SSS Awakening: Rebirth of the Strongest Vampire God Chapter 740 Long live King Samarishit!

For an instant, nothing was visible save for a violent crimson mist clouding the air. Gasps rippled through the assembled nobles, quickly followed by a profound silence.

The scythe's presence slowly dissipated, its colossal edge dissolving into tendrils of blood energy. Where Damon had stood moments before, there was now nothing. No body remained, nor any limbs. Only a horrific spattering of blood stained the fractured stone.

The court members could only stare, dumbfounded. Samarishit gradually lowered his hand. The immense blood avatar that had towered behind him dissolved, its colossal form fragmenting into streams of crimson light that flowed back into the vacant vial hovering near his palm.

"It is concluded," he stated with a soft voice that carried across the terrace, echoing through the courtyard far below. The heir was no more. The throne would soon be open.

Samarishit turned slightly, his visage reverting to the composed, noble countenance he typically maintained. "Let the chronicles bear witness," he declared with somber dignity, "that the decadent heir, who betrayed his kin and sacrificed his own people, has met his execution."

Chaos erupted, and jubilation swept through the crowd. "He's dead!"

"The degenerate heir is finally gone!"

"He got what he deserved!"

Cheers surged across the terrace and down into the courtyard below. Some nobles openly guffawed, while others heartily applauded. A number of guards visibly relaxed, lowering their weapons with evident relief.

"Good riddance to that disgrace!"

"Poisoning his own clan… what a vile wretch."

"A coward to the very end!"

An elder noble shook his head, a sneer twisting his lips. "And this pathetic insignificant creature dared to claim kingship."

Several nobles offered Samarishit respectful bows.

"Lord Samarishit has safeguarded the clan!"

"You are the one destined for the throne!"

"Indeed! Only someone of your caliber deserves to inherit the ancestors' blood!"

Samarishit offered no smile, but the corners of his mouth curved upwards subtly as he received their accolades. His posture straightened, projecting regal composure, precisely as a triumphant noble should appear.

"Long live the new king!"

"The throne is at last unburdened!"

Samarishit raised his hand. "This is hardly a time for festivities. War looms on our horizon. A formidable challenge still lies before us."

Another noble quickly chimed in, "Lord Samarishit, you must ascend the throne without delay. The ancestors' blood will immediately recognize a worthy inheritor. Once you claim its power, those external adversaries will cease to be a threat."

Several others readily concurred.

"Yes, you must seize it before hostilities commence."

"The throne cannot remain vacant any longer."

"With the ancestors' blood, victory is assured!"

Samarishit remained silent for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the palace interiors behind them, where the throne chamber lay concealed deep within the castle.

For a fleeting second, a spark of ambition flashed in his eyes before he swiftly concealed it. "I shall fulfill your desires. I will accept the ancestors' blood's blessings, but solely because our entire clan faces peril."

Numerous nobles nodded in approval.

"Such remarkable humility."

"Lord Samarishit truly embodies the presence of a king."

"The throne has made an exceptional choice."

Murmurs of admiration quickly spread among the throng. Some of the younger nobles appeared almost relieved, as if the recent turmoil had finally subsided, replaced by a sense of order once more.

Lysandra uttered no words.

Her gaze remained intently fixed on the pulverized stone where Damon was presumed to have perished. The bloodstains upon the terrace were beginning to congeal, yet an unsettling feeling lingered with her regarding them.

Samarishit turned towards the palace gates, his cloak trailing behind him as he prepared to depart the terrace and proceed to the throne chamber.

"We shall secure the throne forthwith," he stated placidly. "Once the ancestors' blood recognizes a new sovereign, the castle's defenses will fully activate. Our doorstep enemies will rue the day they ever set foot upon our lands."

"Yes, my lord!"

"Escort Lord Samarishit to the throne hall!"

"Clear the passages!"

The terrace became a flurry of activity as guards and nobles began to marshal themselves around him. The procession moved with haste through the palace corridors. Servants darted aside, while soldiers rushed to clear the path ahead, using their staffs to purge the air of any lingering poison. Several nobles continued to whisper animatedly as they trailed Samarishit.

"Once the ancestors' blood awakens, the castle's formations will be activated."

"The barrier alone will obliterate those invaders at our borders."

"Even with six ascension candidates, they will regret their advance."

Someone chuckled softly. "The decadent heir's sole contribution to the clan was his timely demise." A few others joined in with suppressed laughter throughout the murmurs.

Lysandra moved amongst them, a silent observer. Her thoughts kept returning to the scene on the terrace, replaying Damon's demise over and over. There was an unsettling feeling about his death, something that didn't quite sit right.

However, the others were too consumed by their elation to notice her quiet unease. Before long, they arrived at the immense portals leading to the throne room.

Stationed outside were two guards, elite members of the royal contingent, their faces unusually ashen. A rigid mask was plastered on their features, as though they had just witnessed something beyond their comprehension.

"Open these doors," Samarishit commanded, his voice ringing with authority.

The guards complied without delay, and with a profound, groaning resonance, the colossal stone doors began to swing inward. The assembled nobles stepped across the threshold, only to halt abruptly.

The throne chamber was steeped in an eerie silence. Dominating the space beneath the high, arched ceiling was the ancient, obsidian throne, positioned precisely where it had stood for ages untold.

Yet, it was no longer unoccupied.

A lone figure reclined upon it with striking ease, one arm propped casually on the armrest as if he had been anticipating their arrival for an extended period.

The entire room seemed to seize up. For several taut seconds, not a soul stirred. Samarishit's smug countenance faltered, then fractured. "That... that is impossible," he stammered, his whisper barely audible. Seated before them, with an air of nonchalant familiarity, was the very wastrel heir they had supposedly just eliminated.

Damon regarded them from his elevated position, his gaze languid.

"Took you all long enough," he drawled.

A subtle, crimson luminescence began to pulse from beneath the throne, gradually seeping into the ancient stone's fissures like dormant veins stirring from a profound slumber.

And this time, the entire chamber vibrated with nascent power. Runes, etched into the very walls, floor, and ceiling, flickered to life in succession. Ancient sigils, which had slumbered for centuries, now blazed with an intense crimson light, bathing the throne chamber in their an cient glow.