Darion, one of only two Princes among the Empire's Twelve Pillars. However, unlike Vesalius—who held vast territories and whose presence could be seen in every major event of the Empire—Darion's presence was so thin it was as if he didn't exist.
He had only one residence: an ancient castle deep within the Forest of Shadows, entwined with vines year-round. He hardly even developed any blood descendants. His only interest was raising those giant bats whose wingspans could blot out the sky.
Unless personally assigned by the Emperor, he participated in almost no affairs.
Within the Empire, he remained in a state of "no such person found" all year round.
Now, with the Empire tottering in the midst of a storm, this forgotten Prince had finally taken action.
Only, his spearhead was pointed at the Imperial Capital.
Bringing the few blood descendants under his command and driving flocks of giant bats, Darion broke through two intercepting castles in succession, his army striking straight for the heart of the Empire.
It wasn't until Vesalius, who had mobilized troops and hurried over, forcefully intervened that he was blocked outside the region where Emperor Mortis resided.
The night sky hung low. The moonlight was churned into fragments by the bat swarm, spilling sparsely over the wilderness.
The two Princes gazed at each other from afar across that trampled expanse of mud.
Vesalius stood at the front of the formation, his eyes narrowed, his voice squeezing through his teeth: "Darion, what are you doing? Not lying properly in your forest, but running out here to attack His Majesty's cities... Have you lain in your coffin so long that your brain has rotted completely?"
Opposite him, Darion stood atop the largest giant bat, his grayish-black old robe flapping noisily in the night wind.
He did not answer Vesalius's questioning; instead, he coldly asked in return, "Vesalius, what have you and Mortis been doing recently?"
"You should address him as His Majesty." Vesalius's tone sank.
"Depending on the situation, he may no longer be fit to be my King."
Vesalius wore a gloomy expression and did not reply.
"Why aren't you answering me?" Darion took a step forward, and the giant bat beneath his feet let out a low, deep screech. "Are you afraid that if I know the truth, I won't stand on your side?"
"You... know everything?"
"Ha... hahahaha!" Darion's laughter carried a hint of anger. The power of blood surged around his body, startling the nearby bat swarm into a flurry of commotion.
"Thanks to two friends of a foreign race." He finally stopped laughing, lowered his head, and his gaze gouged into Vesalius's face like two rusted knives. "Otherwise, I truly would have been kept in the dark by you two."
"The true Master of the Empire is about to return! Yet you two thieves actually want to shut the Master out?" His voice rose, pronouncing every word distinctly, full of fury. "You two... truly have some nerve!"
Vesalius's face turned completely cold. He offered no defense, but slowly raised his hand, the blood in his palm condensing into a weapon.
"So what if I do? Relying on this handful of blood descendants under your command, what can you achieve?"
Darion similarly drew his weapon: "Aren't you forced to stay here now?"
A Vampire civil war, in the hinterland of the Empire, between two Princes who had lived for hundreds of years, broke out just like that.
Meanwhile, at the fortress outside the entrance of the Dragon Cliff Underground City, a dark cloud drifted over from the horizon.
That was no ordinary cumulonimbus cloud; it was far too dark. And with every churn of the cloud, faint mana fluctuations spilled out from within, causing the mages in the fortress to unconsciously tighten their grip on their staves.
The dark cloud pressed closer inch by inch, like a boundless wall slowly pushing over from the other side of the horizon.
Several magic towers in the fortress lit up simultaneously. Runes climbed all the way from the bases of the towers to their tips, trailing streaks of light in the night.
The mages atop the towers were already prepared. Staves held high, mana gathered at the tips to form powerful spells.
Lightning bolts as thick as ancient tree trunks, giant fireballs like rapid-fire cannonballs, and spinning, howling hurricanes.
Under the barrage of various attacks, the seemingly massive dark cloud was forcibly churned to pieces and violently exploded, the rain within it pattering down.
A Demon-kin soldier subconsciously reached up to wipe the water from his face—it was sticky?
He looked down at his palm. That wasn't water; it was some kind of translucent slime, pulling into long strings between his fingers.
Before he even had time to look closely, a soft, squishy red Slime fell from the sky, squarely hitting him right on top of his head without the slightest deviation.
The slime pasted over his eyes, blocked his nostrils, and drilled into his mouth.
He pulled at it desperately, but his fingers slipped right through that slippery mass, unable to grab hold of anything.
By the time he finally recovered from his sudden panic, holding his breath and preparing to use a combat skill, he found that he could no longer exert any strength.
[Neurotoxin]
Green ones, red ones—more Slimes descended from the sky.
Some of the falling Slimes immediately engaged in a tangled fight with the soldiers. Others landed in open spaces, and temporarily ignored, followed their instincts to bounce toward the targets with the densest mana nearby: the mages and the magic towers.
The entire fortress plunged into chaos.
But this was only temporary.
Those gathered here were the elites of the Empire; their loyalty and strength were impeccable. Among them were a massive number of Blood Guards.
Such an army naturally couldn't be defeated by a bunch of Slimes dropping from the sky with an average level of only LV30.
In just a few minutes, the soldiers across the fortress had already organized themselves. Forming up formations to protect the mages, they began systematically clearing out the Slimes covering the ground.
Several Slimes bounced toward Mortis, but before they could get close, they were popped by a light tap from the finger of the Succubus Mofrey standing behind him.
Mortis didn't even look at those Slimes, nor did he look at the soldiers under his command; instead, he gazed into the sky.
There, a giant serpent formed by the combination of Slimes spiraled down from the sky. And in the middle of the giant serpent stood a figure that Mortis could never forget.
"Demon King!"
Mortis stood up. Blood surged from his sleeves, lifting him up so that he also flew until he was level with that figure.
The Emperor stared fixedly at the other party, that figure he could only look up to three hundred years ago.
The other party had finally appeared, but even Mortis himself didn't know what kind of mood he was in right now.
Excitement? Fear? Envy? Desire?
It seemed to be all of them. Yet, when he met the Demon King's eyes—which brimmed with the brilliance of mana—he subconsciously averted his gaze for a split second, just as he had done three hundred years ago.
The next moment, realizing what he had done, Mortis immediately shifted his gaze back, his scarlet eyes filled with fiery anger.
Right at this moment, the Demon King suddenly opened his mouth and asked, "Mortis, is it easy being Emperor?"
Seemingly enraged by what had just occurred, Mortis chose to ignore the Demon King's question.
He looked at that humanoid Slime and sneered: "First harassing the North, then instigating Darion to defect, and now cooking up so many Slimes—only after all this do you dare to show yourself before me, just to ask such a boring question?"
"I just felt it was a rare opportunity, and besides..." The Demon King's facial features shifted, revealing genuine confusion. "What's the situation with those first two things you mentioned?"
(End of Chapter)
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