Vile Evil Hides Under The Veil Chapter 2012: Mass Fiend ansformation

A full day had passed.

White Raven Island. Labh Salem.

The early morning sun sat low on the horizon, painting the expansive fields of White Raven Island in a brilliant golden light.

While a soft sea breeze rustled the foliage at the perimeter of the grounds, the center remained eerily still and silent.

Row after row of warlocks and witches were gathered in a flawless military formation. Clad in dark robes and combat-ready equipment, their countenances were composed and deeply focused.

Eren descended a small hill toward the field, flanked by Ivor and Hettie. Reaching the crest, he paused momentarily to survey the scene unfolding before him.

The massive gathering of practitioners was somewhat daunting due to their rigid discipline. The sight reminded him of the organized military ranks he had once witnessed within the kingdom of Edinburgh back in Anfang.

He glanced at Ivor, a single eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"I didn't think the coven members would act like a kingdom's army," Eren remarked.

Ivor let out a soft chuckle, clasping his hands behind his back in a relaxed posture.

"That's because the Order of the Root was an army once," he clarified. "Centuries ago, survivors of a fallen witch kingdom from the Epas continent established it. The founders were seasoned generals, tacticians, and frontline warriors. This discipline you observe is their legacy. We maintain their traditions to this very day."

Eren blinked, the name "Epas" striking a chord in his memory.

'Isn't that the same continent Alephee visited a few years ago?' he mused silently.

'I wonder if she has concluded her business in that region...'

Since arriving in this world, Eren had traveled to many corners of Labh Salem, yet its sheer scale was overwhelming. Epas was situated in a distant part of the world, making it difficult to reach.

The butcher pushed the thought to the back of his mind and took several steps forward.

His eyes swept across the field. The ranks were perfectly straight. The gathered witches and warlocks stood motionless, their breathing synchronized as if they were a single entity. He could feel the weight of their collective gaze fixed upon him.

Eren triggered his WindFire Wings. A sudden burst of flames and gale erupted from his back, propelling him into the sky until he hovered several dozen feet above the assembled formation.

"Listen up!" he barked, his voice booming across the open expanse. "Team captains, maintain your positions! The rest of you, fall back!"

As soon as the command left his lips, the ground beneath them seemed to shift. Thousands of coven members stepped back in near-perfect harmony, retreating until only a handful of figures remained in each column. Twenty captains stood firm before him, every single one of them an A-Ranked witch or warlock.

They tilted their heads upward to meet his gaze.

Eren descended, landing softly in front of the group. With his hands tucked behind his back, he scrutinized their expressions one by one. He saw stern faces, calm ones, and a few that betrayed a sense of curiosity.

However, he also detected something else lingering in their eyes—doubt. It wasn't loud or defiant, but it was present nonetheless.

He understood the source of their skepticism. He was currently an A-Rank, a Grand Knight. He occupied the same rank as them.

These captains were Arcane Sorcerers and Sorceresses, formidable in their own right. They were seasoned leaders, each commanding roughly a hundred members. Now, they were expected to follow a man who, on paper, possessed no greater Ranking power than themselves.

Despite his status as the chosen of the Elder Ichor, his growing fame, and the many rumors surrounding his name, the fact that he was "only" an A-Rank caused them to hesitate internally.

Because they had only recently arrived and were kept separate from the local White Raven residents, they had not yet heard of Eren’s achievement in slaying an Immortal. Furthermore, neither Ivor, Hettie, nor their superiors had briefed them on the true nature of their mission.

'They expected someone far more powerful,' Eren thought. 'A Kaiser, or perhaps someone even beyond that.'

He chose not to address their skepticism directly. He knew this was merely the start. Their hesitation was natural. Soon enough, he would demonstrate that Rank was not the sole measure of true power. He would show them why he was the leader they would follow into the coming chaos.

He remained before them, his expression unreadable and calm.

The wind tugged at his coat while the captains waited in disciplined silence.

Their discipline was exactly what he required.

He took one final look at their faces before he finally spoke.

"I'll get to the point," Eren stated, his voice firm and unwavering. "Your coven has already committed to an alliance with me. Under the right circumstances, you may become my direct subordinates. To that end, I am offering you an opportunity to go even further. I am offering to transform you into fiends."

