On that central throne sat a figure who completely shattered the terrifying atmosphere of the cavern.
He didn't look like a monster. He didn't look like a beast. In fact, he looked like a genuinely nice guy.
He had pale, flawless skin and long, perfectly straight white hair that cascaded down his shoulders. He was shirtless, his lean, sculpted upper body completely exposed, while his lower half was clad in long, baggy white pants that draped elegantly over his crossed legs.
He had a serene, gentle smile on his face. If anyone from the surface saw him, they would have dropped to their knees, convinced they were looking at a literal angel.
But he was no angel.
VRAAL.
Demon King of the Wasteland.
Also known as the Demon King of Hell—a domain that didn't exist on any known map.
The giant flying monster that had forced its way through the wind barrier now trembled as it approached the center of the room. It collapsed onto the floor, pressing its head against the cold stone, bowing deeply before Vraal and the four mysterious figures flanking him.
"Speak," a voice echoed. It didn't come from Vraal—who simply kept smiling—but from one of the four thrones.
The figures in those four seats were shrouded in heavy shadows, their faces completely obscured. They wore extravagant, imposing garments, looking like ancient kings of conquered nations.
"King..." the monster rasped, its voice shaking. "Intruders. A new group of people has arrived on our continent."
One of the shadowed figures leaned forward, his voice dripping with absolute boredom and heavy disdain. "And you came all the way here just to report that? You should have handled it yourself. Though... judging by the pathetic state you are in, I highly doubt you even have the capability to defeat them."
The monster flinched but didn't dare look up. "My lord, please understand! They are no ordinary adventurers. They are terrifyingly powerful. One of them... he can just summon monsters out of thin air. In a single second, legions of pitch-black creatures appear from the void!"
The room fell deadly silent. The monster swallowed hard, recounting its trauma.
"I tried to engage them," the monster continued, its voice dropping to a terrified whisper. "I targeted one of his summons. It looked like a mere Goblin. A bottom-tier creature. But... I don't know how, or what kind of absurd power it possessed. Before I could even blink, the Goblin moved. In a single, undetectable strike, it completely severed my wing."
The monster shifted, revealing a jagged, bleeding stump where one of its massive wings used to be.
"I didn't even see the attack connect," the monster confessed, the humiliation evident in its tone. "I barely managed to cast a desperate teleportation spell to escape. If I had stayed a second longer, that Goblin would have taken my head. They are undeniably strong."
The mocking atmosphere in the throne room instantly vanished.
The idea that a mere Goblin could speed-blitz and dismember one of their elite scouts was absurd. And yet, the proof was bleeding on the floor right in front of them.
Vraal didn't say a word. He just sat there, resting his chin on his hand, that eerie, angelic smile never leaving his face.
Suddenly, one of the four shadowed generals stood up from his throne. The sheer pressure of his movement caused the air in the massive chamber to grow heavy and suffocating.
He turned his masked face toward the center throne and bowed his head slightly.
"My King," the General's voice rumbled, echoing with deadly intent. "Give me the order. I will go and exterminate them myself."