The Damned Demon-Chapter 842: To Survive Another Day

Under the heavy crimson sky that hung oppressively low, the outskirts of the Nightshade Kingdom had transformed into makeshift training grounds.

The bitter winds whispered across the fields, carrying with them murmurs of determination that defied their starvation, exhaustion, and despair.

Though their bodies were thin, their cheeks hollow, and eyes weary, the survivors of Bloodburn still moved with purpose, driven by a lingering hope that clung desperately to the life of their queen.

There was an unspoken understanding among the refugees—they were on borrowed time. Each sunrise brought uncertainty, each sunset despair, yet each day also brought renewed determination.

They knew it wouldn't be long before fate pushed them to flee again or to confront an enemy that might outmatch them once more. But as long as their queen still breathed, they held onto the fragile, precious belief that perhaps not all was lost.

And despite not seeing their king even after weeks of their kingdom's destruction, many still held hope deep within their hearts that he really did not abandon them.

Across the training grounds, generals and lords barked orders in firm but encouraging voices, guiding commoners who never once in their lives imagined wielding swords or chanting incantations.

Their hands were blistered and bruised, bodies trembling from hunger and exertion, yet their eyes shone fiercely. Even those weakest among them fought through pain and exhaustion, desperately trying to grasp the basic skills necessary to survive another brutal confrontation.

"Raise your blades higher!" shouted an elderly general, limping slightly from an old wound, his voice firm despite the tremors in his own limbs.

"Imagine the faces of those draconian bastards—never again shall they break us! We can't let the flames of bloodburn die with us!"

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Nearby, a group of surviving nobles gathered around a makeshift forge.

Sparks flew upwards as hammers struck hot metal, the rhythmic clang echoing like defiant heartbeats. Noblemen and noblewomen who once wore silk robes now had soot-blackened hands, determined faces focused intently as they crafted weapons and armor. Some murmured ancient incantations into glowing metal, imbuing it with their last reserves of mana.

Elsewhere, potions bubbled softly in cauldrons, simmering gently beneath the watchful eyes of noble alchemists, who had abandoned their scholarly robes for rough-spun garments.

They carefully measured precious herbs and ingredients, desperately brewing potions to heal wounds, restore strength, and boost mana. Every drop was precious, every vial painstakingly crafted, every effort fueled by the thought of protecting their queen and their kin.

In a quieter, more secluded corner in the castle grounds, Esther and Jael stood with fierce expressions, guiding two young ladies whose fate now rested heavily upon their slender shoulders.

Silvia stood facing her elder brother Jael, determination etched onto her pale face. Her ruby red hair whipped around her slender frame as she summoned illusions interwoven with her potent blood magic.

Jael watched closely, his eyes narrowed critically, yet warm with quiet pride.

"Again, Silvia," Jael commanded, his voice calm but firm. "Focus your mana, sharpen your illusions. They must be so precise that your enemies believe they're reality itself."

Silvia's eyes glowed softly as blood-red energy surged around her.

Illusions flickered vividly, weaving seamlessly with strands of her blood, forming beautiful roses that shimmered before fading away.

"Silvia won't disappoint you, brother," Silvia murmured fiercely, breathing heavily as sweat trickled down her temple. "Silvia will make them pay for what they've done."

Jael nodded with a soft yet solemn smile, "I know you will. Our father will be watching us from the Seven Hells."

"What about our…mother? Will we really not see her again? Does she really not care about us?" Silvia asked with a trembling chin, and these questions were always in her mind.

Despite feeling hurt and sad by what her mother had done, she still struggled to believe it was true and wanted to ask her herself.

Jael's expression became heavy as the questions Silvia asked were plaguing him as well along with the responsibility of taking on his father's mantle.

And so all he could do was say with a weak smile, "Let's not think about that right now. Let's focus on surviving another day."

Silvia nodded with her lips pressed together as she continued her training with a breathless look.

Nearby, Esther stood serenely, her expression firm yet warm as she instructed her daughter Sabina.

They stood surrounded by an ethereal dark mist, tendrils of shadow entwined with ribbons of chilling dark red energy swirling around them.

"You must feel your blood and death magic not as separate forces, Sabina," Esther said softly, guiding her daughter's shaking hands through intricate gestures. "Your ancestors understood—they must become one, bound by your will."

Sabina nodded determinedly, sweat dampening her brow as she concentrated deeply and said with a smirk, "Oh mother, I am already getting it. Just teach me everything you know. Don't hold back. I can handle it all."

