The Demon King's Guide To Not Getting Defeated By A Paladin-Chapter 51 - 50: Holy Morgana

The night was a heavy, suffocating cloak that draped over the academy grounds, a chill sinking into the stones beneath Quinn’s boots as he walked Emilia back to her dorm. The air hung with a weight that neither of them could dispel, not even after a hundred questions exchanged between them.

"What were those things?" Emilia asked, hands wrapped tightly around her waist as though trying to keep herself from falling apart. "Those monsters... they weren’t just mindless beasts, were they? They felt like... like something controlled."

Quinn remained silent. How could he explain it when he didn’t understand it himself?

"And who could possibly be powerful enough to summon them? And why?" she pressed, her voice tight, panicked.

"How can we break something we don’t even know?" Quinn muttered, staring at the moon’s ghostly glow through the gaps in the leaves.

Emilia’s lips quivered. "Are we even strong enough to do anything about this? We’re just students, Quinn. Just students."

He inhaled deeply, the cold air biting at his lungs, and forced himself to nod. "Yeah."

It was a lie. It was always a lie.

A heavy silence fell between them. A silence that felt like a thousand words unsaid. Finally, Quinn looked at her, offering a small, forced smile. "Goodnight, Emilia."

"Quinn—" she started, but he was already turning away, hands stuffed into his pockets, head down, shoulders hunched against the night air.

He couldn’t bear to look back. Not now. Not when the memories were resurfacing, clawing their way to the forefront of his mind. The Demon King’s memories. Blood. Screams. A cold, merciless smile as the former Demon King swung his blade through flesh and bone as if he were cutting through butter.

Quinn gritted his teeth, breath ragged as he slipped through the winding alleys, his mind spiraling further and further down that dark abyss. Would he become like that too? Would the throne turn him into a monster, as it did the last King?

No. Not tonight. He couldn’t think about it. Not now.

His steps quickened, and before he knew it, he was outside the academy grounds, a barren, deserted field stretching out before him. The moon loomed high, staring down like a ghostly eye. No one around. No one to watch.

Quinn clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

"System," he murmured. "Take me to the Demon Capital."

For a moment, nothing happened. The wind whispered through the grass, a lone owl hooted in the distance. He almost thought it hadn’t worked.

And then—

[Preparing to Transport Host in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...]

A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind, and the world around him twisted, like a rug being pulled from beneath his feet. His stomach lurched, his bones ached, and a ringing noise pulsed behind his eyes.

[Destination?] the System intoned. [What do you seek, Demon King?]

Quinn swallowed, his throat dry. "I wish to see Morgana."

The world spun. The ground yawned open beneath him, and Quinn felt himself falling, plummeting, the wind slashing against his skin like icy blades. He grunted, muscles tensing, and just as the ground rushed up to meet him, he forced his feet down, knees bending, and landed in a crouch.

The impact reverberated through his bones, but he didn’t collapse. Not this time.

When he straightened, he took in his surroundings, and his breath hitched.

The Demon Capital was a masterpiece of dark grandeur. Massive, imposing statues of long-dead kings and queens loomed over the grand hall, their eyes cold and unblinking. Red and black banners draped over walls of polished obsidian. The air was thick with the scent of incense, smoke curling from enormous braziers lining the pathway ahead.

But just as he took a step forward—

"Halt!"

Two demons appeared, materializing from the shadows, both clad in dark armor. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, but covered in patches of scales. Horns jutted from their foreheads, and their eyes gleamed crimson.

"What’s a human doing here?" one of them snarled, his hand already reaching for the hilt of his blade.

Quinn could feel it — their power radiating off them like a furnace, suffocating, oppressive.

"Wait," Quinn said, holding up his hands. "I’m here to see Morgana."

"Morgana?" the second demon sneered, lips curling to reveal a set of sharp, yellow teeth. "You think a filthy human has any right to see her?"

The first demon stepped closer, blade already unsheathed, gleaming with a sickly, blackened aura. "You’re dead, human."

Quinn’s heart hammered, and before he could speak, the demon lunged, blade slicing through the air. Quinn jumped back, narrowly avoiding the swing, and as he did, he clenched his fists.

"System," he muttered. "Activate Presence of the Demon King."

The world stopped.

A pulse echoed through the air, a heavy, oppressive force that rolled out from Quinn like a tidal wave. The temperature dropped, and the air grew thick, cloying, heavy — as if a hundred invisible hands were pressing down on everything around him.

The two demons fell to their knees, eyes wide, breath stuttering. Blood trickled from their noses, their eyes bulging as they looked up at him, terror etched across their faces.

Quinn’s shadow stretched behind him, massive, towering, and his eyes glowed a furious, searing red.

"Is this how you greet your king?" he asked, voice a low, dangerous murmur.

