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294  Exposed! Demon King’s Soul!

Chapter 294

“Wasn’t he dead?”

Oliver felt confused; if this demon was dead, then how was he able to talk to him?

Nevertheless, he remained cautious; he could not sense when this demon had come up behind him.

No presence. No aura. Just… there.

It was like the air itself had birthed him—quiet, seamless, and impossibly still.

“What’s the matter? Why aren’t you speaking?” The Demon King tilted his head as if confused, awaiting a reply.

Oliver maintained his calm and replied, “Yes, I am. Let me out of this space.”

The Demon King was silent for a moment before saying something chilling.

His smile was calm, but his eyes… his eyes were ancient.

Not just old—burdened with the weight of centuries, pain, victories, and betrayals.

“You, a human, why are you demanding the impossible?” the Demon King stated it as a matter of fact before adding, “In the first place… what is a human doing in the demon lands?”

Oliver felt cold inside. His identity was seen through in a flash. The little bit of disguise he had used surely did not work on the Demon King himself.

In fact, if it had, then Oliver would have only looked down on him.

Oliver slowly lifted the hood of his cloak, revealing his face. Black hair and calm blue eyes were revealed.

No horns, no demonic scent… nothing. He was as human as he could be.

The Demon King raised a brow at him, his nose wrinkling slightly as if he smelled something strong.

“Hmm… this scent… it’s unmistakable…” The demonic man stepped a bit closer, smelling the air.

“It’s been centuries, but I can still recognize this repulsive stench… you are the blood of that accursed clan, aren’t you?”

This time, Oliver stood still, as if frozen on the spot. The fact that the Demon King could even tell his real identity just from his scent raised countless questions.

His mind raced. How many others could do this? How many already had?

It was clear as day that the Demon King had encountered the Mystic Purge Clan multiple times for him to be able to remember this so vividly.

For the Demon King to be able to identify his true identity just from his scent was crazy.

Did that mean that other powerful demons could also tell this?

If so, what level of power was the threshold? How many encounters must such demons have had with the Mystic Purge Clan to be able to sense it?

He remembered Sera—someone at Rank-4 was not able to identify him at all, so it was definitely above that.

And on second thought, to be able to identify Mystic Purge Clan members from their scent, a demon must have survived battles against them.

And the exorcists from his clan were not a joke—they were ridiculous, in their own league, miles apart from the common exorcists.

And a demon surviving after meeting such exorcists was definitely someone dangerous.

The Demon King before him was definitely one such demon.

“….”

Oliver said nothing.

No denial.

No confirmation.

Only silence.

But that silence screamed louder than any truth.

The Demon King’s grin twisted unnaturally, curling into something that belonged on a corpse rather than a face.

08:43

“But your clan’s signature features… where are they?” His eyes flicked to Oliver’s hair. “Black? It should be white. That stench—you’re no adopted orphan. That rot clings to your blood. You’re a pureblood. So tell me…” He leaned in, whispering now, “Why does your hair lie?”

A beat passed.

Then a tilt of the head. A smile that split too wide.

“Wait… did you dye it?”

A shriek of laughter burst from him, harsh and echoing like bones snapping in the dark.

“HA! Clever little rat. Sneaking into demon lands under disguise, hiding your scent, your truth… You didn’t come here by chance. You planned this.”

He was relentless.

Like a blade honed on the bones of exorcists—he sliced through pretenses with chilling precision.

It was like standing before a mirror that not only reflected your image but your soul.

Although he wasn’t exactly on a covert operation but simply got teleported to this place, the fact remained true nonetheless that he was here secretly and was hiding his true identity.

Oliver’s expression didn’t waver.

But the Demon King wasn’t looking at faces.

He was looking through souls.

“Hmm…” The Demon King looked at his face, his dark eyes scrutinizing Oliver deeply.

It was terrifyingly creepy, as if the Demon King was able to see him naked.

His stare felt like fingers peeling back layers of skin, searching for something buried beneath.

However, just a moment must have passed when it happened.

His laughter stopped.

Just like that.

He stared.

And then—

“Impossible!”

And Oliver?

He smiled.

Just a little. Barely there.

But it sent a chill through the hall of darkness.

Because that smile wasn’t human.

It belonged to the Abyss.

Older than kings.

Deeper than time.

Beyond death.

Even Ophelia couldn’t scan him. What hope did this broken relic of a Demon King have?

As long as he intended, even the demon’s ancestors wouldn’t be able to see his true strength.

“You… just what the hell are you!?”

His voice cracked under the weight of his own question.

“I am sure. You definitely belong to those lunatics! What have they birthed!? You are no human!”

The Demon King shouted to himself, as if he was seeing something that others could not.

His voice cracked with a mix of fear and rage—a warlord unraveling.

Oliver looked at the fanatic Demon King with eyes colder than frost. Since the cat was out of the bag, there was no need to hide.

The Demon King here—or the remnant of his soul—served only one purpose: to become nourishment.

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