Chapter 181: Damian’s Plan

“Yes…” Racheal nodded, her gaze fixed intently on her husband, but Damian did not seem to notice.

His attention was locked onto Treasure, and there was a strange gleam in his eyes, something unhinged, something that unsettled even her.

“I’m curious. Can a cursed weapon be created with anything other than humans?” Damian finally shifted his gaze to her, and she nodded slowly.

Her instincts screamed at her, suspicion rising like a tide she could not suppress. Before she could voice the question forming in her mind, Damian moved on, his thoughts already racing ahead.

“Does the quality of the cursed weapon scale based on the quality of people used to create them?”

Buzz!

Racheal hesitated.

She did not want to continue this line of discussion. His tone remained calm, almost innocent, but the moment he asked whether other races could be used, she had already sensed where this was going. Now, with this question, the direction became unmistakable.

Damian, however, paid no mind to her silence. He leaned back into his seat, his expression thoughtful, as though her reluctance was answer enough.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

If cursed weapons were born from tragedy, then the greater the existence involved, the greater the outcome.

If humans could produce weapons of this level, then what of demons… or angels?

“What are you thinking?” Racheal finally asked.

Damian met her gaze, studying her for a brief moment as though deciding whether to speak or keep his thoughts to himself. After a few seconds, he chose to speak.

“If cursed weapons created from human tragedy stand at the peak of this world, shouldn’t those created from demons and angels stand at the peak of theirs?” Damian asked.

Racheal felt the logic immediately.

It was sound.

But the idea itself was something she had never even considered. It was not because it was impossible. It was because it had never been thought of.

“Using our enemies, we can create weapons for our subordinates and give our faction an edge. Imagine the people of Velmora becoming the equivalent of Los Hijos del Angelito Negro in hell, controlling everything simply because they possess an unnatural advantage over their peers,” Damian continued, his thoughts flowing freely, completely unaware of the shock that had taken hold of everyone else in the car.

Racheal, Lith, and Loth exchanged silent relief when they realized his intentions did not extend to his own allies.

Yet that relief did little to ease the unease.

There were things that simply were not done, not because they were impossible, but because they should not be done.

It was like the era of slave trade, when blacks were enslaved and sold in overwhelming numbers. Imagine being the only trader dealing exclusively in white slaves while the rest followed the norm. It was not inherently illogical, yet it was deeply unnatural and disturbingly unnecessary.

Racheal knew those thoughts were biased, and voicing them would only deepen the resentment Damian already harbored toward demons.

And from the look in his eyes, it was clear this was not idle curiosity.

He was serious.

He was truly considering it.

This man was contemplating hunting demons, restraining them, gathering them in numbers, and erasing them in a process that would birth weapons from their suffering.

As though they were livestock.

“We may need to acquire additional land. Somewhere remote… abandoned,” Damian murmured, his eyes narrowing as his thoughts sharpened.

With access to his abyssal abilities, concealment would not be an issue. He could cover his tracks, making it nearly impossible for demons or even the church to trace his actions.

The looming conflict between his siblings would only make it easier.

The chaos would mask everything.

Battles would draw attention. Death would become noise. In that noise, he could act freely.

Demons would gather in those war zones. Supply would no longer be a problem.

And with his current strength, subduing them was no longer a challenge.

“This can actually work,” Damian muttered, his eyes gleaming with quiet ambition.

Behind the wheel, Lith’s hands tightened imperceptibly as his body trembled.

This man was terrifying. Not just because of his strength, but because of the way he thought. He had no respect for the natural order.

A human hunting demons.

That was the kind of story whispered to young demons to keep them in line at night.

And now, it was becoming reality.

It reminded Lith of those who served under the Prince of Pride. They were feared across the underworld, untouchable by their peers, yet within their own territory, they lived in constant dread of becoming the next victim of their master’s temper.

A chilling thought crept into his mind.

This could become their reality under this man’s rule.

“The Los Hijos del Angelito Negro will most likely send people after us,” she said, her tone measured, deliberately steering him away from the path his thoughts had begun to take, and it worked.

Damian glanced at her, his expression calm in a way that suggested he had already accounted for this possibility. “They saw Arabs. Even if they search the entire city, they won’t suspect us.”

He was not concerned.

Racheal’s plan to impersonate members of the Blood Dunes served not only as a disguise but as an exit strategy. Even if pursuit came, it would lead elsewhere. And if it did not, then he would simply deal with it in his own way.

The thought of conflict no longer unsettled him.

Those days were gone.

“I don’t sense anyone following us, so we should be clear,” she added, trying to maintain the momentum of the new direction, but Damian had already drifted away from the conversation.

He turned his gaze to the window, eyes distant, mind already deep in calculation.

Gathering demons in one place and simply burning them would not be enough. That much was clear.

The examples Racheal had given were not instant creations. They were the result of prolonged suffering, of drawn-out tragedy that fermented over time before crystallizing into something cursed.

This was not something that could be rushed. It required isolation and time. A place far removed from civilization, where such acts could unfold without interruption or interference.

And more importantly, without witnesses.

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