The Demon King is unfathomable

Chapter 566 The Death Knell Tolls in the Church of Roland

Roland, Saint Laurent Cathedral.

This sacred temple, which once symbolized the purity and piety of the Kingdom of Ryan, now resembles a graveyard haunted by ghosts.

A hoarse roar replaced the choir's hymns, casting a chilling panic over the sacred stained-glass window.

"Marius! Where have you been? I command you, get out here right now!"

The elderly man stumbled across the bench.

He walked to the altar, gripping the marble railing tightly with both hands, his aged skin concealing veins that seemed about to burst.

Marius did not appear.

The only response Theodore received was his own echo.

The "Hand of the Former King," who was always by his side like a shadow, seemed to have vanished into thin air and had been out of contact for a long time.

Theodore whirled around, glancing around the hall behind him, clinging to a last glimmer of hope as he tried to find his lost trump card in the shadow of the marble pillars.

However, it turned out that all of this was in vain.

He lost not only his trump card, but also the languidness behind his confident gaze, and even... his youth itself.

Without the nourishment of the "holy water," the aging yet robust king seemed to be nothing but old age. His flesh decayed rapidly in his madness, and his steps became unsteady, all because Marius had stopped paying tribute... or at least that's what he thought.

A bone-chilling cold made Theodore shiver involuntarily. He gradually felt the aura of death creeping up his ankles, transforming into a chill that seeped into his very being.

"I don't believe it... How could you possibly fail? You must be hiding, right? Heh... Get out here!"

Theodore muttered nervously, sometimes to himself, sometimes roaring, his cloudy eyes bloodshot.

That's Marius!
The sharpest dagger in the Kingdom of Ryan!
In this world, besides those demigods who have one foot in the divine realm, who else could kill him silently?!
impossible!
Absolutely impossible!
Even for a demigod, killing a grandmaster is no easy task. While the power of a domain is formidable, it doesn't mean one is invincible; there are many ways to bridge the gap in strength.

Since he didn't die, there's only one explanation.

A thought, more terrifying and infuriating to Theodore than Marius's death, slithered into his mind like a venomous snake—

It's betrayal!
He sensed betrayal.

"Enough! My patience has run out! You have betrayed your kingdom! Marius! I knew that people with filthy blood in their veins could not be trusted... You lowly thing, a bastard born of a maid! A disgrace to the Devallo family!"

Theodore suddenly raised his head and roared at the empty hall, his voice as shrill as a vengeful ghost from hell.

He no longer cares about anything.

Marius's illegitimate status is one of the most closely guarded secrets of the Devallois family, and it is why Theodore trusts him so much.

Whether in hell or in the belief system of Saint Seis, "unclean blood" is not a blessing, but a curse, or rather, a handle against someone.

They are often seen as a disgrace, excluded from the legal order of succession, and naturally hostile to the Church… They can only survive in the shadows by relying on the favor of their fathers or the forgiveness of the legitimate heirs, even if it is not their fault.

Theodore never expected Marius to betray him, but then he thought about it and realized that the Duchy of Campbell was now ruled by demons, and the unorthodox Edward might not really care about ancient laws... so everything made sense.

“You took my formula, you took my holy water…you sided with Campbell! You damned thing! You betrayed your family and your king!”

That two-faced traitor must have used the gift that originally belonged to the king to exchange for Edward's protection!
The escalating suspicion was like a raging fire, burning away the last vestiges of reason that Theodore, who was already naturally suspicious, could retain.

He angrily brandished his scepter, smashing an angel statue beside the altar to pieces, letting the plaster shards fly toward the statue of Saint Sis.

The compassionate statue remained standing there, seemingly mocking the dying mortals, or perhaps pitying them.

However, seeing that serene expression, Theodore felt only anger, wishing he could throw the scepter in his hand there.

"Your Majesty...please calm your anger..."

A trembling voice came from the shadows in the corner, as faint as a mouse about to be trampled to death.

Theodore turned his head sharply, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the source of the sound.

