CHAPTER 67: CH 67: THE START - PART 3

Berry’s footsteps echoed sharply as he led the bound infiltrators into Lucian’s office.

Their heads were lowered, shoulders stiff, but even then Lucian could feel the tension radiating from them.

Fear, anger, stubbornness—all mixed into the heavy silence that filled the room.

Lucian, seated behind his desk, slowly rose to his feet.

His no-longer-small frame didn’t carry any physical intimidation, yet the moment his eyes fell upon the captives, several of them gasped.

His presence weighed heavier than any chain Berry had bound them with.

Lucian stepped forward until he stood right before them. His tone was calm, not cruel, but every word pressed into their chests like a blade.

"Tell me... what made you so unsatisfied that you would raise your hands against this village?"

The revolutionaries remained silent. Their gazes darted between one another, but none dared to speak.

Lucian waited a moment, then exhaled softly.

"So, it is silence. That’s fine. If you cannot voice your reason, then I will give you one. Power. You wanted power for yourselves, at the cost of others. And for that..."

His expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. He looked toward Berry.

"...we cannot allow such rot to linger within these walls."

Berry’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent as Lucian continued.

"This village is not a place for parasites. If you cannot live here without poisoning it with betrayal, then you will not live here at all. From this moment forward... you are expelled. You will take nothing with you."

The captives’ eyes widened in disbelief.

Expelled? That was all? They expected torture, imprisonment, or even death. Instead, Lucian had shown mercy.

When Berry began dragging them out, several of the revolutionaries exchanged secret glances.

This was their chance. If they were only exiled, then they could regroup. They could strike again from the shadows, rally new support, or even find allies outside.

Lucian’s mercy was a weakness they could exploit.

But Berry knew what they were thinking. He had seen it in their eyes. And unlike Lucian, Berry had no patience for giving enemies second chances.

The gates opened, and the night air greeted them.

Snow crunched beneath their boots as they were shoved forward. Just as one of them smirked faintly, already planning their return...

Bang!

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the valley. Then another. And another.

The revolutionaries collapsed into the snow one by one, crimson staining the white. Their bodies twitched briefly before falling still.

Berry lowered the gun slowly, smoke still rising from its barrel. His face was expressionless, but his voice was steady as he muttered to the corpses.

"Lucian may be merciful. But I am not. I swore to protect him—and that means removing every threat before it festers. Your lives ended the moment you raised your blades against this village."

With that, he turned and walked back inside, leaving the corpses to be swallowed by the cold.

Meanwhile, Lucian sat at his desk, frowning at the mountain of parchment stacked before him.

Records of food distribution, trade agreements, construction reports... With the village thriving, paper had once again become a common resource.

And with paper came the one thing he had hoped to avoid forever.

"Paperwork. The true bane of civilization. Why must progress always come with this curse?"

He muttered bitterly, scratching his head.

As if summoned by his complaint, the door opened. Belphegor strolled in lazily, his white hair glowing faintly under the lamplight. His expression was amused as his gaze fell on the stacks.

"My, my. The great Lucian, conqueror of valleys, reduced to groaning over ink and parchment."

Lucian shot him a flat look.

"Don’t start."

Belphegor smirked and stepped closer, resting a hand on the desk.

"Shall I help? I could erase all this in an instant. Not a single sheet left. No more headaches." His voice carried a dangerous temptation, smooth as silk.

Lucian’s fingers twitched. For a moment, he did feel tempted. Just a little magic from Belphegor, and this nightmare would vanish. But he shook his head.

"No. I’ll handle it. If I cut corners now, I’ll regret it later. Besides—"

He glanced at the demon king with a faint smile.

"—you should start preparing yourself. The season of spring is about to come."

Belphegor’s eyes narrowed, his amusement faltering.

"...Spring?"

"Yes. The long winter is ending. Not just in weather. The wheel is turning. Fate is about to move."

Lucian said, setting down his quill.

For a rare moment, Belphegor didn’t laugh. His gaze sharpened as though trying to read Lucian’s soul.

"You never cease to unsettle me, my friend. How is it that you always seem to know before the rest of us?"

Lucian simply shrugged.

"Call it instinct. Or perhaps... experience."

Belphegor leaned back, sighing heavily.

"Either way, you’re not wrong. I’ve felt it too. The other demon kings are stirring. Whispers speak of summoning someone—an outsider, strong enough to shatter destiny’s hold."

Lucian’s hand stilled on the parchment. His eyes narrowed.

"...The ritual?"

"Most likely. It seems they’re preparing to gamble everything. To bring in a new piece, one that doesn’t belong to this world"

Belphegor replied with a bitter smile. He looked out the window at the glowing village below.

"And when that happens, this delicate balance will break. The underworld will be painted in blood."

Lucian leaned back in his chair, silent. His mind churned.

He already knew what the system had told him years ago—that a hero would appear, drawn into this world as a pawn for one of the demon kings.

That hero was the fulcrum of fate, the key to either salvation or ruin to this world.

But for Lucian, he was much more. He was Lucian’s key to finally repay his debt and get to his final rest.

If the ritual was truly being prepared, then the time he had been waiting for was finally close at hand.

Belphegor’s voice broke through his thoughts.

"So then, Lucian. When the world begins to burn... whose side will you be on?"

Lucian didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the flickering candlelight, then back at the demon king. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

"The side that survives."

Belphegor chuckled softly, though his eyes remained sharp.

"Heh. As expected. Always slippery. Always careful. Very well. I’ll play along—for now."

The demon king turned, his footsteps echoing softly as he left the office.

Left alone again, Lucian tapped the desk, his gaze hard. He whispered to himself, words that no one else would hear.

"The time has come... The wheel of fate has begun to move."