SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse
Chapter 117: Test

Chapter 117: Test

One month passed in the blink of an eye.

Damien now sat atop a grand throne carved from blackened stone, its armrests etched with unfamiliar runes that shimmered faintly under the morning sun. Behind him, an enormous arched glass window overlooked the entire Blue Hammer capital, now reborn under a different rule.

The skies were clear, painted in soft hues of azure, while the wind swept gently through the capital, carrying with it the scent of cooked bread and damp stone—signs of both normalcy and rebuilding.

Down below, the city was alive with motion. Thousands of people poured out of their homes, their eyes filled with anticipation and renewed hope. The trauma of the past month seemed almost like a bad dream—buried under layers of routine, work, and the will to survive.

Middle-aged men leaned against door frames or clustered near teahouses, chatting animatedly with their neighbors about the results of the latest civil service examinations. It was a topic that stirred a rare mix of pride and anxiety.

"My son scored top marks in the logical reasoning section," one man boasted, chest puffed out. "I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets appointed as the governor of West Vale!"

His neighbor, an older woman with a sharp tongue and sharper memory, refused to be outdone.

"Oh, is that so? My daughter practically rewrote the political theory section! The examiners were stunned—I heard she might even get a position in the High Council!"

Their voices, though competitive, were laced with laughter.

Scenes like this played out across the capital—families reemerging from the long shadow of war, finding joy in the mundane once again. Laughter echoed through cobbled streets, children ran between alleyways, and merchants reopened their stalls under the protection of newly deployed city guards.

No outsider would guess this city had been on the verge of annihilation only a month ago.

But Damien remembered.

He sat quietly on his throne, fingers rhythmically tapping the armrest, his gaze distant as he watched the reborn city below.

One month ago, chaos had reigned in these very streets. Looters, rebels, cowards in noble robes, all sought to take advantage of the power vacuum.

Damien had given them a single chance.

And when they refused to listen—

The streets flowed with blood.

He had unleashed hell.

Those who spread unrest were executed on the spot—no trial, no mercy. Families who resisted faced the same fate. Entire bloodlines were erased in one night.

Those who surrendered were not spared either. They were dragged to the dungeon, their pleas muffled by iron and stone.

By dawn, more than ten percent of the city’s population had vanished. Their bodies fed the earth; their screams became part of the capital’s foundation.

That night, the entire city reeked of iron and ash, like a massive butcher shop where human morality had been dissected and discarded.

"This isn’t a king," whispered the survivors.

"He’s a demon in human skin."

And they weren’t the only ones to believe it.

Even Baron Arctic, the noble from the infernal realm, had paused in awe.

For a fleeting moment, he had genuinely believed Damien was one of his own—a high-ranking devil cloaked in mortal flesh, sent to reclaim a forgotten kingdom.

"He reeks of something ancient... Something hell has not seen in centuries," Arctic had muttered to himself in that smoky vault, shivering despite being a being born from fire.

Now, a month later, the blood had been washed away, the bodies buried, the broken structures rebuilt.

But the memory remained, etched in the cobblestones, whispered in hushed tones by those who survived.

And Damien, the so-called devil king, watched it all from his throne—not with pride, not with regret, but with the cold resolve of someone who had made a choice and would make it again.

Moreover, it wasn’t just the brutality Damien showed when dealing with the chaos-makers that shocked Arctic—it was the raw strength he unleashed that left the infernal noble speechless.

The scene had been etched into Arctic’s mind like a brand burned into flesh.

He’s not just powerful... he’s monstrous.

The way Damien tore through Silver-rank warriors and even overwhelmed Channel Forging experts with sheer speed and force reminded Arctic of the so-called "monster prodigies" among the high-ranking noble houses of the infernal realm—beings of immense talent capable of skipping entire cultivation realms to fight enemies far above them.

Those beings were not human in the way others were. Their battles defied logic.

It was like watching an ant fight an elephant... and win.

Such a comparison wasn’t an exaggeration. Damien’s performance had shattered conventional sense. It was no wonder Arctic had gone silent for ten straight days, stunned by the absurdity he had witnessed.

He lingered in the treasury, lost in thought, unwilling to speak a word.

By the time he finally emerged from his trance-like stupor, ready to speak again, Damien was already too busy—wading through the chaos of governance and rebuilding.

It was only once the dust settled and the looting stopped, when the treasury had been mostly packed up, that Damien finally found a moment to breathe. But just as he was preparing to leave, a question struck him like a hammer:

Who was going to maintain law and order in the Blue Hammer Kingdom now?

He stood in the heart of the throne room, eyes scanning the empty halls.

He couldn’t just walk away—not now.

What if some ambitious opportunist stirred the pot, riled up the remaining nobles or citizens, and seized the throne under the banner of rebellion? After all, his methods were brutal. There was no shortage of resentment simmering in the shadows.

"If I leave now, someone will hijack the empire using that resentment."

And that would lead to endless trouble.

He needed a solution. A way to stabilize this city before he departed.

Damien sat down, elbows on his knees, chin resting on folded hands.

Then what?

One idea floated to the surface: Let the people choose their own leader.

Democracy, in a way.

But almost as soon as the thought appeared, he shook his head.

"Tch. That only works in a world where people are equal."

Here, people weren’t equal. Power ruled. Bloodline mattered. The common folk might as well have been sheep among wolves if left to decide leadership.

