Chapter 975 - 976: Who is This Damon Grey

Sylvia’s expression stiffened, the faint trace of warmth from earlier vanishing as she activated the communicator again. The crystal in her hand glowed softly, its light flickering against her fingers as distant sounds bled through—boots striking the ground in unison, the faint rhythm of marching somewhere far away.

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

So he was already deep into it.

Her gaze shifted, cold and sharp.

"Didn’t I tell you old elves have a musty scent?"

The words came out flat and deliberate.

Beside her, Daphne’s lips quivered faintly. She instinctively drew in a quiet breath through her nose, her brows knitting together for the briefest moment before her expression hardened again. There was no scent. She knew there wasn’t.

Sylvia was just being rude.

"Ahem... ahem."

The voice that came through the crystal was calm, smooth, with a faint playful lilt as though nothing in the world could trouble him.

"Ahh, Sylvia... how have you been? I’ve been thinking about you every day. Each moment apart, I die a little more."

Sylvia’s expression softened despite herself, the stiffness in her shoulders easing just a fraction as her voice slowed.

"You’re lying... you liar."

There was a sharp inhale from the other side, exaggerated.

"I wouldn’t dare lie to you," Damon said, his tone shifting into something mock-offended. "You know I’m an honest man."

Sylvia’s lips curved faintly.

Before she could reply—

Kadelas stepped forward, his robes swaying as his aura pressed outward, his eyes narrowing sharply at the crystal.

"That’s enough. That’s enough, you wretch."

The space around him seemed to tighten with his irritation.

There was a brief pause on the other end.

Then Damon spoke again, his voice calm, almost curious.

"Who are you? Do I know you? Can’t you see we’re having a moment?" He clicked his tongue softly. "Seriously, Sylvia... I know you’re kind, but you can’t let your servants disrespect you like this."

Kadelas’ jaw tightened.

The veins along his temple rose visibly against his otherwise composed features, his fingers curling slightly at his side as he fought the urge to crush the communicator outright.

He knew.

He knew that voice recognized him.

And still—

"I am Kadelas Moonveil," he said, each word measured, his voice cold and sharp. "Ruler of the Moon Glades."

There was a short pause.

"Oh... I see."

Damon’s tone shifted immediately.

"So you’re delusional."

A beat.

"Alright then, let’s be honest. I’m Seras Blade, the legendary hero. No—actually, I’m Athor the Great Sage. On weekends, I’m Ashcroft the Demon Lord." He continued without missing a breath. "I also run a small side business as the Emperor of Valtheron."

Kadelas’ vision blurred for a split second.

His hand twitched.

Whether it was from the lingering strain of facing Rexagon or the sudden rush of anger flooding his system, even he couldn’t tell.

"Enough..." he said, his voice dropping lower, colder.

"Sylvia!" Damon’s voice suddenly rose, filled with righteous indignation. "Order your men to seize this dog and beat him. How dare he disrespect my future father-in-law like this!"

Silence fell.

The surrounding elves froze.

Even the older ones, beings who had lived for centuries exchanged brief glances, their expressions shifting in subtle disbelief. They did not know who Damon was, but one thing became very clear.

This man had a rare and terrifying talent.

He could provoke rage effortlessly.

Sylvia said nothing.

She didn’t even react outwardly.

Instead, Daphne stepped forward, her expression tightening as she took control of the conversation. Her gaze remained fixed on the communicator, sharp and unyielding.

"Enough of this nonsense," she said, her tone firm. "I want to know why you sent a great dragon here."

There was a pause.

Long enough to feel intentional.

As if he was thinking.

"Hmm..." Damon hummed lightly. "What are you talking about?"

A beat later

"What dragon?"

Denial.

Clean.

Shameless.

As if he would willingly admit to unleashing a dragon on the Moon Glades.

Damon leaned back slightly, the communicator resting loosely in his hand as he drew in a slow breath. His political standing was stable now. Solid. To admit something like that outright would be stupidity.

But silence alone wouldn’t do.

They needed to know.

Not the truth.

Just enough of it.

His fingers tapped once against the crystal before he spoke again, his tone shifting casual, almost reflective.

"Ah... this takes me back," he said. "When I was younger, I remember being chased by a group of elven assassins. Efficient and quiet types. Definitely not freelancers."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"They felt... sponsored."

There was silence on the other end.

Damon let it stretch just long enough to become uncomfortable before continuing.

