Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 162: A Greater Kind of Evil

The old man stared at her, trembling. His mind struggled to process what he saw.

She looked like a demon, wings red like blood, red scales covering several parts of her body. To him, she was just another monster among the ones that destroyed his village.

He groaned in pain, trying to drag himself away.

"You there," Novaria said, her voice calm, almost lazy. "What happened here?"

He looked at her, confused. Was she asking? Was she really talking to him?

"You... you ask like you care..." he muttered through clenched teeth. "You’re one of them... Another demon."

Novaria tilted her head slightly.

"I didn’t say I cared. I said I want to know."

The village chief didn’t know what to do. She looked human, at least more than the other monsters. Maybe... maybe she was different. Maybe she could help.

"We... we were attacked," he said, voice weak and hoarse. "Yesterday a man warned us... said monsters were moving through the forest. We called the Guild. They sent adventurers... but they never came back."

He coughed, his throat dry and filled with ash.

"Then... then they came out of the woods. Demons. High orcs... And Goblins. Everything. They... they didn’t just kill. They played. They played with us. They tortured our men... they... our women..."

He started shaking again, remembering the screams, the cries.

"You have to help us. Please. I know... I know you’re a demon, but you’re not like them. You speak. You asked. Please. If there is anyone left..."

Novaria said nothing at first. Her red eyes looked over the burning village.

"There’s barely anything left to save," she said flatly. "But... perhaps there’s someone interesting."

Before he could speak, the earth rumbled.

From behind her, massive shapes moved. The village chief turned and gasped.

Dragons.

Drakes of all sizes passed before him. Some had wings, others walked on two legs. Above, wyverns soared. The sound of their wings filled the sky.

The chief’s heart dropped. Dragons, real dragons. Myths brought to life, legends existing only in books. There they were, terrifying, and in number.

But through his fear, he realized. These legendary beasts were strong, a thousand times stronger than high orcs, and in number.

He thought for a moment that they were salvation... until the first blast.

The dragons attacked.

They stormed into the burning village. Wyverns let out shrill cries before unleashing waves of elemental breath. Drakes crashed through buildings, chomping goblins and crushing demons under their powerful claws and jaws.

The high orcs fought back, but they were no match. In seconds, the dragons tore through them, burning and shattering what was left of the village.

The chief watched in horror as what little remained was reduced to ashes. A blast of fire scorched the well. A collapsing house buried what might have been survivors.

"Stop! Stop! What are you doing!?" he cried. "You’re destroying everything!"

He turned to Novaria, rage and pain in his voice.

"You said you might help! This... this is help? What are you doing?!"

Novaria didn’t flinch. She raised her sword slowly, the red blade glowing in the firelight. She pointed it at his throat.

He froze.

"I never said I was here to save anything," she said quietly. "I came because I felt ’Destruction’. That’s what I followed."

He trembled.

"You’re a demon. You’re like them... You’re not here to help anyone."

She looked at him for a long time. Behind her, the sky lit with fire and ash as another building fell.

"Something like that," she finally said. "I received new directives. This village is not saved, but rather... under another kind of curse."

The blade ignited, the fire swallowing the man’s scream.

Somewhere in another forest, Bel opened his eyes.

He had seen everything: the burning village, the terrified elder, Novaria. His connection to her through their bond had shown him everything.

He didn’t speak for a while, just sat in the light with the silence of the trees and the subtle groans of the resting lindworms behind him. Something in his chest stirred, not pain, not anger, just... confusion.

What Novaria had done was cruel, maybe even evil. She killed a man who begged for help and allowed the village to be erased without hesitation.

A new window appeared before him:

[Bond Ability: Telepathy Lv.2] Description: Communicate directly with soldiers. Stronger bonds allow deeper, clearer exchange.

Bel blinked. The system had evolved again. Curious and uneasy, he focused his thoughts.

"Novaria. Can you hear me?"

A pause.

"My Lord...?" Her voice came, surprised and faintly awed. "It’s you? You can speak to me... How?"

"I have this ability. You should be able to do it if you focus."

"Incredible... You truly grow stronger every day."