Behind that massive stone pillar, Claude, dressed in a magnificent cardinal's robe, trembled, his aged face etched with fear.

He had intended to go up and help the swaying emperor, or say a few words to amuse him, but when he met those murderous eyes, he instinctively backed down.

Those weren't human eyes at all.

Instead, it was a monster driven mad by hunger and fear.

Claude felt his legs trembling; the heavy bishop's robes felt like lead, making it hard for him to breathe.

If it weren't for the fact that His Majesty was about to smash even the statue of Saint Sith, he would rather have hidden behind that marble pillar until he died of old age.

He knows his own worth better than anyone else.

He was not a representative of any god at all, but merely a gilded court jester. Not even His Majesty the King could slap him, let alone the Baron's daughter.

The city of Roland today is no longer the ancient city-state it was a thousand years ago, a city with unwavering faith that always stood with the Holy Light.

“Claude…”

Theodore approached him step by step, his steps dragging, and grabbed Claude by the collar, squeezing out a smell that was like rotten leftovers from between his teeth.

"Are you here to laugh at me?"

"I...how could I dare, Your Majesty..."

Claude pressed his body tightly against the cold stone pillar, cold sweat sliding down his powdered face and gathering into drops on his chin.

He forced a smile that was worse than a grimace, an instinct he had honed as a clown and a skill honed through countless trials since becoming a bishop.

“I am your most faithful servant…and also a servant of God…”

"god?"

Theodore suddenly let out a sharp, eerie laugh, and stretched out his withered hand to grab the cross pendant on Claude's chest.

That astonishing power nearly suffocated Lecce, his parched lips uttering a silent plea, yet he dared not touch the king's hand with his own.

"If there really is a God, why does He never answer my prayers?! If there really is Saint Sebastian, where was He when His people needed Him most?"

Theodore stared intently into Claude's eyes, spitting in his face and spatting profanities without reservation.

"Answer me, my archbishop! Where is my Saint Sith? Where is Marius? And my... holy water!"

Holy, holy water?

Claude was completely bewildered by the roar, but dared not ask any questions. He could only silently endure His Majesty's furious outburst and pray that Mr. Marius would come out soon.

Only that gentleman could soothe His Majesty's emotions, but no one knows where he has gone recently; it's as if he has vanished.

A deafening roar echoed through the hall, making the magnificent stained glass windows above vibrate, but the oracle seemed to have never existed in the first place.

The most interesting thing in the world is that when everyone thought the gods would intervene, the gods simply disappeared.

But perhaps it was the sound of footsteps outside the hall that saved Claude's life, just as he was about to be strangled.

Hearing the familiar footsteps, Theodore loosened his grip slightly, and Claude took the opportunity to gasp for breath, collapsing against the stone pillar and looking at the doorway in horror.

The afternoon sun shone through the corridor and through the heavy oak door, and a tall, slender figure walked in against the light-illuminated dust.

The man wore a well-tailored black double-breasted suit with a meticulously tied silver-gray bow tie and spotless white gloves. But what was truly striking was the dark gold pocket watch he held in his hand.

If you ignore the surrounding ruins and the mad king, this man's demeanor is very much like that of a butler who has just stepped out of an upper-class tea party and is preparing to serve his master at the dinner party.

Cassius, codenamed "Deathstroke," was as punctual as his nickname.

In the Kingdom of Laine's "Gravekeepers" organization, he was second only to Marius, and the only assassin who was more like a gentleman than an assassin.

Ignoring the bishop sprawled on the ground, he walked straight to a spot ten paces away from the king, stopped, put away his pocket watch, and knelt down on one knee with a sorrowful expression.

"Your Majesty, I am late."

Theodore, as if grasping at a last straw, staggered to Cassius and grabbed his shoulders tightly with both hands.

“Where is Marius? Can’t you find him either? He really did betray me…”

Cassius fell silent.

He did not immediately announce Marius's death, but instead carefully observed the expression on the king's face, as if he were weighing his options.

