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At August's words, Sten and Mez burst into laughter, their voices echoing through the tense air.

It was as if they'd just heard the most ridiculous joke. Mez, especially, laughed the loudest, her tone dripping with condescension.

"Kid, we've slain countless Teigu wielders. What makes you think a pretty boy like you could pose a threat?" Mez sneered, her voice laced with derision.

In Mez's eyes, August was nothing more than a delicate, insignificant figure—an easy target. Sten, standing silently beside her, clearly shared the same dismissive view.

But August understood their perspective. In this world, where Teigu wielders reigned supreme, the idea of a mere human surpassing them was laughable—an almost impossible feat.

The Four Rakshasa Demons exemplified this harsh reality. Despite lacking Teigu, their strength was legendary, forged through unimaginable training and torment. They were far deadlier than many Teigu users who relied on their weapons to compensate for their own weakness.

"Enough talk. I'll grant you a quick release from your misery," Sten declared, stepping forward. It didn't matter what August said; he was destined to die today. Such was the Prime Minister's command.

Mez, meanwhile, shrugged lazily, making no move to assist. Among the Four Rakshasa Demons, she was the youngest and physically the least robust. Unlike the brawny Sten and the masochistically trained Suzuka, Mez's frail body was ill-suited for direct combat. She avoided battle whenever possible, letting others take the lead unless absolutely necessary.

As Sten closed in, he attempted to sound reassuring. "Don't worry. It'll be over quickly. You won't feel a thing."

But the menacing figure of Sten, with his broad shoulders and muscular frame, made his words utterly unconvincing.

Unfazed, August calmly raised his hand. In a flash, the cursed blade Murasame emerged from the void.

Swish!

With a casual swing, the blade grazed Sten's chest, leaving only a shallow cut—a minor scratch on his iron-forged body.

"This is your Teigu? That's pathetic!" Sten roared with laughter. His body, hardened through years of brutal training, had long surpassed human limits. Not even blades could harm him.

August, however, simply smiled in silence, his gaze unwavering.

In the next instant, a sinister black energy began to spread from the wound.

Sten's laughter ceased abruptly as realization dawned. Something was terribly wrong. This was no ordinary injury.

Within seconds, the cursed toxin had spread through his entire body. The moment it took full effect, the towering figure of Sten collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

The true power of Murasame—a single cut was all it took. Once struck, the cursed poison would infiltrate the victim's body and bring about swift death. No antidote existed. Even the smallest wound was fatal.

"Sten!" Mez's confident smirk vanished as panic set in. Sten was dead—just like that? It was inconceivable.

Before Mez could react further, August's shadow struck again. Swish! A blade pierced her heart, ending her life as swiftly as it had Sten's.

With both of their souls devoured by Murasame, August gleaned the reason behind the attack. The Prime Minister's motives were laughable in their simplicity—August's presence was a threat to his relationship with Esdeath.

Esdeath's alliance with the Prime Minister was built on mutual benefit. She granted him military power, while he ensured she had the endless warfare she craved. This arrangement had worked flawlessly for years, cementing their control over the Empire.

But then August appeared. His existence disrupted the status quo.

Esdeath had changed. Once indifferent to power, wealth, and influence, she now seemed to care. The Prime Minister, shrewd and paranoid, noticed these changes. Esdeath had even hinted at her desire to elevate August to the rank of Imperial General—a move that would shift the balance of power.

The Prime Minister couldn't tolerate such a risk. With Esdeath prioritizing August, she might one day side against him. To prevent this, August had to die.

And so, the Prime Minister sent the Rakshasa Demons to eliminate him. A clean death, he thought, would resolve everything.

But he had gravely underestimated August.

Watching the lifeless bodies at his feet, August's gaze darkened with resolve. "I wasn't planning to concern myself with you," he muttered. "After all, this world has less than two years left. But since you've decided to cross me, I'll make you pay dearly."

As a being who had transcended mortal limits, August's power was akin to that of a demon king. Even with his magic sealed, his strength far surpassed that of mere humans.

No one would challenge him and live.

Abandoning his original plan to harvest negative energy from the Flower District, August turned his attention toward the Imperial Palace.

It was time for the Prime Minister to face judgment. The bloated tyrant, who had usurped power and turned the Empire into his playground, would meet his end.

If the Empire fell into chaos, so be it. The world was doomed regardless.

With that thought, August strode toward the palace, his killing intent unrestrained.

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