SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse
Chapter 108: TRUTH

Chapter 108: TRUTH

Immediately upon hearing Niomi’s trembling words, Violet’s frown deepened further.

Her expression, once proud and composed, now showed the faintest signs of unraveling. The more she heard, the more the truth began to pierce through the disbelief—and with every passing moment, her confidence eroded faster than she could steady it.

The absurd idea that Damien was waging war against the Blue Hammer Kingdom...

was starting to feel terrifyingly real.

Her mind raced.

Wait. Why is Damien going to war?

Why isn’t it Roosevelt—why isn’t it the king leading the charge?

A sharp pang shot through her chest as the realization settled in.

Violet had been away from the Valthorn Kingdom for more than a year. Her diplomatic mission had taken her to distant lands where communication was unreliable, and in some regions, completely severed. She had returned home thinking the kingdom would still be as she left it.

She had no idea how much had changed.

If she knew the full extent of those changes...

Damien leading a war wouldn’t be her only concern.

And as for why she didn’t immediately recoil at the mention of war—it was simple.

To the people of Valthorn, war with the Blue Hammer Kingdom was nothing new.

The two kingdoms had skirmished for generations.

Sometimes through border raids.

Sometimes through secret assassinations.

Sometimes through outright battles.

So when Violet first heard the word "war," she hadn’t flinched—because war was routine.

What shocked her wasn’t the conflict...

It was the name of the one leading it.

Damien.

That alone told her something was deeply wrong.

In that moment, her eyes flashed—her instincts taking over.

Suddenly, she moved.

Like lightning.

A blur of power and precision that cracked the air behind her.

Before anyone could blink, she was already halfway down the hall, her voice trailing like a thunderclap:

"Call all remaining guardians. Assemble for a war council in one hour."

Her words were clear, crisp, and left no room for questions.

Then, just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone—

leaving only the faint echo of her footsteps in the long corridor.

Devrok and Niomi stared at each other, dumbfounded.

The stillness was broken only when Devrok finally shook his head with a sigh, already moving after her.

"You heard her! Go!" he shouted to the nearest guards, his voice snapping with urgency.

"Summon every guardian—we have a kingdom to prepare!"

The moment Devrok’s command rang out, the palace guard—still shaken from Violet’s earlier interrogation—snapped into motion. His boots thundered against the stone floor as he sprinted to carry out the queen’s orders.

Meanwhile, Violet ascended the upper floor with powerful strides, her expression darkening with every step.

Her mind whirled.

Roosevelt Harrier. Her husband.

A man of structure. Of silence. Of inner discipline.

To outsiders, he may have seemed like a recluse. But she knew better.

He treated routine like it was sacred, repeating each day with meticulous calm—meditation at sunrise, cultivation at midday, silence at dusk.

It wasn’t just habit—it was his spiritual core.

That meant if he was anywhere, it would be exactly where he always was at this hour: his private meditation chamber.

Violet’s eyes flashed with quiet fury.

"Just wait until I see you, Roosevelt..."

"How dare you allow my little darling Damien to march to war alone?!"

She grit her teeth. The thought that her son had walked into battle without his father’s presence—or even his support—made her blood boil.

Suddenly, she stopped.

She had arrived.

Before her stood the massive wooden door to Roosevelt’s personal quarters.

Made of rare, enchanted wood polished to such a luster that it shimmered like tempered steel, the door usually gave off a warm golden vitality, the unmistakable aura of a Gold-ranked cultivator.

But now...

Now, that warmth was gone.

Instead, it emitted a chill so cold it pierced straight into her bones.

It wasn’t just cold—it was lifeless. A stillness that felt like it belonged deep beneath the earth, in ancient tombs.

Violet’s brows furrowed.

"What the hell is this..."

Her fingers hovered over the handle, pausing for only a moment as unease twisted in her chest.

Still, she couldn’t back down now. Her son was at war. She needed answers. She needed Roosevelt.

Her fingers curled around the door handle.

But just as she was about to pull it open—

hurried footsteps echoed behind her.

"Mother! Please stop!" Devrok’s voice rang out, breathless and strained.

"For the sake of everyone... please don’t go inside!"

Violet turned slowly, her eyes locking on him with a piercing stare.

That look alone said everything:

"Are you seriously stopping me right now?"

But even before she could speak, the words Devrok might have said fell into silence.

Because Violet had already made her choice.

She turned back.

And without another word, flung the gates wide open—

—and stepped into the chamber.

