Damn dogs." His voice was a low growl. "Galinthias' servants."
The golem hadn't noticed him yet. Its focus remained on the battle raging below.
Good.
That meant he could end this fast.
Magic and abilities worked differently. Abilities were raw, primal—natural to the user but draining over time. Magic was controlled, shaped by mana reserves—accessible to anyone powerful enough to wield it.
Baldwin had both.
But if he wanted to maintain a low profile, he needed something precise. Something that wouldn't set the entire world on fire.
A plan formed.
He raised a hand.
Dark clouds rippled into existence above him, swirling into a storm that blotted out the sky.
Then—lightning.
Electricity crackled around his body as he leaped from the gate wall, vanishing into the storm.
The golem had no time to react.
A single flash.
A single strike.
Its entire body split in two.
A heartbeat later, the massive construct collapsed—shattering into dust and rubble.
Silence.
Baldwin landed lightly atop the wreckage, dusting off his sleeve as if nothing had happened.
The battle was over.
Far from the Neutral City, in a chamber shrouded in darkness, twelve figures sat around a grand, circular table.
Each of them wore the same black robe, embroidered with a single eye and a weighted scale. The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the occasional flicker of candlelight casting twisted shadows against the stone walls.
Only one seat remained empty.
One of the robed figures tapped his fingers against the table. "Where is Lord Asmodeus?"
Another let out a low chuckle. "I heard he had a little… disagreement with someone from the Ausha Empire."
A third voice joined in, laced with amusement. "Yes, a priest named Hazara. He carries the decree of the God of War."
The room tensed.
"Wait. The God of War?" one of the men muttered. "Isn't that worship forbidden?"
"Of course," the first speaker replied. "Just like us."
A heavy silence followed.
Then—a ripple.
In the empty seat, a pool of water formed out of nothing, its surface bubbling unnaturally. The moment it appeared, all conversation ceased.
The water swelled, twisting upward, taking shape.
Then—it collapsed, spilling forward— but from within, a figure emerged.
Asmodeus Furer.
He stepped forward, his presence suffocating, his robe soaked but untouched by the water dripping from his boots. His cold eyes scanned the room.
"It seems everyone is already here," Asmodeus murmured.
One of the robed figures bowed slightly. "Yes, my lord. Now, if you wouldn't mind…"
His voice dropped lower.
"Tell us about the Child of Prophecy. The one foretold in the Demonic Scriptures."
Asmodeus took his seat, the dampness from his eerie arrival vanishing as if it had never existed. He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the table in thought.
Then, he spoke.
"In our religion, there exists a prophecy—a child destined to wage war against the gods." His voice was low, deliberate. "He will wield all Manak, a force beyond mortal comprehension. A true God-Slayer."
A hush fell over the table. The weight of his words settled into the room like a slow-moving storm.
"There will be a reason," Asmodeus continued, his gaze sharp. "A reason so great that he will fight against every god. A reason powerful enough to make even the heavens tremble."
He exhaled, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. "However… this prophecy is flawed. Perhaps a mistake. Or perhaps it has been misinterpreted."
Murmurs stirred among the robed figures, but none dared interrupt.
"Two problems," Asmodeus stated. He lifted a single finger.
"One: There is no such thing as Gold Manak."
Another finger rose.
"Two: No bloodline in existence carries the Gold Manak's power."
His eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. "So, for now… this God-Slayer is nothing more than an impossibility."
Silence reigned.
And yet, in the dim candlelight, some of the figures shifted uneasily. Because if history had taught them anything—
The impossible had a way of becoming reality.