Chapter 644: The Sacred Pact Signed Beneath the Demon King

The twilight's afterglow and the cheers of victory were blocked by thick rock layers, unable to penetrate the darkness deep beneath the earth.

This was the core of the "Court of Flesh."

It was also the heart of the Putrid Clan.

Though the entire court had been utterly destroyed by that mad giant rat, much remained beneath the towering mountain—items too hastily abandoned or too difficult to dismantle and obliterate.

The group stepped into the decaying court, filled with the joy of victory.

Yet before long, the joy clinging to their hearts was diluted by the mounting weight of horror.

Corpses, corpses… still corpses.

The air reeked of a nauseating mixture—the sour stench of rotting flesh blended with alchemical reagents.

Sir Dickbin walked at the front of the column.

Once a dapper envoy with his hair always perfectly combed, he had now been forged by war into a hardened man.

Not only that—his rank had risen from Second Lieutenant of the Lyne Company to Captain, and his position had advanced from squad leader to company commander.

His boots squelched on the sticky ground with a wet slap-slap as he scanned the surroundings warily and muttered sharply.

"Hold your torches higher. Watch the corners."

Several young soldiers followed close behind, their bayoneted rifles meticulously probing every crevice, wary of any rat-men emerging.

Though the Putrid Clan had been utterly defeated, clearing every last rat-man from these mountains would take a long time.

The group pressed forward and entered a cavernous chamber carved by human hands. When the torchlight fully illuminated the spherical space, everyone stopped breathing.

Before them stood a massive grinding stone, its gears slowly turning under inertia, emitting a grating, teeth-chilling squeal.

Beneath the grinding stone was a funnel.

Below the funnel stretched a subterranean river and a vast reservoir, filled to the brim with thick, dark-red sludge.

Bubbles rose continuously from beneath the sludge, like unfiltered grape must still clinging to pulp and seeds in a wine barrel.

"Ugh—!"

Seeing the dried meat chunks hanging nearby, a new recruit could no longer bear it—he staggered against the wall and vomited violently.

Instantly, as if contagious, two more soldiers bent over, retching.

Even Dickbin, hardened by countless battlefields, felt his stomach churn—he longed to drag in a bomb and blow the entire cave to rubble.

He forced down his nausea, stepped toward the massive "grinding stone," and soon spotted residual fibers nearby.

They were clearly not fragments of clothing.

They were hair.

Dickbin's hand trembled; he stepped back two paces, unable to look again at that gateway to hell, and turned toward the adjacent room.

It appeared to be a laboratory—the walls still bore unremoved magic-crystal lamps, and the cluttered worktables retained traces of human life.

Though no one remained, piles of unclaimed supply crates and ledger-like documents still lay stacked in the corner.

Sir Dickbin stepped forward, removed the bayonet from his rifle, and used it as a pry bar to force open a sealed wooden crate.

The lid flew open—inside were no rat-man treasures, but neatly stacked alchemical reagent bottles and specialized restraints designed to immobilize living subjects.

Though no family crest was carved onto these restraints, it was clear they were neither rat-man nor dwarf craftsmanship.

They were custom-made for humans of varying sizes.

"This can't be…"

Dickbin muttered to himself, rummaging further until he found a book on the worktable—apparently an experimental log.

But when he opened it, he found not experimental data, but something resembling a "goods delivery slip."

【…342nd extraction. Raw material: slums of Roland City, age 3–6, quantity: 50. Soul purity: low-grade. Shipment: one bottle of holy water concentrate. Note: Special urgent order from Lord Malus, destined for the Royal Palace…】

Though he had witnessed countless scenes of hell, Sir Dickbin was still stunned by the words before his eyes.

His index finger trembled as he flipped the entire book to its final page, determined to etch every word into his memory—never to forget this bone-deep blood feud.

If he had once clung to naive fantasies of glory and loyalty, now he only wanted to lead his men into the palace and drag that cannibal demon to the guillotine.

One soldier approached him, voice strained.

"Sir… what should we do?"

He would have preferred to burn these shameful things.