After a long while, his weighing of the options seemed to have yielded a result, and the battle between good and evil in his heart had come to a conclusion. A subtle smile gradually appeared on the corner of his mouth.

"Your Majesty, did you hear that?"

"What did you hear?" Theodore was slightly taken aback, and nervously looked around, especially at the idol behind him.

“Those whispers…”

Cassius's voice softened, and a hint of pity and helplessness gradually appeared in his eyes. "The rats hiding in the dark corners are grinding their teeth. Marius tried to fight them, but... our enemies are too powerful. Even the steadfast Marius cannot withstand the rats' corruption."

Theodore's pupils contracted sharply, and he held his breath, as if he could actually hear some kind of teeth-grinding friction sound in the air.

"You mean..."

"Lord Marius did not disappear, but was devoured by the rats. Or rather, he himself was the biggest rat, unable to withstand the test."

Cassius stood up and helped the swaying king, whispering in his ear in a somber voice.

"According to our intelligence... he was last seen in the Twilight Province, and forbade everyone from following him. Without a doubt, he took our kingdom's most crucial secrets and fled to that lowly clown in the south..."

These words were like a sharp blade, cutting open the festering wound in Theodore's heart. Rather than being intelligence from the gravedigger, they were more like something Cassius had just read on the king's face.

He says whatever he wants to hear, and he can even turn the most outrageous things into a fluent poem.

Poetry does not need to be rational.

As long as it's catchy and easy to remember, that's fine.

"I knew it! That damned traitor! He really betrayed me."

Theodore cursed, his nails digging deep into Cassius's tuxedo, venting his madness in a shrill scream.

"Not only him, Your Majesty."

Cassius continued to fan the flames, his tone as sorrowful as ever.

"His cronies are everywhere in the shadows of Roland City. Greedy merchants, hypocritical nobles, even..."

His gaze swept casually over Claude in the corner, leaving the fearful bishop with a warning look.

"...It might even be your closest people. They're all waiting for you to grow old, waiting to carve up this lion's carcass—"

"Kill them all! Get the gravediggers moving immediately! We cannot allow these clowns to tarnish the honor of the Devalo family!"

Before Cassius could finish speaking, Theodore roared and interrupted him, spitting everywhere.

Cassius bowed slightly, a barely perceptible hint of coldness playing on his lips, while Claude, slumped on the ground, didn't dare utter a sound.

This madman...

He will kill everyone!

However, Claude was powerless to stop it, or rather, he simply didn't have that ability; he knew very well that he was just a clown.

Whether in the eyes of the king, the citizens of Roland, or... Saint Sith.

He could only watch helplessly as a tiny man, even smaller than himself, stole the dagger from under the king's robe.

"...As you wish, Your Majesty, the Gravediggers will act immediately and sweep away all the traitors with lightning speed. However, in order to ensure that this righteous purge is not abandoned halfway, I need your authorization to use all the forces within Roland. Marius's cronies have penetrated too deeply into this city; only with your support can glory be returned to your throne."

Theodore gave a sickly, twisted smile and slapped Cassius on the shoulder as he spoke.

"Go, toll their death knell for me, and I will authorize all your actions! Cassius, you are the only loyal subject in this world. Go and skin those rats and offer their blood to my Saint Sith! Let the living know that the Holy Light will not tolerate their questioning or defilement!"

"It's my pleasure."

Cassius performed a perfect noble bow, then turned and walked out of the hall without pausing for a moment.

Marius is dead, but the vast legacy left by the "Hand of the Former King" still needs to be inherited.

While this gentleman was still alive, Cassius lived in his shadow and dared not have the slightest improper thoughts.

Now that this gentleman is dead, the ambitions that had been suppressed in Cassius's heart have burst forth like a spring suddenly released.

He not only wanted to inherit everything from Marius, but also to seize everything that Marius had never controlled!
The sunlight outside the oak door swallowed Cassius's figure.

Theodore suddenly turned around, walked up to the trembling Claude, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted the bishop off the ground.

"Claude!"

