The Extra Can't be A Hero-Chapter 205: Clay Emperor (8)

Leon's party descended deeper into the catacombs, guided by the ever-courteous Manon and his warm, almost reverent hospitality. Though the weight of urgency hung over them, Manon needed time… time to dismantle the ancient seals that bound his Emperor in eternal slumber.

But as they approached the final threshold, something shifted.

Manon paused, his senses sharp. A subtle wrongness crept through the air. Without a word, he tapped the tip of his spear, transforming it back into a golden bell.

He rang it once, its chime echoing through the empty stone halls like a gentle ripple on still water. Then again. And again. Each toll bounced back hollow, unanswered. No response. No resonance. The warmth in Manon's expression faded, replaced by a grim, tightening urgency.

His smile twisted into a grimace, tinged with anger.

Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

He had initially intended to leave Leon and his companions behind—safe, away from the sanctum—while he alone ventured into the Emperor's tomb. But that plan was now shattered.

Without hesitation, Manon unravelled the final ward, shattering the ancient seal. Golden light flickered and warped as he plunged into the lowest depths of the catacombs. Sensing the shift in the air, Leon and the others followed without hesitation.

They emerged into the heart of the tomb: an ornate chamber bathed in gold and jade, its grandeur surpassing even the riches above. Intricate carvings, priceless relics, and ceremonial artefacts lined the walls, but none of it mattered.

All eyes were locked on the figure floating above the sarcophagus. It was demonic. Its silhouette was wreathed in malevolent energy, its features both childlike and cruel, wearing a playful smile that sent a chill through every soul in the room.

"Kekeke… You're late," the demonic figure chortled. "And you call yourself the Emperor's loyal spear?"

"Y-YOU DARE!!!"

Manon charged at the demonic figure as a burst of Aura, one that would have annihilated anyone else, was targeted at the floating person. Yet, the ancient spearman phased through the man as if he were made of immaterial mist.

"Is that all you've got? Doll?"

"YOU!"

Manon was going to strike once more, but the stunning sight of the cracked sarcophagus stopped him. He hurriedly turned his attention to the broken seal and checked for signs of his master. Taking advantage of his lapse in judgment, the demonic figure turned and stared right at Leon.

"So we meet at last, Hero of this generation."

"... who are you?"

"Me? My identity is irrelevant. But if you must know… well, I go by Zuphil here."

Zuphil casually revealed his name, as if it were common knowledge to everyone.

"I'm well… what you call a guardian of the Demon Cult? And the Prophet who leads it, of course."

Zuphil was quite a significant figure. Leon was shocked for a moment, but he regained his wits almost immediately. For some reason, Leon could feel a sense of kinship—no, a sense of ease—when talking to the mysterious, demonic figure. And for some reason… Leon felt compelled to ask his most seeded doubt.

"You… Why are you intent on causing chaos?"

"Causing chaos?"

"No… why is the Demon King intent on invading Hyades?"

"..."

Zuphil paused, not sure how to react to Leon's bold query. Not only he, but even his companions were similarly stunned by his boldness and familiarity with the enemy. But sure enough, Zuphil broke into a peal of laughter, as if a comedy routine amused him.

"HAHAHA!!! Amazing, only the Hero could entertain me this much!"

It took a few moments of wild laughter to calm Zuphil down, and the demonic man wiped the tears from his eyes before supporting himself with his staff.

"Fine, since you've entertained me this much, I'll indulge you! The Demon King's purpose… well, it isn't exactly a secret. He just wants more land to rule."

"... what?"

The Demon King's ambition for Hyades was so simple that it was comical. Even Leon, who had expected a grand reason or scheme, couldn't comprehend what he'd just heard.

"Heh… Did you think that Demons are that much different from humans? We are more similar than you would think. Just that… we're more honest and are willing to take the appropriate measures to fulfil our desires."

Zuphil spoke like a shady car salesman, and yet, everyone was compelled to listen to his rambles.

"While the Demon King lives in the Demon Realm, our hometown, he doesn't rule over all of it. There are a total of three Demon Kings vying for control of the Demon Realm. But after warring for millions of years, they had reached a deadlock. None of them could surpass the other, and they weren't able to invade each other's lands."

"There is… more than one Demon King?"

The Mist Warlock casually dropped a bomb, one that would change how the world viewed the Demon Realm. A Demon King was said to be akin to a God, a being of absolute power that no existence could compare to its majesty. Even the Goddess Hyades, the greatest deity in their dimension, paled in comparison to a Demon King's power.

And now… There were three of them?

"So what happens when all the land has been conquered and divided? Do we continue warring over the same land for millions of years? No, we find new land!"

Zuphil exclaimed with glee.

