Chapter : 1317

  They were Curse Knights, a quiet, trained army made of moving bones and rusty iron. A cold, evil red light burned in their eye sockets. They moved together in a way that was silent, smooth, and creepy. They did not roar or make loud noises. They moved as silently as the grave. They had one single, brutal order: kill every living thing.

  In the south garden, a group of twenty knights appeared in a patch of sweet-smelling moon-blossom flowers. Their first targets were a young couple, a minor lord and his lady, who had snuck away from the main party for a quiet, romantic moment. As the skeleton knights raised their rusty swords for a silent, unseen attack, they were not met with screams of fear. Instead, they heard the soft, musical sound of silver hitting steel.

  Four of Lloyd’s “maids” came out from the shadows of a vine-covered archway. Their simple, gray servant uniforms looked very different from the evil armor of their enemies. Annalisa, the strong Head Maid, led the attack. Her silver serving tray, with an edge sharpened to be incredibly thin, became a deadly throwing weapon. It spun like a disk of death and cut the heads off the two lead knights in one smooth move. The other maids pulled long, thin daggers from hidden spots in their sleeves. They moved in a beautiful and deadly dance. The garden of love had become a quiet and effective slaughterhouse.

  Deep in the winding hallways under the main kitchens, another gateway spat out a wave of fifty knights. Their goal was to poison the palace’s water supply. It was a slow, sneaky attack that would turn the party into a mass funeral. They were met by a silent and unmoving wall of men.

  Yaved Ferrum, a distant, serious cousin of Lloyd’s who was helping the King’s personal security team, stood in front of a dozen of Lloyd's “butlers.” Yaved was a man who seemed to be made of stone, and his face showed only a bored, professional sense of duty. “Kitchen is closed,” he said, his voice a low, unimpressed rumble.

  The knights charged forward. Yaved and his men did not pull out swords. They just moved. They were a single team, a tight group of trained killers. They used the narrow hallway to their advantage, turning it into a trap that made it easy to kill enemies as they came through. They did not fight with the fancy moves of sword fighters. They fought with the brutal, quick movements of professional soldiers. A knife to the throat, a quick stab through a weak spot in the armor, a broken neck. The battle was over in less than a minute. The hallway was piled high with the broken pieces of the evil army.

  At the same time, in other important, planned locations around the palace, the other five of the King's chosen warriors fought their own, much more dangerous enemies. These were not the thoughtless skeleton soldiers. They were Jager's top helpers, the elite, high-ranking devil worshipers who were leading the attack.

  In the royal library, the smart warrior Baron Euclid fought a sorcerer whose spells could turn books into hungry swarms of insects with paper teeth. In the Grand Orrery, the serious Baron Glasias, a master of gravity magic, fought an assassin who defied gravity and walked on the ceiling. In the royal stables, the animal master Baron Munro and his pack of summoned spirit wolves fought a cult member who could make the shadows of the horse stalls come alive and grab at people, draining their souls.

  The palace had become a battlefield with fighting in many different places at once. A secret, shadow war was happening just under the surface of the beautiful, unaware celebration. Every corner and every hallway was a possible battlefield. The wedding was a beautiful and delicate illusion. Its survival depended on the quiet, brutal, and completely merciless work of the hidden guards protecting its walls. The killing was a secret, kept from the happy center of the kingdom. It was a necessary and brutal price to pay for a single, perfect day of peace.

  The war in the walls was a silent and brutal but effective operation. It was a perfect plan to fight back against a secret attack, led by a man who was, at that moment, trapped in another world. But Lloyd's plan had been perfect, and his agents were perfectly trained. He had turned the palace into a perfectly balanced machine, a beautiful and deadly system of traps and quick-response teams.

  Chapter : 1318

  The silent battles were all very different from each other. In the huge, echoing kitchens, where a gateway had opened near the massive fireplaces, the fight was a storm of fire and steel. The Curse Knights were met by a team of butlers led by a tough veteran named Alaric. His past was a secret, but his skill with a carving knife was famous. The butlers used the tools of their job as weapons. Heavy iron pans became brutal clubs, meat cleavers became short, heavy axes, and long metal skewers became deadly daggers that could pierce armor. The fight was a messy, violent, and surprisingly successful example of fighting using whatever tools were available.

  In the calm, quiet halls of the royal art gallery, the battle was a different kind of art. Here, a team of maids, moving with the grace and skill of a painter's brush, fought a squad of knights among priceless works of art. They used their surroundings as a weapon. They knocked over heavy marble statues to crush their enemies. They used the shiny surfaces of polished shields to blind them for a moment. It was a dance of death, a beautiful, silent, and completely deadly performance.

