Count Bloodwynne, of course, had planned to become the next demon king. He’d spent his entire life involved in the Church of the Dark Lord’s Return.

  When he was a child, his father was the First Priest of the Church. The position, passed from parents to firstborns since shortly after the last demon king’s fall and the gods’ withdrawal, sought to keep alive a cult that now had to remain hidden, as well as create a spy network across all kingdoms, searching for the Chosen One.

  When they found the Chosen One, the Demon King would rise again and they could rescue their God so He could return to the world.

  Yes, they had the sacred mission of rescuing their Lord, since He had been imprisoned by His siblings, the other gods, after the last war.

  As a believer and priest, Benedict knew things that were forbidden in schools and only remembered by families who’d dared pass on that knowledge despite the implicit threat of being struck by lightning if they named any of the gods.

  So Benedict knew the gods had created the world with their mana. That explained a lot about magic’s origin. Also, that they fed on faith, an energy similar to mana yet distinct from it. And he possessed the knowledge of one of the most powerful dark magic spells, perhaps surpassed only by the one his Lord would grant the Chosen One so they could recognize him.

  Mana Nullification. A spell that, at the master level he had it, could nullify the magic of any targets he designated within an area. He’d only used it in duels, so only against a single opponent. The king had no idea of Count Bloodwynne’s true power.

  Now that an emissary of the divine beast of light had arrived, now that the Chosen One had appeared, all human kings would soon face a dilemma: join them or be exterminated.

  But in reality, with a necromancer as powerful as the Chosen One in their ranks, they wouldn’t really have that second option either. It would be more like join as living beings or as enslaved, reanimated corpses.

  The count felt he was the culmination of his ancestral line. It was during his tenure that the Church would have to stop hiding. The Church had always been One; though his ancestors had faked its fall, hidden it, and renamed it. It went from being the Church for the Dark God’s Glory to the one seeking His return.

  There were possibly other hidden churches for the other gods. Or maybe not, since they were precisely the ones who’d imposed the prohibition. The god of light was the one who’d struck down with lightning bolts of divine fury the armies of the human kingdom that had tried to reject the ceasefire and continue the war with their neighboring country.

  When his son Damien told him what had happened with his roommate, a necromancer no less, with that spell that filled him with dread and made him jump out the window, Bloodwynne felt his heart expand with the certainty of faith. He was the Chosen One. So he had to meet him. His father’s words on his deathbed came back to him.

  The First Priest who finds the Chosen One may claim the position of demon King.

  All his ambition, which was considerable, synchronized with his faith. He had come into this world with a mission: free his Lord and lead His armies.

  What his father had instilled in him was that, when he appeared, the Chosen One would become the Church’s leader but, in exchange, the First Priest would be given a throne and the armies.

  So when, after the Chosen One’s anointing, his lord had shown him favor by blessing him with his new hand, that fanned the flames of his faith and ambition even more.

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  The ancient priests whom his Lord favored became practically immortal beings with a body unaffected by age and extremely difficult to kill through violence.

  Benedict was then on the path he was meant to be on. He was the culmination of all his ancestors serving his Dark Lord. He would be His Tool, the one to bring Him back to the world.

  His new hand was further proof.

  And then the Chosen One told him he couldn’t be the demon king because they already had one.

  That left him completely stunned.

  It couldn’t be.

  His Lord couldn’t have blessed him just to be the First Priest, second in ecclesiastical command after the Chosen One.

  Despite everything, with other important members of his church present, he couldn’t contradict the High Priest’s words. He had to agree to meet this supposed demon king.

  He thought it would surely be false, a mistake. After all, the Chosen One was very young. He could be confused.

  In any case, he had no choice but to wait until nightfall.

  He spoke, of course, with both his son and his closest priests. The latter were loyal above all to him.

  And as for his son, he made him very happy by revealing the family spell, the one only firstborns of Bloodwynne blood knew.

  When the time approached, they went to the gardens. After a while, Ronan pointed at the sky. They began to see a hooded figure descending, illuminated by the faint light of the waning moon and stars. The count frowned. Between the hood and the fact that the gardens weren’t lit at night beyond some torches on the main paths, no one could see his expression.

  The supposed demon king was flying, without a mount. Nothing like the dragons used long ago. But flying. Something no dark magic user was capable of doing. Also, as it got closer, he could see a mist surrounding it. When it touched ground, Benedict noticed the temperature had dropped. Was it some kind of intimidation aura?

  Because he did feel somewhat intimidated. But not enough to kneel.

  Not even when the Chosen One did.

  And then the earth swallowed him.

  Up to his neck.

  Him and the other members of his Church, everyone except the High Priest.

  “Are you fools? You stand before your Demon Lord and do not kneel?” he heard his voice thunder.

  He had him right in front, standing on the grass.

  He wasn’t.

  At that moment, the first thing Bloodwynne thought was that earth magic wasn’t dark magic, as one would expect from the Demon King. The second, that it was high-level magic, since it had swallowed him very quickly and had enough precision not to hurt him. At least not him. Immobilized as he was from the chin down, he couldn’t turn his head to look at the others, only his eyes.

  The few of his fellow priests he could see out of the corner of his eye seemed to be in the same situation: buried and unharmed, meaning the magic had also been area-of-effect. He assumed everyone else, though he couldn’t see them, was also trapped.

  Something confirmed when he heard both those begging forgiveness from the supposed demon king and those asking him for help.

  He didn’t have earth magic. He couldn’t get them out. Besides, he needed to move his hands to cast most of his spells, including the one that nullified magic.

  Perhaps his new hand, the one showing his Lord’s favor, would allow him to escape?

  He tried to move it, flex the bone fingers, but the earth held him firmly.

  Then he heard Ronan speak.

  “The greatest proof that he is the Demon King is that you can swear vassalage to him, and it will be binding.”

  The count frowned upon hearing it. If the oath was truly backed by the laws of the world and magic, then he must be the Demon King.

  But he didn’t like it.

  The First Priest who found the Chosen One would become the Demon King. His Lord had already shown him favor. Was this then a test?

  One where he had to prove his faith.

  He heard most of his companions say yes, that they wanted to swear it. His son and a few others remained silent.

  He wasn’t entirely sure how to do it. Part of him told him not to swear, another to do it falsely, without intent, to infiltrate. There were no artifacts left in the world to verify the taking of such contracts.

  What he did know was that he wouldn’t allow them to take away command of his Church, where generations of his family had lived with the sole purpose of serving his Lord.

  It had to be a test. He just had to prove himself worthy. More worthy than this supposed demon king.

  He decided.

  And when the divine beast of darkness jumped to the ground from a pocket in his opponent’s cloak and grew in size, and those of his followers who recognized it despite its puppy disguise let out reverent exclamations, he only became more resolute in what he had to do.

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