The scent of burning stone and blood hung heavy in the air.
Duke Elias stumbled backward, eyes wide, sweat dripping down his wrinkled face as he stared at Daemon. Beside him, one of the remaining noble Dukes stood frozen, watching from a safer distance—face pale, hand trembling on his sword's hilt.
"S-So this is the power of the Demon King..." Duke Elias muttered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. "Terrifying..."
Daemon's glowing eyes swept the battlefield. Ash still floated like snowflakes. Then, faintly he heard them.
Footsteps. Gasps. Screams.
Civilians. Drawn by the thunderous explosion, they were already gathering near the ruined wall, trying to see what had happened.
Daemon clicked his tongue and sighed. "Oops. Guess I've been caught."
He lifted his gaze casually.
"Nyxtriel," he called, voice smooth and bored, "take care of the ones who saw too much."
SWOOSH.
