Amid the chaos, a small but resolute voice echoed through the hall, cutting through the panic like a sharp blade.
“Don’t panic. Trust Her Highness—she always shows us miracles.”
The voice belonged to none other than the little saintess of Demarius, Galena Damarius. Renowned for her beauty, she was as breathtaking as the rumors claimed: almond-shaped golden eyes, platinum hair flowing gracefully, and a delicate mole beneath her lower right lip. In the eerie atmosphere, her small figure radiated a soft, holy glow, as if surrounded by a divine halo.
As the saintess spoke, the little princess suddenly began to glow with a radiant white light. To the astonishment of the onlookers, the princess sneezed, and the radiant light expanded, enveloping the entire palace and dispelling the darkness. Moments later, the eerie atmosphere lifted, and everything returned to normal.
When the light subsided, both the little prince and princess gently floated down into Prince Alexander’s waiting arms. Though the little prince’s tear-streaked face betrayed his earlier fear, he now appeared calm, as if someone had already consoled him. The princess, even more serene, began tugging playfully at her worried father’s suit, bringing a sense of relief to those watching.
It was then that Frederick Morari noticed something amiss. With a subtle glance, he signaled his father. Following his son’s line of sight, Sir Nicolas Morari spotted the issue and leaned toward the Emperor, whispering urgently, “Your Majesty, something is wrong with the brooches given by the Empress. Their stones have turned black.”
The Emperor’s expression darkened as he exchanged a silent, commanding look with Sir Nicolas that said, Investigate this immediately.
While the hall buzzed with guests inquiring about the children’s wellbeing, Sir Nicolas discreetly approached the Knight Captain, organizing a secret investigation into the matter.
Meanwhile, the Empress stood off to the side, quietly seething with rage. Her meticulously crafted plan had crumbled—shattered by the sneeze of a little brat. The failure was a bitter pill to swallow, and the sting of her shattered dreams of glory only fueled her anger.
Her gaze shifted to Crown Prince Evan Rodriguez. Unlike her, he appeared calm, almost indifferent, as though he had anticipated this outcome. When their eyes met, his expression carried a faint air of triumph, and in that moment, she understood the meaning of his earlier message.
The prince had known all along that her plan would fail. Worse yet, he had prepared an alternative solution before she even realized the flaws in her own scheme.
As the commotion settled, the Emperor addressed the guests, reassuring them with a commanding yet composed tone.
“Please, enjoy the feast and this joyous occasion. Rest assured, the children are safe and back in the care of their parents.”
The banquet resumed smoothly, as though the earlier chaos had never occurred. The Emperor’s calm demeanor seemed to encourage the same from his guests, who quickly returned to their conversations and celebrations.
However, this nonchalant attitude unsettled Crown Prince Evan Rodriguez. A flicker of unease crossed his mind. Why are you letting this slide? he thought. Not that it matters—you won’t find anything useful anyway.
While events unfolded in the Arcane Empire, the Abyss itself trembled unexpectedly. For the first time since that Being was erased, a quake rippled through the dark, chaotic realm.
In the study of Lord Azazel, a high-ranking demon and attendant to the Ruler of Abyss, the sudden jolt knocked him from his chair. His crimson eyes darted around the room in confusion, scanning for any disturbance. Everything seemed intact, yet the unease lingered.
Before Azazel could ponder further, a swarm of lesser demons flooded his chamber, their grotesque forms writhing in panic.
“Lord Azazel!” one of them screeched. “There was an earthquake in the Abyss! The first since that Being was vanquished!”
Azazel scowled, brushing off the dust from his cloak.
“Silence, all of you!” he snapped. “It was just an earthquake. Are we mortal to fear something so trivial? We serve the most powerful Master in existence. Do not forget—our Master defeated that Being. There is no cause for concern.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a booming voice reverberated through the palace corridors.
“Azazel! … Azazel! Get your useless self here immediately!”
The irritated tone sent a shiver down Azazel’s spine. Without a moment’s hesitation, he sprinted toward the source of the voice.
The summons came from none other than Hecate, the high-ranking gatekeeper of the Abyss and one of the Ruler’s trusted generals. Hecate was infamous, even among demons. In his mortal life, he had been a madman—a general who slaughtered indiscriminately, betraying his empire to join its enemies. His penchant for skinning victims alive and keeping their hides as trophies had carried over into his unholy afterlife.
Unlike the grotesque forms of most demons, high-ranking ones like Hecate retained a semblance of their mortal appearance, though twisted with dark features that betrayed their infernal nature. Azazel couldn’t help but gulp as he approached. Whatever this quake signified, it had stirred even the likes of Hecate—and that could only mean trouble.
