“Uh‑huh. Relax, I won’t look back,” Albert said, as if closing a door against a draft, and with a tug of his left hand a blue curtain of light unfurled like river silk between Yiyi and him.
“There, you can breathe now,” he added, like a window flung open to fresh air.
Yiyi let out a sigh like a soft bellows, then calmly undressed, quiet as snowfall on stone.
A Sacred Rank guy wouldn’t be that shameless, peeking through the veil like a fox behind reeds.
Emmmmmmm.
Besides, I doubt there’s much on me to look at, plain as a rain‑worn pebble.
Mm... probably, like tossing a coin and hoping for heads.
...
Seems pushing into Sacred Rank can’t wait; the taste of bowing under someone sticks like sand in the teeth.
............................
Boom!
In a hidden basement, miasma erupted and corroded every wall; time sucked dry, the plaster cracked like parched earth.
Edlyn hovered at the center; her eyes opened, and the miasma fled like startled crows, terror scattering it to corners.
But Eli’s special array was already set; the haze could only ricochet around the room like trapped bats.
“Silence,” Edlyn growled, low as thunder under cloth. The miasma congealed, then vanished like chalk washed by rain.
Only the mangled walls spoke of that raw force, scars carved into stone.
Edlyn breathed out like a tired bellows. Next time, I’ll shrink the array; every blast like this, the repairs cost a fortune.
She floated down; her feet touched, and the “intact” floor crumbled to powder under a light step, brittle as frost.
Her face stiffened; she sighed. Right—add a ground ward next time, a lacquer layer over wood.
“Sister, sister!” While Edlyn was lost in thought, Angela thump‑thump‑thumped to the basement door and knocked, a woodpecker in a hurry.
Thud!
The timber gave up, fell inward like a felled tree, and under two stunned gazes it shattered a patch of glazed tile.
Angela …
Edlyn …
“Sis, what are you practicing—this spell hits like a wrecking ball…” Angela pushed up black frames, hugged a teddy bear, regret clouding her face like drizzle.
“Damn it, brat, what’s in that head?” Edlyn flicked her forehead, a crisp pop like a chestnut crack.
“Ow, stop! Keep it up and I’ll get dumber, like a brick left in rain.”
“Aren’t you dumb enough?”
“Huh? How am I dumb?”
“…You’re impossibly cute,” she said, sugar sharp as frost.
“Ahaha, nah, nah—thanks for the praise.” Angela scratched her head like a puzzled sparrow.
Edlyn smacked her again. “You think that was praise?”
“Ow! I said don’t hit the head!”
While the sisters roughhoused, an impatient pounding drummed on the front gate like hail.
Angela shoved her sis aside. “See? Your fault—we forgot the real business,” she hissed, like steam from a kettle.
Edlyn straightened her clothes, sighed like a cooling forge, and went to the door.
“Huh? What now?” She opened, impatient—and a burlap sack dropped over her head like nightfall. Someone hoisted her onto a shoulder and barked to the rear, “Grab both sisters!”
Several men rushed in, flailing, and netted the darting Angela like chasing a cat through reeds.
She’d been training; she sprang and juked, tying three men in knots. Then, through the window, the sky opened like a calm lake. She froze, stopped fighting; they seized the beat and bagged her.
She gave a token squirm, then was slung and carried off like a grain sack.
They tossed both onto the rear bench of a carriage, and once the crew clambered aboard,
the leader glared like a hungry wolf. “Hands off. Boss wants these two; touch them and you’re dead.”
The lackeys nodded, meek as mice. One let greasy thoughts curl up like smoke: You say no touch—who’d know if I do?
His hand got very dishonest, creeping like a vine along a fence.
He reached for a girl’s rear; his palm hit live wire—slapped hard by an invisible ward, thunder on a tin roof.
He went quiet, suddenly honest. (Spineless.)
Above their heads, Edlyn held Angela’s hand, eyes cold, and glided through the air, shadowing the carriage like a winter cloud.
Even if those are substitutes, you don’t get to touch them, she thought, frost riming her gaze.
Up in the air, Angela squeezed Edlyn’s hand, fear fluttering like a moth near a lamp.
Edlyn laughed. “See the perks of magic now?” The words landed light as snow.
Angela pouted. “Tch, I don’t buy it,” she said, lips stuck like sap.
“Brat. With Eli shielding you this year, you’re forgetting your big sis, like a cub ignoring the lioness.”
“Tch. I’m not wrong. Uncle Eli doesn’t fly every day, like a hawk saving wingbeats. He said only weird powerhouses like you can do this, storm‑birds in a clear sky.”
She caught Edlyn’s odd look and shrank her neck like a wary turtle. “What, tyranny forbids a servant to talk back?” Angela pouted, cheeks puffed like buns.
“Little imp.” Edlyn smiled, helpless as mist over a river bend.
She knew her temper had been shifting lately, tides turning under a hidden moon.
As her demonic soul swelled, she was reliving the Demon King’s lives again and again. Faces blurred like rain‑washed ink; one was almost forgotten.
