CHAPTER 63: THE FIRST AND LAST HELP(1)

Across the world’s five continents, three were under the rule of an Empire — the vast and unmatched Empire. One of them was the continent of **Gahalia**, a land rich in cities, armies, and ambition.

At its heart stood the Empire’s capital, an island surrounded by water, like a crown set in blue. From there, the Emperor ruled with absolute authority, and in each direction — north, south, east, and west — a Duke governed the lands in his name.

With a population of over two billion, it was impossible for one man to command everything alone. The hierarchy was strict — Dukes answered to the Emperor, and Counts served beneath them.

But the East was different.

In the East, there was one man whose power eclipsed that of his Duke — a Count who reported directly to the Emperor himself.

He had earned that right during the **Parade of One Hundred True Devils**, the darkest Chapter in the Empire’s history.

While other fronts drowned in blood and chaos, the East believed itself safe — untouched by the flames of war. They were wrong.

When the sky tore open and the ground screamed, the eastern borders were swallowed by an army of summoned Devils — monsters that turned whole battalions to ash within moments.

Soldiers were slaughtered. Forts collapsed. Reinforcements never came.

And then — through the smoke and ruin — a lone figure rose from the debris.

A man with platinum-blond hair, his coat torn, his hands bleeding, and a cigar between his lips.

He exhaled once.

And the world burned.

The Devils that had destroyed hundreds were turned to cinders under his flames. His fire didn’t just burn — it devoured. It melted through armor, through scale, through every defense known to man.

Witnesses swore that even a dragon fell that day, its wings reduced to embers before it could take flight.

By the time the sun rose, the battlefield was silent. Only the man remained, his eyes glowing faintly beneath the smoke.

From that day onward, he was given a name that echoed through the Empire —

The Inferno Guardian.

And that man... was **Count Carter Delimore**, father of **William Delimore** — the man whose very presence made even a fire bow.

And that explained why a Baron himself had rushed to the graveyard the moment he heard someone from the Delimore family had arrived in town.

The same soldiers who, moments ago, had tried to arrest Kevin and the others were now busy holding back the crowd, creating a wide space around the graves.

In the center of it all, William Delimore sat lazily on a chair that the Minister had hurriedly brought for him. The poor man stood nearby, pale-faced and drenched in sweat.

Before William stood Baron Ranthox, nervously rubbing his hands together. His voice trembled as he spoke, "H-Heir Delimore... what brings you here?"

William tilted his head, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "Baron Ranthox... is this how you welcome your guests? Letting a mob surround them?"

The Baron winced. Who could have imagined that Baron Greystone’s bastard son would be connected to the Delimore heir?

"I-I tried to stop them, Heir Delimore—"

"That’s why one of your soldiers thought it wise to grab my friend from behind?"

The words struck like lightning. Two people’s eyes widened—one of them a woman.

Baron Ranthox’s face went white. "W-Who is it? Name him—"

"He’s dead," William said flatly, gesturing behind him.

The Baron swallowed hard, his eyes following the direction of the finger—only to see the lifeless soldier sprawled on the ground, blood slowly pooling beneath him.

Cold sweat trickled down his temple. So the rumors were true.

*Heir Delimore—the tyrant in human form.*

One wrong word, and he’d lose more than just his title.

Gathering his courage, the Baron spoke carefully, "These people... they’re frightened, Heir Delimore. That woman’s grave—she was cursed."

William’s gaze darkened. "You’re telling me... a dead woman cursed the living?" His voice dropped lower, the edges sharp.

Something in those words struck deeper than the Baron realized.

*Apparently, she was cursed.*

*Didn’t you hear what the medic said? Her whole body decayed while she was still alive.*

*Do you think she was connected to the Devils?*

Whispers from long ago echoed in William’s mind. The same vile murmurs he had heard during his mother’s funeral—when people couldn’t even keep their tongues still as her body was lowered into the ground.

A faint smile crept across his lips. Disgust mixed with fury.

"We won’t stop!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"It’s either us or that grave tonight!" another bellowed, brandishing a saw.

The Baron barked orders, but the soldiers couldn’t hold the mob back anymore.

Kevin frowned, disbelief clouding his face. How could they be this cruel?

Lizel clung tightly to Laila, while Natalie raised her hand, ready to cast a barrier if things turned violent.

Emma, standing beside William, said nothing. Her gaze never left him.

She could feel it—the simmering rage beneath his calm, the grief that refused to fade. Her fists clenched at her sides. For a brief second, she wanted to strike down every shouting fool in front of them.

But before she could act, William stood up.

Silence fell immediately, as if the air itself feared to move.

He turned toward Kevin, his expression unreadable.

"Make the decision," he said quietly.

The weight in his voice was enough to make even the furious crowd fall still.

Kevin bit his lip.

He knew if things stayed the same, the crowd would lose control and try to tear the grave from the ground. Fighting them would mean fighting ordinary people — people whose only crime was believing his mother had cursed the town.

The choice was clear.

"I’ll remove her grave from this town," he said, and turned to one of the men. "Give me that shovel."

The man sneered, then tossed the shovel to Kevin.

"Kevin..." Lizel’s eyes went wet as she watched him step toward the grave. Natalie and Laila looked uneasy too, noting the emptiness in his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

Kevin stared at the stone and whispered, "Sorry, Ma... this might hurt a little—"

Before he could drive the shovel into the soil, William stepped past him and crouched down. He pressed his fingers to the ground and closed his eyes.

Kevin frowned, about to ask what he was doing, when Natalie tugged his sleeve. He looked at her. Her look said, *Trust him.*

William’s brows furrowed as he sank his hand deeper into the soil. The air grew heavy — a low vibration rippled through the ground. Pebbles began to rattle, and dust lifted into the air.

His shoulders tensed. Veins surfaced along his forearms as he clenched his teeth, drawing out more power.

The earth around the grave cracked. Lines spread like spiderwebs, and the grave trembled in their midst. The crowd fell silent. Then, as the tremor deepened, gasps escaped from all sides.

A low rumble tore through the ground — and slowly, the entire grave began to rise. Soil and roots strained against the pull, clumps of dirt falling off as if resisting.

William’s eyes narrowed; his breath was slightly unsteady. Yet, inch by inch, the gravestone and the slab of earth surrounding it lifted free, floating above the crater it left behind.

The trembling ceased. Silence followed. All that could be heard was the faint hiss of shifting dust and the pounding of countless hearts.

William looked at Kevin and said, "Now tell me, where do you want me to rest her?"

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A/N:- Thanks for reading. Drop a comment.