"Y-Your Highness..." the first demon choked, hands trembling as he pressed his forehead to the floor. "Forgive us, my King."

"My King," the second demon echoed, voice breaking. "We... we didn’t know..."

"Get out of my way," Quinn said, his tone cold as ice, before stepping past them without a second glance.

The corridor was long, winding, but familiar. Unnervingly familiar. Every turn, every door, every tapestry, every scent of burning incense — it all echoed through his mind like a haunting lullaby. He had never been here, but the former King had. And those memories were seared into him like a brand.

Quinn stopped in front of the heavy, ornate doors. Morgana’s chambers.

He pushed the doors open, and the sight that greeted him was a vision of decadence and sin.

Morgana, with her long mane of dark hair cascading down her back, her horns curving elegantly from her temples, and her bare back glistening with sweat. A thin sheet wrapped loosely around her waist, and beneath her, a body shifted, a deep, rumbling voice mumbling filthy words into her ear.

Quinn cleared his throat, fighting the urge to flinch.

Morgana’s head snapped up, and when she saw him, her eyes widened. "Y-Your Highness!? You’ve returned!?"

The man beneath her laughed, a cruel, wicked sound. Wild hair fell across his forehead, and Quinn’s stomach churned.

Cal.

"Well, well," Cal drawled, his lips pulling into a vicious smirk. "The King must be feeling a little lonely tonight. You’re welcome to join us, Your Highness."

Quinn clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing as he met Cal’s mocking gaze. "Get dressed, Morgana. I have things to discuss with you."

Morgana swallowed, cheeks flushed, nodding. "Yes, Your Highness."

Cal sat up, a wicked grin on his face. "I thought the False King was dead."

Quinn smiled, stepping closer, eyes gleaming red. "Not dead," he whispered. "But much stronger than last time. Care to test it?"

Quinn didn’t miss the way Cal’s eyes narrowed as he took a step back, his jaw clenching. Morgana, however, still hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed. Her golden eyes glittered, studying Quinn as if trying to assess just how far he was willing to go. "Why are you here, my King?" she asked, voice laced with a sultry, dangerous edge.

Quinn didn’t answer right away. Instead, he strolled to the nearby chair, the plush, velvety fabric cool against his skin as he sat, crossing one leg over the other. He leaned back, arms resting casually over the armrests, his eyes burning into theirs. "Before we get to that," he said, his tone dripping with deadly calm. "You both know what to do."

Morgana’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she slid off the bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor. Cal remained where he was, jaw tight, as if resisting the unspoken command. "Bow," Quinn said, voice darkening, his gaze fixed on them like a predator watching prey. "Unless, of course, you plan on testing me again."

Morgana moved first, gracefully lowering herself to her knees, head bowed low, hair cascading like a silken waterfall around her shoulders. Cal’s nostrils flared, a muscle in his jaw twitching, but he eventually followed suit, sinking to his knees with a sneer.

"Good," Quinn said, a smirk curling his lips. "Now, tell me, Cal. Are you always so eager to crawl into my Mistress’s bed? Or do you just like pretending to be me?"

Cal’s gaze snapped up, fury igniting in his eyes. "I was under the impression the False King was dead," he muttered, the venom in his tone unmistakable.

Quinn chuckled, low and deadly. "Oh, I’m very much alive. And so are you – for now."

Cal swallowed, the sharp line of his jaw tightening. Morgana remained silent, her head still bowed, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

Quinn leaned forward, fingers drumming against the armrest. "Morgana," he said, his voice softening by a fraction. "Get dressed. I have a few things I’d love to know."

"Yes, Your Highness," Morgana whispered, quickly rising to her feet and wrapping a nearby silk robe around her frame.

"Cal," Quinn continued, his gaze cutting to the man still kneeling before him. "As for you... I’d advise you to get dressed too. You’re not as appetizing as you think."

Cal’s jaw clenched, eyes flashing. "I wouldn’t want to tempt you, Your Highness," he sneered, rising to his feet.

Quinn’s smile was razor-sharp. "Tempt me?" He leaned forward, eyes darkening. "I don’t think you understand. The last time I was here, I was still learning what it meant to be King. Now?" His gaze grew colder, sharper. "Now, I don’t need to learn. I know exactly what to do with scum like you. Maybe, just maybe... I’ll rip that soul of yours right out and add it to my collection."

The air in the room grew heavier, tension thick as a blade. Cal’s face went ashen, his fists clenching at his sides. Morgana, standing to the side, watched them both with wide, uncertain eyes, her breath coming in shallow, rapid pants.

Quinn leaned back, his smile cruel and composed. "Now," he said smoothly, eyes fixed on Morgana. "Why don’t you tell me what the hell has been going on in my kingdom?"