"A dragon isn’t some blade you hire in the dark," he added, his voice sharpening slightly. "If one appears somewhere... it’s because someone pointed it there or not."

Kadelas’ jaw tightened.

His gaze hardened as he stepped closer, his presence pressing against the crystal as if he could reach through it.

"So you were the one who sent the dragon to the Moon Glades," he said, each word edged with control. "Admit it."

"I admit—"

Damon stopped mid-sentence.

The pause lingered.

Then he continued, smooth and unbothered.

"—to nothing."

A faint scoff followed.

"If Rexagon the Gravewing attacked you, what exactly does that have to do with me?" Damon went on. "I’m not even there. You’re reaching, Kadelas."

He clicked his tongue lightly.

"Everyone knows you’ve got a bit of a... situation when it comes to your daughter. You see threats where there aren’t any." A soft sigh later. "I mean, I might be trying to steal her away but that’s unrelated. Completely separate issue. Don’t mix topics."

Kadelas’ fingers twitched.

The restraint in his posture cracked just slightly.

Daphne stepped in before he could speak again, her eyes narrowing as she caught the slip.

"So you did do it."

"I did not," Damon replied immediately. "I don’t know anything."

"You named Rexagon," Daphne said sharply. "None of us said his name. Not once."

The air tightened.

For a brief moment, even the wind seemed to still.

Damon scoffed through the crystal, dismissive.

"So a man can’t make an educated guess anymore?" he said. "I used basic logic. Big destruction, overwhelming presence, wounded pride... it means dragon. From there, it’s just elimination."

He paused, then added, his tone turning almost thoughtful.

"Not irrefutable evidence that I convinced a living calamity to descend on you out of small-minded pettiness."

Daphne’s grip tightened.

There it was.

No proof.

Nothing solid enough to act on.

Just words.

Just implication.

Just enough to burn.

No answers.

"You are despicable," she said, her voice low but seething. "Did you even consider the lives here? Millions could have died."

Damon exhaled softly.

"Tragic," he said. "Though, I’d argue a million deaths becomes a statistic at some point."

A brief pause.

Then, almost lazily—

"Not that I did anything, of course."

His tone shifted again, calm, measured.

"But if I had been involved... hypothetically... I’d be betting on Kadelas to handle it."

Kadelas’ eyes narrowed further.

Damon continued, unhurried.

"Word is Rexagon is injured. Not exactly in peak condition. He wouldn’t last long in a drawn-out fight."

Another pause.

Then, quieter—

"Again, not that I had anything to do with it."

The faintest hint of amusement crept into his voice.

"I have faith in you, Kadelas."

A moment later he said.

"I believe in you."

Damon went quiet for a moment, the faint rhythm of marching still echoing behind him through the communicator.

Then—

He started singing.

"Kadelas, Kadelas, he can do it all... if he can’t, well the Moon Glades fall—"

His voice carried a mocking lilt, light and shameless, as if he were entertaining himself at their expense.

Kadelas’ expression darkened further, his fingers tightening at his sides as the veins along his neck became more pronounced.

"Anyway," Damon continued casually, cutting himself off mid-tune. "I believed. No, I had faith in you."

There was a brief pause.

The marching didn’t stop.

"If anything," he added, his tone sharpening slightly, "I’ll be seeing you soon. I’ll make sure to send over a proper legal document. Attempting to slander me and frame me for your little dragon incident... that’s a serious accusation."

A soft scoff followed.

"Everyone knows it’s ridiculous. A mere human commanding a great dragon? Preposterous."

His voice smoothed out again.

"Goodbye, sir."

Then, just before the connection dropped—

"Oh... and Sylvia."

There was a small shift in his tone, quieter, almost genuine.

"Take care of yourself, okay."

Tap.

The connection cut.

Silence followed.

Only the faint hum of residual mana lingered in the air before even that faded.

The elf elders exchanged glances, their expressions turning grave as the weight of the conversation settled over them. Some frowned, others narrowed their eyes, but none spoke immediately.

Finally, one of them stepped forward slightly, his voice low.

"Who... is this Damon Grey?"

Kadelas didn’t answer right away.

His face had already flushed red with anger, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the now dim communicator as if it had personally insulted him.

Sylvia, on the other hand, smiled faintly.

Daphne exhaled slowly, lifting a hand to her temple before shaking her head.

"Someone," she said, her tone tired but certain, "who is very difficult to deal with."