The Villainous Son Loves His Mother - Chapter 47

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“Have I grown old too? To let her assume Dragon Form… But—”

Well, this is to be expected, Gramman thought as he sprinted through the fortress corridor.
In his arms, he cradled a spherical object about the size of a human head.
It was coated in a viscous, transparent liquid, and its color was blue—the Ice Dragon Eye.

The spoils of his battle with Faris.
Of course, Gramman wasn’t unscathed.
His body was battered and torn, riddled with severe injuries that should have left him dead. Yet his movements remained fluid and unhindered.
During the fierce battle, his left arm had nearly been severed at the shoulder, and bl00d seeped profusely from his back.
Still, Gramman raced through the corridor without losing his breath.

He had mastered the art of perceiving pain not as personal agony, but as external data.
The floor was littered with the bl00d and flesh of the Demon, and the metallic stench of bl00d filled the air.
Without so much as a glance, Gramman strode forward, his heavy boots scattering debris as he advanced through the dark corridor.
His destination: the fortress’s highest floor.
He leaped over the final stone steps leading to the upper level and found the entire hall submerged in a tar-like sludge.

“Oma, you glutton… You have no sense of responsibility as a servant of the ducal house.”

The tar-like liquid churned in waves, emitting a deadly miasma that drained life with every breath.
Demon soldiers writhed within the mire, their bodies half-dissolved or their consciousness fading. Even their cries for help came in ragged bursts.
Gramman stared at the scene with cold eyes, then stepped into the mire without hesitation.
The viscous fluid sank to his ankles, and a searing pain erupted as it seeped into his wounds. Yet his expression remained unchanged.

“Oma, we’re leaving! Prepare yourself!”

Gramman roared at the black mire that covered the entire floor.
The mire rippled, its surface breaking open with a glubbing sound as the center began to swirl inward, converging into a single point.
The dense black substance coalesced, as if the miasma itself had gained sentience and was gathering with purpose.
From this mass emerged the semblance of a dragon.
By devouring Sharki, the Division Commander of the Western Army of the Former Demon King, Oma had come to understand what a dragon was.
Gramman leaped onto its back.

“Let’s go,”

With that single word, Oma spread its wings wide.
A frigid gust of wind scattered the pitch-black liquid, and before the demon soldiers could even voice their resentment, their bodies were engulfed by the darkness and blasted apart.
In the next instant, Oma charged forward, smashing through the fortress’s outer wall with a thunderous crash, and vanished into the ruined nightscape of Darkheim.

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Some time passed.
The fortress had become chaotic.
Stone fragments that had slid from the upper floors clattered down the stairs with a deafening racket.
The survivors stumbled about in panic, overwhelmed by the sudden assault.
The grand hall was a scene of utter devastation.
Its former splendor was nowhere to be seen. Most of the floor had crumbled away, and the ceiling decorations lay shattered into fragments.
There, a woman lay collapsed—Faris, her blue hair stained with bl00d.
One of her eyes had been gouged out, raw fluid oozing from the empty socket.
Covered in countless wounds, she appeared completely lifeless from a distance.

“Co-Commander Faris…!”

A few demon soldiers gathered around her, calling out in hushed voices as if pleading for help.
As they cautiously reached to lift her, Faris’s lips trembled faintly.

“She’s alive! Hurry and treat her!”

One soldier shouted desperately. The surrounding demon soldiers, suppressing their panic, began preparing emergency care.
Touching her ice-cold body was dangerous, but there was no time for hesitation.
Unless they stopped the bleeding here and now, she could stop breathing at any moment.

“Damn it… the wound is too deep!”

“Pour in your magical power! Don’t hold back!”

The voices echoed through the grand hall.
But the severity of the injury, combined with the Ice Dragon’s unique resistance, made it impossible to staunch the bleeding.
Still, the soldiers relentlessly channeled their magical power, their efforts now resembling prayer more than combat.

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This was a colossal cavern located some distance from Darkheim.
Its ceiling soared to an unnatural height, and deep within, a lava flow seemed to be contained, occasionally emitting a thunderous, earth-shaking roar.
The Demon Dragon Yggdra had claimed the cavern’s depths as his lair.
Just as Gramman and Oma departed the fortress, a pale-faced member of the Demon Clan came rushing to Yggdra.

“Reporting… the fortress has been attacked by an unknown force…”

Gasping for breath, the demon soldier managed to utter those words before Yggdra shot to his feet.
His Dragon Eye blazed crimson with incandescent rage.

“What?!”

Yggdra cut himself off, his face contorted with fury. Even without transforming into his dragon form, his presence overwhelmed the surroundings.

“What was Faris doing?!”

“S-she was attacked by the intruders…”

Yggdra couldn’t believe the demon soldier’s words. Faris, the Ice Dragon, was second only to him in strength within the fortress. Yet the messenger wouldn’t dare deliver false news about such a matter.
When Yggdra arrived at the fortress, the enemy had already vanished. Loathing human forms, he waited outside for the report. Soon, a breathless demon soldier found him and relayed the situation: Faris had been critically wounded in the great hall and now teetered on the brink of life and death.
The attackers, few in number or perhaps even a single individual, had breached the castle’s defenses with extraordinary force.
Yggdra listened, grinding his teeth.
Letting out a low growl, as if suppressing his frustration, he soared into the sky.
But no matter how hard he strained his eyes, he couldn’t spot any trace of the attackers.
Fueled by rage, Yggdra circled the sky, his roars echoing through the air.
Finally, he exhaled heavily, a sudden suspicion forming in his mind.

(Could this be connected to the Demon King…?)

Only a select few from the Former Demon King’s Army—those with sufficient power—could hear the “voice” of Demon King Beelzebub.
That voice had fallen silent not long ago.
Yggdra had received a report from a subordinate planted by Demon King Beelzebub within Emperor Valfried of the Gaines Empire, stating that preparations for the Incarnation Ritual were complete.

Since Demon King Beelzebub departed for the Empire, the “voice” had fallen silent, and no word had been heard from him.

“Could it be… the Hero?”

Yggdra couldn’t entirely dismiss the possibility.

“But even if a Hero had already been chosen, wielding such power would require extensive training…”

He couldn’t believe that a newly chosen Hero, even with a Magical Body, could defeat Demon King Beelzebub. Yet the reality remained: Beelzebub hadn’t returned, and countless demons had been slain.

“If it’s not the Hero, then what else could the Empire possess…?”

Yggdra glared across the Nezasia Sea.
The turbulent waves surged ceaselessly, resembling countless pitch-black fangs rising from the depths. Above this tempestuous sea, the Pole Star shone with unwavering brilliance.