Dickbin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then shut the "experimental log" and placed it back on the filthy worktable.

He opened his eyes and gave his order.

"Secure the site. Seal everything here. Wait for the Royal Intelligence Bureau to arrive and hand it over to them."

Watching his grim-faced commander, the soldier swallowed hard, swallowed his words, and saluted.

"Yes."

This was the only thing they, as mortals, could do for now.

…

Deep night.

Dickbin stepped out of the hellish cave and returned to the Lyne Company's tent.

The camp was celebrating victory with a feast, but he had no heart for it—he returned alone to his tent and lit a candle.

The weather was growing colder; winter was coming.

He dragged over a stool, sat down, and by the flickering candlelight, opened his personal diary.

After long thought, Sir Dickbin picked up his pen.

The feather nib scratched softly across the dry paper, closing the chapter on this three-month-long war.

【After witnessing the hell within the Court of Flesh, I finally understand: the suffering of the Lyne people was not punishment from the gods, but precisely because they placed all hope outside themselves.】

【There is no savior.】

【If people continue to dream of nonexistent redemption and forget the dignity and pride of being human, they must endure the torment of livestock.】

…

The deep night air carried away the stench of blood from the valley, while the roaring bonfire dispelled the autumn chill.

"To victory!"

"To victory! Hahaha!"

The clinking of glasses echoed endlessly through the camp; the scent of roasted meat filled the air as lamb dripped fat onto the coals.

Dwarves beat empty wine barrels like war drums; lizardfolk danced wild, powerful ritual dances; human soldiers gathered in groups, raising their cups and boasting of their battlefield heroics and narrow escapes from monsters straight out of myth.

Three cultures, vastly different in customs, had never been more harmonious—everything felt as if it had returned to the ancient First Age.

Edward brought out his treasured wine from the Lei Ming County vineyard; Ironbeard Jasta, equally generous, unveiled his prized "Fountain of Fire" and shared it with the human officers.

At first Edward wondered what dwarf wine tasted like—he took a sip and immediately regretted it; the liquid burned like fire as it passed through him.

Sak Windrider had nothing impressive to offer, so at the Demon King's suggestion, he had wind-lizards haul in several carts of corn.

The charred, golden corn added a unique fragrance to the camp; after tasting it, the dwarf lords were awestruck.

Not because of its rich flavor, but because they saw its potential for brewing—eyes gleaming, they eagerly asked Sak for its price and whether he could spare some.

Sak hadn't expected dwarves to be interested in lizardfolk staple food—he immediately offered to organize a caravan to transport Gutaifu Kingdom's specialty to the Mountain Kingdom.

In truth, such a caravan only needed to be formed in Lei Ming City. The Gutaifu Kingdom and the Campbell Duchy had long signed a trade agreement, exchanging goods through Kolyn Kingdom's Deadwood Port.

The fertile continent of Jia Na held countless treasures—not just corn, but sugarcane, coffee, cocoa, and the Campbell people's beloved black tea.

Surely the dwarf brothers would find things they desired, and in exchange, offer items that would interest the children of the Dragon God.

On a relatively quiet high slope at the camp's edge, Luo Yan sat alone on a folding chair draped with sheepskin blankets, swirling a glass of rich wine.

Though his expression was relaxed, as if admiring the night view, his gaze was fixed on a status panel visible only to him.

【

ID: Luo Yan

Race: Human

Soul Rank: Master

Level: LV. 159 (+8)

Constitution: 304 (+13)

Strength: 252 (+13)

Agility: 260 (+14)

Intelligence: 2129 (+160)

Spirit: 2349 (+200)

】

The rewards from slaying "Soulbreaker" Mo Ke were being calculated—not only had Elin received experience points for the final blow, but Luo Yan, as the primary damage dealer, had earned a substantial share.

After all, it was a pseudo-deity forged from the sacrifice of ten thousand rat-men; its soul's scale could not be measured by ordinary transcendent standards.

As the colossal entity fell, a torrent of pure "soul essence" surged in like a dam breaking, merging with his own soul substance.