The king stared intently at him, his murky pupils filled with madness, yet also concealing a childlike expectation.

"Please ask Saint Sith for me if I did the right thing. Saint Sith... He will support me, right?"

Looking at that face that resembled a demon, Claude felt his heart was about to jump out of his throat.

Cold sweat soaked his back, trickling down his forehead and into his eyes, but he dared not blink.

As a former Joker, his greatest skill was reading people and situations. And he was acutely aware that this would be his last performance on stage.

If he utters a single wrong word, the bells of Saint Laurent Cathedral will toll first for him, and he will be the first to die in this catastrophe.

The instinct for survival ultimately prevailed over morality and conscience.

Claude swallowed hard, forcibly controlling the twitching of his facial muscles, and put on a solemn and dignified expression.

"Yes...yes, Your Majesty."

His voice trembled, as if from the excitement of hearing a divine oracle. "I heard it... I heard His oracle."

"What did He say?" Theodore pressed, as if he didn't know the answer.

Claude closed his eyes, went against his conscience, and uttered a lie that was enough to plunge the entire city of Roland into hell.

"He said... Your decision is full of divine wisdom, and your name will accompany this baptism, bringing unprecedented glory to the city of Roland."

Theodore paused for a moment, then burst into a wild, joyful laugh—the highest praise for a clown who had put on such a great performance.

"I knew it! The Holy Light has not abandoned us, and glory will ultimately belong to the Devalu family!"

He shoved Claude aside and shouted loudly at the servants outside the door with satisfaction.

"Go to the cellar! Retrieve my treasures! I want to have a drink with my old friend for the dawn that is gradually rising on the horizon!"

In the twilight.

The waiter shakily carried the red wine through the corridor and then knelt on the ground.

The mad king raised his blood-red goblet, stood before the shattered angel statue, and clinked glasses with the bishop, who was trying to appear calm.

"Claude! Let us drink another cup together, a toast to the prosperity of tomorrow!"

"Yes, Your Majesty... May the Holy Light forever protect you and our kingdom."

……

The tomb keeper was once the sharpest dagger hidden beneath the king's sleeve, but now that dagger has been brought to the forefront with the death of Marius.

Both the Academy and the Kingdom of Ryan seem to be caught in a strange curse: yesterday's demons are often made to appear benevolent by tomorrow's demons.

The citizens of Roland City will never know what happened somewhere in the Wanren Mountains that night. All they know is that overnight, mysterious soldiers draped in black robes suddenly appeared in the streets and alleys, just like the crows that circled over Roland City after the great fire in winter.

The Royal Guards treated them like demons, terrified of being targeted. Even Miss Marie Lambane unusually restrained her spoiled attitude, warning Newcastle never to mess with these guys.

Newcastle certainly wouldn't provoke them. He was a very tactful man, and even Sir Geedkin, who had once been arrogant towards him, was treated with courtesy. He would never make enemies.

However, he was still somewhat taken aback by the changes that had taken place in Roland City. Surrounded by the fog, he felt that the fog was thicker than ever before.

perhaps--

He had underestimated the problem. The dark room was filled with far more than just gunpowder; in fact, that pile of gunpowder was only the tip of the iceberg.

Fortunately, the targets of this purge were not the stonemasons who had hoarded the Encyclopedia, but rather His Majesty's courtiers.

The cleaning process is silent and efficient.

Marius’s loyal confidants were dragged out of their beds one by one, and before they could even cry out for justice, their throats were slit by sharp blades.

Those trusted confidants who possessed the core secrets were thrown into the dungeon.

Cassius knew each of their names because he was also one of Marius's confidants, except that he wasn't in charge of the Holy Water project.

This purge was not only to eliminate dissidents, but also to carry out a larger-scale cleanup and reorganization of the team, and to keep the most core secrets in their own hands.

He must make His Majesty depend on him, and only on him.

Standing in the dark and damp dungeon, Cassius elegantly took out his pocket watch and glanced at it, seemingly to confirm the time of his appearance.

