C3 CHAPTER3

Devon struggled to grasp the unfolding events, but drowsiness soon overtook him; the sedative's effects were setting in. Exhausted, he no longer had the strength to resist sleep and succumbed to a deep slumber, his pain dissipating.

Abruptly, his body convulsed uncontrollably. His eyes snapped open as he began to utter unintelligible chants. Confused and unable to comprehend his own outbursts, Devon was aware only of his inability to stop them.

The door burst open, and Sia hurried in, her voice laced with panic. "Master! What's happening? Why are you chanting?" she inquired.

Ignoring her, Devon's eyes narrowed as he persisted in his chanting, observing Sia move to a corner of the room. It was then he noticed a table that had always been there. Had his pain obscured it from his sight?

Sia opened a drawer in the table, retrieving a long, gray object resembling a bone. It was an odd sight, but in this strange place, Devon had lost interest in the peculiar. He fixated on the bone, though he couldn't fathom why.

She rushed it over to him, and as he took it, his chants grew louder. Sia's lips were moving—was she trying to communicate? He attempted to silence himself to listen, but his voice was beyond his control.

Placing the bone on his chest, Devon closed his eyes, ready to assimilate it, but suddenly, cold, small hands grasped his.

What?

His eyes flew open to find Sia attempting to prevent him from merging with the bone. Irritation furrowed his brow.

"Why... why did you stop me?" he demanded, his voice tinged with anger.

Sia lowered her head, avoiding his gaze. "Master, I'm terribly sorry, but you can't just absorb the Bone like that. The Soul Lock Bone is unique—it requires a specific process. You must offer prayers to the Devil God before using it," she explained.

Turning away, Devon began reciting prayers that came to mind. After the initial line, he felt it was sufficient and resumed his attempt to assimilate the Bone.

Sia spoke up once more, "No, Your Highness, you haven't finished your prayers..."

"Fuck off!" Devon exploded in a mix of anger, irritation, and desperation. Sure, he was in physical pain, but he was aware that wasn't why he yearned for the Bone. It was a deeper ache he felt, one that only the Bone seemed capable of soothing.

"Please, Your Highness, complete the prayers..." Sia implored, but she recoiled at the lethal glare Devon shot her way.

"Don't you dare try to stop me! I'm part of the younger generation, and if I utter even a single word, that should suffice as a prayer! Even the Devil God himself couldn't endure this agony if he were in my place! Now, get out of my room!" Devon's voice thundered through the space.

The maid, petrified, hurried out of the room.

Relieved to be alone at last, Devon closed his eyes and began to draw in the power of the Bone. A tranquil mist emanated from it, enveloping his entire being, instantly easing his turmoil.

As his calm returned, so did his memories, clarifying his identity as the Third Prince of the Devil Clan of the Dalton.

He was in the Profound Creation Continent, a vast land teeming with diverse beings—zombies, dragons, beetles, and, naturally, devils. As the third son of the Devil King, whom his sons called Royal Father, Devon held a unique position.

He recalled being the least favored by his father, a consequence of being the weakest among his siblings. Magic dominated the Continent, with creatures wielding it in their conflicts, yet Devon rarely engaged in battle, preferring the indoors—a choice his Royal Father disdained.

In his defense, Devon's lack of strength stemmed from his hybrid devil nature, which limited his Devil Energy, especially compared to his two older brothers.

Memories of his time in the human world also surfaced—there, magic was absent, replaced by guns and nuclear weapons. His human life had been serene and fulfilling, and he couldn't deny his preference for that existence over his demonic heritage.

But what had led him here? Why and how had he crossed over from Earth to the Continent?

For the umpteenth time since waking up that morning, Devon strained to recall the events that had led to his current state, but his memory remained elusive. Frustrated, he shifted his focus away from the elusive details of the accident he'd been told about.

He replayed the overheard conversation between his father and brother in his mind. It dawned on him that his impending marriage in three days was a strategic move orchestrated by the Royal Father to forge an alliance with Olivia’s father, the King of the Beetles. Unable to defend his territory in battle, Devon had been directed to wed the Princess, thereby gaining political leverage to compensate for his military shortcomings.

But now, confined to his bed, what would become of those plans?