CHAPTER 90: VS. DEMON KING YATARO CONCLUSION

A flicker of hope ignited in my chest.

"On one condition," he added, his smile widening.

"We wait one hour."

My hope died, strangled in its crib.

"We wait," he purred, his red eyes gleaming with a cruel, vampiric light, "for the sun to set."

The hour was the longest of my two lives.

We waited in the silence of the ruined wasteland, my broken army on one side, his victorious legions on the other.

The sun, a hateful, mocking eye, crawled towards the horizon with an agonizing slowness.

Every tick of the clock was a turn of the screw, a tightening of the noose around my neck.

I watched him.

The Vampire Lord, Ragnar Vhagar.

He sat on a throne of rubble, calm and composed, a king holding court on the eve of his own coronation.

The setting sun painted him in hues of blood and fire, and I could feel the change in the air around him.

The oppressive weakness he felt under the sun was fading, replaced by a low, thrumming hum of gathering power.

He was a predator, patiently waiting for the comforting cloak of night to fall before the final kill.

My heart, a tired old engine in a tired old body, pounded a funeral drum against my ribs.

I had lost before the fight had even begun.

Finally, the last sliver of the sun vanished below the horizon.

A deep, twilight gloom fell over the battlefield.

And with it, the atmosphere changed completely.

The air around Ragnar Vhagar grew cold, heavy, charged with a power so immense it was almost a physical presence.

He stood up, stretching languidly, like a great cat awakening from a nap.

"There now," he said, his voice a smooth, dark baritone that seemed to drink the remaining light. "That’s much better. Shall we begin?"

I drew my own weapon, a simple, elegant katana that felt impossibly heavy in my trembling hands.

It was more of a symbol than a tool.

I was a strategist, not a warrior.

"Let us end this," I said, my voice a dry whisper.

I took my stance, the one I had practiced a thousand times in the quiet solitude of my teahouse.

He just stood there, his hands in the pockets of his long, dark coat, a bored, almost pitying expression on his handsome, pale face.

I charged.

It was a desperate, all-or-nothing lunge, putting every ounce of my remaining strength into a single, straight thrust aimed at his heart.

BOOM!

The ground cracked under my feet as I moved, a testament to my own surprising, fear-fueled speed.

The wind shrieked as I closed the distance.

He didn’t even move.

Not until the last possible second.

The world seemed to blur.

He wasn’t there anymore.

I felt a cold, gentle pressure against my throat.

I stopped, my forward momentum dying instantly.

I looked down.

The tip of a spear, black as a moonless night and humming with a faint, dark energy, was resting against my neck.

He was behind me.

I hadn’t even seen him move.

The duel was over.

It hadn’t even been a fight.

It was an execution, stayed by the thinnest thread of his amusement.

"Yield," his voice whispered in my ear, cold and final.

My sword clattered from my numb fingers, its clang echoing in the sudden, ringing silence.

I closed my eyes.

"I... yield," I choked out, the words tasting like ash and utter defeat. "I, Yori, Demon King of the Udon-nada District, surrender my Domain, my True Core, and my life to you."

A moment later, a triumphant, formal chime echoed in Ragnar’s mind.

[Domain Surrender Protocol Initiated by Demon King Yori. Do you, Demon King Ragnar Vhagar, accept?]

He pressed ’Yes’ on the mental prompt without a second thought.

The world lurched.

A wave of energy washed over us as our two Domains, my quiet, serene teahouse and his sprawling, chaotic fortress, began the violent, messy process of unification.

"Welcome to the team, old man," Ragnar said, withdrawing his spear. "You’re promoted. You’re my new Head of Defense."

I stared at him, my mind reeling. "Head of... Defense?"

"That’s right," he said, already walking back towards his commanders. "You’re a brilliant strategist. A master of traps and defensive preparations. Wasted potential, just sitting in a teahouse, playing with your gacha machine."

He gestured for me to follow.

"We’re going back to my place. We have a lot to discuss. Starting with your complete and utter failure to account for my [Separation] ability."

I followed him, a dazed, broken king in the heart of my conqueror’s army.

"Separation?" I asked, my voice weak. "What is... Separation?"

He stopped and gave me a long, pitying look.

"Oh, you have so much to learn," he said.

He led me to a glowing Transfer Array. With a lurch that felt like the universe turning inside out, we were gone.

We materialized in the heart of his kingdom.

The Crystal Spire.

It was a place of breathtaking, arrogant beauty, a testament to a power I could barely comprehend.

"Now," he said, gesturing to a small, floating figure with huge glasses who was zipping towards us. "I’d like you to meet my head of intelligence. Her name is Pixia. I call her Google-chan. She’ll bring you up to speed."

The tiny pixie stopped in front of me, her eyes wide with academic curiosity.

"A pleasure to meet you, Demon King Yori," she squeaked. "My Lord Ragnar has told me so much about your impressive, if ultimately flawed, defensive stratagems. I have several hundred questions for you, starting with your resource allocation for the mud-pit trap..."

As I stood there, a defeated old man being debriefed by a tiny, flying librarian, a single thought echoed in my mind.

What in the world have I gotten myself into?

Ragnar Vhagar, the Tyrant of Aethelburg, smiled.

He turned to me, his red eyes gleaming with a terrifying, brilliant light.

"Now, old man," he said, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

"Tell me everything you know about a little website called {Laplace}."