"Yes... yes, of course. Anything you wish, Jota will see it done!" Jota begged, its voice trembling under the weight of fear.

The creature was terrified, but not foolish. It understood perfectly what lay beneath Damian’s words. If it wished to avoid being erased from existence like its former master, then obedience was no longer a choice.

"Good... good. Now come with me."

As the words left his lips, Damian released a surge of demonic force. It wrapped around Jota instantly, suffocating, binding, stripping it of movement before it could even think to resist. In the next moment, Damian shot into the air, his wings cutting through the night as he ascended toward the tallest rooftop in the area.

Unlike Jota, who existed beyond human perception, Damian did not possess such convenience. The last thing he needed was a recording of a man dressed in white, wielding a hand fan and speaking to empty air, circulating online.

If only he possessed the mist ability Bathin and Duke Haborym had used to put entire areas to sleep.

He landed smoothly atop the rooftop and released Jota without ceremony, allowing it to drop clumsily behind him. Without turning, he stared into the distance, the city lights flickering below like scattered embers.

"What happened after I killed your Duke?" Damian asked.

Jota struggled to its feet, its grotesque form shifting uneasily, yet it dared not show even the slightest trace of dissatisfaction. The thought itself was dangerous. Princes of hell were infamous for slaughtering subordinates over the faintest hint of disloyalty, and such emotions could be sensed as easily as blood in water.

"In the underworld, there is a saying. A general who loses his army is dead. Likewise, an army that loses its general is dead..." Jota began carefully.

"A general who loses his army is cast out, and an army that loses its general is cast out. Failure is not tolerated in the underworld," Rin interjected calmly.

Damian’s eyes widened slightly. Even for him, that law felt excessive.

"And what happens when you are cast out?" Damian asked, finally turning to face Jota.

Up close, the creature was worse than he had imagined.

Beneath the curtain of tangled hair was a grotesque structure. A single large eye dominated its face, surrounded by smaller, twitching ones. Its flesh was riddled with festering wounds, crawling with maggots, scorpions, and even small birds nesting within the decay.

It was not merely ugly. It was revolting.

"They become outcasts," Jota answered simply.

"In the underworld, outcasts are no different from slaves."

"Oh?" Damian murmured, intrigued.

Now it made sense.

These demons had every reason to cling to the mortal realm. Here, they could grow stronger without fear of annihilation from their own kind.

A thought began to form.

"How many demons are in a legion?" Damian asked.

Jota hesitated for a brief moment, confused by the question, but answered nonetheless.

"One thousand five hundred."

Buzz!

Damian’s breath caught.

That many?

He recalled the sealed hordes from his battle with Duke Haborym.

"Thirty-nine thousand demons..." he muttered under his breath.

His mind shifted.

Thirty-nine thousand demons could produce enough cursed weapons to arm an elite demon force.

Rin observed his thoughts and felt a flicker of approval.

"What do you intend to do with so many cursed weapons?" Rin asked.

"What else, if not to build a force capable of dominating the underworld on its own?" Damian replied with a casual shrug.

From what he had learned through his wives, the structure of the underworld was clear.

The princes of hell were absolute in title, but it was the Dukes who commanded armies, who held true influence through military power.

If he could build a force greater than theirs combined then why would he need their support to claim the abyssal throne?

His predecessors had all focused inward, strengthening themselves while leaving the armies to the Dukes.

He would not repeat that mistake. He will break the balance the underworld has enjoyed for so long.

"If that is your intent, then I advise you reconsider," Rin said, interrupting his thoughts.

Damian’s gaze sharpened slightly.

Rin continued.

"Every demon already belongs to a faction. Even those who will serve you once you ascend the throne of Velmora still ultimately belong to the Dukes who choose to support you."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

"But now there is a gap. Twenty-four legions with no allegiance. Instead of turning them into cursed tools, why not take Duke Haborym’s place? Claim his legions as your own and build a personal army while maintaining your authority as a prince."

Jota flinched violently at the mention of being turned into cursed weapons, terror flashing across its many eyes.

Damian, however, was no longer paying attention to it.

His focus rested entirely on Rin’s logic.

It was clean efficient and far more advantageous.

A vacancy had been created and vacancies were meant to be filled.

"True," Damian nodded slowly. "It would be a waste to destroy them when they can be used."

A faint smile curved beneath his fan.

"It would be better to reserve that fate for the demons who support my brother."

"Exactly," Rin replied with satisfaction.

Damain’s attention returned to Jota, causing the demon to shiver involuntarily.

Witnessing this human and his spirit beast casually discussing the mass genocide of the demon race to forge cursed weapons was soul-shattering.

If Jota had been afraid before, he was terrified now.

It was just like how humans slaughtered animals they deemed lesser than themselves and devoured their flesh without remorse. Yet if a human were to kill another human and consume him, he would be branded a monster among his own kind.

This was the equivalent of cursed weapon creation. Demons saw nothing wrong with forging weapons from the souls of mortals, but turning demons or angels into such abominations was no different from cannibalism.

It was unheard of!

Even if such cursed weapons could be created, finding demons willing to wield their own brothers and sisters as weapons would prove nearly impossible.

"Your brothers... Where are they?" Damain asked with a strange look in his eyes.

"I don’t know, my Lord... The army broke apart into various factions after Duke Haborym’s defeat. Those lucky enough to be chosen by the commanding demon elites have already fled the planet to other worlds, fearing the wrath of your wives. We, the weaker ones, were abandoned here. Some may have fled to different parts of this world to hide." Jota trembled as he spoke.

He feared Damian would decide to kill him now that he knew all twenty-four legions had been disbanded.