At the sound of Ember’s name, several members of the Crescent Kingdom stiffened, their expressions flickering with surprise. Once a citizen of their own kingdom, Ember’s quiet departure to the Tempest Kingdom had always raised questions—ones never answered. And now here she was, shackled and humbled.

Even Galen, who hadn’t cared to glance up for most of the summit, cracked open an eye to regard her. His gaze held the same bored disinterest—but it lingered a moment longer than usual.

As Ember was forced to her knees in the center of the hall, a soft hum filled the air. All four detection crystals—two at the Crescent arc, two at Solara’s—glowed a distinct green. Their light pulsed gently, clear confirmation of a hybrid presence.

“As you can see,” Dove drawled, folding her arms and shifting her weight with smug satisfaction, “my creations are not some cheap trick. They work.”

Queen Lucy gave the room a small nod, her tone smooth. “Now that we’ve demonstrated their effectiveness… shall we move on to the most crucial reason this summit was called?”

The kings wordlessly handed their crystal chests to their respective court mages. Eliv and Mois stepped forward, taking the containers in hand. As Mois studied the contents once more, his curiosity stirred.

“If I may,” he said, his voice polite but probing, “would you care to explain how exactly you crafted these crystals? I find the process… fascinating.”

Dove rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do mind.”

Her tone was edged with irritation. “Because explaining it to you would mean handing over my method so you could waltz back to your little labs and replicate it once you get your hands on a hybrid. So yes, I mind very much.”

She leaned forward just slightly. “So why don’t you save the fake courtesy and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

A quiet scoff escaped Mois, his brow twitching in clear offense. He tried to maintain composure, but the restrained flick of his eye betrayed him.

Then came a low chuckle—soft, dry, and undeniably amused.

It was Galen.

Still lounging, he leaned forward just enough to be heard. “Your Majesty,” he said with a smirk, eyes flicking toward Lucy, “are we here to babysit fragile egos, or discuss the fate of Amthar and her people?”

Queen Lucy didn’t smile. She cast a brief sidelong glance at Dove—just sharp enough to cool her temper—before speaking firmly.

“Enough. Let’s keep this focused.”

With the chamber once again quieted, Lucy’s voice carried with new weight.

“After detaining Gordon, we were able to extract further intelligence regarding Sylvathar’s ambitions—or at least a more evolved layer of it.”

Valemir narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? Wasn’t his goal to create hybrids, return to the Demon Realm, and challenge the demon hierarchy?”

“That was the initial intelligence,” Lucy replied, already aware of the storm brewing in Valemir’s stare. “It came from the demon Galen defeated in the Ruined Lands.”

She let the silence rest for a moment.

“But according to both Gordon and Ember,” she went on, “Sylvathar’s ambitions don’t end there. He isn’t just building hybrids to gain power back in the Demon Realm. He’s planning to conquer Amthar—reduce it to ash—and shape it into a new domain for his twisted evolution of Gaia demons.”

A heavy silence followed Lucy’s words—tense, suffocating, like the calm before a siege. No one spoke immediately, but all eyes shifted subtly—some toward Ember still kneeling in chains and a few toward Galen, who now sat with his chin propped lazily on his fist, watching the room unravel.

It was King Valemir who finally broke the silence, voice tight. “You mean to say… Amthar isn’t just a battleground in his plan. It is the prize.”

Lucy nodded once. “That’s correct. Sylvathar has no intention of returning to the Demon Realm unless it’s at the head of a new legion—one born here, bred here, and tailored to survive only here.”

“And by doing so,” Mystica added, rising slightly in her seat, “he won’t just have power—he’ll have roots. Gaia hybrids tied to this world by birth, not just blood. That changes everything.”

Queen Seralyne exhaled softly, eyes narrowing. “So this isn’t war. It’s colonization. A full reset of the land as we know it.”

Dove gave a low whistle. “Damn right. Guy’s not just making soldiers—he’s rewriting evolution like it’s a bedtime story.”

Tharion leaned forward, eyes hard. “And how exactly does wiping out the kingdoms help him? Even if he succeeds, he’ll rule over ash and bones.”

Caelum folded his arms, his expression grim. “That’s assuming he still sees Amthar as a land meant for mortals. He doesn’t want to rule us. He wants to replace us.”

A chill crawled through the chamber, and even the ever-stoic King Omer shifted in his seat, his gaze falling back to Ember, whose expression behind the blindfold remained unreadable.

