Summoned As A Mere Nobody-Yet Possesses An SSS-Rank Ability-Chapter 257: Ancient Demon Unsealed

An elder’s voice broke the silence, deep and resolute.

"No."

Nolan frowned slightly, but the elder stepped forward, staff trembling as he spoke.

"You may feel human," the elder said, "but the world responds to you."

The torches flickered violently.

"Time obeys you."

"Life listens to you."

"Fate bends when you act."

The elder bowed deeply.

"A normal human cannot do such things."

Nolan fell silent.

Linda looked at him—not as a god, not as a legend—but as the man who trained her, protected her, and trusted her.

"Maybe..." she said softly, "...being human is exactly why you’re like this."

Celia nodded.

"A god who understands weakness," she said. "Who values effort. Who walks beside others instead of above them."

Nolan closed his eyes briefly.

"...If that’s the case," he said, opening them again, "then I’ll stay this way."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

Meanwhile, deep within the elven castle, Prince Zohar remained alone in his chamber.

The room was dark, curtains drawn shut despite the daylight outside. Zohar sat on the edge of his bed, one hand gripping his hair tightly, his breathing uneven.

"What the hell is happening...?" he muttered.

"What the hell went wrong?"

His fingers trembled.

"I lost...? Me? Prince Zohar?"

"No. No way. I refuse to accept this."

He stood up abruptly and paced the room.

"Just earlier today..." his voice cracked, "...I walked through the streets."

His eyes narrowed, memories replaying vividly in his mind.

Whispers.

Side glances.

Murmurs that stabbed deeper than blades.

That’s him...

The prince who lost to a human.

How disgraceful...

"And the women..." Zohar clenched his fist. "The ones who used to scream my name... who used to fight just to get my attention..."

His teeth ground together.

"They didn’t even look at me."

As if he didn’t exist.

As if he was already forgotten.

"This is bad..." he whispered. "Very bad."

His chest burned with humiliation.

"How do I redeem myself?"

"How do I erase this stain?"

His eyes darkened.

"He has to die."

His aura flared violently, cracking the air.

"That human... Nolan. He has to die."

Zohar slammed his fist into the wall.

"I’ll kill him! I’ll crush him! I’ll make the world forget today ever happened!"

His voice echoed through the room—until something answered back.

Come to me.

Zohar froze.

"I will give you strength."

His eyes widened slightly.

"...What?"

He turned his head slowly.

"Am I... hearing voices?"

Come to me.

The voice was deeper now—smooth, heavy, and unnaturally calm.

"I will give you the power you desire."

Zohar’s breath grew shallow.

"Who’s there?" he demanded. "Show yourself!"

The one who will free you from disgrace.

Silence swallowed the room.

Zohar swallowed.

"...Strength?" he whispered.

His legs moved before his mind could stop them.

Guided by the voice, he left his chamber, walking through hidden corridors of the castle—paths few were allowed to tread. Torches flickered weakly as he descended a narrow staircase, the air growing colder with every step.

Finally, he stopped.

Before him stood an ancient door beneath the castle—sealed with thick black chains etched in old runes.

Zohar stared.

"...This place."

His voice dropped.

"Isn’t this where they sealed the demonic weapons?"

A faint, mocking chuckle echoed.

So you know of me.

Zohar drew his sword slowly.

"Let me see what kind of fool dares call me," he said, though his hand trembled.

With a sharp swing—

CLANG!

The chains shattered.

The door creaked open.

A wave of dark energy poured out, making the torches extinguish instantly.

Inside the chamber, countless cursed weapons were mounted on the walls—axes, spears, bows, blades—each radiating malevolent intent.

Zohar stepped forward, eyes scanning the room.

Then—

His gaze locked onto it.

A sword embedded in a stone altar.

The blade was blackened, twisted, and within its core... a skeletal figure was faintly visible, as though trapped inside the steel itself.

The air around it felt alive.

Come closer, the voice purred.

Zohar approached slowly.

The sword vibrated.

"Hey, elf," the voice said clearly now, filled with amusement.

"You lost to a human."

Zohar’s eyes twitched.

"You’re drowning in disgrace... rage... envy..."

The sword’s aura surged.

"Take me."

Zohar clenched his jaw.

"And I will give you the power to exact revenge."

The skeleton within the blade seemed to grin.

"Take me... and kill that human who humiliated you."

The chamber fell silent.

Zohar stared at the sword.

His pride screamed.

His hatred burned.

His reason wavered.

"...Nolan," he whispered.

Slowly—

Very slowly—

Prince Zohar froze.

Just as his fingers were about to close around the hilt, he yanked his hand back, breathing heavily.

"Why should I trust you?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the cursed chamber.