At this moment, on the rack in front of him, the adjutant responsible for transporting the holy water back to Roland City had been tortured beyond recognition.

"I...I really don't know the recipe..."

The adjutant was barely breathing, his flesh torn and ripped, and blood dripped onto the filthy ground.

Gold-level strength is no match for Amethyst-level power, especially since this Amethyst-level expert is also skilled in assassination.

“I was only in charge of transportation… those things were transported from the Ten Thousand Ren Mountains. Professor Edgar was in charge of the technical aspects…”

"You know..."

Cassius frowned slightly; this was not the answer he wanted to hear. And he believed it was certainly not the answer His Majesty the King wanted to hear either.

He knew very well where his power came from.

If he cannot meet His Majesty the King's demands, today he is Cassius, a man above all others, tomorrow he will be a prisoner who betrayed the kingdom.

A Purple Crystal level expert?
For the Devalo family, who possess the card of a demigod, grandmasters are nothing but ants, and they would never presume to believe that they have the power to replace the king.

Besides, he had no need to do that.

Because the king is actually very easy to please; as long as the promised tribute is presented to him, everything outside the palace will be fine.

“Professor Edgar has lost contact. If you don’t want to end up like him, you’d better tell me everything you know… My patience is limited, and so is His Majesty’s.”

Cassius stepped forward, his tone as gentle as if he were asking about the weather outside the window, but the ticking of his pocket watch lashed at the adjutant's taut nerves like a whip.

He stopped and stared into those terrified eyes as he continued to ask.

“You’re in charge of transportation, aren’t you? Your responsibility isn’t just to bring the holy water here, but also to deliver the raw materials… Tell me, what are the raw materials? Don’t tell me you don’t know.”

The adjutant's pupils contracted briefly, then quickly dilated.

In extreme pain and fear, his psychological defenses completely collapsed, and he could only speak incoherently based on his remaining memories.

"It is... a soul... a pure soul."

"Soul? Where is it stored?"

"people……"

"people?"

"Yes, yes, especially the children's... I overheard a magic apprentice say that souls or spirits are the easiest to purify."

Cassius raised an eyebrow, and the pocket watch in his hand clicked shut.

"So that's how it is. I thought it was some kind of profound magic, but I didn't expect the truth to be so simple and unadorned... Hehe."

Is this the secret that Marius tried so hard to bury?

No wonder he was so secretive; it turns out the principle itself was too simple and easily learned by others.

A victorious smile crept onto Cassius's lips.

The city of Ryan has no shortage of orphans, especially after the great fire in winter. Although the king sent a large amount of materials to the countryside, the Papacy still took in many.

"Give him a way out."

Cassius waved his hand, and a soldier in a black robe beside him drew his sword without hesitation, plunging it into the adjutant's chest and ending that sinful life.

No screams were heard.

All that remained was a sigh of relief, like a sigh of dejection.

Cassius put away his pocket watch and turned to walk towards the dungeon exit, his leather boots making a sticky sound as they stepped on the blood-stained steps.

As he passed the entrance, he gave the black-robed guards, who had taken full control of the dungeon, his final order for the night.

"Go to the orphanage in the lower city."

"Remember, you need the cleanest source of goods."

……

As night fell, a torrential downpour began in Roland, like the weeping of Saint Sis, while the doors and windows on the streets remained tightly shut, like the closed eyes of lambs.

A dozen or so black carriages burst through the rain and arrived at the gates of several orphanages in the lower city with lightning speed.

The tomb keepers, dressed in black robes, violently kicked open the gate. The elderly nun tried to open her arms to stop them, but was kicked down into the mud.

She seemed to realize something and shouted behind her.

"Run—children!"

A sword pierced her chest, and the blood was washed into the mud by the rain, staining the ancient and sacred steps into a shocking and grotesque state.

Her death was meaningless.

Even the gravedigger himself cannot escape the gravedigger's presence, let alone a group of unarmed children.

"By order of His Majesty the King! There is a spy among you, and I need you to come with us."

