SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 41: That was beyond forgiveness

"The gall of this guy..."

For a moment, Akira thought she had misheard. That cowardly dog, the man who’d clung to the rear lines like a leech, now stood before them—chin raised, voice brazen—asking for a protection fee.

Shouldn’t he be the one paying us to save his sorry ass? she thought, her brows twitching in disbelief.

If not for their intervention, the man would’ve been rotting in a nameless ditch by now, picked clean by crows. And yet here he stood, posture puffed with false righteousness.

Her eyes flared—crimson, glowing, and full of fury. Heat radiated from her as she stepped forward.

"Presumptuous! Asking us to pay when you barely did anything! Just how stupid do you think we are...?"

The middle-aged man, Eliot, remained unfazed. His face contorted into an expression of wounded pride and self-righteous indignation.

"What do you mean, I didn’t do anything?" he huffed, chest heaving with exaggerated emotion. "If it weren’t for my prayers, why would this mighty warrior come to rescue you?"

He motioned to Claymen as if the general’s timely arrival had been a divine response.

"I prayed to the True Eternal One for deliverance—and behold! A savior descended. How dare you belittle the grace of the Lord?"

His voice took on a solemn tone, heavy with conviction. It was not just arrogance—it was belief. Eliot truly thought that his words had summoned salvation.

And in his mind, to mock him was one thing... but to mock his god? That was beyond forgiveness.

A flash of cold hatred lit up Eliot’s eyes. His hand briefly twitched toward the religious amulet at his chest, fingers curling possessively.

Touch the mortal, if you must—but not the divine. That was his limit, and he stood on the edge of it.

Neither Akira nor Selene noticed this shift in his demeanor. Had they seen the way his aura tightened, they might’ve taken his mad devotion more seriously.

From the sidelines, Damien watched silently, arms folded, face expressionless. He observed with the stillness of a statue, letting the drama unfold uninterrupted.

Claymen, who stood a few paces away, threw him a meaningful glance.

It was subtle—but clear.

Step in, Highness. End this foolishness.

But Damien didn’t move. He met Claymen’s glance with unflinching calm, making no effort to hide his disinterest.

Claymen’s frown deepened. Strange, he thought. Damien was no fool—surely, he grasped the implications.

"You!!"

Akira’s voice thundered once more. A vein pulsed on her temple as her anger mounted. Her fingers twitched near the hilt of her weapon.

But before she could unleash her fury, a voice as cold as frost cut through the heat of the argument.

"Mr. Eliot. Here are your one hundred gold coins."

Selene Veylor’s voice was detached—icy, composed. She hadn’t spoken a word until now, but when she did, the air seemed to drop in temperature.

Her gaze didn’t even flicker in Eliot’s direction as she extended a small cloth bundle.

The dull clink of coins inside echoed unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

Eliot, however, didn’t even flinch. His lips curled into a twisted grin, followed by a low, mocking laugh.

"Hehehehehehe..."

"Selene," he sneered, "do you take me for a one-year-old child? You think a hundred gold coins is sufficient compensation for this job?"

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with malice.

"Or do you think your life is worth only that much?"

The atmosphere turned poisonous. Even Damien, who had until now maintained a careful neutrality, narrowed his eyes.

This guy’s going too far.

Akira’s hands clenched tighter. Her jaw worked furiously as she restrained herself, her aura brimming with the urge to strike him down on the spot.

Even Claymen’s fingers curled slightly, the warrior within him battling with his position.

How dare this coward speak so brazenly after hiding behind two women?

But Selene remained unmoved. Her face didn’t flicker, not even for a heartbeat.

Without a word, she retrieved another pouch from her robes—this one smaller and heavier—and tossed it toward Eliot.

It arced through the air, landing in his palms with a satisfying weight.

"Inside are ten mana crystals," she said flatly. "That should be enough compensation."

Eliot didn’t even wait for her to finish.

He lunged for the pouch like a starving dog chasing scraps. With feverish excitement, he pried it open.

Ten shimmering stones glistened inside—mana crystals, pure and refined. Light danced across their surfaces like captured starlight.

Akira’s jaw dropped.

"Lady Selene... this is too much," she muttered.

Her voice trembled with disbelief. Ten mana crystals? That was a month’s wage for an Iron-rank warrior—more than enough to feed a family for an entire year.

Even Claymen’s expression shifted ever so slightly. The sight of such wealth so casually thrown away unsettled him.

These girls really were Divine Researchers, he mused. Rumors said they were wealthy, but this—this was confirmation.

Damien, still silent, caught that flicker in Claymen’s expression.

His own frown deepened.

Hmm... that reaction. I’ll need to review the kingdom’s finances. Immediately.

Just as Eliot turned to leave, clutching his ill-gotten gains, Damien finally spoke.

His voice was sharp—cold steel cloaked in velvet.

"Do you treat the authority of this kingdom as empty air?"

The words hit like a hammer. Eliot froze mid-step.

"Blatantly extorting the honored guests of my kingdom is a crime of the highest order," Damien continued.

He raised a hand, voice firm.

"Guards—capture this man and throw him into the dungeon."

A ripple of motion passed through the crowd.

In seconds, armed soldiers surrounded Eliot, weapons half-drawn, posture stiff with purpose.

Since the battle, Damien’s standing among the troops had soared. His commands now held the weight of royal decree—no longer a prince’s whim, but a ruler’s will.

Eliot’s expression twisted into fury. He bared his teeth like a cornered rat.

"Little prince," he spat, "do you even know who I am? Even your father wouldn’t dare treat me with such disrespect!"

Damien snorted, unamused. The threat rolled off him like water off steel.

With a flick of his wrist, space distorted.

Wring.

In a flash, the black and silver form of Epoch Breaker appeared in his hand, its barrel humming with suppressed power.

Bang!

The air cracked. A bullet screamed past Eliot’s ear, grazing the wind beside his cheek.

He froze, eyes wide in primal terror.

"Next time I won’t miss," Damien said calmly. "I hope you understand what I mean."

The gun vanished as swiftly as it had come, swallowed by space once more.

Silence.

The crowd stood stunned, breath caught in collective awe.

Akira stared, wide-eyed. "That strange weapon again..." she whispered.

The memory of what that gun had done in the battlefield remained vivid. A single shot had torn through beasts like divine judgment.

Eliot didn’t move.

He couldn’t. His ears still rang from the blast, his limbs refused to obey. In that single instant, all his arrogance and bluster had drained away, leaving only the pale husk of a coward.

And Damien stood tall—silent, composed, and unmoved—his presence now undisputed in the eyes of all.