  The most important battles, however, were being fought by the King's other warriors. Viscount Nazha, a man who was said to be unbelievably fast, fought a cult member who could teleport in short, confusing jumps. Their fight was a flickering, impossible-to-follow battle. It was a fight that happened in the tiny spaces of time between heartbeats in the long, high-ceilinged corridor of the Ancestors' Hall.

  Baron Cliff, the unbreakable shield of the kingdom, a man known for his legendary defensive magic, was in a brutal, stationary fight in the palace treasury. His enemy was a warlock who could make gold and jewels come to life, turning the kingdom's riches into a flowing, liquid storm of sharp metal. The Baron stood his ground. He was like a single, unmovable rock in a hurricane of greed. His magic shields took a huge amount of damage.

  The palace was being wounded, but it was not dying. The poison was being stopped, and the infection was being burned away. Lloyd’s hidden team and the King's champions were like a perfect immune system. They found and destroyed the threats with a merciless, surgical skill.

  But they were all just the soldiers. They were fighting the effects of the problem, not the problem itself. The true enemy, the source of the sickness, was not in the hallways or the gardens. He was above it all, a quiet, amused watcher, seeing his pieces play their parts in his grand, terrible show.

  The beautiful, delicate illusion of the wedding was still holding up. The guests, safe and protected in the middle of the palace, heard nothing. They saw nothing. They drank their wine, laughed at jokes, and cried happy tears. They had no idea a quiet and violent war was being fought for their survival just a few feet away, in the hidden, secret spaces behind the beautiful, decorated walls. The price of their peace was being paid in blood and shadow, a debt they would never even know they had. And the biggest, and most terrible, part of the battle was only just beginning.

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  Quiet, vicious fights were happening in secret parts of the palace. At the same time, a new and much more awful power started to appear. It wasn't a noise or a shaking. It was a change in the world itself. A feeling of complete and hopeless sadness spread through the whole palace.

  In the gardens, Annalisa was about to make a perfect kill, but she hesitated. Her strength seemed to disappear. Her desire to fight was replaced by a deep and troubling feeling that it was all useless. In the kitchens, Yaved Ferrum's strong will broke. A raw, basic fear showed in his eyes. The evil Curse Knights, however, seemed to get stronger from this feeling. Their red eyes glowed brighter, and they moved faster and with more violence.

  The fight had been going well for the defenders. Now, that was starting to change.

  High above, on the thinnest point of the tallest tower, the source of the sadness showed itself. The air didn't just ripple; it tore open. It looked like a bleeding cut in the sky. A person came out of this rip in the world. He stepped onto the tower point easily, like a man getting out of a carriage.

  It was Adler Beelzebub.

  Chapter : 1319

  He was in his human form, looking both beautiful and like he could be a man or a woman. He wore the simple, elegant black robes of a scholar. His long, white hair stood out against the black clothes and moved as if in a wind that wasn't there. He looked down at the mess below. He saw the fancy party and the hidden, violent fights. He looked very, very bored, like he was watching a play. He was like a god watching bugs run around for no reason.

  "Such a noisy, messy situation," he said quietly to himself. His voice was smooth and pleasant but also dangerous, and the wind carried it away. "So much feeling. So much work. All for something that is already decided."

  He raised a hand with long, elegant fingers. His nails were the color of black, shiny stone. He was getting ready to act. He planned to make the final, crushing attack that would break the palace's defenses. It would turn the party into a huge, beautiful massacre.

  But before he could use his power, someone else appeared in the sky to meet him.

  It was not a big entrance. The sky didn't rip open, and there was no flash of power. One moment, the air in front of him was empty. The next moment, a man was standing there, as if the sky was solid ground.

  It was Arch Duke Roy Ferrum.

  He was no longer the serious, careful lord of the North. He was a being of pure, controlled, and total power. His face showed only cold, angry rage. His eyes were the color of a storm in winter. He was not dressed for a wedding. He wore the plain, black armor of the Ferrum family, ready for war.

  At his side, two other beings appeared from nowhere. They weren't called; they just showed up.

  On his right was Gog, a giant, old creature that looked like a living mountain. It was a shifting, man-like shape of rock, and its eyes were like two huge, slow-moving plates of the earth. On his left was Magog, an ancient storm in a living form. It was a spinning mix of wind and lightning, and its voice was the sound of a hurricane.

  They were Roy Ferrum’s two most powerful spirits, beings from myths and stories. They were the two guardians of the North. Their presence together was so strong it changed the rules of the world around them. The sky got dark. The wind howled. The air felt thick and heavy, like the world itself was bowing to them.

  Beelzebub's bored look changed for a second. He now looked truly and professionally interested. He knew the Arch Duke was strong. But he had not expected this.

  "This is not your place to play, devil," Roy said. His voice was not a yell. It was a low, deep sound like an avalanche that seemed to shake the palace below. "This is my land. And you are not welcome."

