In the eerie stillness that followed Agonon’s revelation, the air itself seemed to pause, waiting for the world to realign under the weight of his words, “It’s me…mother.”

His voice, a gravely echo from the abyss, carried both the torment of his transformation and the undeniable truth of his identity.

It was a sound that reverberated through Lysandra’s very soul, a beacon of hope amidst the despair that had enveloped her world.

Tears, born of countless nights of sorrow and longing, welled up in Lysandra’s eyes, blurring her vision as a trembling smile, tinged with both joy and heartache, blossomed on her face.

His voice wasn’t the same as she remembered and there was something different about not only his voice but even his eyes. But she wasn’t surprised after looking at what happened to him.

With a muffled cry that was both a lament and a celebration, she closed the distance between them, her arms encircling the nightmarish figure that was her son.

Her embrace, a mirror to a mother’s unconditional love, sought to bridge the chasm that Agonon’s ordeal had wrought between them.

Agonon’s initial stiffness melted under the warmth of her touch, his arms wrapping around her awkwardly.

Yet, unbeknownst to Lysandra, it was not her son who returned her embrace but Asher, whose consciousness now animated Agonon’s transformed body.

Meanwhile, Asher’s true body remained in a state of suspended animation, a shell devoid of consciousness.

He had come to learn that he could personally control his damned slaves by transferring his consciousness to their bodies.

But this would mean he would be unable to use his body during that time and would be left vulnerable.

He also wouldn’t be able to use them for too long since the mana consumption becomes ridiculously high if he controlled them and they already didn’t have a large mana pool once they came out.

He had to resort to this since he felt that to really convince Lysandra that her son was alive, he had to take control of Agonon’s damned form and use his memories to pretend to be Agonon and copy his mannerisms.

Otherwise, she would quickly realize that she was looking at an empty shell of what was once her son if she didn’t feel any life or emotions from Agonon’s damned form.

He didn’t want to roleplay as her son, but he couldn’t think of any other method to convince her since Lysandra wasn’t an easy woman to fool.

If she even got a slight hint that her son’s soul was gone, then she might even support Drakar to destroy the Bloodburn Kingdom out of revenge.

However, Lysandra’s embrace of Agonon transcended the boundaries of time, each second stretching into eternity.

Asher, ensconced within the damned form of Agonon, felt an unexpected pang—a disquieting blend of discomfort and something akin to remorse.

Were there still traces of Agonon’s consciousness in this shell?

This sensation, uncomfortable and unsettling, coupled with the sensation of her huge yet soft breasts squished against him, compelled him to gently disengage from Lysandra’s grasp, “Mother, we don’t have much time,” he murmured, his hoarse voice a hollow echo of Agonon’s.

Lysandra, pulled from the depths of her emotions by his words, reluctantly released him, her hands lingering on his scarred, unnatural visage.

She hastily wiped away her tears while the fingers of her other hand traced the lines of Agonon’s suffering with a tenderness that belied her resolve, “I have a million questions to ask. But I don’t have to ask to know that you are in pain that I cannot fathom, and I can’t bear to see you like this. Why did the devils trap you and not let you go?” Her voice was a mix of sorrow and resentment, a challenge to the cruel fate that had ensnared her son.

She had always cursed the devils for making her suffer throughout her life for no reason. But this was the last straw, and her resentment for them was as intense as it could get.

Agonon, or rather, Asher within, averted his gaze, as if the weight of the truth was too heavy to bear as he softly shook his head,

“Because I was supposed to die back during the quest. If not for him…” His pause, a brief glance towards Asher’s meditative figure, spoke volumes, making Lysandra briefly shift her gaze towards Asher as well.

Turning back to Lysandra, he added, “…I wouldn’t have been alive, and I also wanted this because I knew if I didn’t accept the deal the Devils offered me, then I would never be able to see you again. How could I leave you alone when that unworthy swine is still sitting on the throne?”

The revelation struck Lysandra like a blow, her heart constricting with the realization of the magnitude of her son’s choice.

She had always poured her hopes and wishes on Agonon, including him overthrowing Drakar one day and making him suffer for the rest of his life.