"Damn it..." Devrok cursed under his breath, his jaw clenched tight as he stared at the open door.

She’s just like Damien.

So stubborn. So reckless. Why won’t she ever listen?

His thoughts stormed in frustration, but he didn’t linger. With a grunt of urgency, he rushed in behind her, his boots thudding softly against the cold stone floor.

---

Inside the King’s chamber—

The room was dim, its heavy curtains pulled shut, allowing only thin slivers of light to slip through. The once-golden glow that filled Roosevelt Harrier’s quarters had dulled to a grayish haze. The air was thick—almost stagnant—filled with a strange, heavy stillness that clung to the skin like cobwebs.

Roosevelt lay on the grand bed at the center of the room, his figure still and unmoving.

But he no longer resembled the walking corpse Damien had once seen.

Thanks to repeated applications of Accelerated Healing, the hollowness in his cheeks had faded. Color had returned to his face—a healthy, almost rosy flush—and his breathing was slow but steady.

To the untrained eye, he might’ve seemed like a man recovering from a long illness.

But the truth was far more grotesque.

Clinging tightly to his chest, writhing and pulsating like a sentient tumor, was a parasite—its many thin tentacles dug into his flesh, the tips trembling like roots drinking from his very life force.

It pulsed with eerie rhythm, as if breathing.

Suddenly—

The door slammed open.

A swirl of wind and footsteps followed as Violet stormed inside, her voice echoing sharply:

"Roosevelt! Where are y—"

She froze.

Mid-sentence. Mid-step. Her voice cut like a wire snapped in the air.

Her eyes locked onto the form lying in bed.

And then she saw it.

The tentacles.

The grotesque, black-green tendrils crawling out from her husband’s abdomen, pulsing like the veins of something unnatural.

Her legs moved on their own. Like a puppet caught in a trance, she walked toward the bed—step by step, her body stiff, her breath caught somewhere between lungs and throat.

Her mouth hung slightly open. Words refused to come.

Her mind screamed for answers.

But her heart—

Her heart shattered with every twitch of that monstrous thing clutching the man she loved.

In just a few short steps, Violet found herself standing beside the grotesque creature.

The thing was wretched, almost otherworldly—its slick, veined surface gleamed faintly in the dim light, as if it fed on both shadow and breath. The parasite pulsed softly, rhythmically, its tendrils buried deep into Roosevelt’s chest, feeding, clinging, living.

Her mind reeled.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

First the shocking news about Damien leading an entire war campaign—alone—

And now this... this abhorrent thing latched onto her husband’s body like a curse made flesh.

Violet’s composure—her legendary, queenly calm—began to fracture.

She stood still, unable to even breathe properly, as chaotic thoughts flooded her mind like a breached dam.

What happened to him?

When did this begin?

How did it come to this?

Why was I kept in the dark?

Her chest tightened.

Violet von Harrier—Queen of Valthorn, master diplomat, woman of icy poise—

was at a loss.

For the first time in many years...

she had no idea what the hell was going on.

And that terrified her more than any war.

It was then that Devrok and Niomi rushed into the chamber, their steps urgent, breath still caught in their throats.

Their eyes immediately found Violet, frozen beside the bed like a marble statue, her face pale and unreadable.

Then—slowly—their gazes shifted toward the king.

There he lay, unmoving as always. The only thing that truly changed was the parasite—a monstrous presence they had never grown used to, no matter how many times they saw it.

Before Devrok could utter a single word of explanation...

A voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Cold. Indifferent. Heavy with restrained fury.

"Who did this?"

Devrok stiffened.

A crushing weight suddenly dropped onto his shoulders, as if an unseen mountain had descended upon his back. Violet’s gaze hadn’t moved, but her presence alone now radiated a terrifying authority—one that sent chills down his spine.

He swallowed.

That pressure... it was unmistakable. The queen was furious.

He let out a long, internal sigh.

There was no hiding it now.

"...From all the evidence we managed to gather," Devrok began, his voice low and cautious, "it was the Bloodfang Gang."

The name hung in the air like poison.

But even as he spoke the words, a shadow flickered behind his eyes—something he hadn’t said.

They didn’t act alone.

Someone from within these walls—someone close—must have aided them.

Otherwise, there was no way a group like Bloodfang could’ve gotten close enough to do this.

He didn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

But Violet...

Violet was no fool.

Even in her storm of emotions, her mind was razor sharp.

If Devrok and the others had pieced it together...

How could she not?

Her eyes remained locked on the parasite.

Her silence now heavier than any scream.