“You little brat!” the King exclaimed, his voice a mixture of surprise and amusement. “You just did something really impressive,” he added, rising from his seat with a flourish, arms spread wide as if to embrace Zeke from across the room.

“Huh?” Zeke muttered, resting the Morningstar on his right shoulder, his expression unreadable. Below him, the Hound cowered, shaking helplessly at Zeke’s feet, his arrogance now stripped away.

“What you just did—blocking that attack—it was almost a demon art,” the King continued, his tone now contemplative. “For reference, did anyone teach you how to do that?”

“No,” Zeke replied, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface, annoyed by the King’s unsolicited commentary.

“Not only did you obliterate three guardians without breaking a sweat, but you also managed to conceal your magic while doing it,” the King chuckled, clearly impressed.

“You said I was free to use magic, but you didn’t say I could flaunt it,” Zeke replied, his words clipped and cool.

“Aren’t you a clever one? I think that deserves a reward,” the King grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“King! I can still fight! Please, let me continue!” the Hound interrupted, his voice trembling as he begged for another chance.

“Hound, have you completely lost your mind?” the King’s expression darkened as he conjured a golden chain from his palm, walking slowly toward the fallen figure. “Not only are you a traitor, but now you’re interfering with my lesson.”

The Hound’s face drained of color.

“Oh? You thought I didn’t know about your little coup? There’s a lot I know that I choose to ignore... until it becomes inconvenient,” the King said, his voice like a knife as he swung the chain rhythmically, each step bringing him closer.

In a last-ditch effort, the Hound lashed out, swinging his Morningstar directly at the King’s exposed back. The weapon flew through the air with a deadly arc, aimed straight for the King’s nape.

But the King merely smirked.

As the Morningstar neared, the King’s form changed. His skin dissolved into a mass of writhing chains that parted, allowing the weapon to pass harmlessly through him. It was as though he had become untouchable, intangible.

Zeke’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“This is your reward,” the King said, his voice laced with dark amusement as he turned to face Zeke. “A demonstration of an exceedingly versatile demon art.”

“Phase,” Sofie whispered, shock evident in her voice. “I didn’t even think something like that existed,” she muttered to herself, her mind racing.

“To perform something like this, you need an intimate understanding of the element you control, a considerable reserve of mana, and a sharp focus,” the King explained, a smug smile creeping across his face. “But don’t worry, that’s far beyond your reach for now,” he said with a grin. “Instead, how about a demonstration of that technique you used earlier?”

The King knelt before the trembling Hound, droplets of sweat rolling down the traitor’s brow. His body quaked as he tried to regain control, but his thoughts spiraled out of reach, lost to panic.

“Hound, you disrespected a guardian I personally appointed. When I gave you the chance to prove yourself, you failed. And now, after losing your pride in combat, you dare to interrupt the one who granted you that pride in the first place?” The King’s voice was a chilling monotone, his blood-red eyes gleaming with an emotion that was impossible to read.

“K-k-k-King, I’m sorry! Please, forgive me,” the Hound stammered, slamming his forehead into the cold stone floor in desperation.

The King rose to his feet, casting his gaze toward Zeke. “Prowler, would you be so kind as to return the Hound’s weapon?” he asked, his voice suddenly warm, as though addressing an old friend.

“Sure,” Zeke replied nonchalantly, tossing the Morningstar in front of the Hound.

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“Pick it up. You’ll be facing me now,” the King remarked, walking away without a hint of concern.

The Hound, heart pounding in his chest, forced his trembling hand toward the handle of the Morningstar, using it to prop himself back up. His breaths came in ragged bursts as he rushed forward, weapon in hand, hoping to catch the King off guard.

With all his might, the Hound swung the Morningstar, aiming for the King’s back once again. But the King didn’t even flinch—he simply smiled.

In a graceful motion, the King spun on his heel, his long coat flowing like liquid shadow around him. He caught the Morningstar mid-swing, his palm wrapped in glowing chains that pulsed with magical energy.

“This is how it’s done,” the King said calmly, his grip like iron as he held the weapon effortlessly in his hand.

He released the weapon, allowing it to fall, dragging the Hound down with it, the weight far too much for him to bear.

“This demon art is called Mold,” the King explained, his tone almost fatherly. “It’s a form of magic that allows the user to infuse their element into their body, often creating a protective armor. You, on the other hand, merely infused magic into your blood vessels, hardening them enough to stop the weapon. But your arm remained fragile on the outside.”

