Crash!

The shamans struck by Clay’s magia were sent flying, crashing across the floor.

“Guh!”

The first to rise was their leader, Lokanta.

“The Demon King?!”

He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Clay would be here. After all, Neville was the crown prince of Krata. Lokanta had figured that, regardless of their personal ties, Clay’s presence would be too politically volatile to permit in the royal palace.

‘Ridiculous!’

This was insanity. But regardless, the fact remained: the shamans who had stormed the palace were now in serious trouble. They had only come prepared to face Neville—and now they had run into a far more dangerous opponent.

“You sit upon a throne unworthy of you!”

“Was I supposed to ask for permission?” Clay shrugged at Lokanta’s outburst, “Well, sorry about that. Does that settle it?”

“Don’t mock us!” Lokanta, grimacing, barked orders at the shamans groaning to their feet.

“Proceed with the plan!”

There was no backing out now. The situation had turned messy, but if they stopped here, they might never get another chance.

The shamans formed hand seals and chanted:

“Arise, ultimate spirits of the other realm!”

Heat shimmered across the floor as eyeless beasts began to materialize one by one.

They took the form of wolves, bears, and other fearsome predators.

Clay raised an eyebrow in interest.

“So these are the familiars you call shikshin, are they?”

They resembled the summoned beasts that mages employed. The difference was that these were spiritual entities drawn from another plane—and thus often possessed powers beyond normal creatures.

“Attack!”

The shamans issued their command.

Grrrr!

The beasts, fangs bared, lunged at Clay and Neville.

“!”

Startled, Neville hesitated—only for Clay to rush past and shove him backward.

He raised the demon sword, Syltanaro, and swung.

Clang!

The magia-forged blade released a shockwave that drove the shikshin back.

“It’s useless!” Lokanta yelled. Spirits summoned from the other realm were composed of different matter entirely. Their appearances might mimic beasts of this world, but their durability was on a completely different scale. A simple slash shouldn't have been able to harm them.

Graaaaah!

The beasts roared, shrugging off the blow. The slash flew past them, striking the ceiling above.

Boom!

Debris began to fall, one chunk hurtling straight for Clay’s head—only to be swept aside by a massive droplet of water.

“That’s…!”

Lokanta’s eyes widened.

The Spirit of Water—no, the Water King Spirit, Naiad.

“She’s fallen under your command too?!”

“You’re late to notice.” Clay scoffed, “She’s been mine for a while now.”

“How far do you intend to go?!”

Lokanta’s face contorted in fury.

“You should’ve died at the execution ground that day! You’re a relic of a bygone age—your very existence is a tragedy!”

“A tragedy, huh? That’s a new one.”

It was tragic, yes—but no one had ever said it to his face. Maybe they simply didn’t want to admit it. To say it aloud would be to mourn his fall… to acknowledge that the former Hero had become a Demon King.

“I’m curious about the powers you wield. If you’re willing to cooperate, I’ll let you live.”

Clay extended a hand toward Lokanta.

“What do you say? Will you join me?”

“I refuse!” Lokanta bared his teeth, “We will reclaim Yaphenon and restore its former glory!”

Reflecting his and the other shamans’ will, the shikshin lunged again.

“I’ll rip you apart right here and now!”

“Pity.” Clay muttered softly, “I had hoped for a more peaceful solution.”

He kicked Shikshin 1 straight in the head.

Crack.

Its skull collapsed inward as it flew across the hall, slamming into the wall.

“What…”

As Lokanta gawked, Clay thrust Syltanaro forward, catching Shikshin 2’s fangs with the blade.

That alone stopped it in its tracks, sending it skidding backward.

Shikshin 3 attempted a side attack, but Naiad’s torrent of water struck its knees, knocking it down.

Shikshin 4, 5, and 6 charged together—but the wave of magia emanating from Clay’s body repelled them all, keeping their claws from ever reaching him.

“This can’t be…”

Shikshin were unlike ordinary familiars. Being spiritual in origin, they weren’t something one could easily deal with.

Naiad might have made sense. Spirits were naturally resistant to strange forces—and Naiad was a Spirit King, far more powerful than most.

But Clay?

Even the previous Demon King had struggled to deal with shikshin, according to the records.

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

Clay stepped forward and began dismantling the spirits one by one. The one whose jaws had been caught on his sword—he cleaved its entire mouth in half. The ones flailing in his magia—he tore them apart with his bare hands.

None of them could resist. They vanished like dust.

Even the one that Naiad had downed—when it tried to charge back, Clay drove his blade through it.

There were no shikshin left.

“If you brought up my execution, then you must know I saw a death-flash, didn’t you?”

“!”

“To you shamans, the death-flash means a great deal, doesn’t it?”