Still... the idea lingered. What if power and merit could be tested?

Damien’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"No elections. But a merit-based exam..."

Yes.

A civil service examination. Rigorous. Comprehensive. Open to all classes.

He would create a system that selected leaders based on intellect, talent, and loyalty, not birth.

In that moment, his plan crystallized.

He wasted no time.

Standing atop the palace balcony, he announced the decree to the entire city—his voice empowered by mana, rolling across the rooftops like a divine proclamation:

"From this day forth, all leadership positions shall be earned through examination. No bloodline, no title, no wealth shall decide your rank—only your capability will."

And so, the first examinations in Blue Hammer history were born.

First, Damien made the proclamation loud and clear for all to hear:

"From this day forward, the Blue Hammer Kingdom shall be part of the great Valthorn Empire."

The words echoed across the capital like a divine decree, crashing through the stillness that had blanketed the city.

Some gasped, others fell into stunned silence. A few elders looked down at the cracked stones beneath their feet, faces filled with mixed emotions.

Damien stood still atop the balcony, his robes fluttering gently in the breeze. He gazed down upon the crowd, unfazed by their reactions.

The kingdom’s been gutted, its king turned to paste, and the treasury looted.

What’s left but to rebuild it under a new banner?

Still, as his gaze swept across the streets, he couldn’t help but feel a strange tug at his chest. The once-proud kingdom, its stone towers and gleaming gates now shattered and scorched, looked like a fading relic of its past glory.

He didn’t know why... but the sight tugged at something deeper.

Even stranger, his words seemed to resonate with the people below. Unexpectedly.

Murmurs spread through the crowd—remembrances of their former king, of days when the Blue Hammer Kingdom stood proud and towering in the northern region of the True Dawn Continent.

They remembered the grand parades, the humming forges, and the strength they once held.

Some wept silently. Others clenched their fists. But no one resisted.

And Damien? He didn’t care either way.

As long as they obey... everything else is just noise.

Once the mood had settled, Damien struck while the iron was hot.

’The exam shall be held," he announced. "A test of wisdom, strategy, governance, and strength. Through this trial, a new governor shall rise from among you."

To ensure fresh blood and limit power-hungry old lords from reclaiming their roots, he imposed a rule:

"Only those under fifty may participate. Let youth guide the future."

The moment the decree spread, the kingdom erupted. Word spread like wildfire.

From farming villages to warrior sects, from merchant guilds to old guard families—all eyes turned toward the capital. Thousands of warriors, scholars, and adventurers surged forth with burning ambitions, hoping to carve their names into history.

And now—today—the winner would finally be revealed.

Damien stood in the royal chamber, his throne behind him, staring out the tall glass window overlooking the heart of the city. The skies were clear, and golden light bathed the newly cleaned streets below.

People bustled with energy, some heading to the central plaza where the results were to be announced. Children sat on shoulders, and elders carried tiny flags bearing the crest of Valthorn. What had once been ashes had somehow sprouted into the green shoots of a new beginning.

Damien’s gaze shifted subtly.

Valtron City.

Far in the east, the shimmering outline of mountains marked the path to Valthorn’s capital. That was where his trusted subordinates would be coming from today, bringing the necessary storage tools to haul the final shipments of treasure and rare goods.

He stepped closer to the glass, fingers brushing against the cold, smooth surface. His reflection shimmered faintly, barely visible beneath the sunlight.

Then—

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound drew his attention. His gaze fell toward the ornate metal box resting on the nearby table. It was shaking.

Tendrils of purplish smoke began to leak from the corners, swirling like fog caught in an invisible wind. Then, with a hiss and a crack, the smoke coalesced into a large, plump, and familiar figure.

Baron Arctic had returned.

The genie emerged in a theatrical swirl, his expression as irritable as ever. His horned head glistened faintly under the ambient light.

"Kid," Arctic grumbled, voice deep and slightly nasally, "I’ve agreed to your request. But remember our deal—you help me return to the Hell Realm."

Damien’s lips curled upward into a small smirk.

"Deal."

That single word echoed with certainty.

Some days ago, Baron Arctic had spilled the truth. How he’d come from another realm entirely—a realm of flame and darkness, one ruled by demonic laws and infernal politics. An accident during a high-tier alchemical experiment had flung him across dimensions, trapping him here for what felt like an eternity.

And Damien? He would have walked away... if that was all there was.

But this wasn’t just some ordinary genie from a bedtime tale.

Arctic was a master alchemist, someone who had once brewed fire that could melt divine metals, and poisons that could kill dragons.

Damien’s eyes glinted with interest.

Knowledge like that doesn’t fall into your lap twice.

"Good," Damien said casually, taking a seat once more. "As expected of you, great noble Arctic."

The moment the words left his mouth, Arctic’s balloon-like body deflated slightly. His puffed-up chest sank just a bit, a groan escaping his lips.

"Ugh... don’t say it like that. You’re mocking me, aren’t you?"

Damien simply smiled, enjoying the moment.

The genie was strange, dramatic, and unpredictable—but incredibly useful. And soon, once his subordinates arrived, Damien would begin the next phase of his journey—this time, with a master alchemist by his side.

But for now, he leaned back in the throne, watching his newly claimed kingdom begin its first steps toward a new age.