The King’s gaze turned cold as he looked down at the Hound. “And as for you... I have no need for weaklings and traitors.”

With a single fluid motion, the King’s chain sliced through the air, decapitating the Hound in an instant. Blood vaporized into a fine mist, coating the floor in a crimson haze.

The King then turned his attention to Patrick Birdman, who lay motionless, paralyzed by fear. “My dear Patrick, I expected so much more from you,” the King sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “What am I to do with you?”

“My lord, I beg of you! Please, spare me. I have been nothing but a loyal servant,” Birdman pleaded, his voice quivering.

“That you have,” the King acknowledged, his gaze softening momentarily. “Unlike the others,” he added, glancing toward Svetlana, whose eyes filled with terror.

“Svetlana!” Sofie screamed suddenly, standing and slamming her hands against the desk in front of her.

In a blink, her head flew across the room, severed cleanly by Fox’s blade. It rolled down the stairs in slow, gruesome motion, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake. As it finally settled at the base of the steps, Sofie’s vacant eyes stared lifelessly at Svetlana, a silent warning of her impending fate.

“I told you to keep your mouth shut,” Fox said, his voice filled with irritation.

“That was rather distasteful, don’t you think?” the King remarked, casting a disapproving glance at Fox.

“Too bad,” Fox shrugged, completely unbothered.

“Whatever,” the King sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” Without another word, he extended his golden chain through Svetlana’s head, ending her life in a single, swift strike just as she was about to speak.

The King turned to Birdman once more. “As for you, Patrick, you followed my orders to the letter. Though you may despise the guardian of District 7, you had no part in this insurrection. For that, I will allow you to live. But I must say, I am gravely disappointed in your combat abilities.”

Birdman rose shakily to his feet, bowing his head as he returned to his seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the King addressed the room, gesturing passionately as he spoke. “As you’ve just witnessed, we are at a crossroads. Our ranks were infested with traitors, those who sought to overthrow me. Because of this, I had no choice but to demonstrate what happens to those who defy our modest community.” His hands moved with grand, sweeping motions, as if conducting an orchestra of fear. “Fox, Olivia, Nolan, and Orland—you four are the upper ranks, the strongest among us. You are to hunt down the remaining insurgents and bring them to me.”

His expression hardened as he clenched his fist. “Do not fail me.”

“Yes, my lord!” Olivia responded eagerly, her excitement palpable.

“I will do as you command,” Orland bowed his head, his voice steady.

“Alright,” Nolan sighed, his reluctance evident.

Fox remained silent, shaking his head in quiet disagreement.

“We are on the cusp of a great conflict,” the King continued, his voice growing solemn. “I’ve received reports that the knights are attempting to infiltrate the Undercity. This issue must be resolved before they succeed.”

Isaac’s heart raced as the weight of the King’s words sank in. “Knights… coming here?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Calm down! We need to get out of here first,” Amelia hissed, pulling at Isaac’s sleeve.

The two retraced their steps, crawling back through the vent with a mixture of haste and caution.

“Do you think anyone noticed us?” Isaac asked, his voice tinged with worry as he helped Amelia down from the vent.

“I hope not,” she replied, extending her hand to steady herself.

For a brief, charged moment, they stood close, their bodies tingling with the adrenaline of what they had just witnessed. The tension between them shifted, turning into something deeper—a raw, electric connection that neither of them fully understood. Their eyes locked, and slowly, instinctively, they began to inch closer.

“Congratulations!” Zeke’s voice boomed, breaking the spell. Both Isaac and Amelia jumped, startled by his sudden appearance.

“What? How did you get here?” Amelia exclaimed, her voice filled with shock as Isaac awkwardly lowered his gaze.

“Oh, did you think no one noticed you?” Zeke teased, his grin wide. “Surprise, surprise. You suck at being sneaky. Remind me never to ask you to do anything covert again.”

“Will do,” Isaac muttered, still flustered.

“Anyway, what are you congratulating us for?” Amelia asked, her confusion clear.

“Not us, but you, Amelia,” Zeke said, his eyes gleaming with a strange satisfaction. “You’ve been assigned as the new guardian of District 8.”

image [https://i.postimg.cc/Njn555wj/Name-Alias-X-Species-Demon-Age-80-Height-182cm-Affiliation-Knights-Rank-Special-grade-investigator.png]