Chapter 170
The Marquis Langham? What a joke.
The Mystic Demonic House would inevitably fall under the influence of the Destruction Demonic House, and he had every intention of forcibly installing Mysak as the Grand Duke.
But then, out of nowhere, that slippery bastard Christian showed up and ruined everything.
“How dare he…”
Just as Grand Duke Bessen’s brow twitched with irritation, the door to the Lord’s office suddenly burst open.
A woman stepped in and dropped to her knees.
It was Presia, Mysak’s mother.
“Father!! I beg you! Please kill that damned Christian! He’s my son Mysak’s sworn enemy!”
There was no trace of her former beauty.
Her gaunt frame, disheveled and brittle hair—she looked utterly wrecked.
Seeing his daughter in such a ruined state, Grand Duke Bessen frowned deeply.
“I never granted you an audience. Leave.”
“Please…!! Please, Father!!!”
She was clearly out of her mind.
And this wasn’t the first time.
Presia had been in this deranged state ever since she returned to the Destruction Demonic House.
“Take her away.”
“Let me go!! Aagh!! Father! Father…!!! Please…!!”
As Presia’s screams faded into the distance, Grand Duke Bessen grimaced.
He wasn’t the type to be swayed by familial affection.
But a father was still a father.
After repeatedly seeing his daughter in that pitiful condition, his hatred toward Christian only deepened.
“I can’t act on him so easily.”
That boy was now a Grand Duke heir.
He couldn’t be touched without proper justification.
But that didn’t mean there was no way.
“I don’t have to do it myself.”
Bessen’s eyes darkened with calculation.
He understood well how power was structured within the Mystic Demonic House.
Even though Christian had risen glamorously to the position of Grand Duke heir, in reality, he was treading on thin ice.
“Even if I leave him be, the Marquis Langham will eventually kill him. All I need to do is give a little nudge.”
It was a simple matter.
Grand Duke Bessen summoned someone.
“You called, Father?”
It was one of Bessen’s sons.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty.
Considering that Grand Duke Bessen was nearly seventy, and his other children were already long grown, this boy was born much later in his life.
He was especially fond of this youngest son—and there was a reason for it.
“Do you know the name Christian, Philip?”
“Yes, of course I’ve heard of him.”
Philip, the young noble of the Destruction Demonic House, smirked.
“He’s got quite the reputation as a genius. I’m curious just how great he really is for people to be talking about him like that—but then again, isn’t it usually the empty cart that makes the loudest noise?”
The scorn in his voice was unmistakable.
And understandably so.
Philip himself was considered one of the foremost geniuses of the Destruction Demonic House.
Despite being born much later than the rest, his terrifying rate of growth had already begun to threaten his far older siblings.
He had reached 5-star rank before even turning twenty, and at this pace, he could very well attain 7-star before the age of thirty.
He was, in every sense of the word, a true prodigy.
To someone like Philip, the so-called genius of the Dark Demonic House, Christian, was laughable.
“All talk, no substance. Reaching 5-star just two years after abandoning his delinquent lifestyle? That’s the kind of nonsense not even a dog would believe.”
No one in the world could reach 5-star in just two years.
And yet, the outlandish rumors surrounding Christian never seemed to stop.
They claimed he defeated a Fallen Star at Gold Cross, that he neutralized a devil from the Mystic Demonic House…
A little embellishment is fine, but this was beyond ridiculous.
“So, why bring up that windbag all of a sudden?”
“There’s something I want you to do.”
“Could it be…?”
“Yes. I want you to crush his pride.”
Grand Duke Bessen’s voice was chillingly cold.
“Coincidentally, his Grand Duke heir appointment ceremony is coming up. Take that opportunity to utterly disgrace him. Humiliate him so thoroughly that he’ll never be able to lift his head again.”
The Twelve Great Demonic Houses were the true rulers of the Magus Empire.
Naturally, whenever one held a Grand Duke heir appointment ceremony, dignitaries from across the empire were invited.
While the official purpose was celebration, the real motive was to evaluate the future heir of that house.
In other words, the entire Magus Empire’s eyes would be fixed on Christian that day.
And if he were publicly humiliated?
The fallout would be immense.
His honor would be trampled into the mud, and worse—his succession to the House leadership could be called into question.
No one would accept as heir someone whose honor had been shattered in front of everyone.
Especially not the opposing faction within his House.
In the case of the Dark Demonic House, that meant Marquis Langham.
If Christian were to suffer a devastating humiliation at the heir ceremony, Marquis Langham would gain the perfect justification to move against him.
A simple but effective strategy to eliminate Christian.
“That’s an order I’m happy to carry out. I’ve been wanting to show that frog in the well what a real genius looks like.”
“One thing must be clear—you must disgrace him completely.”
“Of course. Ah, there’s one clever trick I’d like to try—may I ask for a favor?”
“What is it?”
“Let me take Kashmir, the branch-line hound, as my attendant.”
“As your attendant? Why?”
Kashmir was a noble, even if from a branch family.
To request someone like that as an attendant?
“I’ve heard that Kashmir and Christian have something of a friendship. I plan to use him to create a rather amusing situation.”
Philip let out a cold, twisted smile.
"Just as the Lord of the House desires, that bastard Christian will be disgraced in front of everyone and left wallowing in the filth. So please look forward to it. He won’t be able to show his face again.”
Thus, deep within the Destruction Demonic House, a sinister conversation targeting Christian quietly unfolded.
But that wasn’t the only thing happening.
