Chapter 52: The Burden of Silence
The news of Crowmere's fall did not spread slowly.
It spread like wildfire carried on the wind—priests whispering in fear, soldiers muttering in taverns, nobles staring at broken wax seals. Every corner of the continent now trembled with the echo of a single name: Neil, the Demon King reborn.
But while the Church panicked in its marble halls, I sat in the ruins of Crowmere, surrounded by ash, corpses, and silence.
The silence was mine.
It pressed against the ruins, a blanket that weighed on every living soul. My demons did not speak. Even Selena, who usually thrived in chaos, leaned on her halberd without a sound. Rena stood behind me, blades still dripping with elf blood, her breathing heavy. Clarissa was kneeling, feeding her own cold blood into the wounded to keep them alive. Zereth sat slumped on a broken pillar, his face pale, his body trembling as he tried to hold the pieces of his shattered soul together.
And me, I was simply listening.
Noa's voice hummed inside the gauntlet, calm and precise.
"Silent Crown integrity: seventy-one percent. Domain pressure stable. Demonic units: sixty-seven alive. Morale low, but anchored by your presence, My Lord."
I flexed my gauntlet, watching the rainbow-black glow fade and return like a heartbeat. The fight with Kravius still burned in my bones. I had crushed his phantom, destroyed the Church's symbol of hope—but the truth lingered. It wasn't his real body. It was only a vessel.
And that meant the true Kravius was still alive.
I looked at my demons one by one. Selena's armor cracked with frost, Nana's shield dented, Malrik's body wrapped in black bandages of shadow to stop his bleeding. Clarissa's pale skin was splattered red, her fangs still stained. Nysha crouched on a broken statue, her stiletto flicking ash into the wind.
This was my army. Broken. Bleeding. But alive.
"My Lord," Rena finally said. Her voice was soft, but steady. "What is our next step?"
I turned to face her. For a moment, I saw the faint reflection of the elf she once was—eyes bright with loyalty to another kingdom, another cause. But now her loyalty belonged to me, carved and reforged in the fire of resurrection.
I answered with a low growl. "The Church will gather. They will call every knight, every priest, every so-called hero. Crowmere's fall is the first bell of their funeral, but they won't see it that way. They'll call it a crusade."
Selena spat on the ground, lips curling into a bloody smile. "Let them come. I'll drown their crusade in their own screams."
Zereth coughed, clutching his chest, but still forced a grin. "My Lord,give the order. I'll fight until my soul turns to ash."
Noa's voice cut through, cold and sharp. "Negative. Zereth's soul is damaged. If he fights again without recovery, the probability of collapse is ninety-two percent. He will not rise again."
The air thickened. Even Selena's smile faltered.
I walked toward Zereth, kneeling before him. His body shook, sweat rolling down his face as if the cold night were burning him alive. His eyes met mine, filled with desperation—but also devotion.
"My Lord, I can still"
"Silence," I said. "You've given enough."
I pressed the gauntlet against his chest. Noa hummed, scanning, calculating.
"Recommendation: Use external anchors. A fragment of demonic essence or a captured soul may stabilize him. Without it, healing will be impossible."
A captured soul.
I raised my eyes to the battlefield, where hundreds of corpses lay—elves, paladins, priests. Their souls were already fading into the wind, claimed by the gods. But perhaps… not all.
"Clarissa," I called.
She lifted her head instantly, blood dripping from her lips. "Yes, My Lord?"
"Find me a living prisoner," I said. "Human or elf. I don't care. Bring them breathing."
Her eyes glowed crimson. "As you command."
She vanished into the shadows with a flutter of her cloak. The battlefield had no shortage of half-dead enemies. One of them would become Zereth's anchor.
I looked back at my broken army. "Rest while you can. Tonight we hold Crowmere. Tomorrow… we move on the Cathedral itself."
The demons stirred, some with fear, some with excitement. But none dared to question me.
Because my silence allowed no questions.
The night dragged on, heavy with the weight of corpses. Fires smoldered in broken houses, their smoke mixing with the metallic stench of blood.
I sat alone on the steps of the ruined cathedral, the moonlight spilling across my gauntlet. Noa whispered like a second heartbeat.
"My Lord, the Church will not remain idle. They will deploy high-order inquisitors. Paladins of the Second Dawn. Possibly relic bearers. Probability of facing Kravius' true body: seventy-one percent."
"Good," I muttered. "I want him."
Noa paused. "Your obsession is a liability."
I clenched my fist. "No. My obsession is my fuel. He ended me once. Now I'll end everything he stands for."
Noa did not argue. Perhaps it understood.
The sound of dragging chains echoed behind me. Clarissa returned, her pale hands gripping the collar of a young knight. His armor was scorched, his leg broken, but his eyes still burned with faith.
She threw him to the ground at my feet. "Alive, My Lord."
The knight spat blood, glaring up at me. "Monster. You'll… never win. The gods—"
I silenced him with a gesture.
"His soul will do," Noa confirmed. "Proceed?"
I nodded. Shadows wrapped around the knight, lifting him into the air. He struggled, screamed prayers, but my silence devoured every word. His body went limp as the gauntlet tore his essence free, a glowing orb of light and faith struggling in my grip.
I turned to Zereth. His eyes widened as he realized.
"My Lord"
"Take it," I commanded.
The orb sank into his chest, flooding his broken soul with stolen strength. His body convulsed, veins glowing briefly before fading into shadow. The cracks in his aura began to mend. His breathing steadied.
Zereth gasped, clutching his chest. Then he looked at me with tears in his eyes. "You saved me."
I stood, cold and unflinching. "No. I chained you. Don't forget who holds the key."
He bowed his head. "Yes,My Lord."
Selena laughed from the shadows, wiping her blade. "You really are cruel, Neil. Even mercy becomes a chain in your hands."
"Mercy is a lie," I said. "Chains are real."
At dawn, the bells of the Church began to toll in distant cities. Their sound echoed across mountains and rivers, a call to arms, a desperate cry for unity.
The world now knew the truth. Crowmere had fallen.