Edlyn gazed down at a land drowned in snow, white as a shroud. She narrowed her eyes, feeling the breeze brush her cheek like cool silk.

She turned. Her little sister was bouncing with joy like a sparrow on fresh frost, and Edlyn felt a wry helplessness swell first, then settle.

Was it innocence born of no war, a heart unscarred by the Demon Race’s terror? Or was it simply because her sister’s own blood tied to the ruler of this race, the crown carried like a family heirloom?

Either way, Angela didn’t shy from her sister’s Demon King title. Instead, she waded in laughing, hands deep in the rubble and hopes of the Demon Race’s reconstruction, like spring water seeking old roots.

Angela hugged a stack of files. Her brow creased like ripples on ice. “Sis, what are these ‘eight external affiliated races’ supposed to be?”

Edlyn blinked, took the records, and read the scattered notes. A tide of old iron and smoke rose in her chest, bittersweet as winter sun.

Back then, the Demon Race marched across the world like a stormfront. Every city was a nail for their hammer; behind iron hooves, even moss turned to ash.

But not all soldiers bore the Demon Race’s sigil. They had eight affiliated races under banner to break the united coalition.

Bloodkin. Dark Elves. Giants. Dragons. Fallen Angels. Sirens. Snowfield Beasts. Treefolk.

And beyond them, her tens of millions strong super army, stitched from countless demon lineages. Before a Hero appeared, victory came as easily as slicing through fresh snow.

But now…

Edlyn skimmed the latest report on the Demon Race remnants. Her mouth tasted of cold iron.

The core Demon Race. Current roster: herself, the Demon King.

First Army, main land-combat unit, the Supreme Demon Ruler’s line… three.

Primary tanks and expendable fodder, the true Dark Knights… twenty.

Second Army, main sea-combat unit… none.

Third Army, main air-combat unit… none.

Fourth Army, main underdark assault unit, mud-born demons… one.

Fifth Army, primary magic supply corps… two.

Sixth Army, primary weapons-forging corps… none.

Seventh Army, cold-mountain low-temperature combat corps… two.

Eighth Army, dream-soul main assault unit, Nightmare… one.

Ninth Army, high-heat flame and magma combat corps… none.

Tenth Army, Demon Race medical and status-support corps… one.

Eleventh Army, shadow assassination corps… none.

Twelfth Army, main forbidden-curse corps… one.

Thirteenth Army, the Demon King’s personal guard… none.

Edlyn let out a breath like frost breaking. She turned the page, and the paper felt heavier than steel.

Bloodkin, alive and willing to return under the Supreme Demon Ruler’s banner… one.

Dark Elves, alive and willing to return… none.

Giants, alive and willing to return… one.

Dragons, alive and willing to return… one.

Fallen Angels, alive and willing to return… one.

Sirens, alive and willing to return… one.

Snowfield Beasts, alive and willing to return… three.

Treefolk, alive and willing to return… none.

Edlyn shook her head, the report cold as a brick of ice in her hand. “What am I supposed to fight the Hero with? My last shred of dignity?”

She handed the report back to Angela. Tears pricked like needles at the corners of her eyes, and then Reni appeared in thick cotton layers, bowing with a winter-still grace. “Your Majesty the Demonic Lord, preparations are complete.”

Edlyn sighed first, then nodded. “Alright.”

“Your Majesty… do you have confidence?” Reni’s words trembled like a thin icicle.

Edlyn opened her mouth, felt the ruin of her people press on her lungs, and let the sigh go. “Confidence or not, I have to.”

So the Demonic Lord followed Reni up to the rooftop, wind slicing like a blade.

Back when her parents still lived, for reasons like fog she could never grasp, demonic qi refused her—no breath, no root. She couldn’t reshape herself into the Demon Race.

Then, before she came to stand by Eli’s side, the thread of demonic qi appeared again like a lost trail in drifting snow. She paid a small price and rebuilt herself as a half-demon. The other half… a Succubus, velvet and thorn.

When she lacked demonic qi, she had no strength, and hands were always on her shoulders, pushing her to stay put. Hunting remnants then was a dream shut behind a locked gate.

Finding Reni was pure coincidence, a spark on ice.

Reni, too, quietly reached several remnants, as if luck itself had turned a kind face.

Which meant, perhaps, the Demon Race was slowly walking back from the blizzard.

