Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 165: We Who Feast on Illusion

After Bel, Airi, and Crest left the inn, the rest of the group stayed behind.

The mood was heavy. They had planned to meet and discuss their next move, but it felt more like waiting for something to break.

The common room was dim, lit by a few tired candles with a map of the city spread out on the table. But no one even looked at it.

For a while, no one spoke. Just the ticking of the wall clock filled the silence.

Then Astros broke it.

"Enough stalling. We still have a mission to plan."

The others stirred. Slowly. The words reminded them why they were there, but didn’t ease the tension.

Aurus spoke next, calm but his brows showed something else.

"I don’t trust him. Not yet."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t need to raise his voice. Everyone listened.

Kardrax didn’t look up. He traced a circle on the rim of his glass.

"We don’t need to trust him though. Just let him kill demons. That’s enough."

The others were quiet. No one dismissed it. For a moment, they all considered the idea.

It was clean, simple. Use his strength, stay out of his way. Let him tear through the enemy while they focused on supporting him and kill the Demons Lords.

It avoided the risk of making the wrong call.

It was tempting.

Then Maël frowned.

"And if that’s the only reason he’s helping? What if he’s just clearing out his rivals? So he can take the throne himself?"

The thought hit hard. No one argued. But they didn’t agree either.

The silence stretched. They exchanged glances. Maël’s words had weight.

If Bel was only biding his time, they could be feeding the very threat they were meant to stop. It made sense. That was the problem.

But then Lyraen stood.

The chair scraped back sharply. Her hands were clenched.

"No. Stop assuming the worst. Bel doesn’t care about the throne."

Her voice didn’t rise. It came out soft, almost unsure.

"I was there... I saw him fight. I saw him protect people, even when no one asked him to."

She hesitated, looking down as she spoke.

"He’s not like the other demons. He’s not... cruel. Or evil. He’s not playing some trick on us. He’s just..."

She fumbled for the words, eyes darting briefly toward the others.

"He’s just really bad at people, okay? He doesn’t know how to act normal. He says weird things, and he’s quiet and intense and sometimes I don’t know if he wants to play with us or toy with us... But he always helped us. Every time."

Her voice wavered, but she pressed on.

"I know him. He’s not perfect. He’s awkward and kind of scary, but he’s my friend. And he’s not our enemy."

She sat back down slowly, hands resting in her lap. Her eyes didn’t meet theirs, but her words hung in the air for a moment.

Aurus looked down, fingers tapping his leg, his thoughts circling. Trusting a demon was dangerous. But what was the other option? Attacking him?

They were Sacred warriors, but as were the most famous dead bodies buried by the Demon Lords.

Kardrax sighed and leaned back. Every path felt like a gamble.

Aurus studied Lyraen. Maybe she was right. Maybe not. But either way, it wasn’t simple.

Maël scratched his head, frowning. For once, even he had no clever answer. Just more questions.

Astros finally spoke, voice low but steady.

"Enough theory. We focus on what we can find. The demons haven’t attacked yet, but we’re almost sure of something: thanks to someone, they’re already here, and seeing how easily Bel found us... They might know where we are too."

He glanced around the table.

"They could be anywhere. In the crowd. In plain sight. Disguised as people, merchants, performers. We need to look closer. Follow the oddities. Question everything."

His last sentence resonated in everyone’s mind.

"Everything could be a demon."

Regulus shifted in his seat, suddenly tense. A flash of something passed through his mind, the mask, painted like a jester.

But it wasn’t the grin that haunted him. It was the single, terrible white eye staring into his soul.

He bit his lip, looking away.

Aurus leaned in slightly.

"We stay close. Someone should shadow the Demon Lord. Someone he won’t reject."

Kardrax made the obvious suggestion.

"Granny. He listens to you."

But the elf wasn’t ready to cooperate.

"First, go hang yourself, and second, I won’t spy on my friend."

Lyraen glared across the table, straight at Kardrax. He only grinned back, amused, like he enjoyed the tension. The others shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact.

No one seemed ready to speak, but the room felt close to cracking.

Then Maël clapped his hands once, loud and sudden.

"Let’s take a break from all this. If we’re going to argue, we might as well do it with drinks. There’s a show tonight. A real one."

Aurus gave him a tired look.

"Your timing is always awful."

Maël smiled faintly.

"And your sulking is unbearable. Come on guys. One night of music and masks might help us think straight."

The silence stretched again. They exchanged looks, some doubtful, some resigned. No one truly liked the idea. But no one had a better one.

One by one, they stood. Tired, uncertain.

Maybe they weren’t agreeing.

Maybe they just couldn’t sit in that room any longer.

The streets of Castella changed after sundown. The crowds were thinner, the light softer, the magic quieter but deeper.