Centuries ago, a human with a broken sword stared at him with storming rage; that was the Demon King’s first wound, a crack in iron night.
Edlyn sighed, steadied her heart like a lantern in wind, dropped the banter, and glided to catch the convoy ahead.
........................................
A century ago, before the Continental Alliance formed, the world held its breath like a winter pond.
One human empire lay flattened under the Demon Race’s iron hooves; the last city fled its homeland under the three‑nation coalition’s ragged shield.
A unit sent to stall the Demon army had reached a dead end, a candle guttering in the wind.
“Damn you… Demon Race.” The young man grimaced; his left hand trembled around a long sword, his battered body sagging like a broken bow.
His sword, too, was corroded, jagged like rusted bone; yet he didn’t fall, a post in storm‑tossed mud.
Pandora smiled. How long had it been? He had crushed these so‑called defenses like paper screens, swatting ants without lifting a finger.
But this one stood under his crushing aura, a sapling that wouldn’t bend, roots clutching earth.
Pandora chuckled. A mere Sacred Rank knight—a wave of the hand should erase him—yet he still stood like a stone in the stream?
Interest stirred; he waved the guards back like reeds. With disdain he stepped before the youth and had a retainer speak, voice sharp as a brand: “Ant, my king is curious. Name yourself and your city.”
The youth raised a broken short sword; trembling hands barely leveled the shard, a reed straining in storm.
He breathed deep, stared at the continent’s final enemy, and smiled, contempt crisp as frost. “So the Demon Race knows knightly honor.”
Demon generals sneered like crows on a fence; he didn’t anger, only watched the retreating column with quiet eyes, dusk following a caravan.
He smiled, relieved, even as his body shivered under its weight. “Demonic Lord, you simply watch the alliance withdraw—quite the face you’re giving me.”
Pandora flicked a hand; the retainer called out, smooth as summer shade, “It’s only ants. Letting you live a few days more is my lord’s mercy.”
The young man smiled. Behind him lay the comrades who came to slow the Demon King’s march; none had whole bodies, and none had life left, leaves scattered after a gale.
Seeing mangled corpses, heaviness flooded his chest like wet clay.
Demon Race… are they truly this strong, mountains pressing down on grass?
But he was a knight, a Sacred Rank protector of the city; he couldn’t retreat, oath nailed like iron. He bit his tongue hard, smothered fear like smoke, and lifted his hand. “My name is Jarvis Aste! Guardian of the Afalia Sacred City!”
Holy radiance poured over him; surging waves of force shoved back some demons, whitecaps breaking on a dark shore. Yet the grand flare didn’t stir Pandora’s robe, wind failing to move granite.
The Demon King smiled. “Striking me with the price of your life?”
“Demon King! Taste human wrath!” Jarvis roared. His ruined body became light and lunged at Pandora like a falling star.
Pandora spoke at last; the young, chill voice now carried a thread of excitement, a blade singing over steel. “Come, weak one. I admit you stand far above ants. I respect your will, mortal.”
Light speared Pandora’s unguarded chest—yet it sank less than a centimeter and went no farther, a needle halted by iron.
“Demonic Lord!” Cries rose in countless echoes, cold demon eyes raking Jarvis like sleet.
Pandora waved, and the clamor died like embers under ash.
Only a thread of blood spilled; then both wound and trace faded into the air, mist dissolving in dawn.
Jarvis looked at the youth about his age and gave a bitter smile—powerless, pained, laughter cracking like dry wood. “Hahaha, Demon King! Demon King… hahaha.”
The sword in Pandora’s hand crumbled to powder while Jarvis blanked out, chalk crushed in a fist.
Pandora didn’t strike; Jarvis collapsed to the ground, strength draining like water from a broken jar.
“Mortal, you’re strong. I’ll remember your name, Jarvis Aste. You’ll carve a deep mark in human histories. You are the first human to wound me—the Demon Race’s sovereign, the world’s master, Pandora. A singular mortal.” He smiled, a moon over ruins.
To a warrior, one who reaches him without being devoured by miasma, who doesn’t abandon his mission, who truly stands before him—a Hero—has always earned his respect, flint glowing even under rain.
“Human, I offer you my highest respect,” Pandora repeated, voice like cold flame.
Jarvis felt corrosive pain seep through him and gave a bleak smile. Long war with demons had taught him this feel; without holy light’s shelter, he would soon be swallowed by the Demon King’s vast miasma, erased like ash on the wind.
“Demon King, Demon King, your sins won’t be absolved easily.” His laughter stopped. In his last moment, he was calm as still water. “Demon King, you won’t prevail.”
Pandora smiled. A pity—a loyal warrior, yet so stubborn, stone that won’t bend.
What came after, Jarvis couldn’t know; Pandora likely didn’t imagine. Edlyn smiled, a secret kept in a sleeve.
Jarvis Aste—his wife and children escaped. He had a little son, named Birand Aste.
One day, that boy would raise his blade and cut down my arrogant self; I hadn’t yet remembered the Hero who once pierced the Demon King was his forebear, a line of steel running through generations.
Edlyn laughed, soft as night wind under eaves.
