Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods
Chapter 68: The Eighth Lord

Chapter 68: The Eighth Lord

A colossal golem shattered with a deep, cracking sound, its body breaking apart into massive frozen blocks.

The echo rumbled through the empty dungeon, followed by a deep silence.

Bel stood on top of one of the fallen chunks, his breath coming out in a cold mist.

His glowing blue eyes scanned the remains below. All around him, the dungeon was silent. Golems turned into statues of ice.

A frozen graveyard.

He slowly exhaled again.

"That’s ten, finally over," he muttered.

His boots crunched over the icy floor as he stepped down. He stopped at a spot that shimmered faintly under the frost.

His eyes glowed, and the Eternal Ice melted just enough to reveal the glowing boss core.

He picked it up, holding it between his fingers.

"This Eternal Ice really is useful," he whispered. "It’s easier to kill monsters like this."

He turned the core slightly, watching the light dance inside it.

The first three dungeons had been generous. One had given him an enhanced version of his poison skill, Poison Mastery.

The second granted him a passive called "Critical Chances" that let him track weak points more clearly, and making it easier to land critical hits. The third gave him a strange but useful ability: "Reflex," a passive boost to reaction speed.

But the most interesting find was a new trait.

[Lesser Demon Slayer: Increases damage against mid to low-tier demons by 25%.]

It was the upgrade like his old Imp Slayer trait. This specific pattern activated the moment he fought the dungeon boss.

"So these bosses are considered Lesser Demon," he murmured. "A dungeon boss... I wonder if it’s every dungeon boss... Hm... Maybe it depends on the level of the dungeon."

He tightened his grip on the core.

The beginning was juicy, but since this third raid, it was just stats. Strength, speed, toughness... good things, sure. But no new skills. Not even a passive.

Bel frowned slightly.

"Category D might not be enough anymore."

He knew the next step was Category C.

With the achievements under his belt, getting promoted wouldn’t be hard. But the party was the issue.

They were useful. They gave him easy access to dungeons. But if they struggled with a Category D, then how could they survive a Category C?

He sighed and looked around.

The dungeon was ruins now. The boss had made its nest in a deep cavern. Anyone trying to enter now would have to walk a long time to reach this point.

It was quiet, hidden.

A perfect place.

Bel stared at the empty space before him. Then, he narrowed his glowing eyes.

"Vezalia."

It was time.

In a perfect setting to not be bothered, Bel had summoned the Demon General, just as she wished.

His breath misted into the air, vanishing as quickly as it came. He wasn’t sure about what he was doing.

He was more and more lost, and she seemed like the only one who had figured more than himself about... whatever he could hear.

Maybe he was just curious. However...

Silence.

Bel raised an eyebrow.

His voice had echoed a little when he said her name. But now, only the cold answered back. No whisper, no trick, no laugh behind him.

Just silence and frost.

The dungeon was quiet. The ice clung to the walls and shimmered faintly, like glass under the pale light. Mist hung in the air, dancing softly as Bel breathed.

Nothing changed.

He frowned, his breath misting out as he glanced around.

"Vezalia."

Still nothing.

He stepped forward slowly, the crunch of frost underfoot the only sound. A hollow wind slipped through the ruined stone pillars.

He waited again.

And waited.

Bel’s eyes narrowed. Was she toying with him? Or maybe she lied.

"So much for ’say my name and I’ll come’," he muttered.

But then...

A sound.

A low hum, quiet like a lullaby sung under one’s breath, soon followed by a voice scattered across the ruin.

"A king called for a pawn to play..."

The ice under Bel’s feet cracked.

"But his castle had only one room."

A shimmer of purple light danced beneath the surface. The frost peeled back.

"He shouted through the silence, not expecting a reply..."

The blocks of ice folded in on themselves, melting in reverse. A single ripple of violet fire shimmered at the heart of the cave, glowing faintly.

"For the only piece left was the jester, in his own mirror."

From that fire rose striped legs, toes delicately touching the frozen ground. Her shoes pristine.

Her dress twirled, black and violet, unfolding like a bloom of nightshade.

"But mirrors don’t play fair... And because the king thought he was alone..."

The umbrella spun upward, blooming with elegance. Her arms followed, gloved fingers curled with grace. The skull mask rose last, grotesque and suffocating.

She stepped forward. Her weight made no sound. Her umbrella twitched slightly.

