[Conrad City – The Palace Meeting Room]

The room was filled with a heavy silence, the weight of recent events pressing down on everyone gathered.

The grand chamber, usually reserved for court sessions, now housed the king, his closest ministers, and a select few high-ranking nobles.

They stood around a massive, ornately carved table, its surface covered in maps, reports, and hastily scribbled notes.

King Serom, a man who had seen many trials in his reign, leaned forward, his face etched with worry.

His crown, a symbol of authority, felt heavier than ever.

He broke the silence with a grave tone that carried the weight of despair.

"I'm sure you all must’ve heard about what happened in Cria," he said, his voice measured but strained.

A murmur of acknowledgment passed through the group.

“When the royal knights arrived at Cria, it was already…” The king paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Ruins.”

The room remained still. No one dared to meet his gaze.

“There were signs of a monster attack,” he continued, “but all the monsters had already vanished by the time our knights arrived.”

One of the ministers, his face pale, nodded and added, “The knights informed us through the communication orb, Your Majesty. Cria has been utterly destroyed… not a single soul survived.”

The king closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he placed a hand on the table to steady himself. The gravity of those words hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“I summoned this meeting because we must act—immediately,” King Serom said firmly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his fear.

“What should we do? Does anyone here have any ideas?”

His question was met with silence.

The ministers exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke.

“Haa…” The king sighed heavily, his frustration evident.

The sound of his breath seemed to echo in the room, amplifying the oppressive atmosphere.

Breaking the silence, he turned toward one of his advisors.

“What about the temple? Any word on the hero’s progress?”

A minister stepped forward, wringing his hands nervously.

“Your Majesty, the temple reports that the hero is still in training. They say he is not yet ready to face such a threat. Moreover…” He hesitated, his voice faltering.

“Speak,” the king commanded.

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“The saintess,” the minister continued, “remains unconscious. Her condition is unknown, and the temple cannot act completely until she recovers.”

The king's fists clenched at his sides.

“What do we do now?” he muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the table as if searching for an answer in the intricate carvings.

Suddenly, a deep voice cut through the tension.

“Your Majesty, allow me to go,” Duke Driesell said, stepping forward.

The king looked up, studying the duke’s face.

A man of unwavering resolve, Driesell’s eyes burned with determination.

The king’s lips parted as if to argue, but no words came.

Finally, he nodded. “I suppose that’s our only option for now.”

“But, Your Majesty—” Marquis Ebran began, his voice laced with concern.

Duke Driesell interrupted, his tone firm.

“You agreed, Marquis. You said that if you failed, I could act as I saw fit.”

Ebran fell silent, his face grim. “Haa… Fine then,” he relented. “I won’t stop you.”

Driesell nodded, his jaw set.

King Serom straightened, addressing the room once more.

"Good. But do we have any clue where the Demon King might strike next? Did he… leave anyone alive to deliver a message?”

The room fell silent again.

A minister, hesitant but compelled to answer, finally spoke.

"No, Your Majesty. This time… the Demon King left no one alive.”

The words hit the room like a thunderclap.

King Serom closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging under the weight of despair.

The air in the room grew heavy, suffused with an almost oppressive tension.

"Does anyone have any idea?"

King Serom’s question about the Demon King’s next target lingered, unanswered.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Marquis Ebran finally spoke, his voice trembling slightly as he unrolled a map across the table.

He pointed to the territory marked Qeino.

“If he wishes to reach the capital swiftly, then Qeino Territory would logically be his next target. From Cria, it’s the most direct route—”

Before he could finish, the large double doors to the chamber slammed open with a force that echoed throughout the room.

Everyone turned sharply, their eyes narrowing at the interruption.

A soldier stumbled in, his face pale as death and drenched in sweat.

His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide with terror.

“What kind of insolence is this?” one of the ministers barked.

“Do you not realize this is an urgent meeting?”

“Enough,” King Serom said sharply, silencing the others with a single word.

His stern gaze shifted to the soldier.

“Speak. What has happened?”

The soldier tried to form words, but his voice cracked. “Your Majesty, it’s... it’s...”

Before he could finish, a massive, clawed hand emerged from the shadows behind him and shoved him aside with effortless force.

“Move.”

A deep, resonant voice filled the chamber, sending chills down the spines of everyone present.

The sound wasn’t merely commanding—it was oppressive, laced with a malevolence that seemed to seep into the very walls.

The being who entered was larger than life, his towering form dwarfing the guards who stood frozen in fear.

His body was an intimidating canvas of sinew and muscle, rippling beneath ash-grey skin that appeared as impenetrable as stone, a testament to his otherworldly power.

Intricate, heavy golden armor clung to his imposing form, glinting faintly in the dim light.

Each piece bore macabre skull motifs, twisted grins etched into the gleaming metal, and haunting ancient symbols carved with unnerving precision.

The designs seemed alive, pulsating faintly as though imbued with the souls of his countless victims.

His broad shoulder pads featured grinning skulls that seemed to mock the room’s occupants, twisted and silent witnesses to centuries of darkness.

The armor exuded an air of conquest, every piece telling a story of lands razed and lives extinguished in his wake.

Upon his head sat a crown of dark gold, its surface adorned with predatory gems that gleamed with an unsettling light, as if watching the room.

Two enormous, curved horns jutted from the sides of his head, twisting upward in a menacing arc that exuded raw power.

Long, flowing purple hair cascaded down his shoulders, blending seamlessly with a thick, braided beard that hung down his chest.

Together, they framed his stern, regal face, an expression that was both calm and terrifying in its authority.

His eyes, an unholy crimson, burned with an intensity that made the room feel like it was on fire.

They were piercing and cruel, searing through flesh and mind alike.

When his gaze swept over the gathered leaders, it wasn’t just a look—it was a force.

Every man and woman felt it, a crushing weight that reached into their very souls, unearthing their deepest fears and most hidden doubts.

The light from the chandeliers dimmed, casting long, eerie shadows that flickered with every movement he made.

He strode with deliberate slowness, his heavy steps reverberating through the chamber, each one hammering a nail into the coffin of hope.

Everyone could feel who he was.

The Demon King.

The Demon King’s lips curled into a sinister grin, revealing sharp, fang-like teeth.

His voice was low and mocking as he spoke.

"So, this is where the leaders of humanity have gathered. How quaint.”

The ministers, nobles, and even the king froze, their faces pale with dread.

Some clutched at their chairs for support, while others instinctively backed away, their breaths quickening.

Without hesitation, the Demon King moved to the massive table at the room’s center.

He reached out with a clawed hand, his movements slow, deliberate, and eerily calm.

He grasped one of the heavy oak chairs as if it weighed nothing, dragging it across the floor with a screech that made everyone wince.

He placed it directly opposite the king and sat down, his crimson eyes scanning the room, taking in every terrified face.

His grin widened, his sharp teeth catching the dim light.

“So,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down their spines.

“You’ve all gathered here… to discuss about me, haven’t you?”

His chuckle was dark and hollow, resonating in the room like a death knell.

His crimson eyes shifted to the ministers, each one shrinking under his scrutiny.

"Shall we talk, then?"

The monstrous figure’s grin widened, its sharp teeth glinting menacingly as it leaned in closer, exuding an aura of unsettling confidence.