The soldier in the black robe pulled out a handwritten order, whose author was unknown, and looked expressionlessly at the terrified children standing in the corridor.

Not a trace of sloppiness.

Whether the children were awake or still asleep, they were all forcibly dragged out of the monastery and thrown into a cage-like carriage.

Cries for help, pleas for help, and the nuns' desperate prayers mingled together, creating a suffocating lament.

However, even the royal guards who rushed over upon hearing the commotion could only stand silently in the rain after seeing the black carriage, watching it head towards the royal prison on the banks of the rushing river.

Sir Geedkin gritted his teeth and clenched his fists tightly.

Even when Miss Ma Rui slapped him in front of all the citizens at the entrance of the Roland City Grand Theatre, he had never felt as humiliated as he did today.

A tangible slap merely shatters a person's dignity, which they don't even possess. But the invisible slap lashes out at the very soul of the Ryan man…

Even among animals, only a few will watch as hunters snatch their cubs.

Through the rain, he seemed to see a face.

That was the stonemason he had personally sent to the gallows, that man as resolute as a sculpture, staring at him with eyes colder than stone—

See it.

We are all animals now.

It's just a matter of who dies first.

Deep inside the Saint Laurent Cathedral, Bishop Claude knelt before the statue of Saint Sis, his parched lips muttering something incoherently.

“Saint Seth, please forgive your disrespectful servant…”

Perhaps they were genuinely afraid.

This cunning clown has never been so devout in his repentance as he is today.

Through the thick stone wall, he heard cries in the rain; the wandering souls, with nowhere else to go, had all drifted here.

But there was nothing he could do.

Fear was like an invisible hand, pressing down on his knees, preventing him from standing up to do what a bishop should do.

Claude wept bitterly, slamming his forehead heavily against the cold floor tiles, drawing blood that stained the floor in front of the statue.

However, the statue remained silent.

Perhaps the trial has already begun, but he is only now beginning to feel the pain.

For a bishop who had been a clown for decades, both his confession and his atonement came too late...

The torrential rain seemed to threaten to engulf the entire city of Roland, while behind the heavy curtain of rain, the booming sound of cannons had just drowned out the death-stricken valley.

Mid-September of 1054 AD.

After two and a half months, the defenses deployed by the Carrion Clan in Death Valley finally began to falter before autumn fully arrived.

Because the railway that runs through the Earl of Spinol has finally reached the mountains.

Generally speaking, railways that cross mountains and valleys are not easy to travel, but the engineers at the Great Cemetery are all experts at digging tunnels.

After meticulous pre-battle preparations, the three-race allied forces concentrated their superior forces and ammunition, and launched a combined air, ground, and underground offensive under the cover of artillery fire and magic!

Coordinated combat units are like precisely operating gears.

Although they lack communication equipment and cannot coordinate information, they are still powerful enough to deal a devastating blow to the ratmen who fight their own battles.

The ratmen, still stuck in the previous era, had never seen such a scene before, and were immediately knocked senseless by a single punch.

Even the "crystallized aberrations" that kept pouring out of the black mist couldn't stop the mighty torrent; instead, they hastened the death of the ratmen.

A corner of a vast battlefield.

The Lane Battalion of Campbell's 1st Mountain Regiment, under the cover of machine gun positions on the flank, captured another hilltop and liberated the Lane people who had been kept in caves.

They were ragged, emaciated, and their dull eyes held no light, just like the Ryan people who had been rescued earlier.

Everyone was surprised that they were still alive after so long, and that the ratmen here hadn't killed them all.

It's simply a miracle.

Just as everyone was exclaiming in disbelief, a young man named Hart said nothing, but stepped forward and smashed the cage's shackles with the butt of his gun, then handed his hand to the person closest to him.

"Hold on to me."

The light that was gradually rekindling was being transmitted from one pair of pupils to another.

Three months ago, he should have died from an infected wound, but he was saved by a group of kind knights and a beautiful nun.

now--

It was his turn to save his fellow countrymen.

(End of this chapter)