As Damon had stated earlier, what was the point of power if not to abuse it? These people wouldn’t cooperate when he asked nicely, but they would if he forced them to.
The world was built on the principle of violence, and violence was equal to power.
Take concepts like democracy, which he hated — it was nothing more than a popularity contest between the elite.
By its nature, democracy was the governnt of the elite, by the people, for the elite.
Because the common man did not have what it took to win that popularity contest.
This was just the world, power decided everything. It decided war and peace, and all of it was held and controlled by the select few who determined how overwhelming violence would be used.
It was—
Damon paused, losing his train of thought due to the fearful groans of the village head.
"Hmm... you’re really annoying. I was about to have a philosophical awakening..." he muttered.
His cold gaze shifted to the tear-and-snot-covered old man in front of him, a man old enough to be his grandfather.
Or... wait. Damon already had a grandfather, and he was centuries old. In that case, this man might as well be a baby in his eyes.
’These people must be my greatest enemies... I was having an intellectual mont.’
Never in his life had he been so rudely interrupted. He had been many tis.
He was appalled. He wasn’t—
He would never forgive them. That one was kind of true.
But that was just Damon being Damon.
’And the fact that I’m having a conversation in my head is a small reminder that I am technically insane.’
Technically, because he had never been proven to be clinically insane, the tests had all co out negative.
They didn’t have a na for his condition.
They did.
Damon’s silence caused a subconscious dread to spread.
"Ahem... ahem..."
Unnoticed Singularity had cleared his throat, trying to pull Damon’s attention back to the matter at hand.
His cold gaze returned. As far as Damon was concerned, the entire village was already dead.
The village head finally mustered the will to speak, and Damon had to admit — he admired his ability to control his fear.
"W... we... don’t have anything that belongs... to your father in the village anymore..."
Damon’s smile was cold and thin. What was that supposed to an? His father had many things in this village.
In fact... Damon was looking at one right now.
"You really want to bury you alive...?"
The village head trembled.
"Wha... what...?"
Damon leaned down slightly, pointing at the worn clothes Neil’s father, Salz, was wearing, a light tunic made of a fine material.
It was dawn-thread, a fabric uniquely made in Lumos. Which ant... Damon’s mother must have been the one to gift it to his father, since he rembered how much his father had loved those clothes.
"What about those? Do I look blind to you?"
The village head slowly turned toward Salz, whose eyes widened when Damon’s attention fell on him. He, of all people, knew that if Damon decided to go crazy and start killing, he could only pray for a quick death.
"I... I... please don’t kill . I have a family," Salz stamred.
Damon’s glare was razor-sharp.
"Everyone has a family. Those clothes belong to my father. Take them off."
Salz nodded quickly — like a hen pecking at grain. He jumped to his feet, moving to go change out of the clothes.
He didn’t even try to argue or sche. What could he possibly do against power that felt absolute from where he stood? All he wanted was to get out of here alive.
"Where do you think you’re going?"
Damon’s voice, deep and commanding, froze him mid-step. His thin jaw quivered as he turned around slowly.
"I... I’m... trying to go change out of these clothes..."
His voice was low and tinged with fear and it did nothing to soften Damon’s gaze.
"It’s not my fault you decided to wear sothing that didn’t belong to you. Take them off. Now."
Salz’s eyes darted toward the crowd of onlookers.
"I... I don’t have anything else... I’ll just go change—"
Damon shook his head slowly.
"So much disobedience..."
He reached into the shadows and pulled out a massive sword — its blade as long as a grown man.
[Sword of Nicholas]
The weapon was made for fighting behemoths.
Salz’s knees nearly buckled at the sight. Damon’s voice followed, sharp as a blade.
"Take it off... or I’ll take it off your corpse."
The faint trace of killing intent in those words persuaded him instantly. Dignity? What dignity?
Dignity was surviving to see another day.
He stripped off the tunic first, folding it neatly and setting it aside. Then ca the trousers, then the boots — all folded and placed on the growing pile.
Now he stood in only his underwear. These, at least, were his own.
A woman among the travelers slowly covered her child’s eyes.
Damon’s gaze sharpened.
"What are you doing? You forgot the underwear."
Salz’s eyes widened with horror.
"T... those didn’t belong to Noctis—"
Damon’s stare turned lethal.
"Hey, Uncle Salz... are you calling a liar? Are you saying I can’t recognize my own father’s underwear?"
Seeing that cold glare, Salz bit his lip and stripped the underwear off as well, adding it to the pile.
Damon shielded his eyes in disgust.
"You dirty old man. We have children here. Disgusting."
Everyone looked at him with confusion.
Didn’t you just make him strip?
Salz turned to leave, but Damon’s voice cut him off.
"Stop. You have to be here for what’s next."
The old man stood there, buck naked, one hand over his groin.
Damon’s attention shifted to the village head, who now looked terrified that he might be stripped as well.
"Is this enough for my father’s rites?"
The village head nodded quickly, his face crusted with dried snot.
"Good. Now get to it."
But the old man didn’t move — earning Damon’s growing ire.
"What is it now?"
"If we want to perform the rites a second ti... it’s customary to wait three days and pray for the soul of the deceased," the village head stamred.
Right... that was the custom.
Damon’s cold eyes lingered on him before he finally spoke.
"Fine," he whispered.
"I’m going ho."
He paused, snapping his finger and burning the dirty underwear on the pile.
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