Hey everyone, and welcome to my new Patreon!
First of all, thank you—from the bottom of my heart—for considering supporting me here. It truly means the world. Your support helps me keep writing, translating, and bringing these stories to life the way they deserve to be experienced.
I want to be completely honest with you: right now, there isn't much content uploaded. But I'm working hard behind the scenes. Within the next two weeks, I'll have all the chapters caught up and ready for early access. After that, give me one more week, and I'll begin adding exclusive bonus content just for Patrons—extra chapters, side stories, and more.
If you're joining now, you're getting in early—and I can't thank you enough for your trust and support. Big things are on the way, and I can't wait to share them with you.
Join here: patreon.com/Eden_Translation
With gratitude,
Eden Translation
*****
{Chapter: 57: The Quiet Before The Storm}
"Although I am a demon," he said, his voice carrying a peculiar warmth, almost like a confession, "I don't like lying. Especially not to important people. I choose to tell you the truth directly."
The air shifted subtly, charged with unspoken emotions. Trina's breath hitched, her violet eyes trembling with unshed tears. And then, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she smiled.
It wasn't just a polite curve of the lips—it was genuine, filled with vulnerability, trust, and something even rarer: peace.
She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth. The touch was brief, but delicate and sincere. "Thank you for your love, sir," she whispered.
Dex's pupils dilated slightly, caught off-guard by the warmth of her lips. That fleeting touch lingered longer in his mind than it did on his skin. For a moment, time seemed to halt.
Then, with a calmness that should have shaken mountains, he smiled and whispered back, "Goodbye, Trina."
A scarlet light glinted in his eyes. The moment ended.
The magic triggered instantly, silent and swift. Trina's heartbeat ceased mid-beat, and she collapsed forward. Her body was about to fall into Dex's arms, but it never made it.
Before she could even brush against his chest, her form began to dissolve. Countless invisible light particles shimmered around her like falling snow. Her body disintegrated into motes of invisible shimmering dust, vanishing into the air as if she had never been and completely disappeared from this world.
Dex extended his hand slowly, his fingers brushing the air where her cheek had once been.
"May your soul rest in peace..." he whispered, the words trembling as they left his lips.
He pulled his hand back slowly and lowered it onto the armrest of the chair beside him. Then, he sat down fully, folding into himself like a collapsing shadow. The gentle smile he had worn moments ago was gone, erased by the weight of what he had just done.
He gripped the teacup in his hands—still warm, still fragrant with the last brew Trina had made.
I am a demon, he thought. I should be used to betrayal...
His eyes stared into the amber liquid, but his vision was blurred by emotions he couldn't explain as a demon.
If you are reluctant to leave, then just stay. Why would you take direct action? Was it because she was important? So important that I couldn't forgive her?
He couldn't make sense of it. The logic, the necessity, the sacrifice—none of it brought clarity.
He was confused about what was going on in his mind and heart.
The room remained still for a few heartbeats longer, silent except for the soft clink of the teacup against porcelain.
Then, the hallway beyond the chamber erupted with the sounds of movement.
Boots thudding against marble. Armor clinking like chains dragged by judgment itself. The heavy wooden door burst open.
James Woz entered first, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man's eyes were sharp, his face stern and battle-worn. Behind him came a line of others—Ciel, Duke, Safi—people Dex recognized. Some by name. Others only by the memory of their strength, their auras, their stances, their sins.
There were at least a dozen elite warriors inside the room within seconds. And outside, more than a thousand soldiers surrounded the estate, their weapons gleaming with exorcism runes and blessed enchantments. Holy relics hung around their necks like shields of defiance. They had prepared for this confrontation meticulously.
Dex didn't move.
He didn't even look up at them, choosing instead to swirl the last drops of tea around in his cup.
James took a step forward, surprise flickering briefly across his face at the demon's complete lack of reaction.
Then his voice rang out, iron-clad with authority. "Demon, today is the day you die."
Dex finally raised his head. His gaze was detached, almost melancholic, as if he had seen this moment arrive a thousand times in a thousand other lives.
"So it has come to this," he said softly.
There was no rage in his tone. No mocking laughter. Just an eerie calmness.
He looked at James and the others, not with contempt, but with a profound disappointment—like a teacher watching his students fail a lesson they should have understood long ago.
Their betrayal? Predictable.