In terms of rank, Azazel might have held the same standing as Hecate, but in reality, their social statuses were worlds apart. Among the demons, Azazel was often the subject of mockery and ridicule. He had been a thief and a trickster in his mortal life, skilled at deceit and manipulation, but lacking the brutal prowess or fearsome reputation that marked others like Hecate.
The only reason the Ruler of the Abyss had chosen Azazel as an attendant was his cunning intellect and knack for strategy. Without that, he would likely have been just another lowlife demon, skulking in the dark alleys and swamps of the Abyss, far from the corridors of power.
"Master is looking for you." Azazel could hear the venomous satisfaction in Hecate's tone. Silently cursing him in his mind, Azazel made his way to the throne room.
The chamber was as foreboding as ever, shrouded in darkness and bathed in an eerie red glow that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. If Azazel were still mortal, the oppressive atmosphere might have filled him with dread. But those days were long gone, and he had grown accustomed to this revolting place reeking of malevolence and decay.
The centerpiece of the room was the throne, a grotesque construction of human bones and flayed skin. It looked unbearably uncomfortable, but it was designed specifically to suit the Master's grim preferences. Azazel couldn't fathom why anyone would want such a thing, but questioning the Master's tastes was out of the question.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
In Azazel's view, there was little difference between the throne room and the Abyss's deepest pits. Both were vile and filthy, caked with layers of ancient blood and rotting flesh. One of the few things he missed from his mortal life was the simple comfort of clean surroundings—a luxury these foul demons cared nothing about. Here, filth clung to everything, from the floors to their grotesque forms, and no one seemed to notice or care.
In the throne room, Azazel beheld a dark, formless mass resembling a mortal, but with blood-red eyes that could haunt even the most hardened souls with a single glance. The master did not lack form, but preferred this nightmarish visage—a being shrouded in darkness, watching with an unsettling intensity. Nothing escaped the master’s all-seeing gaze.
“Azazel,” the dark mass shifted slightly, leaning forward from its throne. As it spoke, rows of sharp, jagged teeth appeared, glinting faintly in the dim, eerie glow. Azazel dared not meet those eyes. Bowing his head low, he fixed his gaze on the floor. “Master, you called.” His voice trembled, though he fought to keep it steady.
The master’s voice was a low, menacing whisper that seemed to cut through the air like a blade. “Azazel, have you looked into what I asked?”
Azazel’s body shuddered slightly, though he kept his head bowed.
“Master, I have already arranged for the Northern prince to investigate.” His voice cracked, betraying his discomfort.
The dark figure was silent for a moment, then spoke again, his tone dripping with menace. “Then where are my answers, Azazel?”
Azazel trembled visibly now, but forced himself to remain composed. “Master, it was a child—a girl born into the royalty of Arcane. The mortals have begun calling her their hope.”
A mocking, twisted laughter rumbled from the figure. “A ‘she,’ not a ‘he.’”
“Yes, Master,” Azazel hurried to reply. “One of the apostles is attempting to kill the child by stealing her fate and transferring it to the Empress’s grandson.”
The dark figure remained silent, his piercing gaze fixed on Azazel, his grin widening slightly.
“It seems they were not successful,” he finally said, his voice low and menacing. “It would have been a shame if such a formidable enemy died so early.” His laughter was cold, devoid of mirth. “It’s been so long since the ‘Being.’ I welcome a chance to fight again.”
His voice turned cruel. “Provide assistance to that venomous woman in torturing the child, but make sure not to kill her. It will be fun to crush those mortals’ hopes with my own hands.”
His laughter echoed through the throne room, sending shivers through Azazel. The air seemed to thicken, the darkness pressing in tighter. Azazel could feel the weight of the master’s madness and knew that no cruelty was too great, no suffering too severe, in the eyes of this dark being.
Azazel pitied the child for drawing the attention of such a twisted entity.
Back in the Arcane Empire, the Empress and Crown Prince Evan Rodriguez had already begun plotting their new scheme. As the banquet drew to a close, the Empress presented her plan to the Emperor. “Your Majesty,” she began, her tone crafted to sound reasonable and helpful, “we have always been at odds with the Northern Empire. Why don’t we use this occasion to mend relations between our two Empires?”
The Emperor, still engaged in conversation with the guests, turned his attention to her. “What do you have in mind?”
With a composed demeanor, the Empress continued, “Prince Evan has a son, and our Prince Alexander has a daughter. Why not unite the two Empires through a marriage alliance?”
The moment her words were spoken, the atmosphere grew tense. “Yes, Your Majesty,” Crown Prince Evan Rodriguez added, his voice smooth and persuasive. “It’s a brilliant idea. They will grow up together, and this alliance will ensure lasting peace between our Empires.”