"I know you will," Esther whispered gently, pride gleaming briefly through her composure, "Our bloodline and our people's survival depends on you too."

Just a short distance away, Merina stood with exasperation, her normally kind, warm and patient demeanor cracking slightly as she struggled with her son's inattentiveness.

Kookus lounged lazily against a nearby rock, idly twirling a stick instead of paying attention to his mother's earnest lessons.

"Aiii mother," Kookus sighed dramatically, waving the stick dismissively. "Must I truly learn all of this? After all, I'm the grandson of the great Moon Guardian himself!" He puffed out his chest proudly, offering Merina a confident yet utterly naive grin, "When the time comes, I'll be an Alpha, powerful enough to protect you! It's just that my growth spurt hasn't happened yet!"

Merina pressed her fingers to her temple, suppressing a groan as she regarded her son. "Kookus, strength does not come from birthright alone. Even your grandfather trained tirelessly. What will you do if you're unprepared? You saw how we almost died last time if not for your sister saving us."

Kookus shrugged nonchalantly, flashing a carefree smile, "With a mother like you, a sister like that, and a grandfather like mine, how could I ever fail?"

Merina sighed deeply, shaking her head in weary helplessness mixed with frustration, "Your overconfidence will be your downfall if you don't start taking this seriously, Kookus. I am being really serious here."

"Aaaah, you are going to tire your only son to death. But fine! If this will make you feel relieved!" With a lazy grunt, Kookus got back on his feet, getting back to his training.

Yet despite her worry, a faint smile tugged at Merina's lips as she watched her son get back to it.

Though troublesome and naive, he was a bright spark amidst the darkness—a small reminder of simpler, happier times.

—

In a secluded glade within the shadowy embrace of the Nightshade Kingdom, Rowena stood alone beneath the dark glow of twilight.

A cool breeze brushed gently against her pale skin, carrying with it the faint scent of moss and damp earth. It was peaceful here, yet beneath this calm facade lurked a deep sense of urgency.

She could feel the quiet pulse of new life within the gentle swell of her belly.

This small, innocent heartbeat had become her anchor—her reason to endure and fight, to claw her way through despair and darkness toward the faint glimmer of hope.

It reminded her constantly that she wasn't fighting merely for herself, but for something far more precious: the future of her bloodline, her people, and her kingdom.

Though hidden away from her people, she had sent words of quiet strength and encouragement through her trusted messengers, urging the survivors of Bloodburn to hold fast.

She knew they suffered—knew they struggled with hunger and fear—but she had vowed they would not face it alone. As long as she drew breath, she would not surrender.

Yet determination alone wasn't enough. She had to grow stronger, become more than she'd ever been.

Her power as a Drake, inherited through her bloodline from her ancestor, the Devourer, was vast and untapped. But she'd never had the time, the peace, or the proper guidance to master it fully.

Now, she stood within this quiet clearing, resolved to unlock the depths of her ancestral power by sheer force of will.

Drawing a deep breath, Rowena closed her eyes. She allowed her mind to sink inward, feeling the rhythmic pulse of blood flowing through her veins, rich with draconian mana.

She traced it, probing deeper, following the whispered echoes of forgotten abilities locked deep within the heart of her being.

Time seemed suspended as she delved inward, pushing beyond exhaustion and doubt. Her awareness spread outward, sensing the quiet hum of mana around her, responding gently to her call.

Minutes passed unnoticed, becoming an hour, but still she persisted, reaching deeper, searching harder.

Finally, Rowena raised her trembling hand, crimson mana crackling and dancing around her fingertips.

Her breathing quickened, heart pounding faster as she poured her focus into the space before her. Slowly, the air seemed to shimmer and ripple, distorting as though reality itself was giving way to her will.

But just as quickly as it appeared, the rippling ceased abruptly. Rowena gasped softly, the connection breaking as the mana dispersed around her.

Her hand fell to her side, frustration and disappointment tugging heavily at her heart.

But before she gathered her determination to try again, a cold, emotionless voice drifted clearly from the shadows at the edge of the clearing, startling her from her reverie.

"Your thoughts disrupt the flow. True mastery requires surrendering to the chaos within the blood itself."

Rowena spun around sharply, eyes widening slightly in surprise as a tall, armored figure stepped quietly into view, her heavy sword strapped firmly across her back.

Her crimson gaze, cold and distant, met Rowena's gaze with unyielding intensity.

"Valeria?"