A noble was one who followed the Demon King and ruled above other demons. The higher the rank, the greater the power they commanded. Even a count could stand against most 8-Star knights of the continent.
Count Dinatrius was no exception. His monstrous physique, coupled with curses and dark magic drawn from his dark mana, made him a formidable being by any standard.
But his opponent was simply too overwhelming.
Slash!
Every defense Dinatrius summoned was cut cleanly apart by the dark blue sword in Caron's hand.
Endless waves surged and broke. By the time Dinatrius regained his senses, he realized he was already standing in the middle of Caron's sea.
Slash!
His left arm fell, followed by his right.
Even the prodigious regeneration of a demon, strong enough to leave trolls in the dust, was meaningless before Caron. Every wound Guillotine tore into Dinatrius became eternal. It was a scar that no demon could ever heal.
That sword had slaughtered thousands upon thousands of demons. Three hundred years ago, it had felled traitors and fallen kin alike, and now, even after centuries, it remained unchanged.
"Owner," Guillotine called out.
"I know," Caron replied.
Guillotine poured vast power into him, and Caron unleashed it without hesitation. He didn't tire. Against demons, exhaustion was impossible. The sword devoured them and returned their mana to him unceasingly. With every bite Guillotine took from Dinatrius, torrents of dark mana turned into Caron's strength.
That overwhelming force now filled his body to the brim.
"That sword... That sword is... Guillotine!" Dinatrius gasped.
Fear flooded him before he even realized it. As a count, he knew the old tales. The first generation of demons, who had carved out today's Demon Realm, had left behind stories of that dreaded dark blue glow.
It was Guillotine, the Execution Sword. A cursed blade, steeped in the blood of countless demons. And its original wielder...
"...Rael Leston!" Dinatrius cried.
It was Rael Leston, the traitor who had once butchered his own kin. The one who led those who had rejected evolution, protecting the weaklings who couldn't embrace dark mana.
Dinatrius muttered Rael's name again as he stared at the human before him. Only after terror scrambled his thoughts did the man's face finally come into focus—golden hair drenched in blood, and two cold, luminous blue eyes brimming with murderous hatred, darker even than any demon's.
The young man was a descendant of Rael.
There was only one in this age who bore Guillotine. Dinatrius's voice cracked as he whispered the name, "You... You are Caron Leston."
At last, the memories clicked. The human who had devoured the power of Slaughter. The unthinkable human who had stolen the might of a Demon King.
Dinatrius laughed hollowly, glaring at Caron. He finally understood—at least a little—how such a thing was possible.
In the blood of the Lestons ran the same lineage as that of the demons. The only difference was that some had embraced dark mana and walked the path of evolution, while others had feared it and cast it aside.
"Wretches no better than slaves!" Dinatrius spat.
He knew well of those who had abandoned this great blessing and fled to the continent. Rael Leston was nothing but a betrayer who had shielded runaways.
"I will take your head to His Majesty the Demon King—!" Dinatrius continued, but was cut off.
Slash!
Before he could finish, the dark blue blade carved off his right leg. It was a clean, unadorned strike—yet Dinatrius couldn't even hope to block it.
It was useless. The cursed power flooding from the sword had already consumed his body. Helplessness weighed on him, crushing all resistance.
"Natural enemy" was the only phrase that filled his mind and nothing else. He was terrified of the human before him, desperate to flee this place immediately.
All his pride as a noble crumbled. In the end, Dinatrius could only collapse to his knees before that dreadful fear.
"...I will serve as your vassal," he whispered.
Humiliation wouldn't last long—survival came first. If he lived, he could wait for another chance. Why this human had come here, when he belonged on the distant continent, he didn't yet know. But perhaps, if he bided his time, an opening would come.
At his surrender, Caron halted his blade for a moment, then smirked and said, "After all that fun, you suddenly beg to surrender? I'm almost disappointed."
"I accept your rule," Dinatrius replied quickly. "From this moment, the fortress is yours—"
But before he could finish speaking, Caron chuckled softly and swung his blade once more.
A streak of dark blue light traced across the crimson moonlight.
Dinatrius's eyes widened, staring at the gleam. That line had landed against his neck. He didn't understand why he'd been struck even though he yielded.
I cannot die like this—
But no further thought came.
Thump.
Dinatrius' head fell, and death claimed him.
Caron gazed at the severed head on the floor. Slowly, he slid Guillotine back into its sheath and murmured lazily, "When rebellion succeeds, the former ruler must always be executed to prevent future trouble. A lesson learned from history. Halo the fool left loose ends... but I don't repeat mistakes. Isn't that right?"
With a crooked smile, he turned away.
The demons gathered there swallowed hard. Their count, ruler of the fortress, had been annihilated in an instant.
Such overwhelming strength. Such merciless cruelty.
None of them dared raise a thought of resistance against the human standing before them. Though he had appeared suddenly and seized the fortress, not one demon attempted defiance. They simply bowed their heads and accepted.
"From this moment," Caron declared quietly, "I am the lord of this fortress."
At once, every demon present kneeled and lowered their gaze.
"We welcome the new lord of the fortress."
Caron's rebellion had succeeded once again.
And this time, the spoils were great indeed. The expedition had secured not only their forward base, but now a new stronghold as well.
***
The next morning, summoned by Caron, Zerath led the Oceanwolf Knight Order to the fortress Caron had spoken of. He had already guessed that the demons would have built themselves a city, but seeing the massive stronghold with his own eyes left his mind in turmoil.