Zelus, who had been quietly observing, also nodded in agreement. “I support my mother’s vision. This will bring our families closer.”
The expressions of Prince Alexander and Agatha darkened, their eyes filled with silent fury. The implication that their child’s fate could be decided by others was something they could not tolerate. Their silent message was clear: How dare they decide our child’s future without our consent?
The Emperor’s voice broke through the growing tension. “I reject the suggestion.”
Both Crown Prince Evan Rodriguez and the Empress were stunned. “Crown Prince Evan Rodriguez, do not mistake me,” the Emperor continued, his tone firm. “There are several compelling reasons why I cannot agree. Firstly, both children are far too young. They should have the freedom to decide their own futures.”
The Empress, undeterred, interjected, “They can always get to know each other as they grow. What’s the harm in that?”
The Emperor’s gaze turned cold. “Who do you think you are to interrupt me?” His roar echoed through the hall, silencing the crowd. “I know what is right and wrong for my granddaughter. Who she chooses to marry when she grows, that is her decision. A mere marriage contract won’t force such a future upon her.”
His gaze grew steely, and his words carried the weight of authority. “Secondly, I will not go against my late wife’s wishes. Athena always believed in allowing her descendants the freedom to make their own choices. It was a promise I made to her: whether it be our son or our grandchildren, they will forge their own paths, free from such manipulations. I will not break that promise.”
The Empress's face twisted in fury, but she knew better than to challenge the Emperor further. The banquet resumed, though the Empress and Crown Prince Evan Rodriguez couldn’t shake the feeling that their plans had suffered a major setback.
It was clear that the marriage alliance would never come to fruition. But the Empress refused to give up. ‘If I can’t make her marry into the Northern Empire, then I will find another way to ensure her downfall. There’s always another path to ending a child’s life.’
After the banquet, as every guest departed, the Northern prince was the last to leave. Once the hall had emptied, Prince Alexander made his way to the royal study. “Did Mother truly suggest that to you, Father?” he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.
“Do you think I would lie in front of so many people?” his father replied with a steady gaze.
“I think your mother foresaw this, which is why she told me so. She was the most powerful seer I’ve ever known in my entire life.” Alexander gazed at his father with soft eyes and asked, “Do you miss her?”
The Emperor's voice softened as a wistful smile crossed his face. “Silly boy, I miss her every single day.”
“The only thing I ever did without your mother’s blessing was marrying that treacherous woman. She thinks I’m blind to her schemes, but I see everything. I’m merely waiting for the right moment to make her pay—for what she’s done to me, to you, and to my little granddaughter.”
“Father, I came to ask for one more thing. I need your permission to investigate today’s incident.” Alexander’s voice was steady, but his determination was clear.
The Emperor regarded his son for a moment before shaking his head. “No. You don’t need to concern yourself with this. Spend your time with your family; that’s where you’re needed. Nicolas is already handling it.”
As if on cue, Sir Nicolas entered the study. “Your Majesty, may I have permission to enter?”
“Yes, Nicolas, come in,” the Emperor replied.
Sir Nicolas bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Your Majesty. Greetings, Prince Alexander.”
“Have you found anything, Nicolas?” the Emperor asked, his tone firm but expectant.
Sir Nicolas let out a weary sigh before responding. “Not much, Your Majesty. The brooches gifted by the Empress were indeed laced with traces of dark magic. However, we haven’t been able to identify the exact nature of the spell yet. I’ve sent them to the mage tower for further analysis.”
“Sir Nicolas,” Prince Alexander interjected, his tone sharp, “any idea how those brooches ended up in the Empress’s possession?”
Sir Nicolas turned to the prince. “One of the Empress’s maids was involved. We have witnesses who saw her contacting someone suspicious, but, unfortunately, all the witnesses are also maids loyal to the Empress. Before we could apprehend her for questioning, she was found dead. To be precise, she was murdered.”
The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Have you identified who she was?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. She was a poor girl from the countryside, recently recruited as a maid. There’s a rumor that, before her death, she was seen in close contact with one of the Empress’s most trusted maids. However, we lack concrete evidence to prove anything.”
The Emperor leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. “Whoever orchestrated this planned it meticulously, leaving no loose ends. Nicolas, continue the investigation. We need answers.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sir Nicolas replied with a resolute bow.
“Alexander.”
“Yes, Father?”
“Don’t worry—Athena will be alright. I couldn’t save your mother, but I will never let anything happen to your daughter.”
It was reassuring for Prince Alexander to see the unwavering determination etched on his father’s face.