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Lord of the Truth (Web Novel) - Chapter 1853 The drop
Chapter 1853 The drop
This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl
Young Sector 101 - Planet Verilion - The Underground City"Your Majesty!"
"My life belongs to you, King!"
Step Step
Sakaar kept nodding toward the kneeling Demons as he walked through the corridors, corridors that had expanded notably in recent months and had finally been cleared of the piles of scattered bones. An hour earlier, he had begun his regular tour of the underground city - the long, deliberate walk in which he passed through every hall, checking on the state of everything after each secluded cultivation session he completed successfully.
This habit was something he had picked up, in a way, from the Lord. After watching him perform his customary visit to the restaurants after every success - a small ritual of celebration, a mark of affection he gave himself to separate one colossal project from the next - Sakaar devised his own version of it. But he, as the King of Demon Kings, already consumed the finest
delicacies the world could offer on a daily basis. So what could he do? Right - this tour.
It was how he inspected the progress of his race toward more civilized conduct, how he ensured the internal police force followed instructions properly, how he checked the food reserves, the number of newly emerged Kings... and most importantly, how he reminded them that he still existed, that their King was watching.
"Hmm?"
As Sakaar approached one of the carefully carved chambers, he paused, then turned and entered the opening - now widened enough to allow a Demon to walk in fully upright instead of crawling through the tiny passages they once used. True, the opening still had no physical doors to open or close the room, just a carved gap in the stone, but overall the construction methods of the Demons had advanced remarkably.
Inside, he found a scene that was somewhat familiar... yet still painful every single time.
There, at the center of the small hall, sat a mutated Demon nearly three meters tall, its fur pure white. Around him were heaps of spat-out bones, and the air was thick with the overpowering stench of rotting flesh. His stomach bulged grotesquely, swollen to the point that it looked as if he had tried to eat enough for the entire coming year - and still, he did not seem even remotely satisfied. "Ugggh..."
The Demon released a low, agonized groan as he clenched his massive fangs together. His hands tightened into fists with such force that even his arms began to tremble uncontrollably.
Sakaar stood to the side, observing quietly. He did not feel anger over the Demon's failure to kneel or greet him he knew the creature hadn't even sensed his presence yet. The Demon was entirely consumed by his own internal battle.
Fwoooosh
The Demon's swollen stomach contracted visibly, steam erupting from every pore in his body. The vapor was scalding, turning the open hall into what felt
like a furnace.
Crack Crack
The Demon's muscles and bones began to snap and shift loudly, sections of his body liquefying into pure blood before solidifying again in rapid bursts. It was obvious that something major was occurring.
The process continued for nearly an hour-
Then, just as the Demon's stomach finally shrank back to its normal size, he lifted a shaky hand and began feeling it, as if confirming an unbelievable reality.
"No... no no no!!"
This was the typical mutation cycle of the Demons.
According to cosmic statistics, only one Demon out of every ten billion
managed to survive and continue evolving long enough to reach the realm of a World Cataclysm.
But those statistics did not apply here...
Not in this place.
Not in a world where Demons fought organized wars, where entire cities existed for their cubs to grow safely, where training halls were fully secured and constantly monitored.
Here-in this place where they command fully-armed space vessels built for planetary invasions, corpse-harvesting campaigns, and wide-scale conquests, where an organized system exists to nurture the gifted and ensure no promising talent is wasted, where they possess the Blood Atlas that only the stronger Demons are permitted to study in order to deepen their understanding and dramatically increase their odds of achieving a successful transformation-
here, the chances of mutation are thousands of times better than anywhere else in the universe!
And yet... even with all these advantages, not everyone is able to seize this blessing. Sometimes, bodies simply reject evolution. It doesn't matter how much they eat, how many bones they crush, how many battles they survive, or how deeply they comprehend the mysteries of blood.
Some Demons simply... were not born with enough talent, enough potential, enough "spark."
And this Demon absolutely refused to accept that he might be one of them... He had devoured an immense quantity of battle-Emperor corpses, absorbing every drop of strength they had left behind, and he had even managed to claim the finger of a World Cataclysm-a treasure that countless warriors would slaughter entire armies just to touch. All of that should have been more than enough fuel to push his mutation forward.
But if the process dragged on long enough for his "fuel" to be completely consumed... he would fail. And once a Demon fails a mutation, there is no second chance.
His mind was teetering on the edge of collapse. His instincts screamed. His future blurred.
He refused-utterly and violently refused-to accept such a fate!!
...until something reached his ears:
"Young cub."
"...?!"
The Demon flinched as if struck, unleashing his soul force in a furious burst
toward the entrance.
Who dared interrupt his mutation?
More importantly- who would dare call him a cub after he had completed
military service on three different planets and survived battles that had killed
entire squads?
"Your Majesty!!"
Terror overtook him the moment his senses recognized King Sakaar, and he nearly sprang to his feet out of instinct.
"Stay where you are. Do not interrupt the process."
Sakaar motioned for him to remain seated. The king's voice carried a calm
heaviness that instantly suppressed the Demon's panic. After a brief silence,
Sakaar continued:
"Tell me, young cub-whom do you serve?"
"The Savior Lord, then the King of Kings, then the next in command. My death
and my life belong to the system."
The Demon responded with the oath etched into every cub's bones.
"Good..." Sakaar nodded slowly.
"And what is your ambition?"
"To protect the family... and to prove to the world that we are a race like any
other, not a disease."
The young Demon shouted, his voice trembling as violently as his body, which
was starting to wither from lack of mutation fuel.
"Good..." Sakaar repeated-
but this time his tone sharpened, pressing deeper, cutting through the Demon's
hesitation:
"Now... what is your true ambition?"
The Demon clenched his fist so tightly his knuckles cracked.
"Tobecome the next in command after the King of Kings!!"
"Heh~ King Amon won't be thrilled to hear that."
A hint of amusement flashed across Sakaar's expression. He pointed at the
Demon.
"Open your mouth."
"..?"
The Demon froze in confusion, then instantly obeyed, opening his enormous
jaws as though preparing to swallow a man whole.
Whoooosh
The tubes across Sakaar's armor pulsed once, then a single droplet of liquid
emerged from a tiny vent on his fingertip and shot into the Demon's mouth.
The droplet was darker than ink- darker than the darkness of the deep underground itself.
Even though they stood in pitch blackness, since Demons had no eyes and needed no light, the droplet somehow appeared blacker than everything around it. Its very presence distorted the darkness.
"Ghh? Ughhh..."
The Demon gagged as the unbelievably heavy droplet slid down his throat,
sinking with a weight that felt like i was dragging his entire set of organs
downward.
But the instant it reached his stomach...
something erupted.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!"
Sakaar watched the reaction calmly, then nodded as if confirming a personal
expectation.
"Good luck. I genuinely hope you survive."
He turned and exited the chamber-
only to find someone unmistakably familiar standing in his path, saying: "Hey!
What exactly do you think you're doing?!"
"Leosar?"
