SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 24: Hatred. Pure, venomous killing intent.

Without stopping even for a single moment, Damien and his team pressed forward.

Compared to before, their journey was smooth—almost eerily so. The soldiers, filled with renewed vigor, moved with silent determination. Damien's earlier displays of power had breathed hope into their tired hearts, like a fire rekindled in the dead of night.

Now that he was already exposed, Damien didn't bother hiding anymore. He moved with brutal efficiency, openly showcasing his might. Any beast that dared to cross their path was crushed in an instant—without hesitation, without mercy.

"What is going on... so many Apocalypse Beasts," Damien muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing as he wiped blood from his blade.

Although he dispatched every monster in their path, the continuous fighting began to take its toll. His breathing grew heavier with each encounter, and a faint tremble crept onto his face.

Devrok, noticing this, clenched his fists. His heart felt heavy with guilt. He wanted to help, to share the burden, but he knew his limits.

Having grown up watching his father fight, Devrok was painfully aware of the insurmountable gap between awakened and unawakened individuals. No amount of willpower or resolve could make up for the difference in raw power. At best, he'd slow Damien down—at worst, he'd become a liability.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to push forward.

Time trickled by in silence. No one spoke. Not even the horses neighed—they only snorted steam through their nostrils, eyes wild and alert, as if they too sensed the tension.

The sky overhead slowly turned orange, casting the forest in long shadows. Sunset was approaching fast.

Devrok glanced at the soldiers behind him, then shouted in a commanding tone, "Increase your speed! This is the final stretch. We must reach the city before nightfall."

There were no complaints. The soldiers nodded grimly. All of them knew—monsters were dangerous enough during the day, but at night, the forest turned into a true nightmare.

The tired horses pushed forward, smoke pouring from their nostrils as though they were about to breathe fire. The strain was visible on every face, human and beast alike.

Finally, after another tense hour, the outline of tall walls rose in the distance.

Relief washed over the group like a wave.

The soldiers' expressions eased, their taut shoulders relaxing. A few even managed smiles.

They were finally home.

But Damien didn't smile. His eyes remained narrowed, his brows furrowed in thought. What he had seen in the forest... the strange density of monsters, the panic in their eyes... it all pointed to something deeper.

The beast wave this time was going to be unlike anything they had faced before.

The beast wave isn't new, he thought grimly. Every year, when the population of monsters grows too large, they gather and assault the cities.

Valthorn City... always the first in line to be hit.

Its location near the forest made it the perfect frontline. While other cities could grow in peace, Valthorn had to fight for survival every single year.

If I want to build something lasting here, Damien thought, his eyes sharp, I need to find a way to stop the beast wave at its source. Permanently.

Just as that thought settled in his mind, a strange chanting reached his ears.

"O Master of Shadows, Keeper of Forbidden Breath, I kneel in rot and reverence. Return the dead through cursed flame, bind soul to bone, and awaken what lies still. Let death serve your will, and life bend beneath your gaze. I offer flesh and faith for your mercy."

Damien turned sharply.

A short distance away, a group of robed individuals—men, women, and even children—danced wildly around a grotesque statue. The idol, shaped like a twisted figure with too many limbs and too many eyes, was soaked in blood.

Every one of the cultists wore an expression of utter reverence—eyes glazed over, movements feverish.

The soldiers behind Damien grimaced.

"Damn it, to run into the Forbidden Breath cult right after returning. Talk about bad luck," someone muttered.

"Bunch of lunatics," another scoffed. "They actually believe that some evil god can bring back the dead."

"Tch! The rumors must be true. Dark powers are rising again."

Their faces turned grim. If the old texts were to be believed, the first apocalypse had been preceded by the rise of cults—twisted churches worshiping ancient, dark entities. Back then, these churches had flourished amid chaos.

The Forbidden Breath cult was among the worst. Its followers believed their god could resurrect loved ones—so long as they offered enough flesh and blood in return.

Damien's eyes narrowed as he listened. A strange light flickered in his gaze.

He had heard of this cult. Their influence was growing at an alarming pace. Some even said the entire northern region had already fallen into their grip, with entire kingdoms pledging allegiance to them.

And the Church of the One True Eternal is letting this happen... he thought, a tight frown on his face.

A familiar face appeared in his mind—a chubby man with gentle eyes and a soft voice.

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Priest Theodore... why haven't you acted?

A heavy sigh broke his thoughts.

Devrok appeared beside him, voice low.

"There are too many refugees coming in from the east," he explained. "Whole kingdoms were wiped out overnight. The beasts there are... relentless."

He paused, gaze dark.

"These people... they're desperate. Hungry. Scared. And the cult—" he gestured toward the dancing figures, "—they offer food, shelter, even... hope."

Damien let out a low laugh, dry and without humor.

"Quite the generous cult," he said, "for one that worships a god of rot and death."

He cast one last glance toward the robed followers, then turned away.

The others quickly followed his lead.

But as Damien walked, his steps slowed. His eyes narrowed.

He felt it—like a blade pressed against the back of his neck.

Hatred. Pure, venomous killing intent.

He stopped abruptly.

Behind him... nothing.

Just the cultists, still dancing, still praying. No sign of aggression. No eyes watching him.

But Damien's instincts screamed.

Honed in battle, sharpened by survival, they had never lied to him before.

"Something wrong?" Devrok asked, puzzled.

Even the soldiers looked at Damien in confusion.

But he only smiled faintly and shook his head.

"Nothing," he said softly.

He turned and continued walking, eyes sharp.

Somewhere, hidden in the crowd, someone had looked at him with murder in their heart.