Lanterns glowed red and gold in tight clusters along the alleys, their colors smearing against the cobblestones like spilled paint.

The festival had ended, but the city had only changed masks.

Bel walked ahead in silence, gaze distant. His mind wasn’t on the street in front of him.

Layers of attention peeled in different directions. He tracked the movements of his army, scanned the ambient flow of magic, watched for flares of aura from far-off rooftops.

It could sound glorious, but he was losing himself in this mess.

Behind him, Airi walked with arms crossed and a scowl forming.

"You always walk like that? Head full of numbers and ghosts?"

Bel half-turned, as if to respond. But his gaze slipped sideways again, lost in invisible signals. He didn’t speak.

Airi scoffed.

"Tch. Must be nice, being all serious and broody. You think people like that in a guy?"

He glanced at her, and for a breath, he looked like he might answer.

Then a pulse rippled across his senses.

He turned his head sharply, but what he felt was just a subtle magical pressure, a simple magic trick like turning a ball into a dove, several streets away.

Castella, a city of dream and magic users. Random, spontaneous, untrained.

This city was a storm of magical background noise. And for someone like him, a true handicap, it was chaotic, a field of false signals.

"I don’t care what people think about me," he said, finally. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

She jogged up to walk beside him.

"Good. Because if you did, you’d be even more annoying. But hey, at least pretend I’m not talking to a brick wall, will you?"

Bel gave her a half-second of eye contact before his attention veered again.

"You’re spacing out again," she muttered. "What, you analyzing wind pressure now?"

"Something like it."

She rolled her eyes.

"That’s not a real answer, you know. Ugh. You’re not normal."

He looked at her, quieter.

"Are you?"

"Hah?!" she fires back, red-cheeked. "I am not normal, but in a good way! You’re straight just not normal. Maybe I’m just trying to make this less awkward, genius. Ever think of that?"

He sighed first, quietly.

This is for the bond, he reminded himself. The more generals, the merrier.

He slowed a little, eyes still on the road.

"Then... thank you, I suppose."

Airi blinked, surprised. For a moment, she looked like she didn’t know what to do with the words. Then she grinned, half-smirking, half-pleased.

"Wow. Actual gratitude. Didn’t know you had that setting. We’ll work on it."

Crest followed several steps behind, face low, hands in his pockets.

He watched the exchange in silence, bitterness gathering behind his eyes.

He saw the way Airi spoke to Bel, the way she tilted toward him, the small smile that crept in even when she tried to be mean.

She never smiled like that for him.

His voice came out low and sharp.

"So talkative all of a sudden. Didn’t know you had this much energy for someone you barely know."

Airi stopped walking. Her expression twisted.

"Shut up, third wheel."

Crest flinched. No comeback. Just silence.

Bel kept walking. Something in his expression flickered, a twitch in the corner of his mouth, almost a smile, quickly gone.

For some reason, he started to think she could have a good bond with Novaria. He could see them argue but carry about each other.

Plus, she was a thousand times stronger in her base form, so she would be a phenomenon.

What a great addition to his army.

Airi caught up again, grumbling.

"Jerk," she muttered. But her tone had softened.

They reached a plaza lit by spinning illusions and lanterns strung like stars.

Musicians played enchanted instruments, their sound warping gently in the air. Fire dancers moved through colored veils of light.

Castella’s night came alive like a dream trying to be remembered.

Bel slowed as they passed food stalls, eyes lingering on the display of pastries and sweets. He didn’t move closer.

Airi noticed.

"What’s wrong, you never seen food before?"

"I don’t eat this."

"What, are you allergic to joy?"

"I don’t need it."

She raised a brow, then bought a skewer of sweetfruit and shoved it lightly against his chest.

"You’re not gonna ruin the whole night being edgy. Just take a bite."

He sighed, took it, and bit. Then stared at it, expression distant.

It tasted like nothing. Soft, sweet, hollow.

He was used to cores. Cores could taste like poison, nauseating, corrosive, alive. Some burned like fire, others froze like death. Some sparked lightning through his spine or made his blood boil with strange power.

But over time, he grew used to it. Even liked it. The pain told him it meant something.

This? This was just... empty. Hollow in the mouth. Soulless.

"...Tastes wrong," he muttered.

"Aah?!" Airi barked, offended. "You’re the worst!"

Before he could reply, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the next row of stalls, her steps quick with determination.

"Come on. If you’re gonna act like a robot, I’m gonna force-feed you every sweet in this market until you find a soul."

Bel didn’t resist. He just sighed as she dragged him past steaming pots and glowing displays.

Behind them, Crest trailed slowly. He watched as Airi bought more food and kept pushing it into Bel’s hands, each time nagging louder, smiling wider.

And all Crest could do was watch, watch her laugh, shove, tease, try.