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Currently, in the village square, one that appeared so run-down, with a shabby and impoverished appearance.
A massive platform, starkly out of place, loomed like a monument to cruelty. Lavishly decorated with vibrant flowers and luxurious fabrics, it formed a striking contrast to the bleak, colorless village—almost as if it were taunting the poverty around it.
In front of this platform, a horde of around a hundred emaciated demons huddled together, their sunken faces reflecting a blend of fear and curiosity, their hushed whispers trembling on the edge of the oppressive silence.
Meanwhile, surrounding the platform stood an army of demons, their armor gleaming like trophies of war. They exuded an oppressive aura, sharp as blades, further deepening the villagers’ fear.
Their eyes, burning with deep contempt and disgust, pierced through the crowd like daggers. There was no empathy, no kinship. Whether family or not, the guards viewed the villagers as less than filth — creatures so beneath them that even acknowledging their existence seemed repulsive.
They did not even bother hiding their deep revulsion; sneers of disdain twisted their faces. The villagers, however, were already way too numb to this treatment. It had long since become a grim normality to them.
This bleak stillness, broken only by the villagers’ hushed murmurs, dragged on like this for what felt like an eternity—until suddenly, without any warning, the guards stepped aside, abruptly forming a path.
The abrupt movement snatched the villagers’ attention, confusion flickering in their hollow eyes. And then, they saw it.
A procession of guards marched forward, their every step exuding arrogance. But the true spectacle wasn’t them—it was the two figures they dragged with them.
"So... handsome!" A demon girl in a tattered dress and dirty-streaked face suddenly gasped, her voice trembling as her slitted eyes locked onto the unconscious figure being hauled like discarded refuse.
"Who is that?"
"I’ve never seen that Demon before."
"He must be from a royal clan!"
"Why treat him like that way, though?!"
The villagers’ hushed murmurs grew louder, a mix of curiosity and confusion filling the air as they watched the handsome demon—one that some hadn’t seen in years and others had never seen in their lives—being manhandled onto the platform, and then suddenly...
BANG!
The strikingly handsome, royal-looking demon, whom they had all just speculated to be from a family of royalty, was thrown onto the platform with such force that the impact echoed through the square like a death knell.
This...
The villagers recoiled, behaving as if the blow had landed on their own bodies, their faces suddenly contorted with shock
"What’s happening?"
"Why was he hit against the ground in such a manner?"
"He must have greatly enraged the leader!"
The murmurs grew louder, rippling through the village square as the villagers momentarily forgot the presence of the devil’s minions standing before them.
But then suddenly—
"Isn’t that Lilith, the Young Baron’s handmaid?!"
A sudden exclamation rang out within the villagers, cutting through the murmurs of the demons. In the next instant, every demon’s gaze followed the pointing finger of the middle-aged demon.
And their eyes constricted.
"Why is she bound so tightly, as if she were a green-feathered hen about to be sold for slaughter?"
Another wave of speculation spread through the villagers, but this time, it was laced with deep concern. All of them wondered why, of all people, Lilith was being treated this way.
Although they had long accepted that Kaelrik, the tyrannical leader, was a heartless monster—one who had long lost his soul and fully embraced evil. Never did they, however, expect him to go as far as to treat his orphaned nephew’s handmaid so cruelly.
"Wait!" A sudden exclamation rang out, startling the entire village.
All eyes turned to the speaker... it was a hunched, small-headed, one-eyed demon whose face was heavily etched with disbelief.
"I... I think I know him..." he croaked, his voice brittle with disbelief as he pointed a trembling finger at Xylen.
Everyone frowned, their gazes shifting from the demon to Xylen and then back again.
"Who is he?" another demon asked, voicing the question on everyone’s mind, and hearing him, the one-eyed demon swallowed, his voice cracking.
"If... if my guess isn’t wrong, he... he is our young lord," he stammered
For a second, a tense, pin-drop silence fell over them.
They couldn’t believe their ears, so they quickly turned back to Xylen, suddenly studying him with intense intent. And then, recognition dawned in the eyes of the elderly and middle-aged demons.
"He... he does resemble our mighty lord and madam," a middle-aged demon stuttered.
"How... how did I fail to notice this keen resemblance?"
"Oh my god, he’s grown this much?"
"I thought he had died all these years!"
"So, he really was in a coma all this time!"
"What a poor child... He lost his parents so young, had his barony stolen and destroyed by his evil uncle, and now he’s being treated like a green-feathered hen by his own subjects!"
More murmurs filled the air, their words indecipherable to outsiders. Yet, for those who listened closely, each voice carried raw emotion—pity, pain, nostalgia, and bitterness.
The villagers were so absorbed in their hushed conversation that they failed to notice the guards’ expressions darkening.
Cold hostility flickered in their eyes, their gazes hardening with aggression and murderous intent.
However, this lasted only a moment when—
BAAANG!!!
A sudden, terrifying pressure erupted from the platform, blanketing the entire market square in crushing force the next instant.
In the next second, the villagers’ eyes widened in shock, their hearts pounding violently within their chests, almost exploding.
But before they could react—
CRAAASH!
A powerful, invisible force blasted them all flying backward like ragdolls.
HCK—KUGH!
The weaker demons convulsed, vomiting blood. The stronger ones trembled, their bodies wracked with agony, their faces drained of all colors, with their bodies trembling frantically.
Cold sweat drenched their skin, their eyes wide with paralyzing fear. And just then, an icy voice pierced through the suffocating silence.
"Looks like you group of vermin have finally grown wings and gained audacity simply because I wasn’t around yesterday to train you—to dare speak so freely in my presence."
The voice was calm, languid even, yet it carried an undeniable weight and malice that directly sent chills down hearers’ spines.
In the next second, the villagers’ already pale faces drained of what little color remained, horror heavily etching itself into their expressions.