Whether they had wanted to turn against him or not, Dex understood the truth behind their decisions. They were not free men, not truly. They were marionettes, their strings pulled by the will of the world.
World consciousness... Dex thought.
It was everywhere and nowhere. It whispered, influenced, coerced. The natives of this world—humans, beast, even monsters—were subconsciously manipulated to reject foreign existences like him.
Like a body rejecting an invasive virus.
That meant this confrontation was inevitable. Their rejection of him was inevitable.
He had always known.
But Trina...
Trina had been different.
The power of Dex had wrapped around her like a protective cocoon, shielding her from the influence of world consciousness. Her actions, her thoughts, her betrayal—if one could even call it that—had all been her own.
That was what made it unbearable.
Dex raised the teacup once more and drank the last of it. The warmth faded down his throat. He placed the cup gently on the table.
Then he looked at James and said:
"There's no need to worry. Trina did complete her task. I did drink the medicine. After all, it was the last cup of tea she ever made for me. I couldn't bear to waste it."
The silence that followed was thick and electric.
James felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine. He didn't understand. The poison—or whatever substance Ciel and Safi made toge and Trina had slipped into the tea—should have taken effect.
But Dex was still sitting there.
Unmoved.
Unshaken.
Unafraid.
James clenched his fists. There was no turning back now.
"Attack!"
With that command, chaos erupted.
Dozens of arrows soared through the air, launched from the windows and balconies. Each was tipped with silver and soaked in blessed oil, and holy water designed to pierce even infernal flesh.
Soldiers stormed the room from all sides, blades drawn, incantations ready. The air shimmered with enchantments and the ozone scent of holy magic.
Dex's expression remained still, unbothered.
The first arrow, gleaming with golden runes, neared his shoulder.
Dex casually raised his hand and flicked it with a single finger.
The arrow spun in mid-air, redirected by the invisible force behind his movement. It veered off course and slammed into another arrow behind it.
The result was instantaneous.
A chain reaction of collisions began, like a deadly fireworks display.
Arrows shattered, deflected into the walls, splintering into fragments.
After a series of deafening impacts, the final arrow clattered to the floor beside him. Not a single one had struck its mark.
Dex stood motionless in the middle of the battlefield, a figure untouched and unbothered, as if the laws of nature bent around him. The sounds of chaos—armor clanking, arrows whistling, men shouting—seemed to hush in reverence or fear.
Not far from him, the soldiers who had raised their swords high above their heads, ready to bring them crashing down upon Dex, suddenly stopped mid-motion. Their expressions faltered. The murderous momentum they had charged in with bled away like steam in cold air. Their swords trembled in their hands, and some even took a hesitant step backward, eyes wide, as if they had seen a god—or perhaps a demon—emerge from shadow.
For a heartbeat and a half, time itself felt like it froze.
It was an impossible sight. The soldiers froze for half a breath, stunned by the impossibility of what they had just witnessed.
James Woz, his face twisted into an expression that was equal parts shock and horror, tried to shout something, but his voice caught in his throat. The authority in his eyes had vanished, replaced by confusion and the dawning weight of dread.
Dex ignored him.
With a casual flick of his hand, as if swatting a fly, he seized a soldier from nearly twenty feet away. The man screamed in panic as an invisible force yanked him through the air. His armor groaned and screeched against the drag before he was slammed into Dex's outstretched palm.
Fingers like iron clamps closed around the soldier's throat.
Dex brought the struggling man close, his voice soft, almost gentle—yet each syllable carried weight, like thunder muffled behind velvet.
"I suddenly had a thought," he murmured, eyes never leaving James Woz. "If death is inevitable… should we not strive to make it beautiful? Perhaps even… dazzling?"
The soldier's mouth opened in a silent plea, but no words came.
And then, without any warning—without so much as a flash of light or a burst of energy—the man's body erupted into a crimson mist. No scream. No body. Just a magnificent, blooming explosion of blood that danced in the air like a painter's masterpiece.
Where the soldier once was, only a flower remained—floating gently in Dex's palm.
It was surreal.
The flower was delicate yet striking: seven layers, each composed of six tightly interwoven petals. The color was an intense, glistening red, deeper than blood, vibrant like rubies under the sun. It hovered in a misty aura, the blood-red vapor clinging to it like morning fog to a valley. The flower had the elegance of a camellia and the boldness of a rose, but with a sinister grace all its own. Something divine. Something infernal.