“Load of bullshit,” Galen said flatly, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, shattering the tension like glass underfoot.

Lucy’s eyes flicked toward him with mild irritation. “I beg your pardon?”

The room’s attention snapped to Galen. Every noble, mage, and monarch paused, their gazes sharp and expectant.

Caelum’s arms folded across his broad chest, one brow raising over his singular eye. “Magna Galen, I know you rarely take these matters seriously, but I’ll ask you—just this once—to show respect. This concerns the survival of all Amthar.”

“First off,” Galen replied, tone sharp and cold, “don’t ever say my name backwards ever again. Galen’s my first name, and it’s first for a reason. Get it right, Lightbulb Brains.”

Caelum blinked once… then looked away, silently conceding.

“Now,” Galen continued, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve, “you’re all letting this so-called ‘crisis’ cloud your memories. But lucky for you, I remember history better than most of your scribes.”

He sat forward slightly, voice low but cutting through the hall.

“Eight centuries ago, Amthar was first invaded by demons. They failed. We crushed them without mercy.”

“Three centuries later, they came back—stronger this time. That round we still won, but not without blood. Why? Because they brought Gaia demons, Berserkers, and the real heavyweights—the Infernos.”

He let the words linger before continuing.

“Then, two hundred years ago… the Third Demon War. That wasn’t a battle. That was a massacre. The whole western lands was annihilated—turned to rubble and haunted soil. And that was when we first tasted the power of Storm demons… Dread demons… and the Blood Demons.”

Galen’s gaze swept the table, eyes sharp.

“And now you want me to believe that the weakest of the Demon Lords—Sylvathar, a bottom-feeder with the weakest Sync-class demons under his belt—is going to conquer Amthar? Alone? Please.”

He scoffed, crossing his legs with casual defiance.

“He’s not a god. He’s a scavenger. And scavengers only get fat when the real beasts are asleep.”

The hall held its breath, silence clinging to every shadow—until Lucy broke it, voice calm and stripped of emotion.

“I understand your point of view Galen, but Sylvathar plans to accomplish his goal by using the divine light… the one Princess Sheila Granger possesses.”

The words hit like a blade. King Valemir stood sharply, eyes blazing with fury. “You better be joking with the garbage you just spat out, woman.”

Lucy didn’t flinch. “I wish I were. But it’s the truth. Your daughter holds a rare affinity—divine light. We all know this, but unfortunately for all of us, so does an apocalyptic demon.”

Valemir’s fist slammed the table. “So what? What the hell would a corrupted, filth-blooded demon even want with divine light? What would he gain?!”

Lucy remained composed. “According to both Gordon and Ember, Sylvathar intends to use Sheila’s power to unravel Amthar itself.”

The silence that followed was even heavier than before, until King Tharion finally leaned forward, brows furrowed.

“That makes no sense. Why would a demon need divine energy to destroy? Why not use corrupted magic like the rest of his kind?”

Lucy let out a slow exhale. “Well, seeing as I’m not Sylvathar’s bestie, I can’t really answer that, now can I?”

“My King,” Caelum said at last, addressing Valemir with deliberate calm, “I understand your fury. But if what Queen Lucy says is true, then the princess must be guarded at all costs.”

“She already is,” Mystica added, her tone resolute. “Magnus has been assigned to her protection. With him at her side, she’s safer than anyone in this realm.”

That brought a flicker of relief to Valemir’s face—and to Elanora’s as well, her posture easing just slightly.

But the moment was cut short.

A loud, echoing laugh erupted from across the table—sarcastic, wild, and completely out of place. Galen leaned back in his chair, laughing like he’d just witnessed the most absurd joke in all of history.

All eyes turned to him, confused and silent.

Eventually, his laughter faded into a breathless sigh. He stayed reclined, an amused smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

Valemir’s glare could’ve melted steel. “And what, exactly, is so damn funny?”

“Oh, forgive me, Your Highness,” Galen said with mock sincerity. “It’s just… this whole thing is so tragically poetic.”

He waved a lazy hand at the center of the table. “Your daughter’s life dangling on a thread. The end of Amthar creeping closer. Real nightmare fuel, right?”

Then his eyes darkened, smile fading to something bitter. “But doesn’t it all sound a little familiar? A situation—fifteen years ago. A so-called ‘solution’ that both the Crescent and Solara Kingdoms agreed upon with shocking ease.”

He paused, the air around him turning cold.

“To kill an innocent woman.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep