SSS-Grade Acceleration Talent made me Fastest Lord of Apocalypse-Chapter 30: Even if the sky collapse

Inside the Royal Conference Hall of Valthorn

"Oh, it's been a while, old Claymen."

Rebecca's voice echoed casually through the chamber as she strode across the gleaming stone floor and slid into one of the empty seats at the round obsidian table. Her thick red braids bounced slightly with each step, and the massive sword strapped to her back clinked lightly against the chair.

Claymen Maroone, seated with a calm, unmoving posture, responded only with a soft smile. His gaze was warm, his demeanor patient—as if her casual greeting was expected. He said nothing, choosing instead to rest his heavy arms on the table's carved edge.

Aside from that single exchange, silence prevailed.

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The tension in the room was thick, like fog before a storm. Yet it wasn't hostility that hung in the air—it was curiosity. Eyes, sharp and discerning, hovered on Devrok and Damien, questioning them without words.

The guardians of Valthorn had gathered:

The stoic protector of the East—General Iron Fist.

The loud and vigilant Southern force—General Felix.

The wild and unpredictable Western commander—Mad Demon Rebecca.

And finally, the unshakable Northern pillar—General Claymen Maroone.

Damien slowly looked at each face, carefully matching them to the names etched into his memory. Every one of them was distinct in energy, posture, and aura. After all, the generals of Valthorn were legends in their own right, their personalities carved by decades of battle.

Their presence was proof enough—excluding the ailing King Roosevelt and a few elusive shadow figures, every major powerhouse of the kingdom had assembled in one place.

A rare occurrence. A sign.

Claymen was the first to break the silence.

"By the way, what is the reason for this sudden meeting...?" His voice was deep and measured, carrying the weight of countless campaigns. But the question felt deliberately vague, as though he were addressing no one and everyone at once.

Damien didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Devrok, sensing his brother's silence, took the lead. His tone was clear, precise, and sharp like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.

"The danger is upon us. The Crown Prince called this meeting to assess the readiness of our military. To ensure Valthorn stands tall."

Damien gave a subtle nod, agreeing without words.

"Assessing the army, is it..." Claymen echoed the words, a faint glimmer of interest flickering in his eyes.

"Huh? What's with this situation?" General Iron Fist, resting her chin lazily on the table, finally spoke up. Her casual demeanor contrasted with her sculpted, intimidating figure—like a lioness watching cubs squabble.

The other generals remained largely impassive.

But Damien, sharp as ever, caught it—Felix's expression.

That subtle stiffness. The awkward furrow in his brow. He wasn't just confused—he was displeased.

Damien said nothing. Instead, he moved forward and settled into the high-backed chair designated for royalty. It was carved from darkwood and bore the Harrier family crest—a pair of wings spread behind a sheated blade.

The agenda was about to begin.

Felix suddenly spoke, his voice booming.

"The situation hasn't deteriorated enough to summon all generals and leave the frontlines exposed!"

His voice carried force, rising to fill the room. His thick brows knitted tightly together as he leaned forward, fists clenched.

"What if the Blue Hammer Kingdom takes this chance to launch an attack?"

The room fell into a momentary hush.

And then—Rebecca laughed. A low, delighted giggle that curled around the tension like smoke around fire.

"Since when do the royalty need to explain themselves? Don't act so righteous and uptight here, kid."

Her words were teasing, yet laced with steel.

Felix turned sharply, his dark eyes narrowing.

"I've already warned you not to call me 'kid,' Rebecca."

"Did you?" she smirked, cupping a hand to her ear in mock confusion. "Tsk. Must've slipped right past me. Something must've clogged up these ears."

Her playfulness was exaggerated, her grin wide. Felix let out a cold snort, clearly trying to suppress his irritation.

Damien observed them in silence.

Then, with the faintest motion, he tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. A quiet rhythm that drew everyone's attention.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes icy and piercing.

"The public is already beginning to question the authority of the Harrier family—our ability to protect them," he said, voice calm but firm. "And here you are, General Felix, questioning the reason behind this meeting."

His gaze locked with Felix's—unyielding, fearless.

Felix froze, clearly caught off guard. He hadn't expected the Crown Prince to speak so directly, much less single him out.

His face twisted for a brief moment, emotions flashing behind his eyes. Anger? Embarrassment?

"Damien..." Devrok, who had remained respectfully quiet beside the prince, stepped forward as if to intervene—but then halted. Whatever he had meant to say died on his lips.

He remembered something.

And swallowed his words.

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Every eye focused squarely on Damien.

It was the pressure of four Silver Ranks. Their presence weighed on the room like a rising tide.

And yet, Damien didn't flinch. He sat perfectly still—back straight, expression composed.

Claymen let out a soft laugh, eyes gleaming with hidden approval. There was something in that moment—an acknowledgment. A silent nod from warrior to leader.

What truly separates the exceptional from the ordinary is attitude—and Damien had just proven his worth.

Rebecca licked her lips subtly, her grin widening. "I like that wildness," she whispered under her breath. "That fire."

Iron Fist simply watched with interest, her fingers drumming against the table like someone watching a show unfold.

Felix's face darkened further, his pride wounded. But he said nothing.

Damien took a deep breath and continued, voice low but powerful.

"The restoration of the Harrier name is of paramount importance," he declared. "The people must feel protected. They must know that even if the sky falls, the royal family will be there—standing tall."

And with those words, the tide of the meeting shifted.

Discussions began in earnest. One by one, the generals weighed in, voicing opinions and strategies. Only Felix remained silent, his expression sour but his gaze thoughtful.

As the conversation deepened, each general began to feel it—something intangible about Damien had changed. It wasn't just maturity. It was presence. Authority.

By the end of the hour, a consensus had been reached.

Each of the four generals would dispatch a ten-man elite unit to patrol and purge the lands surrounding Valthorn. A show of strength. A signal to the people.

The rumors and slander would be cleansed as well.

As the heavy discussion finally drew to a close, the generals stood one by one and offered their farewells.

The chamber slowly emptied, leaving Devrok and Damien alone.

Damien leaned back, resting his chin on his hand, eyes half-lidded in thought.

"They're testing me," he muttered with a faint smile. "Heh..."

Then, without looking, he added, "Devrok... I hope you're ready. We need your strength. Merge with the beast core today."

Devrok's breath caught in his throat. His eyes trembled—but after a long, steady breath, he nodded.

He had already resolved himself. Any more hesitation was meaningless.

Damien stood, his posture relaxed but deliberate. He strolled out of the chamber without another word, leaving his younger brother with his thoughts.

---

Moments Later, in the Estate Corridor

"Let's heal Father first," Damien murmured to himself. His footsteps echoed through the estate's marble halls as he changed direction.

He'd postponed his visit to Durant due to the assassin threats and the looming beast wave. Though his accelerated healing couldn't fully cure the king, Roosevelt's condition had been improving steadily.

Just as he approached the stairway leading to the royal chambers, he heard hurried footsteps.

A moment later, Niomi appeared from around the corner.

Her white training clothes clung tightly to her sweat-drenched body, outlining every curve. Strands of damp hair clung to her cheeks, and her breathing was heavy.

But when she saw him—her entire face lit up, exhaustion vanishing like mist under the sun.

In a voice sweet and tinged with longing, she called out:

"Husband!!!"