In this process, Luo Yan's level surged from LV151 straight to LV159—an entire eight levels!

Though still distant from the half-god bottleneck, the surge in attribute points had dramatically boosted his spirit and intelligence.

Moreover, his black flame had grown denser than ever, easily shaping into sword or dagger in his hands.

Sara stood silently behind the Demon King, her face soft as she watched him play with the black flame.

She was a loyal shadow—ever vigilant, never interfering with her master's thoughts.

"Sara, won't you join the feast? I can manage alone."

"No need, Demon King," Sara bowed slightly, her voice gentle. "For me, this quiet is the greatest pleasure."

At this moment, footsteps came from afar.

Sarah coughed softly, and Luo Yan, who had already noticed the footsteps, instantly dispersed the black flame coalescing in his palm.

"For victory, Your Highness! I hope I haven't intruded upon your rest—no matter what, I wish to toast you!"

Sir Wesley, dressed in military uniform, approached carrying a goblet.

As Marshal of the Campbell Duchy, this usually stern and rigid soldier now bore a rare flush on his face.

It was clear he hadn't drunk this freely in a long time.

Luo Yan rose with a smile and raised his cup gracefully in response.

"You are too kind, Marshal."

"You are too modest!" Sir Wesley stared at him with bright eyes, his voice overflowing with gratitude. "Without your strategic planning and tireless assistance, we'd still be stuck on Burial Peak fighting rats."

Whether it was the dragon-blooded from the Kingdom of Gutauf, the war machines that amazed him, or the Prince's own magic… all played a decisive role in this war.

"You flatter me. The true hero stands among the crowd." Luo Yan smiled humbly, his gaze turning toward the heart of the camp.

There, bonfires blazed skyward.

Eileen was surrounded by countless excited soldiers.

"Long live Eileen Campbell!"

"Your Highness, you are Campbell's sharpest blade! Allow me to salute you!"

"May Saint Xiang bless you and your brother! And your Prince Colin!"

The soldiers shouted her name, regarding her as the greatest hero of the monster-slaying—and this joyful scene was precisely what Edward hoped to see.

People dwelling in darkness need a hero more than ever. And compared to the mysterious "Flame King," his sister was clearly the better choice.

Whether in temperament or valor.

Of course, the cheers surrounding Eileen were not the only voices in the camp.

Beyond the noisy jubilation, several drunken veterans sat around a fire, gesturing excitedly.

"Did you see it? That burning black hand!"

"Of course! Who wouldn't see such a spectacle? The whole sky turned black! And that fire burning atop the clouds… it was like the sun had fallen!"

"He said his name was 'Flame King'! I heard our bard say it means 'Divine Envoy'!"

"By Saint Xiang!"

"No wonder… that monster's regeneration was terrifying, yet he crushed it to dust with one hand!"

These murmurs drifted on the wind through the camp, etching the name "Flame King" deeply into every heart.

Through the tendrils of his spiritual force, Luo Yan observed it all, a faint smile curling at his lips.

He didn't need to watch their reactions—he knew his daytime performance had been flawless.

The fall of "Soulbreaker" Mo Ke brought him far more than just experience points; his share of faith power rose by a full percentage point.

Don't underestimate that one percent—it was a share of the entire world's faith, equivalent to a Grand Master-level cultivator!

Marshal Wesley pulled Colin into another enthusiastic conversation, subtly trying to draw him into the feast.

Or, more accurately—

He was trying to bring him closer to someone.

Luo Yan saw through his intent; no doubt Edward had sent him. But right now, he had no intention of stealing Eileen's spotlight.

"Marshal, I appreciate your kindness, but I shall visit Eileen and Prince Edward later. For now, let us simply savor this hard-won victory."

Sarah stepped beside Luo Yan and gave Wesley a slight nod.

"Your Grace, the Prince requires rest. Please return."

Seeing that Prince Colin had no intention of returning to the feast, the Marshal could only wear an expression of regret.

"Very well. I merely suggested… if I've caused any inconvenience, I apologize."

"How could I?" Luo Yan smiled faintly, raising his cup to clink it with Wesley's. "To our Duchy."

Whispered conversations drifted through the crowd like wind, and the titles "Flame King" and "Divine Son" floated again into Eileen's ears.

Standing among the crowd, she wore an impeccable smile, nodding graciously to the cheering soldiers.

Yet deep within those clear, lake-like eyes lay a faint, barely noticeable unease.

She didn't care whose credit the victory belonged to, nor whose spotlight it was. What she wanted to know was what that black sun that devoured all light truly was—and who lay beneath the "Flame King" mask.

And whether it had any connection to "Luo Yan."

A strong sense of déjà vu refused to leave her mind.

Though reason told her that her beloved Prince Colin was a gentle scholar and devoted brother, utterly incapable of being that terrifying demon, she kept unconsciously overlaying the three figures in her mind.

"Your Highness?"

A concerned voice interrupted Eileen's thoughts. Teresa had appeared beside her, watching her with worry.

"You look unwell. Was it from the battle earlier…?"

Noticing Teresa's expression, Eileen paused, then coughed softly and forced a bright smile back onto her face.

"I'm fine, Teresa. Don't worry about me."

She didn't want those around her to fret, nor did she wish to dampen the celebration.

"But…"

Teresa hesitated, her concern still visible. As Eileen's personal guard, she saw through the forced smile at once.

"I'm just… a little tired."

Eileen shook her head lightly, took a goblet from a servant, drained it, and smiled at Teresa.

"Perhaps after a good night's sleep, everything will be better."

…

The night passed without incident—nothing blush-inducing occurred.

Eileen spent a restless night alone, and that brave little vampire failed to taste the Demon Lord's flavor.

She never imagined the Demon Lord hadn't gotten drunk. This immature night raid ended in utter failure against the "mastermind's" retribution.

Yet, it wasn't a total failure.

The next day.

The first rays of morning sunlight pierced the thick clouds, falling upon the snow-dusted Ten Thousand Swords Mountain.

Sometime in the middle of the night, snow had suddenly begun to fall.

It was the first snow of the year 1054 in the Os calendar; soon, the entire mountain range would be blanketed in white.

It was time to return in triumph!

The Campbell Duchy, which had saved tens of thousands of Saint Light subjects from rat claws, would reach unprecedented prestige along the northeastern shores of the Whirlpool Sea.

But before that, many important decisions remained.

In the central tent of the camp, a meeting that would determine the future of eastern Os Continent finally began with Prince Colin's arrival.

In the center of the tent, a vast map replaced the sand table, spread across the command table.

A red line, winding along the mountain peaks, split the entire region in half—one side to the Gaoshan Kingdom, the other to Campbell.

In recognition of the human allies' valor in this war, the dwarves decided to make a decision contrary to ancestral tradition—granting them portions of the Ten Thousand Swords Mountain.

So that when these humans left, the rats wouldn't return.

Though the Gaoshan Kingdom's strength was not weak, its population had always been a severe limitation. Though not as delicate as elves, they couldn't match the Saint Light people, who routinely bore five or six children.

The land they claimed was already at the limit of what they could manage.

"Then it's settled."

King Ironbeard Jasta slammed his hand on the map, his short, thick index finger pointing to the red line, his tone practical and blunt.

"We dwarves have no interest in those green southern slopes—best we could do there is raise goats. Let you handle it. We only want back our ancestors' 'Ancient Mines' and the entrance to the Underworld—that's the Jasta family's honor, and the dwarves' honor… and the capital of the Rot Flesh Clan. That damned tribe turned our ancestral statues into rats!"

Watching the furious Ironbeard, Luo Yan struggled to suppress a smile.

It wasn't because the allied forces had found the Gelo statue deep in the Flesh Throne—it was because he thought of the Purple Crystal Dome in the Demon Capital.

That, too, had been dwarven.

One could only say the dwarves had contributed far too much to this world, while humans and demons had forgotten these dear little old men for far too long.

