Chapter 19: The Deceit of a Demon Deity
No matter how Oliver turned his head, the numbers in red hovered ominously in one corner of his vision. The countdown ticked on, low and slow, like the breath of a beast waiting to pounce. A timer—but for what? He couldn't tell. It made his skin crawl.
Yet, despite the dread it inspired, a thrill pulsed through him. He had finally done it. The Alchemist's Seal was his. And with it—the Inheritance of Asmodeus. The Demon of Blood and Nightmares. A Deity.
His thoughts trailed back to what he knew of Asmodeus from his past life. In secret, top-level scrolls of the Somaran Empire held records never shared with the public. They claimed that Asmodeus had once deceived Solomon himself—The King of Kings—and taken his throne for a short but unforgettable time. He was the only known demon in all of history to have accomplished such a feat.
But so little was known. Most records about Solomon were sealed away. All that remained were fragmented tales of his wisdom, his rings, his seals—and the demons he had conquered. Asmodeus had been his greatest adversary, the embodiment of nightmare and bloodlust, a being that bore an ancient vendetta against Solomon.
Oliver's gaze returned to the interface floating before him. He studied it, this strange window into a deeper truth.
He decided to let it go for now. After all, it was of no consequence. Maybe it would be the means for h to have yet again more defining abilities.
Bloodline Integration: 7%
It wasn't much, but it was something. Integration wasn't instant. Power and bloodline synchronicity grew over time, especially for those cultivating within dungeons. He had that now. His strength would grow with it.
Title: Slave of the Seal – He didn't fully understand this one yet. But he suspected that touching the seal had formed a kind of pact. A binding.
Title: Child of Vengeance – That one made sense. His blood still boiled with hate as he looked at the soldiers of the Somaran Empire outside the cage.
He seemed to have inherited an added hatred for the Somaran empire. Then again it was very ironic that he, one with a faint bit of Solomon's bloodline had inherited the bloodline of Solomon's greatest foe.
Thinking this far also made him curious as to the kind of person his father was. To think that man actually had so many children from many women just to feed them to the Seal. He must have known the value of his bloodline.
Then again, Solomon had many wives and concubines. His children were definitely many at that time. No wonder the Somaran empire saw themselves as his heirs.
In a world filled with many that claimed to be from that bloodline, thinking themselves better than most and guarding lines to it like a snake it's hole, Richie Von Rich would definitely be seen as a Heretic.
Oliver sighed. He wondered what happened to his father. Even in his previous life, he had not been made a slave like the others.
Oliver guessed that even Seraphina was not strong enough to hold him down.
Oliver scrolled through the rest.
Core Stats:
Strength: E
Speed: E
Aether: D
Mental Endurance: A
Strength, speed—all E. Understandable. He was a ten-year-old child with no combat training. The bloodline had just awakened. Still, Aether at D? That shocked him.
In his past life, when he was a slave, he had never been able to manipulate Aether. He had only sensed it during moments of intense emotion—like when a noble was angry and the atmosphere would grow heavy. That was how he knew Sir Bolton had activated his Aether when Velma had defied him during the banquet.
Now, though… now he could feel it. Aether was real to him. Tangible. His body resonated with its presence. He had become a Blood Initiate—the first rank of bloodline cultivation.
It allowed him to sense Aether, the base energy that powered the world. He couldn't manipulate it yet, but it was a beginning. A strong one.
Looking at Velma, Oliver was able to see it—tiny glowing specks, like dust-sized fireflies, hovered near her skin. Aether. Sealed by the chains around her neck, but still present. Others in the carriage had the same glow, faint and flickering.
But the soldiers outside… their Aether was heavier. Thicker. And red.
Oliver clenched his jaw. He knew why.
Aethet was scarce in the world, but somaran empire had a way to harvest it wrongly from the dungeons.
The Somaran Empire stole Aether.
Their soldiers didn't cultivate it naturally. They used the seal to bind slaves and sent them into dungeons.
The battle experiences, and the power gained from the dungeons, were then transferred to their masters. It was a twisted, parasitic system. The very method that had bled him dry in his first life.
He had not been a dungeon slave, but a slave with royal blood suffered the same fate nevertheless.
He turned back to the interface.
Contract: Demon Accra – Rank A
There were notes about influence. Apparently, Accra could still affect his environment in small ways. Hopefully, that would not break him.