In the northern region of the Southern Magus Kingdom, near the border adjacent to the ‘Central Territory,’ stood a small castle.
A breathtaking view, like something straight out of a fairy tale.
It wasn’t built for defense but rather focused on aesthetic elegance meant to impress outsiders.
This was Demon King's Castle, residence of Aria, the Demon King of Azureflow.
Despite being the dwelling of a being feared as a Demon King, the atmosphere wasn’t foreboding in the least.
Spirits of darkness chattered casually in the gardens, and finely dressed attendants and maids strolled about.
In the deepest chambers of the castle—
A grotesquely beautiful elf woman, her entire body pierced with chains like some macabre artwork, was being tended to by a beautiful boy as she smoked from a long-stemmed pipe.
“Your Majesty, a letter has arrived from Lady Yulian of the Dark Demonic House.”
A white elf butler respectfully handed over the letter.
It was notable that the butler wasn’t a dark elf, but a typical white elf, a race from the Allied Tribes.
“Open it for me, will you?”
Aria, the Demon King of Azureflow, passed the letter to the boy who was massaging her.
Once he unfolded it, she read the contents and smiled faintly.
“As you instructed, preparations are underway.”
“The Bloodbath will proceed as planned.”
A chilling message, implying that Yulian was orchestrating a plot within the Dark Demonic House.
“Hmm... but I’m uneasy. That young Lord Christian... something about him bothers me.”
Aria's gaze sharpened.
Of course, the scheme Yulian was orchestrating wasn’t something a mere 5-star like Christian should be able to stop.
It was a plan to drench the entire Dark Demonic House in blood.
And yet, Aria had a feeling.
That Christian was not someone who could be measured by common sense.
“If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have been able to neutralize Patera from the Mystic Demonic House.”
Letting out a puff of smoke from her pipe, Aria murmured to herself.
“I suppose I’ll need to lend a hand as well. If I want to achieve my goal, the Dark Demonic House has to fall.”
It was a strange thing to say.
Why would she be targeting the Dark Demonic House?
After all, a Demon King was the Magus Emperor’s appointed overseer in each province. More like a manager than a ruler in her own right.
So for someone in her position to personally hold a grudge against the Dark Demonic House was unusual and, from the perspective of the Magus Empire, completely illogical.
Not that she harbored any hatred toward them.
If anything, she respected the Dark Demonic House—they were a devil-blooded lineage that never strayed into extremism, always maintaining their discipline and order.
Her motives were purely driven by her own goal.
“I have no choice, either.”
Aria turned to her elf butler.
“Contact Marquis Goras of the Venomous Demonic House. Tell him I’ll accept the request he made of me earlier.”
Marquis Goras…
He was an 8-star demon, serving as the Vice Lord of the Venomous Demonic House.
The second-in-command, locked in a fierce power struggle with Duke Huam—the current Lord—for control of the Venomous Demonic House.
Her gaze turned cold and razor-sharp.
“Toy with the Dark Demonic House as much as you like. Ruin them however you please.”
* * *
Elsewhere.
There were others mentioning Christian’s name—people from a place no one would have expected.
The distant north.
The farthest northern edge of the Magus Empire.
The domain of the Mystic Demonic House, renowned as the most mysterious among the Twelve Great Demonic Houses.
Deep, deep underground, a cloaked group exchanged cryptic conversation.
[…Christian, you say.]
[Could he be the one foretold…?]
[It’s… not yet certain…]
[I can’t accept that…]
[We must observe further…]
And so it began—
A new storm quietly started to brew across the Magus Empire, with Christian at its center.
* * *
Meanwhile, at that very moment—
“Ugh…”
…Christian was struggling not to vomit.
Vomiting? Out of nowhere?
There was a reason.
Jupien, standing beside him with a disappointed sigh, spoke.
“You really are just a kid. One drink and you’re like this?”
That’s right—he’d had alcohol.
Christian was suffering a hangover.
“Unbelievable. Is my alcohol tolerance really this low…?”
Last night.
Since it was nearly time for his departure, a farewell gathering had been arranged.
Naturally, it turned into a drinking party, but since Christian was still a minor, he was only given his usual—ginger ale.
—“We can’t waste fine liquor on a brat who doesn’t even know how to drink. Just stick to your ginger ale.”
Marquis Shupen had sneered, half-joking, half-serious. And of course, Christian had taken offense.
—“I can drink. I only got drunk last time because it was my first time.”
—“Oh really? Then someone bring out the Pitch-Black Demon Brew!”
For context, the drink Christian had collapsed after previously was Black Star Wine, with a modest 10% alcohol content.
The Pitch-Black Demon Brew, on the other hand, had over 40% alcohol.
“…Can I really drink this?”
Christian gulped as he stared at the inky liquid trembling in a bowl brimming to the top.
A primal sense of danger was crawling up his spine, but everyone around him was already jeering and egging him on.
—“Drink it, young lord!”
—“It’s not even that strong!”
—“To be a Grand Duke, you need to handle at least this much!”
The Five Captains.
Their voices were full of mockery, clearly trying to get payback for something.
Which they were.
—“He’s amazing. Impressive. Truly admirable. But… damn, is he annoying!”
Especially Sanin—who had once knelt before Christian—threw out a not-so-subtle provocation.
—“Disappointing. If you were really the young lord I recognized, you’d have downed this in one gulp.”
But the final blow came from Jupien, standing beside him.
—“Should I drink it for you, little one? You’re still just a baby, after all.”
Triggered by that, Christian had grabbed the bowl and chugged the whole thing in one go.
And this was the result.