Reincarnated as the Weakest Magical Beast-Chapter 112: Corruption

There had always been a great risk for those who stepped onto the battlefield to fight demons: The Demonic corruption.

It was one of the most feared dangers in all of Arventia, a curse that did not wound the body, but twisted the mind.

Even the calmest and kindest soul could be consumed by it, transformed into a bloodthirsty monster that could no longer recognize friends or family.

The cause of that was quite straightforward.

Where demons walked, the air itself became tainted. A thick miasma would seep into the land, clinging like smoke, and demon blood carried an even worse corruption, as it was unnatural, hostile to all living things. Like a toxin, the longer one remained exposed, the greater the danger became.

Demonic corruption might not happen instantly though. It was not like flipping a switch. Sure, if given a strong dose of that toxicity, of course a person would instantly be corrupted, but it could also happen slowly, silently.

And when it started to manifest, it would feed on negative emotions, magnifying the person’s negative emotions, like pain, fear, jealousy, hatred and greed, slowly spiralling them beyond control.

A warrior who once fought to protect could suddenly fight only to destroy.

A hero who once stood for justice could become a creature of madness.

Then came the hunger, the urge to slaughter, the need to tear down everything around them, simply to satisfy the darkness gnawing inside.

Countless valiant champions had fallen this way—turned into demons themselves in a single moment of carelessness. Their stories became warnings whispered among soldiers and priests alike.

And no one, no matter how strong, could claim to be completely safe.

Not even the gods could say with certainty that corruption would never touch them.

Fortunately, it could sometimes be contained. With proper purification rites, sacred healing, and swift intervention, the spread could be halted. If the symptoms were caught early, most could be restored to themselves.

But...there were still times when it was already too late, times when the darkness had sunk too deep.

And once that happened... there would be no turning back.

***

Now... back to King Amaras.

He was born the only son of King Alan and Queen Vivian, the long-awaited heir to Lionera’s golden throne. On the night of his birth, the court astrologers claimed that a star had fallen from the heavens, streaking across the sky like a blazing omen.

Some speculated that it was a sign from the gods. Others went even further. They said the child was not merely royal blood, but a god descended into mortal flesh!

At first, such words were only rumors.

But as Amaras grew, those rumors began to feel less like exaggeration... and more like truth.

Because from a young age, he had already displayed talent unlike any seen before.

He mastered the royal sword arts of Lionera while other children of the same age still struggled to hold a blade.

And it was not only swordsmanship. His magical ability was just as frightening. Spells that took seasoned mages decades to learn came to him as naturally as breathing.

And so, the kingdom watched in awe. They hailed him as a genius, a prodigy!

A future king blessed by fate itself!

Then, at only twenty years old, Amaras reached level 100, and for the first time, he stepped onto the battlefield against Abyssia, becoming one of the youngest persons in history to ever do so.

And from that day onward, he became a living legend, a hero whose name thundered across the continent.

They said he cut down demons by the ten of thousands, that entire hordes scattered before the Lion Sword King’s blade. Soldiers found courage simply by standing near him.

To the people of Lionera, Amaras was hope.

He was the manifestation of victory, he was their shining lion.

But behind that glory, behind the songs and triumph... there was a regret, a wound that never healed.

Because... one moment of hesitation... lead to the decision that haunted him for the rest of eternity.

***

Back then, the kingdom was told that Queen Vivian had died suddenly from an injury sustained on the battlefield.

She had been a beloved queen, admired for her kindness and strength.

Thus, when the news spread, the entire kingdom mourned. Bells rang in sorrow, and countless people wept for days.

It was a tragedy.

Or... so they believed.

But the truth...was unfortunately, far darker than that.

Queen Vivian had not simply fallen in battle.

She had been corrupted!

And in the end...she became a demon herself.

It happened during an attempt to defend a small village near the border.

Queen Vivian had ridden out herself, refusing to abandon innocent lives. She fought at the front lines, cutting down demons and shielding the villagers as they fled.

But there were simply too many.

The demon horde kept coming, wave after wave, like a tide that would not end.

And the reinforcements... arrived too late.

By the time the royal army finally pushed through, Vivian was already wounded. Demon blood had soaked into the cuts on her skin, and the thick miasma had clung to her like a curse.

When the priests reached her, her condition had already worsened.

She was... already half changed. Her eyes had turned crimson, her face had changed beyond recognition, and wings had already grown behind her back.

They tried everything.

Holy water.

Sacred chants.

Purification circles carved into the earth.

But in the end, they could only slow the corruption’s advance. They could not cleanse it completely.

And so, the truth was buried.

By the order of the King, Queen Vivian was secretly brought back to the palace under heavy guard, hidden away in a sealed dungeon deep beneath the royal halls—one that only a few members of the royal family even knew existed. Only then would he announce that she was dead.

To the public, she had simply "passed away heroically."

To Lionera, she became a beautiful memory.

But in the darkness below the palace... she still lived.

Or at least... something did.

And after that, from time to time, Amaras would visit her. And each time, he would be forced to witness the same nightmare.

The screams.

The pain.

The madness!

His own mother, writhing in torment, her voice twisting into something unnatural, like a beast wearing her skin.

All of that horror, but he could do nothing!

It tore at him, deeper than any battlefield wound ever could.

Yet even then, Amaras and King Alan refused to give up.

They searched for every cure, every forbidden text, every priest and healer who claimed to know the secrets of corruption. They offered treasures, begged the temples, even prayed until their voices grew hoarse.

Anything.

Just to bring her back.

And sometimes, a miracle happened.

There were days when Vivian’s eyes cleared, days when her breathing calmed, days when she regained enough of herself to speak.

On those rare moments, she would hold her son’s hand, call him by name, and smile at him like she used to.

Those were the happiest days Amaras ever had.

But... happiness never lasted long, not in the face of corruption.

Soon enough, the darkness would return, stronger than before. Her lucid moments grew fewer and fewer, her waking days became shorter, and her suffering only deepened.

In the end, the truth became unavoidable.

This would not end with a cure.

It would only end with mercy.

And so, eventually... they would have to let her go.

To kill her would be to set her free.

And though it shattered their hearts, Amaras and King Alan finally made their decision.

They would do it.