His stubby finger moved southward along the map, stopping at the location of Hot Spring Peak. Ironbeard Jasta continued.

"Since Prince Colin favors this hot spring, let the peak serve as the boundary. The land below and south of the peak belongs to Campbell; the deep underground veins belong to Gaoshan. As for surface trade rights, we follow the old rules."

Duke Edward stared at the map, his joy impossible to conceal.

Though the dwarves took the deep mineral veins of Ten Thousand Swords Mountain, Campbell was not at a disadvantage—humans could never have developed those regions anyway.

In contrast, the vast lands south of Hot Spring Peak already had railways laid, connected to the railway line of the Spinor Earl's territory.

The mineral deposits there were plentiful, especially coal and iron. This territory of 150,000 square kilometers would fuel Campbell Duchy's industrial machine even further!

Thus, Campbell Duchy's territory expanded from 380,000 square kilometers to 530,000 square kilometers!

"King Jasta's generosity and fairness inspire my admiration. The people of Campbell will remember the dwarves' friendship!"

Edward bowed slightly to Ironbeard, then turned to his scribe.

"Record this: From today, Campbell Duchy shall establish the 'Far Mountain Province,' with its capital at the fortress beneath Hot Spring Peak, named 'Hot Spring Pass.'"

This would be Campbell Duchy's first directly governed province, not a feudal earldom.

Edward intended to use it as a pilot.

If Campbell's administrative system proved mature enough to bear the cost of provincial governance, he would merge the South Creek Valley and North Creek Valley earldoms into a single Creek Valley Province, further consolidating the victory of the Winter Month Coup of 1053.

Here, Edward glanced at Prince Colin, standing on the opposite side of the command table.

Recalling their earlier conversation, he judged this the perfect moment to announce it, and added, before King Ironbeard and Marshal Sak Windrider:

"The future Hot Springs Pass will be an open and inclusive city. Humans, dwarves, and the dragon-blooded friends of the Kingdom of Gutauf may all engage in trade, production, and even settle here."

"We intend to make Hot Springs Pass the hub connecting the surface world with the underground — this is a shared vision between me and Prince Corin!"

Sak Windrider, who had remained silent until now, immediately placed a hand over his chest and bowed upon hearing it was Prince Corin's idea.

"The Kingdom of Gutauf thanks the Duke for your mercy and wisdom. Our caravans and artisans have long yearned for exchange with the human world."

Ironbeard's face also wore a brilliant smile.

Since the Twilight Province fell to the Greenwood Army's internal rebellion, the dwarves lost their trade port with the human world and could only barter small goods with the imperial reinforcements stationed at Copper Pass.

If the Duke of Campbell's realm were to build a human city within the Ten Thousand Swords Mountains, he would welcome it with both hands.

The red wine of Thunder County may not match the treasures in his cellar, but it had its own unique tart-sweet flavor.

With the territory and trade pie divided, the atmosphere inside the tent grew noticeably lighter.

Yet Luo Yan did not let this ease last long, for the true matter he wished to discuss had yet to begin.

He gave Sak a subtle glance.

Sak immediately understood, taking from his personal pouch a stack of blood-stained documents and several fragments radiating an ominous aura, and placing them solemnly at the center of the long table.

"Your Majesties, as we celebrate victory, I believe... we must not ignore the evil discovered deep within the Flesh Throne."

These pieces of evidence were not all from last night's search.

The most crucial among them — experimental logs and blueprints concerning "Holy Water" — were in fact extracted by Luo Yan from Malus's space ring.

During the battle atop the Nameless Peak, he recovered Malus's personal belongings, which held many intriguing items — he had not revealed them all.

Now, it was time to reveal part of them.

Those standing before the command table exchanged glances, while Edward picked up one of the blueprints, his expression shifting between dark and pale.

Seeing the blasphemous annotations on the blueprint — those defiling souls and faith — his face turned visibly ashen, his fists clenching tighter.

He did not wish to repeat the gruesome details. He was only stunned that these bastards were so shameless — treating humans like sugarcane, squeezing every drop of flesh and blood to extract the primal essence of souls.