"Conquering undeveloped dimensions and expanding his domain… Isn't that what every sane living being does?" Zuphil spoke for the Demon King as if he were his brother. "And my job… is to make fulfill his ambitions, no matter the cost."

"I see…"

Leon drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. With a smooth motion, he unsheathed Ascalon from its scabbard. The Holy Blade ignited in a blaze of righteous flame, casting flickering light across his hardened features. When his blue eyes opened again, they burned with unwavering resolve.

That brief exchange with Zuphil had made one truth undeniable…

The Demon Cult must be wiped out.

No matter the cost.

"Then… We'll stop you."

"Haha, I would love to see you try!"

Zuphil tapped his staff against the ground, poised to leap into battle. But just as the clash seemed inevitable, he froze—his fist clenched tight, and a flicker of regret crossed his gaunt face, etched in silence.

"Kekeke… Looks like I'm out of time… No matter, I have achieved my motive."

The Mist Warlock lowered his staff as he felt the demonic mana within Olagavuel weaken. He'd only managed to pierce through the Clay Emperor's defences due to the surplus in demonic mana called forth by Samael, temporarily lifting the restraints placed on him.

But now that he'd completed his goal of corrupting the Clay Emperor and stealing his treasure… Zuphil felt his power weakening by the second.

A shroud of grey mist enveloped the demonic figure—it was clear the man was attempting to flee. Without hesitation, Leon surged forward, Ascalon erupting with holy fire. He swung with deadly intent, aiming to cleave Zuphil in two.

But the blade cut through nothing. The figure dissolved like smoke, intangible and untouchable.

Leon clicked his tongue in frustration and roared: "Coward!"

"There's no need to rush, Hero. We'll be seeing each other soon."

Zuphil smiled as his presence faded into darkness. And before he disappeared for good, a voice echoed within Leon's raging mind.

"So much that you're going to be sick of me."

And with that, the Mist Warlock disappeared from existence, as if he were a spectral phantom that never existed. Biting down on his lips till it bled, Leon lowered Ascalon with frustration, clearly annoyed that he'd let yet another Demon Cult executive slip through his fingers.

Nevertheless, he couldn't sit back and mope about his failure… the situation didn't allow for that.

Manon was trembling with utter fear, no, grief, as he knelt before the resting place of his liege. Even though Zuphil had long disappeared, a sinister demonic presence remained within the Chamber of the Clay Emperor, and there was no need for an investigation into why.

A new silhouette emerged within the chamber, a young boy, no older than ten, his small frame casting a long shadow across the floor. He stood in solemn stillness, his back turned to Leon, concealing both his face and expression.

Before him, Manon knelt with desperation in his eyes, pleading softly… gently… for the boy to awaken.

"Your majesty! It's me! Manon! D-Don't you remember me?!"

"..."

The boy gave no reply, but his silence was more powerful than words. Slowly, he lifted both arms into the air, and the chamber trembled. All around them, the clay soldiers, beasts, and warriors that had once lain dormant began to stir, their hollow eyes flickering to life.

But it didn't stop there.

New clay constructs began forming from the earth itself—limbs, weapons, faces—shaped in moments by unseen hands. With each creation, the boy poured unholy energy into them, drawing from a far darker well.

He was awakening the souls of the ancient Sekhmet Empire; souls meant to slumber in peace for all eternity. One by one, they were torn from their rest and bound into these vessels of war.

And looming above it all, the Clay Emperor—once a merciful and revered ruler—now stood as the architect of damnation. His divine essence had twisted, tainted by demonic energy, corrupting the million souls under his command.

Their agony became fuel, their despair the mortar of this unholy army.

This wasn't the action of the benevolent Emperor… but a ruthless dictator.

"Y-Your majesty!!!"

One by one, the clay subjects stirred—first with a twitch, then a shudder—until they stood upright in eerie unison.

It was a grotesque mimicry of a royal procession, as if the very earth rejoiced in the return of its long-lost monarch. But to Leon and the others, it was no divine homecoming. It was a nightmare incarnate. Their bodies stiffened, gripped by an instinctive dread as the towering figure at the chamber's centre slowly turned.

The Clay Emperor now stood draped in corrupted majesty. His once-glorious raiment hung in tatters, weighed down by dried blood and centuries of burial dust, yet it somehow retained a twisted grandeur.

When his face came into view, the horror deepened.

The Emperor's eyes, once radiant pearls said to hold the wisdom of a thousand generations, had turned foul, swirling with a viscous, putrid darkness that pulsed with malice. His skin, once bronze and full of life, had begun to rot in patches.

Cracks lined his cheeks and forehead, exposing sinew laced with writhing veins of black ichor.

The regal noble… was now a beast.

And with a beastly shout… the Clay Emperor sent forth a shockwave that would shake the foundations of El Dorado, the golden city itself.