Summoned As A Mere Nobody-Yet Possesses An SSS-Rank Ability-Chapter 258: Bent to yield

The thought alone amused him.

Then—

Footsteps.

A knight rounded the corner, stiffening when he saw him.

"P‑Prince Zohar?" the knight called out, concern in his voice.

"What were you doing down there?"

The knight glanced nervously toward the sealed corridor behind him.

"You know the king strictly forbade anyone from entering that place."

"...Are you alright, my prince?"

The demon stopped.

For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on the knight.

Fragile, he thought.

So very fragile.

But he smiled—Zohar’s familiar smile.

"I’m fine," he replied calmly, voice perfectly steady.

"Better than ever."

The knight visibly relaxed.

"That’s good to hear," he said, bowing slightly.

"Should I escort you somewhere?"

The demon’s eyes glinted.

"Yes," he answered.

"Take me to the king."

The knight straightened at once.

"Of course, Prince Zohar," he said respectfully.

"Please, follow me."

As the knight turned and began walking, Prince Zohar followed.

Behind that composed expression—

Something ancient watched.

Something patient.

Something already planning.

Enjoy your peace, the demon thought, gaze drifting toward the heart of the castle.

It won’t last much longer.

The corruption did not happen all at once.

It began quietly.

Prince Zohar walked behind the knight through the long emerald-lit corridors of the elven castle, his footsteps perfectly measured, his breathing calm. To anyone watching, he looked no different than before—proud posture, noble aura, restrained dignity.

But inside—

This body is... narrow.

The demon examined the vessel carefully, stretching its presence just enough to test the limits.

Elf flesh is fragile compared to what I once wore... but adaptable. Yes. Very adaptable.

A faint pulse of dark mana flickered beneath Zohar’s skin, then vanished. No one noticed.

As they passed other knights and servants, Zohar felt it—fear. Confusion. Doubt.

Whispers followed him.

Not spoken aloud, but felt.

The demon smiled inwardly.

Good. Shame cracks the soul. And cracks... are where I enter.

They reached the inner halls near the king’s chamber. The knight stopped and bowed.

"My prince," he said. "The king is still recovering. Shall I announce—"

"No need," Zohar replied smoothly.

The knight froze.

Something in that voice felt... wrong.

Before he could react, Zohar’s hand rose and gently rested on the knight’s shoulder.

CRACK.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just precise.

The knight’s eyes went blank as his body slumped silently to the floor.

Zohar stepped over him without a glance.

"Too weak," the demon murmured. "Even now."

The hall went silent.

Not the calm kind of silence—

the heavy kind, the kind that pressed against the chest and made breathing feel wrong.

Prince Zohar stood in the center of the council chamber, the demonic sword hanging loosely at his side. Black mana rolled off him in slow waves, distorting the air. The torches along the walls flickered, their flames bending away from him as if afraid.

"For long," one of the High Elders said shakily, forcing himself to stand, "you have remained in this tribe because of one reason alone."

His fingers trembled against his staff.

"We expected you to marry Princess Linda. To become family. To inherit our trust."

The elder swallowed.

"But that path is closed. Linda has chosen her own will. Therefore—Prince Zohar—you are no longer needed in this tribe."

No one else spoke.

Not because they agreed.

But because fear had already stolen their voices.

Zohar’s head tilted slightly.

"...Leave?" he repeated.

The demon inside him chuckled, low and amused.

"What do you mean," Zohar said slowly, "I should leave just like that?"

Dark mana surged harder.

The floor beneath his feet cracked.

"Well, no," he continued, smiling—too wide, too unnatural. "You see... I’m about to kill you all."

Gasps echoed through the chamber.

"I’m about to kill every single one of you," the demon said through Zohar’s mouth, voice layered, ancient, cruel. "So be ready. Because you will pay the price."

His eyes burned pitch black.

"And the price," he finished softly, "is your lives."

"What the hell—?!" one elder shouted. "How dare you talk to us like that?!"

Another slammed his staff against the ground. "Prince Zohar, have you lost your mind?! Since when have you started speaking this way?!"

A third elder sneered, trying to mask fear with anger. "Have you not eaten? Is that why you’re acting like a madman?"

The demon laughed.

A sharp, chilling sound that echoed unnaturally through the hall.

"Food?" it repeated.

Zohar raised his head slowly.

"Who did you just call food?"

The pressure exploded.

BOOM.

The air itself screamed as Zohar’s aura expanded violently, smashing several elders backward into the pillars. Their bodies slammed hard, coughing blood. Wind spiraled wildly through the chamber, lifting robes, cracking stone.