Dex admired it for a long moment.
He turned it slowly in his hand, appreciating every petal, every curl. Then he lifted his gaze toward James and smiled again—a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he said, softly, almost wistfully. "Perhaps we shall call it the Death Flower."
James opened his mouth to respond, but before he could utter a word, another voice cut through the heavy silence.
"Demon!" Safi barked, his voice quivering with rage. His face was pale, and sweat trickled down his brow despite the cold fear in the air. "You dare to stand so arrogantly before us?! You will die today!"
Dex turned slowly, unhurriedly, toward the man. His scarlet eyes glinted with eerie amusement.
"Oh?" he said, sounding more amused than offended. "That sounds rather bold of you."
He let the flower fall from his fingers. It drifted down gently, landing on the charred earth like a tear shed from the eyes of death itself.
"Then come," he said. "Try."
With those words, his body began to transform.
It started with his eyes—they burned brighter, until they resembled twin suns of molten ruby. Then, horns burst forth from his skull, curved and jagged like obsidian blades. His back split open, revealing enormous leathery wings, each vein and membrane glowing faintly with infernal energy. His skin thickened, becoming a cross between scale and armor—an exoskeleton forged not in the womb but in the pits of the nether realms.
He grew—taller, broader—his height nearly doubling until he towered at nearly 3.7 meters. His breath steamed in the cool air, like a furnace stoked from within.
A gust of wind rippled outward with the beat of his wings.
But this was no ordinary wind.
It tore through the room like a tempest unleashed from an ancient ikk dragon's lungs. The walls cracked and buckled, the ceiling exploded upward, and dozens of soldiers were thrown through the air like leaves in a storm. Screams echoed as bodies collided with rubble, weapons, and each other.
Dex barely noticed.
He looked down at his armor—[Rune Armor - Scarlet]—and frowned.
"These old symbols," he muttered to himself, examining the runes that glowed across his chest and arms. "They're hideous."
As if responding to his thought, the runes shimmered, distorted, and reshaped—morphing into intricate patterns of the Death Flower, the petals curling inwards and overlapping along his armor like a tapestry of elegant doom.
Dex flexed his claws and admired the new design.
"Much better," he said with quiet satisfaction.
Then, without warning, a brilliant, blinding red pillar of flame erupted from where he stood, soaring into the sky like a beacon from hell. The fire roared like a god's fury, and as it touched the skies, it spread outward like an umbrella of apocalypse.
The skies turned crimson.
Clouds melted under the heat, and the very sun dimmed, eclipsed by a shroud of burning energy. The royal capital—once so proud, so radiant—was now swallowed in shadow and fire.
Then came the meteors.
Tiny sparks at first, then fireballs the size of carts began to fall, each one trailing a tail of doom. They rained down like divine punishment, slamming into buildings, towers, roads. The earth trembled. Screams filled the air. Flames devoured stone and steel.
It was the end of the world.
Or at least, it felt like it.
James Woz, who had just begun to rise from the dirt, stood frozen, staring at the infernal sky. His eyes had lost their focus, his soul seemingly crushed beneath the weight of despair. He was no longer a king, nor a leader. He was just a man—broken, powerless, adrift in the face of something far beyond human comprehension.
But then something shifted.
His trembling hand gripped the hilt of his weapon. A spark of madness—of desperation—lit in his eyes.
And with a roar that was more pain than courage, he charged into the pillar of fire, his blade raised high.
"I'll kill you, even if it costs my soul!"
The flame swallowed him whole.
Dex stood motionless as the man vanished into the inferno, the corners of his mouth lifting once again—not in amusement, but in something darker.
"You followed the call of a world that fears me more than it understands me."
*****
Hey everyone, and welcome to my new Patreon!
First of all, thank you—from the bottom of my heart—for considering supporting me here. It truly means the world. Your support helps me keep writing, translating, and bringing these stories to life the way they deserve to be experienced.
I want to be completely honest with you: right now, there isn't much content uploaded. But I'm working hard behind the scenes. Within the next two weeks, I'll have all the chapters caught up and ready for early access. After that, give me one more week, and I'll begin adding exclusive bonus content just for Patrons—extra chapters, side stories, and more.
If you're joining now, you're getting in early—and I can't thank you enough for your trust and support. Big things are on the way, and I can't wait to share them with you.
Join here: patreon.com/Eden_Translation
With gratitude,
Eden Translation