The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

Glanston Castle, the main church was empty.

The dim light through the stained glass windows fell upon the compassionate statue of Saint Sis. The flames on the bronze candlesticks flickered, reflecting the devout face of Earl Derek.

Although the Granston family had long sold their souls to the Demons of Hell, Holy Light remained the base color of his faith.

The real world is often not just black and white.

At this moment, the head of the Glanston family was sitting on a bench before the statue, hands clasped in silent prayer, with an expression of solemnity and reverence.

Everything was ready.

The 300,000 strong alliance army of nobles was marching in two columns to the battlefield. Among them were "mercenaries" from the Kingdom, peasants armed to the teeth, and knights loyal to the nobles... everyone was prepared, ready to revive the sacred and ancient tradition.

Some would head downstream, igniting the fires of war towards the defiled Thunder City. While others would advance directly to Campbell Castle, bringing the capital of the Campbell Duchy under control.

The Duchy was within reach.

The only variable was Edward.

That incorrigible fellow was more cunning than he had imagined, hiding in Andes Manor in Thunder City these past months, not even returning home for his birthday.

Some nobles suggested waiting a bit longer, but he was done waiting, and so was King Ryan far away in Roland City.

In truth, it was all the same.

They had their people in Thunder City too.

A smile crept up on Earl Derek's face as he prayed, envisioning the helpless expression on that naive Grand Duke's face.

The forward-thinking Granston family had long planned everything, foreseeing that the chosen Campbell family would be dragged into the Abyss by the ignorant and shortsighted populace.

This trump card had been buried for two hundred years, and now finally was the time to activate it—turning the tide was just within reach!

The Demon King stood on his side!

"Bang—!"

As he was lost in the joy of victory, the heavy oak doors were suddenly thrown open, and the clattering footsteps broke into the majestic hall.

Jelock Campbell stormed in furiously.

He wore no armor, carried no sword, but the fury in his expression was as sharp as the keenest blade, rushing straight to Derek.

"Derek!"

His voice echoed in the hallowed halls, like an enraged lion discovering another ambitious lion while patrolling its territory.

"What on earth is going on?! Why this morning is everyone calling me 'Your Majesty'?! And what about my subordinates? Where have Knight Commander Reville and Knight Commander Luclair gone?!"

Facing Jelock's thunderous wrath, the devoutness on Earl Derek's face was unflinching.

Slowly rising from the prayer bench, he turned around to face the angrily young knight behind him.

Then—

Under Jelock's stunned gaze, the elder earl, fatherly in his demeanor, slightly bowed his head, humbly and solemnly kneeling on one knee.

"Greetings to Your Grace!"

Jelock's heart exploded with a boom, like lightning striking there, shattering the shame and loyalty he had always believed in.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy!"

Jelock recoiled as if shocked, the voice of this Platinum Level powerhouse with an unexpected twinge of panic.

"When did I ever say I wanted to replace my brother! Get up! And make your men stop, we—"

"Your Majesty!!"

Derek suddenly lifted his head, issuing a deafening roar, his eyes fixed unyieldingly on him.

Never having seen such an expression on Earl Derek's face, Jelock was momentarily frozen, staring at him in shock.

Derek did not stop, nor did he rise from the ground, his clouded eyes intently fixed on this "utterly at a loss" young man.

His voice was as lofty as the church's bell sounds, resounding in the vast hall.

"Our wealth is being wantonly plundered by Edward and his vile merchant minions! Our honor will be buried in the dust of history!"

"Wake up, Your Majesty!"

"Those who sell their souls to the Demon will not be lenient because we are open and honest. If we do not take a stand now, we will lose everything in the future!"

With a "clang," he drew the sword from his waist, then grasped the blade with both hands, presenting the hilt, bowing his head deeply.

"If you want all this to stop, then take my head and beg for your brother's forgiveness!"

"Let the roaring steam engine shatter the pastoral idyll outside Glanston Castle. Perhaps my descendants will be grateful, for they will not have known what life was like before, but as for me—"

His voice became hoarse and mournful, like a saint about to embrace martyrdom, reminiscing the lost sunset before the night falls.

"At least, I perished in the twilight before night fell."

"At least, it was not by my hand that all this was buried."

Jelock's eyes widened, looking at the offered sword, looking at this friend like a teacher and father— and the elder who taught him chivalry.

He had no doubt of Derek's loyalty.

Earl Granston was one of the late king's right hands, and along with General Hanor, they were Duke Aaron's most trusted men.

One was the Duchy's Shield, the other the Duchy's Spear.

Jelock's hands were trembling violently, unable to grasp the sword, nor having any intention to reach for it.

Not surprised by Jelock's hesitation, Derek gently placed the sword on the nearby bench, his voice turning earnest and compassionate.

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