I Died and Received an SSS-Rank Unique Ability-Chapter 72: Three months later

Inside a dim corridor, lit only by flickering candles lining the stone walls, a girl with violet hair emerged from the shadows, her steps silent against the polished marble floor.

A heavy expression weighed on her face, as if she carried the burden of a world. She passed by several armored figures—each battle-worn, their gear ragged and stained by the filth of the Demon Realm.

After what felt like her hundredth turn, she finally stopped.

Towering before her were massive double doors, forged from dark steel and blackened wood. Two heavily armored guards flanked the entrance, imposing and silent—until they saw her.

"Morning, Lady Ayla," one of them greeted, his visor dipping respectfully.

"I need to speak with Aemond. There’s a matter we must discuss."

Though she couldn’t see it, the guard’s expression tightened.

"My apologies, Lady Ayla, but we’ve been ordered not to let you in—"

Before he could finish, a dark dagger bloomed into existence in Ayla’s hand. A sudden, suffocating pressure filled the corridor, choking the breath from the two guards.

"And how exactly do you plan to stop me?" she asked, her voice low and calm.

The guards exchanged a glance, then stepped aside in silent surrender, their heads snapping toward the door in a quick, sharp nod.

"He’s going to have our heads for this," one muttered under his breath. But Ayla was already walking past them.

Without delay, she entered the throne chamber.

Columns stretched across the vast room, carved from black brick and adorned with silver. In the center, raised on a small platform, stood a towering throne. A figure sat upon it.

Another guard stood beside the throne, clad in armor far more formidable than the ones outside. His presence alone commanded attention.

"Ayla," the man on the throne said, his voice booming through the hall.

He had dark brown hair and black eyes, with a smile that never quite reached them. His armour, dark with hints of midnight blue, gleamed under the faint torchlight.

"You refused my request to find a cure for the tree," Ayla said coldly. A flicker of anger passed across her face, but she kept it contained.

"Ah, my apologies. With the weather the way it is, I just—"

"Cut the bullshit," she snapped, slicing through his excuse. The guard beside the throne hissed at her insolence, but she ignored him.

"Don’t you want to go home? What are you playing at—"

"There are other priorities," Aemond said, rising from his throne with a casual shrug.

"What priorities? What—"

"Careful," he warned, his voice darkening. "You’ve already stirred up trouble, speaking of my quest and the cure. I’ve tolerated your existence so far... don’t push your luck."

Ayla’s fists clenched, rage surging through her like wildfire, but she held her posture, her expression unreadable.

"...Go back to your people," Aemond continued. "Make sure they play their part in our... society."

"Society?" she echoed, almost laughing. "You sit in here like some self-proclaimed king, pretending you don’t know how to fix that damn tree."

The air in the chamber shifted. The guard’s hand now held a dark Jian—its presence alone thickened the atmosphere, turning it sharp and heavy.

Ayla glanced at him briefly before locking eyes with Aemond again.

"People aren’t blind. They won’t swallow your lies much longer."

And with that, she turned on her heel and strode out. The massive doors shut behind her with a thunderous boom.

"Sir..." the guard said, his gaze fixed on Aemond, who remained still, deep in thought. "Shall I give the order?"

Aemond exhaled slowly, then gave a nod.

"Yes. We act tonight."

A few minutes later, Ayla sat at a round table inside a makeshift tent pitched just outside the castle walls. The faint glow of lanterns flickered against the fabric, casting shifting shadows. Around her, four others gathered—each one silent, waiting, their attention fully fixed on her.

"How did the talk go?" A man called Ezra asked, his piercing blue eyes framed by a curtain of black hair. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"The same as always," Ayla replied flatly. "Words won’t change anything."

"Then...?" A girl with long brown hair, tied neatly at the back, leaned forward. The anticipation in her eyes was unmistakable.

"It’s been three months since we arrived at the castle. Two since we discovered the truth about the cure—and Aemond. If we wait any longer, we’ll lose what little chance we have. We move. Tonight."

A heavy silence fell.

Dain and Klein exchanged a glance. With a single nod, they turned back to Ayla. Her gaze drifted slightly, as if her thoughts were miles away.

"How many can we rally?" she asked.

"Including us? Around fifty," Ezra answered. "Thirteen of which are Awakened. The rest Dormant."

Ayla gave a sharp nod. "And the castle’s numbers?"

"Sixty total. Twenty-five Awakened—at least, that’s our best estimate."

The numbers weren’t vastly different—fifty against sixty. Odds worse than these had led to victory before. But the real danger lay with the Awakened.

That’s what made this battle terrifying.

They were still baffled by how many Awakened were trapped here in the mountains—and how Aemond had somehow kept them all under his control. For three years, he’d ruled like a god, and they had followed him without question.

At first, the group had doubted the rumours—whispers of a demon, one who spoke of a cure for the dying tree rather than killing those who met him. Most called the story madness. After all, demons didn’t offer salvation—they brought slaughter. At least that’s what everyone believed.

Until the second rumour spread.

The nature of Aemond’s quest was revealed. He had to cure the tree and had the recipe to do so.

That changed everything.

They had pleaded with him, tried to reason. They offered volunteers, insisted they’d go willingly. But Aemond refused every word. He ruled with total control—and he executed anyone who dared to oppose him.

Ayla no longer had doubts. Only one path remained.

For a fleeting moment, Vale’s face flashed through her mind. What would he do? The answer came swiftly, as if whispered by instinct—whatever it took.

Ayla stood up from her seat, her voice resolute.

"Gather the people. We end this—tonight."