But the gift of the contract far outweighed the risk.
He now had access to the Library of Demon Knowledge—a reservoir of lost, forbidden lore. In his past life, such information would have been worth a fortune in Aether stones—enough to bankrupt a small kingdom.
Accra had once been a Duke of the demon realm. Fallen, yes—but his knowledge remained intact.
This was incredible benefit for the contract they had.
If not for Accra's power, signing an A Rank Contract would have been difficult. Not many demons were able to do that even if they wanted to.
Growth was a constant productive action.
Ability: Gifting Nightmares – This had to be what happened to Sir Bolton. Oliver hadn't attacked him directly, but something in the blood realm had. Torn him apart, screaming.
It was a terrifying ability. But a bit limited. It would only work on targets with weaker mental defenses. Someone like Bolton, an outer noble of the First Wall of the Somaran empire was such a person. He was not weak, but most outer wall nobles did not have the luxury of feeding of dungeon slaves that were of noble or royal origins.
They fed Strength from commoner slaves of the dungeon.
Ability: Thirst of Vengeance (Passive) Ability: Blood Sense Ability: Dream Trial Adaptation – He paused. This one was new.
Oliver was knowledgeable on affairs that had to do with Solomon's seal which allowed people to visit the dungeons, and therefore easily adapt to the alchemist's seal.
But he had never heard anything about Dream Trial.
Before he could wonder further, a loud sound shattered the silence. The carriage lurched, then came to a stop.
Outside, a sharp voice shouted. Orders.
The cage doors groaned open.
Chains rattled.
Soldiers barked commands as they forced the captives to descend. Oliver's bare feet hit the cracked stone of a dried-out port. The salt in the air stung his nostrils, as the brine-slick wind cut at his skin.
Velma instinctively pulled him over to herself. She would not let her little brother come to harm.
Around them, other nobles staggered down, some wounded, some gasping. One boy still wore the bloodied remnants of royal armor—it's sides were dented, and his eyes hollow of hope.
For Oliver, this was not the first time. Back then, he had been like the others, scarred, worried, with a lot of questions.
The scene like that time had not changed. Many cried, some called for their mothers and fathers a d others their gods.
A young princess screamed as a soldier yanked her hair. She resisted. He drove a fist into her stomach. She collapsed.
Another noble wanted to step up, stating that this was not how women should be treated, but a punch plastered his face and the soldiers laughed.
Oliver knew that these former nobles were not aware of their fate. There was no discrimination here. If one were to fault, then a good beating was the cheapest they would get.
What's more, the only reason these soldiers were lenient with their hits was because there were plans to sell these people to different farms.
But for those that were very stubborn, chains were driven through palms. Blood spilled. Groans echoed.
One man who thought he was smart and bold. He looked around, wild-eyed, and made a run for it.
A soldier on a Rhino beast brought him down with a crack of a whip and a bolt of Aether. The man writhed, then stilled.
The message was clear: obedience or death.
Oliver watched it all. As one that had lived through it before and he was seeing it again, he really had mixed feelings in his heart.
At such a time, a soldier stepped forward, his voice thick and commanding for all to hear.
"You maggots will now be taken to the Somaran Empire to begin your service. But before that, Anyone that is sick or about to die would be fed to the beasts. Dead weight will not be tolerated."
At such a moment, the timer at the corner of Oliver's eyes alarmed up.
'2 minutes to dream realm.'
And then came the witty voice.
>Hey, it's time to go. Slam on your pj's and let's call it a night.
However, there was one major problem with this.
Not so far away, a soldier came across a couple as he was going through his inspection of the slaves.
The husband was carrying his wife in his arms saying that she was only tired and needed to rest to regain her strength. Thr carraige conditions had not been merciful to her.
The man pleaded that he would carry her along the way, till they reached their destination.
One look at the woman in question and the soldier knew that the man was not lying.
But the soldier grinned as he suddenly waved his hand. His sword, charged with Arther cleanly cut the head of the woman in the man's hands. Blood splattered everywhere.
"Like I said, Dead weight will all be fed to the beasts...."
>"1 minute to sleep and dream." The voice chimed again.
Now, Oliver understood what the timer was for. But according to his calculations, it would take another minute and some more seconds for the Soldier to reach him and his sister. If he slept here, his fate would be sealed in death, and yet...