It was one of the main reasons Agonon was eager to come out victorious during the Quest of the Worthy, and she didn’t stop him, believing his determination and thirst for vengeance they shared wouldn’t let him fail.

Yet…who would have known that her wishes and dreams were the cause of this?

The duality of her desires—wishing for her son’s survival yet aching at the thought of his suffering for her sake—tore at her soul, leaving her grappling with an impossible dilemma.

Before she could voice the turmoil within, Agonon raised a hand, halting her words before they could form, “I know what you are going to say, but don’t. It’s not your fault. It’s my duty as your son to right the wrongs you suffered and get revenge for my late father, who didn’t deserve such a disgraceful death.”

Lysandra felt her heart clench as she shook her head, “But we wouldn’t want you to fulfill them at the cost of your peace. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. I thought you could do that by ruling our kingdom one day. But I didn’t think it through…I was blinded by my hatred.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s too late to revert what I have decided. I have to now fulfill what I promised the devils, and I don’t mind doing that as long as I can see you whenever possible,” He firmly declared, leaving no room for any argument.

Lysandra’s eyes burned with cold fury as she asked, “Just what do they want from you? Are they trying to take pleasure in your suffering?”

Agonon shook his head and said, “No, don’t misunderstand them, mother. It is a fair deal in my eyes. I get to be alive while I run small errands for them in the dimension they are holding me. I am not allowed, nor can I tell you what I am doing for them.”

Lysandra’s chin quivered as she said in a frigid tone, “Small errands? Why are you being grateful to them when they did this…to you,” Lysandra said upon seeing his molten figure and exposed charred bones. Ths chapter is updated by Nov(l)Fre .t

It was as if he was burned alive, and she couldn’t even bear to ask how much he suffered when it happened.

Her son didn’t deserve this.

Agonon let out a deep sigh as he said, his voice sounding like stones being scratched together, “A price I had to pay for getting stuck there.”

“No…you don’t deserve this…” Lysandra mumbled with her jaw clenched.

Agonon’s gaze, filled with a firm resolve, met Lysandra’s, a silent farewell communicated in the depths of his dark green eyes, “It’s time, mother. I have to go back now before something happens to Asher. Without him, I won’t be able to see you again, and I will be trapped there forever,” His voice, laden with a bitter acceptance, underscored the precarious thread upon which their reunion hung—a lifeline tethered to Asher’s well-being.

Asher had to make sure this woman would understand how important it was for him to be alive.

The heaviness in Lysandra’s chest ballooned as she faced the inevitable separation, her hands reluctantly releasing her grip on Agonon.

Yet, her spirit, indomitable even in the face of despair, sought a sliver of hope, a chance to alter their fates, “Before you leave, tell me if there is a way I can bring you back. I will do whatever it takes. You don’t have to worry about it. There has to be a way,” she implored, her eyes alight with a fierce determination, a cold fire fueled by her desperation and sadness.

Agonon’s response was a hard, sorrowful headshake, “We mortals can only do what the devils ask of us, Mother. From what I have learned about them, they never go back on their words. A deal is a deal. Goodbye for now, mother. I will see you again, so do remember to take care of yourself. As I always used to tell you…I want you to be happy, make my late father proud, and I will do everything possible to make sure of it through Asher.”

With those final words, Agonon’s form dissipated into a flash of dark green light, vanishing as swiftly as he had appeared, leaving behind a tangible void in Lysandra’s heart.

Her hand, outstretched in a futile gesture of longing, trembled in the aftermath of his departure.

The despair that had once ensnared her heart now gave way to a profound emptiness, a longing for a reunion that seemed ever more elusive.

The silence that enveloped the space was broken by Asher’s pained groan as he emerged from the meditative trance, his features drawn and pale.

Struggling to rise, he presented a stark contrast to the formidable figure he had portrayed just moments before.

Lysandra, her emotions a whirlwind of gratitude, suspicion, and unresolved yearning, regarded him with a complicated gaze.

Crossing her arms, she voiced the question that lingered in the air between them, a demand for transparency, “Why are you helping us? Tell me the truth.”