"I saw what happened, and I want to understand. Why did you kill the man? Why burn the rest of the village?"

She was quiet for a moment.

"My Lord, we followed your orders," she said plainly. "You said to look for dungeons. We felt something familiar... a pull. So we came."

Bel frowned.

"A pull?"

"It felt like your energy," she said, almost innocently. "It was loud, full of power. It felt like... you."

He exhaled slowly, piecing it together. She hadn’t done this out of cruelty. She had been drawn to the chaos, like a moth to flame. Demons were naturally attracted to their concepts. And now, his demons, his army, were reacting to destruction like instinct.

"And the old man?" Bel asked. "Why did you kill him?"

"He was injured," Novaria said. "There was no power left in him. No spark. I checked the surroundings. No one here is strong enough to be useful. If someone had survived the attack, I would have turned them. But... they all died."

Bel remained still. Her reasoning was simple, calculated. There was no room in her decision for compassion. Just usefulness.

He thought of goblins laughing as they raped women. Or Mammon using the little girl as a test subject. Then he remembered himself, giving Sienna the mark, turning her into this, just for a test.

Does the end justify the reason?

How different was he really?

Novaria spoke softly.

"Did I do wrong?"

"No," Bel answered, calm like a teacher to a student. "You acted with our army’s interest in mind. But I need you to do something else now."

"Anything, my lord."

"I want you to change your method. Don’t copy the demons we hate. Even if we are demons now, we don’t have to follow their path. If there’s someone who looks like they could be redeemable, someone you can judge fairly, try to help them. Children especially. If someone seems clearly twisted or beyond help, then let them die."

"Understood," she replied. "I will try to judge more carefully."

The telepathic line faded.

Bel leaned back, eyes half-closed. It was hard to believe this cold and quiet version of Novaria was the same person who wept in rage for Dusteria. Then again, he too had changed.

He placed a hand over his chest. His heart beat, but he felt nothing. Not guilt. Not sorrow. Even hearing her kill a man hadn’t moved him. The old Bel would have been enraged. This one didn’t even flinch.

Is this the cost of becoming a demon?

But one emotion still remained: hatred. Hatred for Mammon.

He stood. The lindworms stirred. They felt his intent.

"Disperse," he commanded. "Hunt any demons in the forest. But leave those with ’that’ signature."

They roared in unison before vanishing into the trees.

Bel opened his hand. A black key rested in his palm, embedded at the base with a glowing purple crystal.

[Item Acquired: Nightmare Realm Key]

[Description: Opens the path to a Special Dungeon: Category A]

Bel turned the key over in his hand. It was heavy, not just in weight but in meaning.

He stared at it for a long moment.

The key had been a reward for clearing many dungeons in little time. He’d been too focused to examine it then, but now the forest around him was quiet, and he had time.

An A-Rank dungeon. In human terms, that placed him in the Adamantite tier. Almost a legendary level for an adventurer.

But Bel wasn’t human. And his strength, after what he had achieved lately, might already rival those in the Orichalcum tier, true legends among mortals.

Still, strength wasn’t just numbers. He had power, yes. Power beyond what even most Demon Lords had at their peak. Mammon was dominated entirely.

There was also another thing. He reached out and touched the nearest tree.

Nothing happened for a moment.

Then, he focused.

[Authority of Destruction: Ruination]

A pulse.

The tree shuddered and dissolved, quietly turning into a fine gray ash that fell like snow. Around it, the plants twisted, weakened, then crumbled as if they’d never existed.

This was his Authority. The true essence of Destruction. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud. But it erased completely.

It was ironic, in a way. His greatest obstacle now wasn’t killing things. It was keeping them alive long enough to be useful. With this power, building an army was harder than it sounded.

Even so, he remembered the Trial of Ascension. That had pushed him to his limit, yet Mammon gave him more damage in an instant while he was using his strongest form.

What if the category A dungeon was as tricky?

He still wasn’t at his final stage. So maybe, just maybe, this Nightmare Realm could wait a little bit.

He sighed and let the key vanish back into his inventory.

There was no rush. His path to Castella was a priority.

And if what he learned about the city was true... waiting even one night might be too late.

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