Forsaken Priest of the Hero's Party-Chapter 102: Demon King Worshipper

“Praise him, worship him. Our mighty Demon King.”

That was the first thing we heard upon entering the Cidatel Republic.

Those words alone laid bare the profound despair that ruled this land.

Fear often breeds a twisted form of devotion.

“Is this... the Cidatel Republic? It seems more like...”

Roka kept glancing around, her eyes darting in every direction. But there was nothing to see.

Only faint silhouettes moved through a haze of ash so thick it snuffed out even the faintest ray of light.

“It feels like stepping into the demon realm...”

“It’s worse. The demon realm would be better than this.”

People unfamiliar with the demon realm often imagine it as an unlivable hell where no human could survive. I was once guilty of that same ignorance. Village elders had spun tales of lands so vile that a single footstep would taint one’s soul.

Naturally, none of those storytellers had ever ventured there.

The truth is, the demon realm is just a barren, inhospitable region on the outskirts of the continent. Demons are living beings, too, they wouldn’t settle in a place like this.

“Watch out, Roka—”

But she dashed headlong into a tree at the road’s center before I could stop her.

Luckily, her head had toughened from magic training, so she didn’t seem hurt, just frustrated. Still, it was fortunate the mishap ended there.

“It’s worse than I feared, without these feathers, our lungs would already be failing.”

The air rang with endless coughs, one fit finished only to be replaced by the next.

The sulfur stench was so intense that even Roka’s keen sense of smell was overwhelmed. Yet, by shutting our eyes and listening, the city’s layout took shape in our minds. Roka, eyes squeezed shut, ears twitching, seemed to sense this too. It was almost cute.

This isn’t smoke, and it’s not fog, either. Smog, perhaps?

“This city has been punished for its corruption! Soon, the Demon King will purify everything! Do not fear death! He is coming! Worship him!”

“That’s right! It’s true!”

“Let us praise his advent!”

The despair in their hearts was more suffocating than the ashen air. Fear had warped into devotion to Grimudo, not a deity but the mightiest demon.

“Everyone, what is our King? He is the name we have always longed for, the one in our hearts! He is the name we have adored, wept for, and thirsted after for ages. Our King is the primordial Demon King, Grimudo, who will burn this corrupt world and open the gates of paradise, my dear people!”

Ironically, the strongest, oldest, and most feared being of the North was also the only Demon King to receive human worship.

Grimudo craved no followers, yet the hopeless thronged to his banner.

His worshippers were broken, desperate souls who preferred total annihilation to endless suffering.

For them, the harbinger of ruin was as divine as any god.

This was why Grimudo’s believers continued to rise, no matter how fiercely the Trinity Church tried to suppress them.

“Idiots. It’s not like the Demon King will grant them power for this.”

She muttered, but faith knows no logic.

People didn’t only believe in things that offered them something in return. The world was vast, filled with all kinds of people. Among them were those ready to worship anything, not just Grimudo.

Nothing could stem the tide of those who worshiped Grimudo, oppression only deepened their resolve.

Most people ignored such talk, until something like this happened.

“That’s right! Those bastards! The ones who only collected taxes from us have all run away! What country is this? What republic?”

“There are no ships left in the harbor! The ones that fled were loaded with gold, not people! What about us? Are we just supposed to die? Fine, then! Let’s die! But I won’t go alone without taking someone with me!”

“Who still worships the goddess? We’re doomed, so let us worship the Demon King! He will cleanse all, including our betrayers!”

Voices of agreement rose from all over the city. The one who could destroy the world that had forsaken them seemed like their last, rightful hope to those drowning in despair.

In forsaken Vales City, demon worship had become the supreme rebellion.

If their homes were warm, there was bread on the table, and their families were safe and well, praising a Demon King would have never crossed their minds. But now? Everything had changed.

The number of voices chanting Grimudo’s name grew, spreading everywhere.

“First, we must clear this ash.”

With only Roka barely visible beside me, we could do nothing. We didn’t know the city and didn’t understand its layout.

In my hand, I conjured a millstone, a salt grinder. It had been long since I’d last used this power, and I certainly didn’t feel good about it.

After all, the less need there was for miracles, the better.

“What’s that?”

“You’re not asking if it’s food anymore, huh?”

The millstone materialized in my palm as though always present, and Roka’s eyes shone with intrigue.

“It’s a millstone. For making salt. Unlike the ones used to grind grain, this one produces salt on its own.”

I set it down and gave the handle a light tap.

