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293  The King is Alive?

Chapter 293

His hands, once calloused from desperate battles, now gripped the hilt of a blade stained with the blood of not just beasts but rivals.

He raised a clawed hand, and an army rallied behind him—not just villagers now, but warriors from neighboring territories he had conquered.

His eyes blazed with a fierce, unyielding ambition; his presence alone inspired both reverence and terror.

The vision flickered again, revealing glimpses of his campaigns—brutal clashes against rival demon lords, blood-soaked battlefields, and the cries of the vanquished.

Each victory fed his legend, his name whispered in both awe and fear across the lands.

He was relentless.

His strategies were sharp as a blade.

His strength was a force of nature.

Cities fell.

His dominion expanded.

Demons, beasts, and even darker creatures were drawn into his ranks.

And yet, the hunger in his eyes never faded.

His conquest had only just begun.

Time blurred in the vision, war and bloodshed blending together like an eternal storm.

He stood before a vast assembly of his followers, clad in armor forged from the hides of the mightiest beasts he had slain, his eyes glowing with an unearthly fire.

“Today,” he declared, his voice a thunderous roar that shook the ground, a voice no longer entirely mortal, “I transcend mortality. I am no longer just your leader—I am your god. The God of War, who will lead you to conquer all that exists.”

The crowd erupted, their cheers a deafening tide of devotion. Their worship was absolute, their faith a wildfire consuming all doubt.

Temples rose in his honor, their altars stained with the blood of sacrifices offered to appease him. He sat upon a throne of bones, his gaze fixed on a world he intended to claim as his own.

All of it was going extremely well, very smoothly; everything was in his favor, the world bowing before him.

Until…

One day, he sought to claim the entire demon world as his own.

He aimed to suppress everyone across the demon lands.

He would not be a mere conqueror. He would be absolute.

He wanted every demon to become his subordinate, to worship him as their god—to become the most revered and feared entity across all lands.

He aspired to be the next Demon God!

But ambition, unchecked, is a blade that cuts both ways.

In his endless pursuit of power, he meddled with forces he was not prepared for.

Entities that had remained hidden since ancient times emerged: the King of Shadows, the Empress of Blood, the Devourer… and many more catastrophes, each entity surpassing the other.

They had watched in silence. And now, they moved.

It was also then revealed that there were demons of such unfathomable strength existing; they were identified as Apocalyptic class by the Exorcist Union of that time—that is, equivalent to a Rank-6 Exorcist.

Such entities could be counted on one hand, given their rarity.

However, the war demon in the scene was not one to back down now.

He fought relentlessly against the King of Shadows; the entire battlefield was dyed pitch black, all his attacks absorbed—it was as if he was fighting in air.

Against the Empress of Blood, the battle was almost never-ending; the blood of his fallen soldiers fueled her growth and power, making her stronger the more they fought. With every drop spilled, her laughter grew louder, echoing through the battlefield like a cursed melody.

Not to mention the Devourer, who caused irreversible destruction to him and his armies.

But…

He still felt it was manageable so long as he kept getting stronger.

Yet he knew he was not their match; they were simply too strong for him to keep up.

And in the end, what broke him was the unexpected betrayal from his closest generals.

He had trusted them. Bound them by blood and war.

And yet—

They turned their blades on him.

He could not believe it.

The demons with whom he had formed pacts, who had accompanied him throughout his journey to the top—the generals who acted as his limbs—betrayed him?

His left-hand commander was the first to strike, driving a blade through his back as he stood atop the ruined battlefield.

His right-hand general followed, whispering words of regret—yet still twisting the dagger.

He felt his entire life had been a bitter truth at that point.

Not power. Not faith. Not loyalty.

And the vision suddenly ended there.

________

Oliver blinked and found himself back in the dark space.

“Was that the life of the demon they worship?”

He felt he understood some things better now. After watching the scenes, he concluded that these villagers were the followers of that demon king; they worshipped him like a god. He was a God of War to his followers.

This village was a village of undead; these people were dead but were forcefully kept alive—or at least in an illusionary space where they believed they were alive.

In reality, it was just a village of undead.

The demon king was dead, but his consciousness still lingered in this world.

He had created this village in memory of his loyal followers—a last link to him, a final mark he had left on this world.

And this space where he was trapped was the center of it—the thing that was keeping this village intact.

“A prison of devotion,” Oliver muttered. “And I’ve walked straight into it.”

___________

“Are you lost, kid?”

A voice suddenly sounded from behind. Oliver turned rapidly in the blink of an eye, only to see the same demon king who was once feared as the God of War in the demon lands centuries ago.

Except… he looked different now. Younger. Unscarred by the war, as though time itself had been rewound.

He had the appearance of his youth, when he was just beginning his conquest. But even then, his face bore a long scar stretching across his left cheek.

Oliver remembered from the visions that it was given to him by a dangerous demon beast.

The demon was now suddenly before him and was speaking to him.

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