SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 33: Such impudence

Today was a dark day.

A heavy silence hung over the Royal Castle like a storm cloud ready to burst. The sky, cloaked in dense grey, rumbled with faint thunder in the distance. Even the usual warmth of the sun seemed unwilling to shine.

Inside, Damien fastened the last buckle of his battle uniform with practiced ease. The thick, reinforced leather hugged his muscular frame like a second skin. He reached over and slung his crossbow across his back, followed by a finely honed blade with a dark steel sheen that glimmered under the faint light. Arrows with sleek silver tips clinked lightly as he placed them in the holster on his belt.

He was just about to step out when—

Tap, tap, tap—

Rapid footsteps echoed down the corridor behind him. Damien turned his head slightly, his senses already alert, and soon enough, Devrok emerged from the hallway, the tail of his white battle cape fluttering behind him.

Devrok’s figure exuded raw sharpness. His gait was precise, measured, like a sword being unsheathed. The massive blade on his back gave him the silhouette of a seasoned war general, though his features were still youthful.

At that moment, the aura around him shimmered faintly—Damien’s eyes narrowed.

Iron mana.

The spiritual space had opened.

A surge of pride and wariness mingled in Damien’s heart, but his face remained calm.

"Where are you going, Elder Brother?" Damien asked, voice quiet yet commanding. Each word carried a gravity that pulled attention, a tone that brooked no casual reply.

Devrok faltered, surprise flashing in his eyes. He pointed toward the outer walls. "Aren’t we going to deal with the monster outside...?"

Damien didn’t answer right away. He studied Devrok with an unreadable gaze, his expression carved from stone. The silence stretched just a little too long.

Devrok’s jaw tightened. "What are you doing..." he began to say, irritation rising.

Then his eyes widened.

Like a puzzle snapping into place, realization struck.

The assassination attempt.

He had nearly forgotten. If both of them were to leave at once, it would be the perfect moment for another ambush.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his earlier eagerness evaporating into cold regret.

"I guess he is really somewhat smart after all..." Damien muttered under his breath as he turned away, satisfied that Devrok understood without the need for explanation.

Devrok watched him disappear through the gate, sighing. He was a swordsman, born to walk the battlefield. Yet now he was stuck in the castle, playing the waiting game. His blade hung heavy on his back, a silent testament to his restlessness.

He couldn’t even argue, after all who told him to be weak.

Outside, the wind howled.

Damien stepped onto the open training ground, his boots crunching against the gravel. The sky overhead was still grey, and a biting breeze cut through the air like a blade. Forty soldiers stood scattered around the grounds, many slouched or idling in pairs. Discipline was clearly absent.

Their hushed voices carried easily through the breeze.

"Oi, do you know why we’re even here...?"

"This is such a waste of time. Should’ve stayed in camp, cracking cold ones with the bros."

"Seriously, the sun’s already up. Where’s the Crown Prince? Overslept again?"

A soldier with piercing eyes and sharp eyebrows perked up. He was called Hawk Eyes, infamous for landing a kill from hundreds of meters out. His voice sliced through the murmurs.

"What did you just say about bushy brows?"

The group fell silent for a moment, their attention snapping to the trembling man beside him.

The so-called "bushy brows" swallowed nervously. "I—I overheard someone say Crown Prince Damien is leading us this time..."

His words had barely landed when a derisive bark of laughter erupted.

"That good-for-nothing crazy prince?"

Voices burst like fireworks.

"No way! I’m not following that lunatic!"

"We’re all gonna die if he leads this mission!"

It was chaos. The field turned into a marketplace of outrage, not a squad of trained warriors. They gestured wildly, raised their voices, and tossed around curses like street scoundrels. Not a trace of military decorum could be found.

From a distance, a group of castle guards observed with creased brows. Even they couldn’t make sense of it. These men had been handpicked by the four generals for an official royal expedition—and yet they looked more like mercenaries than trained soldiers.

Almost as if someone wanted this expedition to fail.

Damien stood at the edge of the grounds, eyes narrowed to slits.

This behavior wasn’t just unprofessional—it was dangerous.

He recalled the meeting with the generals the day before. All had been supportive. All except General Felix—the stoic southern defender. Now this band of misfits stood before him, sent as the royal escort.

Coincidence? Damien didn’t believe in those anymore.

He spotted a familiar castle guard nearby and motioned him over.

"Where is Uncle Roan?" Damien asked, tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

The guard looked surprised. Upon recognizing Damien, he quickly bowed. "Replying to Crown prince, Head Roan left for Mesarith City yesterday. He accompanied Prince Hugo."

Damien’s brows drew close.

Left without informing me?

His mind churned, heading to Mesarith city, hmm, Hugo had turned eighteen?if his guess was true then that could only mean one thing—his Awakening Ceremony. Still, the timing was suspect.

Before his thoughts could wander further, a sudden loud commotion tore through the yard.

Damien’s head snapped toward the sound.

A group of soldiers had formed a circle, shouting and laughing.

Within it, a young castle guard in standard uniform lay on the ground, curled in pain as he was viciously kicked and spat on.

"Trash! Who the hell do you think you are, lecturing us?"

Moments ago, the young man had tried to speak up, outraged by the mockery aimed at Damien. He had called them out, proud and unflinching.

But now his face was swollen, bruises already forming.

Still, through grit teeth, he hissed, "The King won’t let you go..."

A foot raised—ready to stomp down on his already bleeding face—

When a voice colder than winter snapped through the air.

"What is going on here?"

The soldiers froze.

Damien stepped forward, gaze frosty, expression carved from ice.

He stared at them, eyes unreadable yet filled with a quiet fury that made even the boldest among them flinch.

He saw everything he needed to. And he understood.

The soldiers sent by the generals were beating the loyal guards of the castle.

His fingers curled slightly, the aura around him tightening like a blade.

Such impudence..!