The Elf Journey In The Western Fantasy World-Chapter 195: Dragged Into the Abyss

"In the end, there are plenty of others to die with me—so what do I have to be afraid of? Honestly, you might even want to thank me. Sometimes, what’s scarier than degeneration is humanity itself, don’t you think? Want to guess why I’m here? Why I showed up all of a sudden? Obviously, because someone told me to be here. Why else would I have appeared in this exact place, at this exact time? Don’t you agree?"

With a malicious grin, Nueronist turned to face the direction of the Yaguk Theocracy.

Although he hadn’t said any names, his expression said everything that needed to be said.

With a single statement from the Fallen Demon leader, Yaguk Theocracy instantly became the center of attention.

Bathed in countless probing, suspicious gazes, the Pope finally understood what it meant to feel as if the sky had collapsed. His mind spun and dizziness began to clouding his vision.

But he couldn’t faint—not now. He could only dig his nails into his palms to force himself to stay alert and remain calm.

But how could anyone stay calm in a situation like this?

The Pope had no choice, he could only force himself to calm down.

However, it was clear he was far from calm.

After all, he was already riddled with guilt, and now, his former ally had dragged him down in such a way that made it feel intentional from the very start.

As if that had been the plan all along. Or perhaps, this was simply the final act of a man defeated: to drag as many people down with him as possible.

And who would be the most suitable for such a role?

All the other countries had already turned coat and joined the demon race. From the beginning, they had been natural allies.

Only Yaguk Theocracy had aligned itself with the Fallen Demons.

It was Yaguk Theocracy who first sought them out, Yaguk Theocracy who initiated the cooperation.

Originally, the Pope believed he held the upper hand.

Even if things fell apart in the end, he could simply shift all the blame onto the Fallen Demons and save himself.

But he never expected the Fallen Demons to be thinking the same thing.

They, too, planned to use him.

Only, their use was different: the former was trying to deflect blame and protect himself, while the latter simply wanted someone to die with them.

If the plan succeeded, everyone would be happy.

However, if it was discovered in advance and ultimately failed, then of course the Fallen Demons—who were already doomed—would drag their collaborators down with them.

The mindset was simple: "Even if I can’t kill my powerful enemies, I can take down another power with me."

Once the Pope understood this, the taste of blood rose to the back of his throat.

So he was never the yellow sparrow waiting behind the mantis and the cicada—he had always just been a pawn from the beginning.

But what could he do now?

Bathed in the judgmental stares of all around him, the Pope tried to speak up in his own defense. He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out. It was as if his throat were stuffed full of cotton.

Nueronist, the leader of the Fallen Demons, saw the Pope’s ugly expression—like he had swallowed a fly—and suddenly broke into a cheerful smile. He was genuinely delighted. As long as someone else was miserable, he was happy, no matter who it was.

"Pope, weren’t you the one who came to us first to carry out this plan? Did I force you to do it? Was it me who made you mobilize your Royal Knights to take part in this war? Weren’t all those decisions your own? I merely cooperated with you to complete the final step of your plan. And you were the one who invited me to participate, even threatening to kill my people if I didn’t comply."

"This was all just cooperation, nothing more." Nueronist suddenly curled the corners of his mouth into a dazzling smile. But the look in his eyes was filled with mockery and contempt. The words that followed were anything but harmonious with his expression. "I know what you were planning. People like you—I’ve seen countless of them. But your brain wasn’t up to the standard of your ambitions. You tried to copy your predecessors and burn bridges after crossing them, but you didn’t expect me to turn around and bite you back at the last moment, did you?"

The Pope pointed a trembling finger at Nueronist, but for a long time, he couldn’t get a single word out. His eyes bulged, bloodshot and red with fury. One hand clutched his chest while he gasped heavily for air, clearly so enraged he was unable to speak.

Fortunately, the Pope was still relatively young—not quite old yet. Otherwise, with the state he was in now, he might have already died from sheer rage. There wouldn’t even be a need to carry his body away—the Demon Realm would have become his grave.

Seeing him like that, Nueronist immediately lost interest. He had known the Pope was a vicious, brainless schemer, but he didn’t expect him to be so utterly fragile.

Still, when he thought of how many others would die alongside him, even the burning pain of the magic crystal’s light scorching his body felt slightly less unbearable.

"But still, I should thank you for being my companion in death. I won’t survive today—and neither will you. Oh, and by the way, those knights you sent to capture my people? They were probably all killed by my clansmen long ago," Nueronist added cheerfully, eyes bright with mirth. "After all, like that guy said—how could those of us called ’Imps’ ever be considered weak?"

The Pope... upon hearing that, could no longer hold back the blood rising in his throat. With a loud "Gwah!" he vomited it all out and collapsed to the ground like a kite with its string cut.