"You’re a sword that talks. That alone makes you suspicious."

His eyes hardened.

"Everyone knows this place is forbidden. They say anyone who touches a weapon here invites disaster. Death. Corruption."

Zohar clenched his fist. "So tell me—why shouldn’t I believe that you’re nothing but a trap?"

The sword let out a low, distorted laugh.

A trap?

No... I am opportunity.

The skeletal figure within the blade shifted, its hollow eyes glowing faintly.

"Take me," the voice said smoothly, "if you truly desire revenge."

Zohar’s jaw tightened.

"Are you hesitating," the sword continued, its tone sharp and mocking,

"because of old fairy tales told by trembling elders?"

The air grew heavier.

"Or..." the voice dropped into a whisper, "are you afraid of the shame that human carved into your soul?"

Zohar flinched.

"Tell me," the sword pressed,

"what hurts more?"

The chamber seemed to close in.

"Being cautious about consequences," the sword hissed,

"or being remembered as the prince who was defeated... humiliated... forgotten?"

Zohar’s breathing became ragged.

His fists trembled.

"...Ven Amor," he muttered under his breath.

"...You’re right."

His head lowered.

"I don’t care about their warnings anymore," Zohar said slowly.

"I want my people to look at me again... with pride."

His eyes burned.

"I want them to believe in me."

The sword pulsed.

"Then listen well," it said.

"The only way to reclaim that pride... is to kill the human."

Dark mana seeped into the air like smoke.

"And you need me to do that."

Zohar swallowed.

"You say you’ll give me strength," he said.

"How?"

The sword chuckled.

"You already know," it replied.

"Can’t you feel it?"

The chamber vibrated.

"Even now, your body is reacting to my presence. Your mana stirs. Your blood heats."

The voice softened. "You crave power."

Zohar’s hand slowly extended again.

"So take me."

Silence.

Then—

Prince Zohar wrapped his fingers around the hilt.

Instantly—

A violent surge of mana exploded outward.

"AAAGHHH!!"

Black flames erupted from the blade, coiling around Zohar’s arm like living serpents. Dark energy flooded into his body, forcing its way through his veins, his chest, his throat—

Through his mouth.

Zohar screamed as the demonic essence invaded him, his body convulsing violently.

The floor cracked.

The torches reignited with black fire.

Then—

Silence.

Zohar stood still.

His breathing slowed.

A smile crept across his face.

Slowly, his eyes opened.

They were no longer emerald.

They were pitch black.

"...Ahhh," he exhaled contentedly.

A voice—not Zohar’s—spoke from his lips.

"Finally..."

He rolled his shoulders, testing the body.

"After thousands of years sealed inside that miserable blade..."

"...I’ve found a foolish elf."

The smile widened.

"This vessel," the demon said, flexing Zohar’s fingers,

"is surprisingly well‑made."

Dark mana surged around him like a crown.

"Human..." the demon whispered, amusement dripping from every word.

"Nolan..."

His grin sharpened.

"I’m coming."

---

He walked out of the forbidden chamber slowly, each step echoing against the stone corridor.

Not rushed.

Not hesitant.

Calm.

Inside the prince’s body, something ancient stirred.

Using Zohar’s memories like pages in a book, the being adjusted effortlessly—how to walk, how to breathe, how to carry oneself like royalty. The posture came naturally, as if this body had always belonged to him.

So this is the world now...

A low chuckle escaped his lips.

"Finally," the voice murmured, layered—one voice atop another.

"After years... no—thousands of years..."

His fingers curled, feeling strength pulse through the veins.

"I have a vessel."

Dark mana rippled faintly beneath his skin, restrained, hidden, obedient.

The demon’s smile widened.

"And now I’m certain," he continued silently, sensing the world beyond the castle walls.

"I can feel it clearly."

His eyes narrowed.

"The deities are gone."

No divine pressure.

No celestial gaze watching from above.

No chains of heavenly law pressing down on existence.

"Ha... ha..."

A quiet laugh turned into something deeper.

"It was the Kepses who sealed me," the demon recalled, amusement flickering through his thoughts.

"Those meddlesome gods... always appearing at the worst possible moment."

His steps echoed as he ascended the corridor.

"But now?"

"They’re gone."

His smile sharpened into something cruel.

"All that remains are the lesser races."

Images flashed through his mind—humans struggling for survival, elves clinging to pride, demons devouring one another, beast folk bound by instinct.

"Humans. Elves. Demons. Beast folk."

He scoffed.

"And none of them can stop me."

The laughter burst free now, echoing down the hallway.

"Ha... ha... ha... ha... ha... ha...!"

The sound was rich, satisfied, ancient.