Chapter 122: Depravity

Zyra once looked down on Divine Arts.

Or rather, all the Mages in the world who were devoted to studying the path of magic looked down on Divine Arts.

This stemmed partly from the essence of Divine Arts: praying to gods.

In the eyes of Mages, how was praying any different from begging?

What if the gods suddenly vanished? Would half a lifetime of hard work not go down the drain?

On the other hand, it also came from the contempt for “gods” held by the Goddess of Magic, the Weave Creator, whom all Mages worshipped.

**[Gods are the thieves of heaven.]**

On the title page of the *Book of All Laws* left behind by the Goddess of Magic, such a wild and rebellious statement was recorded in a deliberately bolded and enlarged font.

This sentence was widely circulated within the circles of Mages.

Zyra had once believed in it implicitly.

However, as she grew older, she became increasingly aware of the limitations of her own talent.

The more knowledge she mastered, the more she felt small and ignorant.

Before age 30, she had always felt she was a genius with a great future, omnipotent, and that no difficulty in the world could stop her.

But after age 40… she finally recognized the painful truth.

‘The gap between one human and another is greater than the gap between humans and vassals.’

‘I am just an arrogant, lucky, and ignorant mortal.’

There were some formulas that, if she could not understand them, she simply could not understand them.

Meanwhile, it might only take a real genius one week, or even a few days, to solve a problem that had troubled her for years.

And that was still relying on that great creation, the Magic Web, which significantly lowered the threshold for spellcasting and the difficulty of learning magic.

As for those Elven Magic spells that reached directly to the Source… they were truly obscure and difficult to comprehend.

“There are many other benefits to joining the Shadow. Gradually, you will understand them all.”

Maive spoke slowly, her tone mixed with a trace of faint arrogance and contempt.

“Our God is different from those fake gods of humans. He is greater and more generous, though His generosity is limited to those of us who are chosen.”

Hearing this, Zyra felt a bit curious.

“But I remember that the number of Shadow Demons in the Second Demon Realm is quite large, isn’t it?”

She asked tentatively in a cautious tone.

“Those are just the descendants produced by the original Chosen Great Demons. Year after year, like cockroaches, they accumulate more and more.”

Maive spoke indifferently, “Family bloodlines or the continuation of a legacy — such meaningless things are only valued by short-lived, transient lives like humans. But God has already mercifully granted us eternal life.”

“After joining the Shadow, when should I pray to God? Late at night? Or at dawn?”

Zyra was still a bit uneasy, her tone mixed with excitement, curiosity, and a hint of fear toward the unknown path ahead.

Maive shook her head.

“No, only fake gods require prayer. The true God only requires you to continue moving forward on this path. The further you go on the path of ‘immortality,’ the more feedback God receives from it.”

“A very fair trade,” Zyra couldn’t help but grin and chuckle.

In the face of that all-devouring void of death, falling was merely an option she had resisted day and night, yet could not shake off.

In the end, she had still violated the teachings of that lecherous teacher.

She had also abandoned her duty as a human.

“Do not treat God like those fake gods humans believe in,” Maive reminded her again.

“Our Lord never gives alms. He does not need your insignificant, ignorant worship, and certainly does not need your meaningless, ridiculous loyalty.”

“Please Him, serve Him, be useful to Him, or — be appreciated by Him.”

“The true ‘Lord’ does not need magnificent, towering temples, ignorant and pious priests, or gospels spread around like noise.”

“Because the true ‘Lord’… is everywhere.”

“And we shall follow the Lord, standing high above, looking down upon all living things.”

Maive lightly tapped the armrest, and a tide of Shadow flowed out from beneath the stone seat, instantly spreading throughout the entire room.

Mottled ghost-like shadows darted between them, like strings plucked by an invisible hand, playing a silent, dark movement.

“I understand.”

Zyra’s rejuvenated heart beat violently, as if she had returned to the stirring years of following the Hero to crusade against the Demon Lord.

