THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 828 The Truth Beyond Demons

In stark contrast to the ongoing war and its brutal horrors, the dominion where the Shadow Sect was situated remained eerily tranquil—as though the conflict, drenched in blood, had never touched this planet at all.

This very stillness was unsettling.

Not so long ago, the most potent individuals on Earth could obliterate entire mountain ranges when unleashing their full might—a feat once deemed astonishing.

But now… that very level of power had devolved into the minimum requirement for even participating in warfare.

This was due to the advent of monstrous entities capable of toppling continents… and cleaving moons in two.

One such titan—

Was Amon, the Host of the Nightmare… who arrived as an imposing guest upon the formidable ramparts of the Shadow Sect.

The masked individual materialized without a sound, emerging from the surrounding foliage as he advanced deliberately towards the sect’s imposing, dark fortifications.

The terrain encircling the sect was utterly barren—nothing but an expansive, clear, and level plain.

This straightforwardly indicated one crucial point.

Amon was entirely exposed to the view of those vigilant sentinels stationed atop the battlements.

He did not initiate any attack.

Nor did he make any pretense of concealment.

He employed absolutely no methods of hiding himself.

Having advanced sufficiently, Amon finally ceased his movement, maintaining a significant distance between himself and the sect’s walls.

His crimson irises fixed upon the main gate as he silently surveyed the ancient edifice… behaving as though his journey had been a leisurely promenade, not a prelude to battle.

The Host of the Nightmare exhibited no aggressive intent. No discernible hostility.

In stark opposition to the Shadow Sect, whose members immediately perceived him as an adversary the moment their gazes fell upon him.

From the vantage point of the walls—

A towering, armored entity descended.

Its entire being was encased in obsidian-hued metal.

At a cursory glance, it appeared to be clad in armor.

Yet, upon more careful scrutiny…

Amon discerned—

That it was not armor at all.

It was its very skin.

A statue-like being.

Its face, a motionless, wrathful visage utterly devoid of emotion, wielded a colossal scythe… radiating a palpable pressure that had undeniably attained the SSS rank.

A subtle smile touched Amon’s lips beneath his mask upon witnessing this formidable display.

"So… you are the one they elected to dispatch?"

"There is a certain audacity about you, unique being… stepping forward to confront me, fully aware that you are no match for my strength."

Amon spoke first, initiating a dialogue.

But Angry was not one for conversation.

In fact—

He was fundamentally incapable of speech.

Thus, instead of words—

He responded with unwavering readiness.

Preparing for the impending combat.

Angry took a solitary step forward—

Then abruptly halted.

The colossal statue slowly inclined its head…

As a pale hand reached out, pressing against its chest, arresting its advance.

A slender hand.

Yet possessed of such overwhelming firmness that the statue could not budge an inch.

"Step back."

"You are not equipped to face him."

The voice belonged to Frey, who had manifested instantaneously between Amon and Angry—bringing the latter’s forward momentum to a standstill.

Frey did not even grant the enraged statue a passing glance.

His focus remained entirely fixed upon the demonic entity before him.

In deference to Frey’s directive, Angry executed a slight bow of respect before promptly withdrawing, returning to the ramparts under the command of his superior.

And just like that—

Only two remained.

Frey—who had arrived with impossible speed through spatial manipulation.

And Amon, the Host of the Nightmare.

Face to face.

Frey lightly pushed off the ground, settling his stance before exhaling a slow breath—his gaze locked onto Amon, imbued with complex, conflicted emotions.

"So this is it?"

"This constitutes your strategy?"

"To assault the sect while we are embroiled in the war?"

Frey’s words carried evident disdain, laced with a subtle mockery.

"Did you truly believe I could not reach you simply because you stand on the opposite side of the planet?"

In reply—

Amon removed his mask, unveiling his countenance as he offered Frey a smile.

"Not in the slightest… Vessel of Nameless."

"I am fully cognizant of your capabilities."

Frey’s eyes narrowed, unable to ascertain the genuine intent behind Amon’s pronouncement.

