CHAPTER 577: CHAPTER 579: THE WICKED PROPHET

This was news to him. Damon had no idea such a rule even existed, let alone that it was still being enforced.

Though, for all the years the Valtheron Empire had stood, there had truly never been a marriage between the imperial family and any of the grand duchies.

The question was why.

Luckily for him, he had Abellona of Valtheron right here. If anyone would know, it was the third princess—especially since she was vulnerable now.

"Why would it be... what agreement?"

Abellona hugged her arms around her body. Despite how hot she felt, her breath was dry. Even so, she forced herself to speak, trying to distract herself from the smooth sound of Damon’s voice in her ears.

"The empire was formed near the end of the First Epoch... so you could say it’s as old as the temple. But in the past two hundred thousand years, it has taken on different forms. The dynasties have changed..."

She paused, closing her eyes as her voice dropped into a whisper.

"This is the seventh dynasty. Over the years, different members of my family have killed each other for the right to rule. Every few thousand years we end up with too many people and too many branch families..."

Damon narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"So you guys cull your own numbers. And sometimes it’s not the main branch that ends up winning. When a side branch takes the throne, they gain the right to create a new dynasty..."

Abellona blinked, somewhat impressed. His conclusion was correct.

"Yes. You see, the first empress of the empire willed this at the end of the First Epoch. She believed dynasties had a lifespan, and when one dynasty’s time ended, the empire itself would fall..."

Damon raised his brows. Nothing lasted forever—even empires collapsed.

Abellona gasped slightly, holding her head as the fever worsened.

"Her plan was to make sure we replaced each other. When one dynasty fell into complacency, another would rise. The trick was that the replacing dynasty had to come from the same bloodline."

She chuckled lightly.

"She was a deceptive woman. But somehow her scheme worked. Here we are, even after two whole epochs. We survived the Age of Ashcroft in the second epoch, and now we’re in the third. We might even survive the end of this one too."

Damon narrowed his eyes. This history lesson was nice, but how did it connect to the grand duchies?

Abellona turned to face him. Her hand reached out to brush his long hair aside, fingers brushing his cheek.

"I know what you’re thinking. I was getting there..."

Realizing what she was doing, she pulled her hand back with a frown, having regained her faculties.

"Sorry about that..."

Biting her lip, she continued after her short apology.

"The grand duchies are autonomous regions within the empire. They have the right to their own laws. They enjoy such power because, unlike everything else, they were never conquered by House Valtheron. They joined the empire of their own accord, and their power is comparable to ours... the imperial family’s."

Damon nodded. He already knew this part.

Abellona smiled faintly, though the fever tinted it with something more seductive.

"They created a rule when the empire was first formed. To maintain their autonomy, under no circumstances was the bloodline of any dukedom to mix with the imperial family."

Damon narrowed his eyes. That was overboard. But it made sense—it preserved their autonomy, among other reasons.

"But they can intermarry among themselves. So basically, they isolated the imperial family. Politics is really shitty..."

Abellona nodded, her head wobbling slightly as if she were drunk.

"Yes. It was how they dealt with outsiders. After all, the imperial family were not locals of Soltheon. They were defeated foes from the Doom Continent."

Damon froze. That wasn’t news to him. House Valtheron originated from the Demon Continent—back then called the Doom Continent, Centros.

If that was true, it made sense. The Doom Continent was the birthplace of Mugu, and Damon recalled Mugu had an old blood-feud with Valtheron’s ruler.

Abellona’s breath quickened, her red eyes straining on Damon as her voice lowered.

"It was the advent of the Demons, the first Demon Lord, who set himself against us. He brought death and destruction. He killed the king at the time, leaving a widow queen and her children alive..."

Abellona rested her head on Damon’s chest without hesitation, but he immediately pushed her back.

She rubbed her forehead with an apologetic look.

"That was his mistake—because she then did the unthinkable."

She slammed her head into the stone floor. Again. And again. Each impact cracked the dungeon floor, blood trailing down her temple as she viciously forced herself back to sanity.

Finally, she stopped. Her eyes refocused, and she stood shakily.

Damon glanced at her. His wounds had healed completely. His lower and upper halves had fused back together, whole once more. Even his armor had regenerated, though calling it armor was generous. It was little more than light metal with scraps of fabric, offering minimal defense.

And yet he still wore that crown. The battles hadn’t forced him to remove it, which left Abellona wondering about his true identity.

"You’ve healed, and I’m in somewhat decent condition. We should move. The Goristro aren’t far behind..."

She didn’t need to tell him how well those particular demons could navigate labyrinths and dungeons.

Damon was still dazed from the lesson. It put so much into perspective. One thing was clear—history written in books and history that actually happened were not the same. Most of what survived was a controlled narrative.

Still, he had one question.

"The first Demon Lord... do you know his name?"

Abellona’s eyes narrowed weakly. Seeing his expression, her legs faltered. Her heart twisted, and dark desires clawed at her chest. She turned away, red-faced, not wanting the curse to grow stronger.

"Never mention his name. It’s forbidden... and forgotten. Rightfully so..."

Her steps echoed faintly as she moved forward, her voice carrying down the dungeon corridor.

"However... if you must know... his name is..."

She paused. The words seemed to chill the air.

"Mugu the Wicked Prophet."