"The jester opened the mirror wide... So the king would always be wrong."

Her voice curled at the end like a smile.

"Good evening, Lord Ravager."

Bel just stared, arms crossed.

"Took you long enough," he muttered.

Vezalia let out a light laugh, soft and theatrical.

"You say my name like a bored prince calling for tea. Where’s the drama? The longing? The aching need for me?"

Bel raised an eyebrow.

"Don’t forget funeral oration."

"Pity," she said, spinning once before landing delicately on the ground. "But I’ll take what I can get."

She looked around then, her eyes sweeping across the frozen battlefield.

"You called," she said, "so that means you’re leaning, hmm? Toward me... It means you’re starting to hear me, at least a little."

Her gaze drifted across the frozen remains of the dungeon, lingering on the shattered monsters.

"Still, it’s sad. You keep devouring our minions. My poor children..." she sighed.

Bel shrugged.

"Then you should’ve made a better offer. It’s your job to convince me."

She paused. Then laughed.

"Oh, I do love a challenge," she said, voice light as a feather. "Very well, consider me on the job. Now..."

She leaned forward, one hand on her umbrella, the other tapping her chin.

"What exactly do you want to know?"

Bel’s eye twitched. She was asking him? Why? He had one thousand problems, but no interrogation. What was he even supposed to ask?

"I recall you were the one who had something to tell me."

Vezalia gasped, as if shocked by his tone.

"My, so rude!" she cooed, then winked. "But fair. I’m the one who said you’d get your interest, didn’t I?"

She tilted her head, then curtsied deeply, like a noble actress on the stage.

"Very well. It’s time, then. Time to begin bringing the dawn to the demon world."

She raised her eyes to meet his, her tone shifting slightly into something more sincere.

"Welcome, at last..."

She paused for seconds, then, her voice curled with delight.

"Ô, hero from beneath."

Bel blinked.

"Hero... from beneath?"

Vezalia straightened, twirling her umbrella once.

"You heard me correctly," she said with a playful smile. "I, a general of one of the Seven Lords, welcome the arrival of the Eighth. The final piece. The one who will bring doom to the God’s Avatars. The Lord Ravager."

Bel frowned.

"You keep calling me that. But what does it mean, exactly? What’s a Lord Ravager supposed to be?"

Vezalia stepped forward, the tip of her umbrella clicking gently against the ice.

"Ah, now we’re getting to the good part." She spun on her heel. "It’s a long story. A story of crowns, war and old vengeance. I hope you’re not in a rush."

Bel glanced behind him, at the ruins of the dungeon. Frozen corpses, shattered walls, nothing but silence.

"At this distance, I should be able to detect if someone enters the dungeon," he said. "If they do, I’ll know. Just leave like last time if they get close."

Vezalia clapped her hands together once, delighted.

"Perfect. Then let me begin the tale of the Seven... and the Eighth."

She stepped onto a small mound of ice, lifting her umbrella like a noble giving a royal address.

Her shadow stretched long across the cavern, cast by flickering violet light curling from her feet.

"Once, long ago, before dungeons and blessings and kingdoms, there was only chaos. A world unshaped, ruled by primal instincts and endless hunger. From that chaos, the first demons were born. Not out of evil, but out of need. Desire. Fire. Survival."

As she spoke, her words seemed to paint the air, echoes of flame and darkness whispering behind her like ghosts.

"From that swarm of shadows rose the Seven Lords. Each was given a hunger. A truth. A curse. And each one carved their realm into the world. They did not invade. They simply existed. As real as thunder. As old as time."

Vezalia’s voice lowered, more serious now.

"But the eighth was not born with them. The eighth came later. From a spark. A rebellion. A soul cast down, not up. A hero, yes... but one born not to protect, but to burn paths the others dared not walk."

"The Ravager. The one who didn’t just rule a realm, but ended them."

Meanwhile, outside the dungeon, two guild staff members made their way toward the final checkpoint on their list.

They had already spoken to the scattered party members resting near the other dungeon sites, each one pointing them toward this last location.

As they stepped closer to the entrance, one of them slowed down, eyes narrowing.

The rest of the party was there, lounging like it was a lazy day in the sun.

Some were nibbling on dried fruit, others sprawled on blankets. It looked less like a raid zone and more like a picnic.

The older staffer stopped in his tracks.

"What... is going on here?" he muttered.

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