  Beelzebub’s bored smile came back, but it was different. It was bigger, sharper, and had a new, beautiful, and completely terrifying light in his eyes. He was no longer a bored god. He was an excited one.

  "You are wrong, Lord Ferrum," he answered. His voice was smooth and poisonous and cut through the loud wind. "The playground is now open. And the first game," he added, his smile becoming purely evil and happy, "is to see whose toys break first."

  The two powerful beings faced each other. They were like two opposite forces of total power. Their minds fought a silent, invisible battle that made the sky look like it was bleeding. The real fight for the kingdom, the war between gods, was about to start high above the clouds. It was a secret, world-ending fight that would decide the future of the unaware people below.

  The sky above the capital city of Bethelham became the scene of a war between legendary creatures. The air was already heavy because of the two clashing powerful beings. It grew thick and sticky, something you could almost feel, making it hard to breathe. The happy, sunny wedding day was suddenly dark, like an early evening. It was as if the sun itself had pulled back in fear.

  Beelzebub, looking calm and beautifully evil, made the first move. It was a simple, almost lazy gesture that showed he felt nothing but scorn. He just raised a hand and snapped his fingers.

  Chapter : 1320

  From the tear in the world behind him, two new monsters appeared. Their power felt like a song of evil, unholy energy. The first was a giant skeleton dragon. Its bones were the color of shiny black stone, and its big, leathery wings were ripped and torn. It didn't breathe fire. It breathed a stream of pure, damaging shadow. It was like a river that destroyed life and seemed to erase the air it touched. The second was a ten-foot-tall demon in red armor called an Oni. It was a creature of pure, raw strength. Its skin was covered in scars, and its single, sharp horn sparked with evil, cursed lightning.

  These were Beelzebub’s own spirits. They were two great beings he had captured, broken, and remade in the fires of the Abyss. They were not just powerful; they were corrupted. Their natural strength was twisted and made stronger by the dark, parasitic energy of his world.

  "Go play," Beelzebub whispered, his voice like a lover's soft touch.

  The Black Dragon and the Crimson Oni flew forward. They were like streaks of darkness and blood in the dark purple sky. They were not aiming for Roy, but for his two spirits.

  The fight that happened next was like the end of the world. Gog, the living mountain, met the Oni's attack. It was like a force that couldn't be stopped hitting an object that couldn't be moved. The Oni's cursed lightning could break a castle wall, but it sparked harmlessly on Gog’s rock skin. The Oni’s fists could turn steel into dust. They hit with the power of meteors, sending shockwaves through the air but only making small cracks on the mountain-spirit's body. In return, Gog’s moves were slow, unstoppable, and destructive. One huge, grinding swing of his stone arm sent the Oni flying through the sky. Its red armor was dented and smoking.

  At the same time, Magog, the ancient storm, fought the Black Dragon. It was a dance between chaos and order. The dragon’s shadow breath, a wave of pure destruction, was simply swallowed by Magog’s spinning storm. Magog fought back with a spear of pure, focused lightning. The bolt was so strong it lit up the dark sky for a moment like a new sun. The spear hit the dragon's skeleton ribs, breaking a piece of bone and sending a shower of black, sparkling dust into the wind.

  The fight between the spirits was a brutal, world-breaking tie. The raw, natural power of Roy’s guardians was a perfect match for the evil, wild anger of Beelzebub’s dark champions.

  While their spirits fought, the two masters stood perfectly still. They were like two opposite points of total calm in the middle of the hurricane. They were watching, thinking, and judging each other. Their minds were playing a silent, dangerous game of chess that was a thousand times more complicated and deadly than the physical fight happening around them.

  "Your pets are wonderful, Lord Ferrum," Beelzebub said. He sounded like he truly appreciated them, as if they were two art collectors looking at each other's work. "So pure. Such raw, wild power. It's a shame they have to be broken."

  "They are not pets," Roy answered, his voice a low, cold rumble of controlled anger. "They are family. And my family does not break."

  "Oh, but it does," Beelzebub purred, his smile getting bigger. "It has before. It will again." He was talking about past betrayals and the secret problems in the Ferrum family. It was a clever and painful insult.

  Roy’s face stayed like stone, but a flash of pure, bright anger burned deep in his stormy grey eyes. It was time to stop talking.

  He raised a hand, and the sky seemed to obey him. The dark, heavy clouds began to spin around him, forming a huge, churning vortex. The power of Magog, the storm spirit, flowed into him. He became the storm.

  Beelzebub watched, looking happily excited. He, too, began to change. The polite, beautiful mask of his human form started to melt away. This was the start of him showing the true, terrible, and amazing god of sadness that was hidden underneath. The warm-up was over. The real fight of the powerful beings, a battle that would shake the skies and decide the fate of the world below, was about to start. The playground was now truly open for business.