The millstone began to rattle and turn by itself the moment I did as if an invisible hand had taken hold of it. A faint grinding sound filled the air, and delicate white salt fell like snow between the upper and lower stones.

I gathered the salt in my hand and sprinkled it above us.

Zing!

The instant it scattered, the darkness parted, light pierced the choking gloom.

As the salt absorbed the dust, it fell as black powder, and suddenly, the sunlight broke through. It was as if the sun had chosen to shine only on Roka and me, parting the thick ash in this spot alone.

This was the power of the salt-grinding millstone.

It produced salt that cleansed corruption, banished disasters, and repelled malevolence.

Scattered across the ground, it drove off pests, poisoned beasts, and even lingering curses. When spread over polluted land or water, it absorbed the filth, cleansing it, until it reached its limit. Then, it turned black and vanished.

“Amazing!”

“No. It’s meaningless if the volcano keeps spewing ash. Look. It hasn’t been long, and the soot is settling again.”

The fleeting gap in the ash quickly recombined, blotting out the sky once more. Yet in that instant, the Caldera Mountains emerged in sharp relief—formerly veiled by choking smog.

The mountains were burning. Entirely.

Thick, black smoke rose like massive pillars, stretching toward the heavens as if holding up the sky. Even from afar, its enormity was awe‑inspiring.

Perhaps it was a grim mercy that soot had hidden this devastation until this moment. If the people had seen the full extent of the disaster, their despair might have deepened beyond return.

But hiding in darkness, pretending the truth wasn’t there, would solve nothing.

“Who goes there?”

A rough, hoarse voice cut through the murky air.

Now that the ash had cleared slightly, I could make out the man who had been shouting. Middle‑aged and soot‑streaked, his features nonetheless retained a striking handsomeness.

His eyes locked onto me as he bellowed. Those who had chanted Grimudo now pivoted toward us, hostile eyes flashing.

“What blasphemer interrupts our prayers?”

“Merely a passerby, for the moment.”

I held up a hand, stopping Roka before she could snap back in anger. Then I gathered a fresh handful of salt and cast it into the air once more.

The street around us cleared again when the salt touched the air. Clumps of black soot tumbled down, unveiling cobblestones long hidden. The air remained heavy, but at least we could see correctly now.

The man blinked, surprise widening his eyes.

“What kind of trick is this?! What do you think you’re doing, huh?”

“Would you like some? It absorbs the ash and smoke.”

Even if we had an endless supply of salt, Roka and I could never purify the whole city alone.

But if everyone dusted salt around their homes and alleys, it might help.

Clearing the ash wouldn’t change the city’s fate, but it might help ease the growing unease.

That effect was already starting to show.

One of the bystanders, who had been listening to the Grimudo doctrine with interest, hesitantly approached.

“Um... did you say this was salt?”

“Yes. You can taste it if you like. Before it absorbs the ash, it’s just regular salt.”

Noticing his doubt, I set the millstone down and tapped its handle. The handle turned on its own, grinding out pristine white salt each rotation. His eyes widened; he pinched some salt and tasted it.

At the first contact, astonishment overtook his face.

“It’s salt! And good salt at that!”

“Did you say salt? Is that true?”

“Can we take some?!”

“Of course. Take as much as you like.”

Then came the inevitable questions.

“Is it free?”

“Of course.”

“Are there any conditions?”

“None whatsoever. Carry away as much as you can.”

Excited voices spread through the streets.

“They’re handing out salt for free, grab all you want!”

People rushed over, rolling out barrels and sacks to gather as much as possible.

Yet over the rising din, a wrathful voice thundered from the dais.

“Everyone, don’t be fooled by such nonsense! We’re all going to die anyway! What difference does some salt make?!”

I observed as the crowd paid him no mind, intent on gathering salt.

They were right to take as much as they could. But in the end, this was just salt. It purified ash, cleared the air, and cast out taint, but nothing more. It couldn’t even heal wounds.

This power was centered on purification and exorcism rather than healing. Yet this endless salt came at a price, true healing proved far more elusive.

Salt is valuable. But...

I understood such desperation in a landlocked territory, bereft of sea or salt mines. In such places, a single sack of salt could be worth ten sacks of wheat.

Especially beyond the reach of Imperial coin, salt became a prized currency.

Having used this holy salt for trade, I knew firsthand how expensive it could be.

But Wasn’t the Cidatel Republic a coastal nation?

I was sure they had numerous salt farms. Why then did they behave as if salt were a novelty?

It made no sense.