King Zul—still weakened but present—gritted his teeth as he forced himself to stand.

"I’ve been wondering," King Zul said grimly, eyes locked onto Zohar. "You’ve been too quiet. Too... wrong."

His gaze shifted to the sword.

That sword.

"And now I see it," he continued. "That blade in your hand... I heard rumors. One of the sealed weapons from the concealed chamber was disturbed."

Zohar’s grip tightened around the hilt.

Black veins pulsed along his arm.

King Zul’s voice hardened.

"You are possessed," he said. "A demon has taken hold of you—through that sword."

The room shook as the demon burst into laughter.

"So the old king still has eyes," the demon said mockingly. "Yes. You are correct."

Zohar lifted the sword slightly, letting its skeletal design gleam under the warped light.

"This body," the demon continued, "was filled with shame. With resentment. With desire."

Perfect.

"You elves feared humans once," it said. "Then you grew strong and became arrogant."

Its gaze swept across the elders.

"Now you will learn fear again."

Some elves fell to their knees.

Others reached for weapons, hands shaking.

King Zul clenched his fist.

"Zohar," he said firmly, forcing his voice not to tremble, "listen to me. Fight it. You are stronger than this."

For a brief moment—

A flicker.

Zohar’s fingers twitched.

His jaw tightened.

Then—

The demon crushed it.

"Silence," it said coldly.

A wave of dark mana slammed King Zul back against the throne, cracking it in half.

"This kingdom," the demon declared, "will either kneel... or burn."

Nolan slowly rose from his seat.

The instant he stood, the atmosphere of the hall changed.

It wasn’t an explosion of power—

it was authority.

"Well," Nolan said calmly, his gaze settling on Prince Zohar’s body,

"I knew the moment you stepped into this room that you were already possessed."

His eyes sharpened.

"The one speaking now," Nolan continued, "is the demon. And frankly—he’s a weakling."

The hall froze.

The black aura surrounding Prince Zohar trembled violently.

"...What?"

The demon’s voice twisted, overlapping in layers, ancient and furious.

"How dare you," it hissed,

"call me a weakling? A high-ranking demon who has survived eras beyond your comprehension?"

Dark mana erupted outward, cracking the floor.

Before anyone else could speak—

King Zul staggered forward.

Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he clenched his chest.

"...Nolan," King Zul said hoarsely.

He forced himself to his knees.

Three thousand years ago...

that demon slaughtered nearly all of the High Elven Elders."

Gasps echoed through the chamber.

"He reduced our people to near extinction. At that time, no elf alive today could compare to the elders of that era—and even then, we were powerless."

King Zul’s fists trembled.

"I was there. I was alive. I watched him kill my father—my king—with my own eyes."

The demon chuckled softly.

"Yes... I remember," it said.

"He begged."

King Zul’s voice wavered, but he continued.

"Even now... there is no way I can defeat him. His aura is overwhelming. I’m injured. I know my limits."

He lifted his head and looked directly at Nolan.

"But you—

you are different."

King Zul bowed fully, his forehead touching the floor.

"Please... save us. You are the only one."

Silence.

Then—

Nolan sighed.

"Well," he said plainly,

"you should’ve just said that from the start."

King Zul froze.

Nolan turned his head.

Linda met his gaze—and nodded.

Celia nodded calmly.

Lyra crossed her arms, smirking, and nodded.

Damian’s eyes sharpened as he nodded once.

Nolan closed his eyes briefly.

"...Fine," he said.

"I’ll handle it."

The demon’s smile vanished.

"What?" it snarled.

"How dare you ignore me—"

Dark mana condensed violently.

The demon raised the sword high.

"DIE—"

The blade descended.

Nolan’s hand moved.

Not fast.

Not slow.

Absolute.

He caught the sword bare-handed.

BOOM—

A shockwave tore through the hall, blowing banners and chairs apart.

Yet Nolan didn’t move an inch.

Cracks spread across the blade.

Then—

CRASH.

The demonic sword shattered like glass, dissolving into black mist before it hit the ground.

The demon froze.

"...Impossible."

Its voice trembled.

"A human... caught that?"

It stared at Nolan through Prince Zohar’s eyes.

"I watched you fight through this elf’s body," the demon said slowly.

"I saw your strength. But this—this is beyond that."

Its aura flickered.

"You shouldn’t be able to do this."

Nolan stepped forward.

"Three thousand years ago," he said calmly, his presence expanding,

"you were feared."

The air bent around him.

"But now?"

His gaze pierced straight through the demon’s soul.

"You’re nothing more than a relic that overstayed its welcome."