This won't end as a simple demonic monster subjugation, Zerath thought.
The sight of the impregnable walls made it impossible to deny that war had already begun.
At a glance, the fortress was well constructed. Its materials and design were unlike any walls of the continent.
Whatever had happened inside the fortress the night before, Zerath couldn't say.
Creak!
But when the gates opened without resistance, he knew the stronghold had truly fallen into Caron's hands.
"Sir Zerath, you came," Caron greeted him warmly as they entered.
Behind him, more than one hundred demons stood at rigid attention.
Gripping his reins tightly, Zerath asked, "You spared the demons?"
"They're a wall of meat," Caron said casually.
"...And you say that in front of them?" Zerath asked dryly.
"As I told you, their freedom is bound by vassalage contracts. Even if I cut one down right here, the rest can't lift a finger. Ah, and what about the matter I asked about?" Caron asked.
"Shiker is currently crossing the North Sea. Young Master Leon and Queen Kynda are escorting him personally. You need not worry," Zerath replied.
"Good." Caron smiled.
He had asked that Shiker be sent quickly. The reason lay beneath the fortress—there was some kind of facility in its depths. Though he hadn't yet entered, he had confirmed that a passage from the lord's keep led down toward it.
Once Shiker arrived, they could begin a proper investigation.
"I'll give you a rough tour," Caron offered.
"Very well," Zerath said, dismounting. His knights followed suit, though their expressions were taut with unease.
Together, the two men walked through the fortress. Zerath soon noticed figures hiding between buildings, watching them. Unlike the other demons, these ones radiated no dark mana.
"Who are those?" Zerath asked.
"The demons call them slaves," Caron answered.
"Ah," Zerath responded.
"They were born without dark mana. Their bodies have more resistance to it than the races of the continent, but they lack the organs to wield it," Caron explained.
"You mean a core?" Zerath asked.
"Yes, what we'd call a core. They say one can be awakened later, but only among the children of nobles. It seems this world isn't so different after all," Caron replied.
Societies were always stratified into classes. Zerath nodded grimly in understanding.
"Other than their pallid skin, they don't look so different from humans," Zerath remarked.
"You think so too, Sir Zerath?" Caron asked.
"Yes," Zerath answered.
"Originally, they wore collars on their necks," Caron added.
"I see. And the count who ruled here?" Zerath asked.
"Lost his head," Caron said lightly. "Shall I say Guillotine did what Guillotine does? To be safe, I burned the corpse as well."
He spoke of killing and burning as if it were no more remarkable than breathing.
As they talked, Dennis—now completely devoted to Caron—spoke carefully. "The moment Master slew the count, the title of count passed to you. Such is demon law."
Caron chuckled and said, "Ha! I've yet to be granted a title in the empire, yet in the Demon Realm I receive one first. Don't you think the Demon Realm is more open-minded, Sir Zerath?"
Smiling, Caron ruffled Dennis' hair, then asked, "Do you want the title instead?"
"M–Master, how could I possibly...?" Dennis stuttered.
"A crown only weighs one down. Who in their right mind would covet a demon's title anyway?" Caron teased, then moved on at a leisurely pace.
It was daytime, yet the sky never shone as bright as the continent's. There were no clouds, yet the violet haze above seemed to smother the sun.
Walking after him, Zerath let out a quiet breath. He thought, Did he absorb more dark mana?
Caron's power had grown immeasurably overnight. Through Guillotine, he had devoured vast amounts of mana. What others could only build up through decades of training or rare elixirs, Caron consumed effortlessly.
This Demon Realm was, to him, a land flowing with milk and honey—an endless sea of resources to expand his strength.
And that worried Zerath. Humans who gained more power than they could bear often succumbed to corruption.
But he shook his head to banish the thought. No. He is a man of immense capacity.
At least here in the Demon Realm, Caron wouldn't stray. From the moment he had entered Azureocean Castle until now, his hatred for demons had only grown deeper.
Yet Zerath sensed a change in the direction of that hatred. The Caron he had originally known would never have considered using demons at all.
A change of heart, then, Zerath thought.
To raise demons from the rank of vermin to exterminate, to tools to be exploited—that was a significant shift. And in their current situation, where their expeditionary force was at a disadvantage, this method of bolstering their ranks would undeniably raise their chances of success.
So Zerath asked quietly, "Do you mean to treat other demons this way as well?"
"I'm leaning toward it," Caron replied. "The more meat shields, the better. As for those with dark mana, I'll use them as shields for a time—then devour them."
"Of course..." Zerath sighed.
"But the ones I wrestle with are the so-called 'former slaves.' Should demons without dark mana still be classed as demons and erased to the last? Honestly, I don't know," Caron said.
It was a change in thought, though whether it was for better or worse, Zerath couldn't say.
He gave a wry smile and nodded, then replied, "That is a subject worthy of thorough debate."
"Right?" Caron said lightly.
As they continued their talk, Dennis once again spoke up hesitantly, "Master... You may dislike hearing this, but the demons born of slavery have begun to call you something."
"Oh?" Caron arched an eyebrow.
"...The Demon King of Liberation. They say it after seeing you wield a Demon King's power to subjugate the nobles," Dennis said.
The Demon King of Liberation. It was the first title Caron had earned since setting foot in the Demon Realm.