A glimpse of the spiritual realm before death—only visible in the moments before life ended. It wasn’t something just anyone could see, even in mortal danger.

“A death-flash is both a memory and a preview of the world your soul will enter.”

Those who neared the border between life and death could acquire new traits.

“To me, your shikshin are no longer beings of another world.”

Clay said softly.

“They’re just residents of a world I’ve already set foot in.”

“Damn you…!”

Lokanta clenched his fists.

“Even if you saw it, there’s no way you adapted so quickly and made it part of yourself! Not even we can do that!”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“…What?”

“I asked: What does your inability have to do with my success?”

Lokanta was at a loss for words.

Clay was speaking of disparity in class. He was saying that people like Lokanta and himself couldn’t even be compared—they didn’t exist on the same level.

“Arrogant bastard!”

Even if Clay had become the Demon King, the realm of shamanism was something the shamans had studied far longer.

Lokanta couldn’t simply overlook that kind of dismissive insult.

“You’ll regret ever crossing us!”

Even the Demon King had his limits. Without the aid of his Four Generals or other demonic aides, there had to be boundaries to his strength.

No Demon King could possibly master every domain alone.

“Go!”

If all the shamans who had trained together attacked in unison, maybe—just maybe—they could hurt him.

“You’ve crossed the line into utter stupidity.”

Clay’s crimson eyes gleamed.

“There are limits to foolishness.”

“Guh!”

The overwhelming pressure nearly crushed Lokanta, but he managed to form hand seals.

“The sinner shall be dragged in chains and thrown into the square!”

As the other shamans followed with synchronized hand seals, chains of earth burst from all sides and coiled around Clay’s body.

“Kneel and repent!”

Fwoosh!

The chains caught fire, spread poison, exuded chill, and unleashed curses that weakened the body. It was a storm of spells, each intent on destruction.

These weren’t merely magical—they struck at the soul itself.

Crack!

But none of it was unexpected to Clay.

“…Certainly, it’s a pain unlike any other.”

Bound in chains, Clay clenched his fists. Even for a Demon King, it wasn’t easy to break free.

“Still… this seems like a miscalculation on your part.”

His eyes shifted toward the shamans. They were grinding their teeth, visibly troubled.

It was obvious why. Maintaining this binding required them to remain stationary and channel power. None of them could afford to falter—if even one did, the chains would collapse.

‘How monstrous is his strength…?’

Cold sweat ran down Lokanta’s back.

‘He’s nothing like the previous Demon King.’

Unlike the former Demon King, who had relied solely on overwhelming magia, Clay was impossible to read. No one could grasp what powers he now possessed.

Whether it was because he had once been a Hero, or because he had altered his very nature through experiments in the Demon King’s Castle, it was impossible to tell—but one thing was certain: Lokanta was now in trouble.

“Are you an idiot?”

A voice broke in.

“You do realize Clay isn’t alone, right?”

Naiad.

She fluttered down before Lokanta, wings spreading.

“Looks like this is your limit.”

She sneered at them.

“So? How long do you think you can hold out? Five minutes? Three? Was that too generous? Maybe even one minute is too much.”

The shamans had no answer. They had already reached their limit.

‘Why isn’t it working?’

‘He should be weakened from the curses…!’

‘What the hell is going on?!’

Panic spread across their faces.

“Naiad…”

Only Lokanta managed to speak.

“Weren’t you once the supreme spirit who protected mankind?”

“Mm. I was.”

“Yet you side with the Demon King now? Aren’t you ashamed?”

Naiad chuckled.

“And you?”

She glanced around at the shamans.

“Are you doing this for some noble cause?”

“What nonsense!”

Lokanta’s eyes widened.

“Yaphenon is our nation to govern! You have no authority here! You’re just intruders, barging in as you please!”

“Mhm.”

Naiad answered indifferently and then flicked her finger against Lokanta’s forehead.

“Gaaaah!”

A droplet of water exploded at the point of contact, staggering Lokanta. Cracks began to form in the chains binding Clay.

“F-Focus!”

“The chains are breaking!”

The shamans cried out in alarm, shouting at one another—but Clay was already tearing the chains off with his bare hands.

“To begin with…”

He spoke softly.

“Thinking this could restrain me was laughable.”

Boom!

Drawing an explosive surge of magia from the Ring of Luanac, Clay shattered the chains entirely.

“T-The chains…!”

“No matter the art—shamanism or magic—if the difference in power is too vast, it’s meaningless.”

Clay stepped toward the dumbfounded shamans.

“I said it clearly, didn’t I?”

A shadow passed over his expression.

“If you satisfied my curiosity, I’d let you live.”

It had been their final chance.

“So—what do you think? Still not interested in changing your mind?”

(End of Chapter)

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