Chapter 132

Chapter 132: Chapter 132

Satou took a moment to consider. He could feel Loki’s tension beside him, his sponsor clearly hoping he’d show political wisdom. He could sense the other demon lords’ curiosity about how he’d handle this.

Then Satou smiled sharp and absolutely merciless.

"No," he said simply.

The word hung in the air like a thrown dagger.

Several demon lords showed visible surprise. Grimfang’s ears perked up with interest. Azshara’s tendrils stilled in their seeking motions. Even Malakor’s skeletal form seemed to shift slightly, as if the answer was unexpected.

"Elaborate," Malakor commanded.

"Chronus violated sacred law," Satou said, his voice carrying across the arena with the confidence of someone who’d survived the impossible. "He interfered in a duel. He attempted to murder me. And now he walks away with just a warning? That’s not justice, Lord Malakor. That’s politics."

He took a step forward, his presence radiating power that made several spectators in the higher platforms shift uncomfortably.

"I understand why you’re doing it. Executing a seated demon lord would destabilize the council. It would create a power vacuum. It would potentially trigger conflicts that would harm everyone. Politically, a warning makes sense."

"But personally? I’m not satisfied. Chronus tried to kill me not because I broke any law, not because I threatened the council, but because his champion was losing fairly. That deserves more than words."

He stopped, standing tall despite being the youngest, least experienced being present. "So here’s what would satisfy me: Give me a chance to hit him. Just once. One strike anywhere I choose except fatal locations. Let me mark him the way his champion marked me during our fight. Let him carry a scar that won’t fully heal as a permanent reminder that breaking our sacred laws has consequences."

The arena was dead silent.

Most of the demon lords looked genuinely shocked. Asking to strike a seated demon lord as compensation? That was audacious to the point of insanity. Chronus was still vastly more powerful than Satou—one hit wouldn’t significantly harm him, but the sheer disrespect of the request was staggering.

Loki’s expression was a mixture of pride and absolute horror. This was either brilliant or suicidal, and he couldn’t quite tell which.

Volcanus began laughing, a deep, rumbling sound like an avalanche. "Bold! I like this one!"

Grimfang’s yellow eyes gleamed with approval. "The pup has teeth. Good."

Thalassian’s starlight form pulsed with what might have been amusement. "Asking to strike a senior demon lord. That’s... unprecedented."

Morganna the Blood Queen smiled, showing fangs. "I’m beginning to see why Loki sponsored him. He has spine."

But it was Seraphine the Corrupted’s reaction that was most interesting.

Her corrupted angel features twisted into an expression of pure desire. Her tongue darted out, licking her lips slowly as she stared at Satou with eyes that held centuries of corrupted hunger. When she spoke, her voice was pitched low—a whisper that shouldn’t have carried, that was directed at no one, spoken more to herself than anyone else.

"You’re making me fall in love with you more and more," she breathed, her wings quivering slightly with emotion Satou couldn’t fully identify. "Such beautiful defiance. Such refusal to bow even before absolute authority. Such... delicious audacity."

Fortunately, the whisper was quiet enough that only those with supernatural hearing caught it—which meant basically every demon lord present, but they chose to ignore Seraphine’s obsession for now. They had bigger concerns.

Like how Chronus was staring at Satou with an expression of absolute loathing mixed with disbelief.

"You dare—" Chronus started, his temporal nature flickering wildly. "You dare suggest that you, a provisional seat who’s existed for barely three months, should be allowed to strike me? That’s—"

"Fair," Azshara interrupted calmly. "He’s asking for proportional compensation for attempted murder. One non-fatal strike is remarkably restrained, actually. I’ve known younger beings who would demand far more."

"It’s tradition, isn’t it?" Nyxara’s voice emerged from multiple shadows simultaneously. "The Rite of Marked Grievance. When one lord wrongs another but execution would be excessive, the wronged party may claim one strike to mark the offender. It’s been centuries since anyone invoked it, but the law still stands."

Nexus’s thousand eyes blinked in complex patterns. "Analysis confirms. The Rite of Marked Grievance is still valid law. Requirements: Clear wrongdoing, victim’s request, witness of at least seven seated demon lords. All conditions are met."

Chronus’s face twisted with fury. "You can’t be serious. You’re going to allow this... this child to—"

"Yes." Malakor’s single word cut through Chronus’s protest like a guillotine. "Satou’s request is legally sound. Proportional. And frankly, far more merciful than you deserve. You should thank whatever dark powers you worship that he’s only asking for one strike instead of your head."

The skeletal lord turned his hollow gaze back to Satou. "Impressive. You knew the law, or you guessed it would exist. Either way, you’ve outmaneuvered Chronus politically while remaining within acceptable bounds. That’s demon lord thinking, Satou. Provisional no more in mindset, even if your seat remains conditional."

He gestured to Chronus. "Approach the center of the arena. Accept your marking. And be grateful it’s only this."

Chronus stood frozen, clearly warring between pride that demanded he refuse and survival instinct that recognized he had no choice. Every demon lord present was watching. If he refused, he’d be showing weakness. If he fled, he’d be declaring himself outlaw.

Slowly, visibly struggling with each step, Chronus walked to the center of the arena.

His temporal nature had stabilized into his youngest form—late twenties, perhaps, with features that would have been handsome if not twisted by barely suppressed rage. His eyes, which normally held the depth of seeing multiple timelines, were firmly locked on the present—giving Satou no advantage of foresight.

"Where?" Chronus asked through gritted teeth.

Satou drew Void Fang. The legendary blade sang as it emerged from its scabbard, reality fracturing slightly around its edge. He walked forward slowly, considering options.

He could strike Chronus’s face, a visible mark that would be impossible to hide, maximum humiliation. He could strike the chest symbolic, showing he could have gone for the heart. He could strike an arm or leg practical, limiting combat ability.

But Satou chose something else.

"Kneel," Satou said quietly.

"What?" Chronus’s eyes widened.