Suppressing the rage threatening to erupt, Edward took a deep breath, slammed the blueprint onto the table, and spoke in a hoarse voice.

"The Campbell family has fought demons of Hell for generations... yet never imagined that one day, our own king would become a demon."

"The Devalu family has indeed fallen. The Jasta family spurns them!"

Ironbeard Jasta glanced at the documents on the table and knew without close inspection what they contained.

After all, long before this war began, they had already discovered countless imprisoned Laine people in rat burrows.

Even the Flesh Clan moved their labs and breeding grounds southward simply to reduce their own troubles — directly causing the Campbell Duchy to enter the war... from the dwarves' perspective.

Sak Windrider spoke in a low voice.

"The Kingdom of Gutauf also spurns these soul-desecrating abominations. They are unworthy to call themselves children of the Holy Light. The Dragon God would never accept those who once consorted with such shame."

"Fortunately, our dwarven souls are foul and hard as stone — those delicate human monarchs probably find them unappetizing."

Glancing at the lizardman who sympathized with humans, Ironbeard stroked his braided beard and made a joke that wasn't quite a joke.

But soon, his tone shifted.

"... Yet I must admit, if this technology is perfected by those boundless evil mages, one day we too may end up in their breeding pens."

Ironbeard did not finish his sentence, but everyone present understood his meaning.

If souls could be mass-produced as resources, then no one was safe.

For instance, humans cannot directly absorb ratfolk souls—but they could breed parasites within the Ten Thousand Swords Mountains, artificially creating ratfolk Chosen.

He had no doubt these mages, devoid of limits or reverence, would do exactly that — and perhaps already had.

"So the war has not ended."

Luo Yan, who had listened in silence, spoke at the right moment. All in the tent turned their gaze toward this imperial prince, master of Corin's Duchy.

"Ancient pacts arrive too late to suit our world today. Take now: victory has come as promised, yet the hidden mages, and that mad king devouring his own subjects in Roland City... they still watch us from the shadows."

"If we ignore the blasphemy before us, their karmic corruption will swallow those who try to shut their eyes."

Corin rose, his gaze sweeping over every leader present.

"Therefore, I propose: we form a tighter, more concrete alliance — one that defines our duties and powers, identifies our enemies, draws clear lines against evil, and maintains eternal vigilance against the threat lurking in darkness."

This proposal struck precisely at everyone's pain point.

Edward needed powerful allies to confront the collapsing Laine royal house and the feudal enemies yet to come.

The dwarves were realizing that the Scholar's Dominion was the root of chaos in the Ten Thousand Swords Mountains — they needed new allies to balance old relationships.

This was not merely for economic gain, but for the survival of their people.

And the Kingdom of Gutauf — or rather, the players behind Luo Yan — needed a legitimate identity to step onto the stage of the Aust Continent openly.

"I agree."

Edward extended his hand first, palm downward.

"For our people."

"Count me in."

Ironbeard Jasta let out a hearty laugh, his calloused, scarred hand pressing atop Edward's.

"For the shared prosperity of the underground and surface worlds — for endless ale!"

Sak Windrider glanced at Corin, received his nod, then placed his scaled, clawed hand — covered in ink-green scales — atop the pile.

"For the balance of the world — so the old world does not fall into the hands of Chaos!"

Finally, the hand of the Demon Lord rested atop the ink-green scales.

Four powerful hands stacked together.

At the peak of the Ten Thousand Swords Mountains, the prototype of a "Sacred Pact" against evil mages and decaying royalty took shape.

The three monarchs and the emissary from the Kingdom of Gutauf did not write in the pact that they would target the Scholar's Dominion or any specific kingdom.

Instead, they swore a more solemn vow —

When the world succumbs to the corruption of Chaos, the Sacred Pact shall activate automatically — striking without reservation against the common enemy!

Once deemed "Chaos," whether the target is a lofty sage or a king with legal legitimacy, they shall spare no cost to eradicate them utterly.

And not wait for the long-dead Saint Xis and Emperor to act.