However, Amon did not conceal his objective for long.

"I came here… with the singular purpose of meeting you directly."

"Without any intervening parties."

His voice was remarkably calm.

His smile—exceedingly gentle.

There was an absence of hostility.

No hint of anger.

Not even the slightest flicker of killing intent.

But rather, something else entirely.

Something that Frey could not immediately identify.

With cautious deliberation, Frey responded.

"If that was your objective… then you have achieved it."

Even if it were a deliberate ploy—

Frey’s ultimate target had been Amon from the very outset.

This confrontation was an inevitable culmination.

Frey slowly extended his sword forward, indicating his readiness to commence the duel—

But Amon intervened.

"Before we engage in a fight to the death…"

"Would you permit me to exchange a few words with you first?"

"Words?" Frey’s brow furrowed.

"Since when did the Host of the Nightmare… Crimson’s younger sibling… become one who engages in conversation with an opponent slated for elimination?"

"To clarify for you—"

"I shall not dispatch you."

"Instead, I will simply subue you long enough to escort you back to Helmound."

"Therefore… you may consider yourself an exception."

"The sole survivor of this conflict."

Frey let out a laugh.

A laugh so cold it sent shivers down the spine.

A laugh brimming with palpable animosity.

"Should I offer my gratitude then?"

"For preserving my existence?"

He chuckled once more.

"My apologies."

"But I have no intention of extending you the same leniency."

"I will inter you beneath this very soil…"

"Should any fragment of you remain worthy of entombment."

"How utterly dreadful…" Amon uttered softly.

He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, then advanced towards Frey—deliberately, with caution.

"Allow me to reveal something first."

"Perhaps… it may sway your conviction."

A stark, crimson luminescence burst forth from Amon's being, his imposing aura flaring outwards.

Through an arcane technique—

His aura expanded like a tempest…

Swallowing both himself and Frey within its vortex—

Drawing them into an otherworldly dimension that utterly transformed the surrounding panorama.

Frey remained immobile.

He offered no defense.

He made no movement.

For he perceived, through the omniscient gaze of the Void...

That this was not a direct confrontation.

Amon had drawn Frey into a construct, akin to a simulation—

A simulation meticulously crafted from the tapestry of his own recollections.

Frey could not fathom the objective of the Eleventh-ranked Archdemon, yet he chose to indulge the moment, propelled by an inquisitive spirit… suspecting a hidden treasure of knowledge might lie within.

The possibility that Amon sought to lull him into a false sense of security did cross his mind.

However, Frey's preternatural senses had sharpened to an unprecedented degree.

To such an extent that entities like Amon were rendered incapable of perpetuating any deception.

And thus—

A tableau materialized before their very eyes.

A planet… long since deceased.

Its heavens stained a deep crimson, its surface a desolate wasteland, devoid of all life.

"…This is Hellmond," Frey stated.

Amon inclined his head in affirmation.

"I am astonished you identified it, having never laid eyes upon it prior," Amon responded with measured calm.

Frey's gaze remained fixed upon the barren world.

"Why do you unveil this blighted realm before me?"

"Pray tell, Vessel of the Unnamed—nay… Frey Starlight."

Amon pivoted slowly.

"Have you ever pondered… the genesis of demons?"

Frey offered no reply.

He remained reticent—

Unwilling to betray even the slightest sliver of insight from his own position.

Consequently, Amon supplied the answer himself.

"The majority of demons… find their origin in the Primordial Demon—Manus."

A subtle smile graced his features.

"This… is the universally accepted truth, believed by all inhabitants of this world."

Frey's brow furrowed slightly.

"The inflection in your voice suggests this assertion is factually incorrect."

"It is not,"

Amon's reply was immediate.

Frey's frown intensified.

The discourse had veered into an entirely uncharted territory—

A realm unknown to him, and even to Nameless, with his current repository of memories.

"…What precisely do you imply?"

"Contemplate it," Amon suggested casually.

"If demons emerged from Manus… then from whence did Manus himself originate?"

"Was he not, himself, a demon?"