SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 26: I killed him.

Devrok sat cross-legged atop the cold stone floor, his bare skin in contact with the smooth, chilled surface. His brows were relaxed, and his breath flowed like a gentle tide—steady, rhythmic, unhurried.

The dim light of the room flickered with the slow burn of a spiritual lantern overhead. Shadows danced faintly along the walls, mirroring the rise and fall of Devrok's chest as he entered a meditative trance.

The most vital step before merging with a Beast core was achieving complete mental stillness—no stray thoughts, no lingering emotions.

If even a thread of chaos lingered in the mind, the residual wrath, fear, or madness within the beast core could easily take root, destabilizing the fusion... or worse.

A single misstep, and everything could be lost.

Devrok exhaled slowly, his breath fogging faintly in the air. He let his mind drift, senses dulling one by one—first sound, then touch, then the nagging pressure behind his eyes. The tension in his shoulders released as he inched closer toward stillness.

But just as his thoughts were about to fully fade into the void—

BOOM!

A thunderous explosion shattered the silence, the floor beneath him trembling with the impact. The deafening blast struck his ears like a battering ram, sharp and overwhelming. Devrok's eyes snapped open, heart slamming against his ribs.

"Enemy attack!"

"The upper floor—someone attacked the King!"

"Father!"

The hallway beyond erupted into chaos—shouts, hurried footsteps, blades being unsheathed. The metallic scent of fear clung to the air, thick and stifling.

Devrok surged to his feet, his calm obliterated in an instant. His pupils contracted, and panic twisted his expression.

How could anyone get so close to Father's room?

What are these useless guards even doing!?

Cursing silently, he bolted out of the training chamber, his boots hammering against the polished floor as he tore up the spiral staircase, two steps at a time.

By the time he reached the redwood doors to his father's quarters, others were already gathering.

Niomi stumbled into view, her hair a tangled mess, a fresh bruise blooming across her forehead. She had clearly hit her head in her frantic rush—drool still glistened on the side of her face, evidence of being violently pulled from sleep. Her lips trembled, but there was no time to cry.

The rest of the family arrived moments later—Roan with his long strides, Adriana and Hugo close behind. Roan's face was set with grim determination, while his wife and son looked strangely... detached. Confused. As if the chaos hadn't fully reached them yet.

Devrok met Roan's eyes. The two men shared a brief, wordless understanding—then pushed the towering gate open.

Creeeaaak...

The ancient redwood groaned as it parted, revealing the scene within.

And then—silence.

A heavy, unnatural silence.

The only sound came from the far wall, where crimson drops dripped steadily to the floor.

Drip.

Drip.

The white stone wall was smeared with streaks of blood. It clung to the surface like crude paint, trailing downward into a growing pool. A severed head lay nearby, twisted in an expression of hatred and disbelief. The body, still clutching a bloodied longsword in death, had collapsed mere steps from the king's bed.

In the middle of it all, Damien stood motionless.

With a flick of his wrist, Epoch Breaker vanished into thin air, swallowed by spatial magic. His eyes scanned the body—not with fear or remorse, but cold calculation.

"An assassin?" he muttered.

"Someone else also wants to get rid of the King..."

The words fell flat, barely audible. But his mind raced. Another third party. A new piece on the board.

A wry, twisted smile touched his lips. Of course. Of course the Harrier family's luck had taken another nosedive.

At this rate, the sky might as well fall next.

Behind him, the door burst fully open, and more figures rushed inside.

"Oh my God! What happened!" Niomi's voice rang out, shrill with panic. She darted to Damien's side, ignoring the blood, the danger—eyes wide with terror and disbelief.

Roan, ever the soldier, swept the room with his gaze, confirming Roosevelt's safety first. Only after that did he step toward the headless corpse, Devrok following close behind.

They knelt beside the body, studying it with grim faces.

"Assassin..."

The word escaped Roan like a curse.

Adriana and Hugo lingered near the door, unmoving. Hugo turned his head slightly, glancing up at his mother. His eyes asked a silent question.

Adriana's answer came as a faint shake of the head. No words, just the faintest motion. And yet... Damien saw it.

Devrok's gaze flicked to Damien. It was a complicated look—part suspicion, part gratitude. After all, Damien had acted swiftly. But only Devrok knew the extent of his abilities.

Not everyone in the room did.

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Roan rose from the floor and turned sharply. "Who killed him?" he asked, voice low but filled with tension.

Damien exhaled slowly. The question irritated him—not because of the suspicion, but because of the priorities.

A man had nearly killed the king. And all Roan wanted to know was who took him down?

He didn't answer Roan. Instead, he locked eyes with Devrok.

"I want everything on this man before sunrise," Damien said, his voice like iron—slow, heavy, final.

The tone brooked no argument.

For too long, he had allowed himself to be swept by events, letting chaos dictate his next move.

No more.

He turned and began walking out, his back straight, his footsteps echoing like drums in the tense chamber.

Roan's voice followed, sharp. "Wait, where are you going? Answer me first—"

Damien paused.

He remembered the old man's earlier kindness—his loyalty.

So he gave him a gift. Without looking back, he spoke.

"I killed him."

Three simple words. Yet they struck like thunder, rolling through the room and sending ripples through every heart.

Roan flinched, his face hardening further. "Damien, this is no time for jokes. Seriously, tell me—"

But before he could finish, a hand gripped his shoulder.

Roan turned, surprised. Devrok stood beside him, offering a small, tight-lipped smile.

A silent message passed between them. Understanding dawned in Roan's eyes, and he took a step back.

Damien moved to leave once more—only to find his eyes briefly locking with Adriana's.

Her gaze was still.

Cold.

Elegant.

For the briefest instant, she studied him—not like a concerned Aunt, but like a predator analyzing something unexpected.

Then she turned away.

The moment passed.

But Damien's steps slowed ever so slightly.

She's dangerous.

He knew it now.