Only this time, she was no longer on the side of “Justice,” but on the side that was reviled.

But what did it matter if she was reviled?

It was better than dying, being buried, or being slandered and mocked.

Just like… Demon King Lia…

Thinking of that “fake Demon Lord” in the banquet hall, Zyra couldn’t help but grin again.

If Lady Maive hadn’t come to supervise tonight, she would have almost been bluffed by that impostor.

Who would have thought that a weak Pupu who had luckily advanced a few ranks would be bold enough to impersonate the most special Demon Lord in history?

“That ‘impostor Demon Lord’ is actually a Pupu that luckily gained intelligence. How should we deal with her later? Should we sacrifice her as well?”

Thinking of this, Zyra asked for her senior’s opinion.

“A Pupu?”

Maive was taken aback.

“Yes… a very weak monster, scientifically known as a Slime. I checked just now; she is composed of many Pupu aggregated together.”

“Let her be. Since she wants to play the role of Demon King Lia, then control her and let her continue playing it.”

Maive thought for a moment and said with some emotion, “Demon King Lia was a very special demon. The Lord also once paid some attention to him, but… the Lord could never perceive the existence of Demon King Lia.”

“Couldn’t perceive him?” Zyra raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Yes, this phenomenon isn’t rare; they are mostly weak souls drifting from other worlds, not worth mentioning. Only Demon King Lia was relatively special; he killed the seven divine chosen seeds of this generation and then proclaimed himself ‘Demon Lord.'”

Maive spread her hands, appearing somewhat amused.

“But the Lord could not sense him, let alone grant him blessings… Everything he did was a pure waste of time. Not long after, as expected, he was killed by humans like a stray dog on the side of the road.”

“But I heard that Demon King Lia was the strongest Demon Lord of all time, and he unified all seven Demon Realms…”

“Just a leader of cockroaches. He didn’t even understand what the ‘Demon King Seat’ actually was.”

“…”

Zyra remained silent for a long time.

She hadn’t expected that the Demon King Lia, whom the Grand Tutor had praised as a “heroic talent,” would be as lowly as a large cockroach in the mouths of these Chosen Great Demons.

Is this the perspective of an immortal?

She couldn’t help but feel a bit of fear, yet she also became increasingly longing and excited.

‘Sacrifices… I need more sacrifices to offer to the Lord. The Shadow power within me is not enough, far from enough.’

Feverish desire surged from the bottom of Zyra’s heart.

*Tick, tock. Tick, tock.*

The hands of the clock plucked at the strings of desire, blending into Zyra’s rapid heartbeat and the melodious dance music of the banquet hall.

Joen was ultimately disappointed.

Because Lily did not ask him to dance.

She was using her identity as the “Duke’s Daughter” to move effortlessly through various noble circles, exchanging all sorts of future promises for present benefits.

Joen couldn’t help but feel restless.

After all… he was the only one present who knew Lily’s identity was fake.

This was an absolute scam.

But when he thought about how Lily was working so hard to deceive people for the sake of his “friend’s” ideal and to save the Doom Victims, he felt a sense of melancholy and shame.

He felt ashamed that Lily had to lie.

He also felt ashamed that he couldn’t help Lily.

His contradictory feelings made him look more like a silent and loyal knight, sitting alone not far away, gazing deeply at Lily’s beautiful and elegant figure.

The surrounding nobles clinked glasses and chatted merrily, talking about various topics Joen didn’t understand — pleasure, gossip, and politics.

Even though they were all key officials and Lords from various regions, not a single person mentioned the flood outside the city or the Doom Victims scattered along the riverbank.

Joen straightened his helmet, feeling increasingly that this place was empty and cold.

The hour hand unknowingly pointed toward the number eight.

Suddenly, Joen’s keen hearing captured a faint, thin sob and a cry for help from the noisy crowd.

“Help… help… My Lord… please, no…”

Joen was startled.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he immediately hurried toward the direction of the cry for help.