The announcement hit the group like heavy stones dropped into a quiet pool of water.

Eren paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in during the silence.

"This is not a process I take lightly. Once the transformation is complete, it is permanent. There is no returning to your former path. Many of your current Skills may become obsolete, particularly when you interact with the Mesh. In fact, there is a distinct possibility that your entire Skill Tree, linked to the witch goddess you serve, could be severed entirely."

At those words, several captains grew visibly tense. Their devotion to their deity was ancient and profound. The prospect of losing that spiritual connection was a heavy burden to consider.

"However," Eren continued, raising a hand to signal there was more, "there is a tradeoff."

He maintained eye contact with them as he spoke.

"Becoming a fiend grants you a far more resilient body and a significantly more powerful soul. If your goddess's Skill Tree is severed, I will grant you access to the Elder Ichor Skill Tree. While it possesses fewer Skills, each one is devastatingly powerful. They are versatile and hit with more force than anything you have previously wielded. This is not a loss—it is the beginning of a new path."

In the past, Eren could transform individuals into fiends at his whim. However, attempting to convert such a large group simultaneously carried inherent dangers, especially with the passive effects of his Greater Skills active.

While he could manage those passive effects when changing a single person, he was uncertain of the outcome if he tried to transform twenty A-Rank practitioners of various paths all at once. Therefore, he was providing specific guidance as a safety measure to ensure the transition went as smoothly as possible for everyone involved.

The warlocks and witches traded looks, their expressions shifting from apprehension to genuine interest.

Eren nodded, realizing he needed to be blunt about the potential for failure.

"There is one more thing. During the change, you must maintain your sanity for roughly the first ten minutes. To be blunt, my demonic influence is expanding at an incredible rate lately, and controlling it is becoming increasingly difficult.

That is the primary risk for you. If you falter... the process will destroy you. But if you endure, you will emerge more powerful than you ever thought possible."

He studied their reactions. While some appeared anxious, he saw a glimmer in the eyes of others. It was the spark of hunger. Of raw ambition.

Their attention shifted toward Hettie, who stood nearby with a knowing smirk.

"It's true," she said, stepping toward the group. "My liege was the one who transformed me into a fiend. It wasn't any of the Demon Princes. He is the true master of those seven demonic overloards. The Young Demon Emperor himself."

She spread her arms wide, inviting them to observe her power.

"You have witnessed what I am capable of. My abilities are far more potent and refined than they were before. I do not miss my link to the witch goddess in the slightest. The Elder Ichor's Skill Tree provides everything I need. Believe me when I tell you that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

Eren gave a nod of confirmation.

"But," he added, his tone becoming grave.

"Understand this—once I turn you into a fiend, betrayal is no longer an option. My essence will bind you. It is the equivalent of signing an exclusive Faustian contract. You may choose to remain with the Root or be integrated into my demon legion. That choice belongs to you. But if any of you doubt your loyalty to me... now is your chance to step away."

Because the ritual functioned like a Faustian Contract, Eren could omit certain details, but he could not tell a direct lie. Soul-altering processes of this nature only succeeded when the one initiating the fundamental change was being truthful.

He scanned the circle, providing them a window of time to voice any objections.

No one moved to leave.

Instead, one after another, their eyes began to glow with a fervent light. The previous tension evaporated, replaced by cold resolve.

They all turned their focus back to Eren, who let out a long, slow breath.

"Very well," he declared. "Then brace yourselves."

Eren raised his arms slowly and inhaled deeply. Then, without saying another word, he triggered all seven Sin Series Domains simultaneously.

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

A crushing pressure descended upon the field like a heavy, dark shroud, weighing down on the bodies and minds of everyone present.

An eerie reddish-black vapor began to ooze from the earth, mingling with the air. The ground beneath them shuddered slightly, as if the world itself was recoiling from what was being called forth.

Eren's demonic essence had truly reached unprecedented levels. It seemed that the act of slaying an Immortal had fed his demonic bloodline, granting him even greater access to the divine power of the Elder Ichor.

From Eren's position, seven overlapping rings of demonic energy radiated outward in pulsing waves.

Each ring emitted a distinct type of pressure—each one carrying the unique, intoxicating flavor of a specific sin.