1000 Years Later, Even My Weakest Follower Has Become A Demon King

81 Layton

The Crow Feather Prophet saw the soul fragment in William’s hand and sensed a familiar aura. He stammered and asked, “But… But how did this happen?”

Although he knew that the Rotten Moon Undead Tide that happened at the graveyard some time ago was stopped by the Presiding Judge in front of him, it was still difficult for him to imagine him snatching a soul fragment from a Void Sovereign.

Was it possible to snatch something from a Void Sovereign?

William didn’t answer the other party’s question. After a few seconds of silence, he put the soul fragment back into his inventory and calmly said, “Tell me about the soul fragment sealed under Blacklight City first.”

…

Blacklight City, Corner Domain Alley.

A mysterious person wrapped in a gray robe and whose face was fully concealed walked on the blackboard stone path filled with sewage and the corpses of rotten rats. From time to time, he would look back as if he was confirming that no one was following him.

He turned left and right along the maze-like alleys. Along the way, he specially circled a few times before finally stopping in front of an underground wine cellar covered in green moss.

Finally, he turned around and confirmed that no one was following him. Only then did he knock on the dilapidated wine cellar door according to a certain pattern.

After a while, the closed trapdoor on the door opened, and a pair of sharp eyes looked at him through the rusty mesh.

“Take off your mask and pass your magical medium through here,” the person behind the door said in an emotionless tone.

Just as he finished speaking, a hidden mechanism on the door turned. A small door specially used to store guests’ weapons opened on the seemingly dilapidated door, and seal runes were engraved on it.

“Come on, how can you not know me?”

The gray-robed man replied angrily when he heard the other party’s blunt words.

Having scampered here in a sorry state from Thorn City and having worried about the spies all day was humiliating enough. It wasn’t easy for him to find this place. Now to have his magical medium taken away was a direct insult to him, who used to be in a high position.

“Remove your mask and put the magical medium inside. Don’t make me repeat this a third time,” the person said without changing his tone.

The gray-robed man looked at the person behind the door in anger, but the other party’s eyes remained calm. After a few seconds of stalemate, he could only silently mutter ‘needs must’ before taking off his mask.

This person was the adjutant of the Rose Palace’s Mage Hall under Vincent.

However, compared to his previously elegant and scholarly appearance, he looked like a vagrant. His clothes were tattered, and he looked exhausted. His hair and beard were in a mess because they hadn’t been groomed for a long time.

Gritting his teeth, he took out his magical medium embedded with a child’s skull from his robe and stuffed it through the small door according to the other party’s instructions.

The mechanism on the door turned, and his magical medium was retracted. The person inside closed the trapdoor.

Behind the door came the sound of a series of locks being unlocked, the hinges being removed, and a spell being unchanneled. After a full minute, the seemingly dilapidated wooden door was opened.

“Come in, former adjutant of the Rose Palace’s Mage Hall and former Black Blood Knight, Sir Layton.”

A man wearing smooth silver chain armor and holding a short sword engraved with blood patterns opened the door for him. Although his tone was as emotionless as before, the contents of his words revealed mockery.

To Layton, who had all his titles removed and was wanted as a heretical mage, the word ‘former’ was especially jarring.

But what else could he say in the face of the truth?

Letting out harsh words like “That old bastard Vincent is only temporarily in power. Sooner or later, I’ll make him spit out everything with interest” to a guard would only serve to make him laugh his head off.

Layton could only glare at the person in front of him before walking into the underground chamber disguised as a wine cellar without a word.

However, he stopped after taking a few steps. He turned around and looked at the door. The person had raised the sword in his hand as if he was blocking something.

“What’s wrong?” Layton asked unhappily.

“It can’t enter either.”

The person raised his sword and pointed at an empty spot.

“I say, is this still the so-called Gift Church that spreads the Moon Realm gospel? As a Moon Realm contractor, can’t I even bring my contracted partner with me?”

Layton flared up. It was already infuriating enough to have his magical medium taken away and be mocked at the same time. Now, the other party didn’t even allow him to bring in the Moon Realm spirit he had signed a contract with. Wouldn’t he be at the other party’s mercy?

“This is the will of the Prelate. Everyone who participates in this meeting is not allowed to bring in their contracted partner,” the other party continued without changing his tone.

“Then what are you holding?” Layton looked at the blood-colored dagger in the other party’s hand that was constantly changing and asked.

He could tell that a Bloodblade Demon was lodged in the sword.

Bloodblade Demon, a spawn of King of Deathblood, Brand.

They liked to choose a swordsmith instead of a magic chanter as their anchor point in reality. Once they successfully descended to Currere, they would encourage the swordsmith to forge a peerless demon sword. In the final stages of forging a sword, they would bewitch or directly control their contracted object into sacrificing to this divine weapon, allowing them to transfer their anchor point to the sword.

Everyone wielding the Demon Sword would be controlled by it.

A fable that was widely circulated in the Empire—a young and energetic person sought a powerful divine weapon to defeat an opponent he couldn’t defeat. After much hardship, he drew the sword and defeated his opponent, but he also fell into a bloodthirsty madness and finally became a fallen.

The prototype of this story was a weapon contaminated by a Bloodblade Demon.

“Sorry, I should have made it clearer.”

As the person spoke, he waved the Demon Sword in his hand, and a few drops of dark-green liquid suddenly flowed down from the empty air.

Layton felt pain in his ether domain, followed by a muffled roar.

“All the failures who participate in this meeting can’t bring their contractors in,” the person looked at Layton’s flushed face and said.

“After all, under the new order in the future, failures like you should be grateful to have a place to stay.”