Everyone was watching the Demon King, hoping she’d break into the Sacred Rank—so searching the scattered would be easier, smoother, like opening paths in new snow. How could she say no?

Edlyn clenched her teeth. The vow came out bright, ridiculous, and blazing like a paper lantern in winter wind. “For the great revival of my Demon Race! For the new era’s model demon youth! I’ll give my strength to our rebirth!”

She dove headfirst into the demonic qi pool Reni’s people had prepared. The Sacred Rank waited like a gate of thunder.

She sat in the pool’s center, legs folded. The air felt oddly holy, like a temple carved of frost.

Reni frowned. Something felt off, like a note out of tune. Her face locked up, and she called out, voice sharp as a snapped twig. “Your Majesty, this is the bathhouse. I took the wrong turn.”

Edlyn: “…You trying to die?!”

…………………………………………………………

The Fourth Prince’s residence.

A stunning beauty in her thirties, a cigarette between crimson lips, smiled at the thing inside a giant transparent tank. Pride flickered like a strange flame. “This way, the Demon King will praise me.”

She waved lightly. Two Black Demons stepped forward and unsealed the tank. The air curdled with a stomach-turning stench, thick as rot.

She didn’t flinch. She kicked the tank over, her face storm-dark. “I gave you face, didn’t I? It’s done. Get out.”

Black sewage fanned across the floor, carrying a poisonous mist like a hungry fog. Yet none of it crept within a meter of her. Something around her body turned the filth away like an unseen wall.

Only the two Black Demons suffered, soaked and silent, too afraid to breathe wrong.

A naked man crawled out in a twisted posture, pale as drowned wax. It was the once-dead Fourth Prince, Iven Osborne.

The woman frowned deeper. “Damn. I’m weakened too much. Even a corpse puppet turns out this disgusting.”

“Iven Osborne” dropped to his knees, head bowed low. “Master.”

“Fine,” she said, boredom dripping like ash. “Do your job. And stay five meters away from me. Always.”

“At your command, my exalted master,” “Iven Osborne” answered, voice empty as a hollow reed.

She flicked her hand to dismiss him. The Black Demons moved in to scrub the filth, heads bowed like shadows.

She found a clean room with a bed and lounged, lazy as a cat in sun. She stretched, curves singing like silk lines.

The male guard at the door—assigned by the Fourth Prince’s orders to serve her—swallowed, throat tight as a knot.

She lifted her skirt with a careless touch, revealing skin that could drive men mad and a promise like midnight wine.

He turned his head away, ears burning. She laughed, a silver chime, beckoned him closer, and slowly parted her legs like opening a forbidden book.

He entered, shut the door in a rush. She rose from the bed and kissed his whole body, a slow river over stone.

Then—

Aaaah!

A scream split the air, but it never crossed the threshold. A black shadow swallowed sound, calm as a pond swallowing rain.

She regarded the “male guard” laid out on the bed: skin, flesh, and bone perfectly separated and arranged, like a butcher’s altar done by a sculptor. She nodded, satisfied. “Alright. Let the lower demons have their feast.”

Her gaze drifted far, far away, eyes full of worship and reverence, like a priestess before a dark altar. “Demon King, this humble concubine awaits your grand arrival.”

…………………………………………………………

Li Gongxuan hauled Eli up from the ground with a grin, warm as fire on snow. “No enemies, no friendship. A good fight counts as an introduction, yeah?”

“Heh. How do I put it… you Far Easterners are all battle maniacs. Straight-up lunatics.”

Eli’s mouth crooked. His strongest technique had been taken head-on by this guy. Not a hair singed. He was breathing hard, sure, but so was Eli. Freak.

When he broke into Sacred Rank, he’d felt it—hundreds, maybe thousands of powerful senses in the city turning toward him like stars focusing on a single point.

Which meant the Empire’s capital had Sacred Rank numbers easily in the hundreds.

Eli squinted, thoughts shuffling like tiles. Some arrangements needed to change.

“Oh? From that tone, you’ve met other Far Easterners?” Li’s eyes lit up, cutting through Eli’s planning like a knife.

Eli saw his eager face and chuckled. “What is it? Looking for relatives?”

Li nodded fast, hope flaring like lantern light. “Yeah. A girl with hair the same color as mine!”

“Huh? Aren’t all Far Easterners born with that color?” Eli blinked.

“No. My family’s… special. So you’ve seen her, right?” Li’s delight jumped like sparks.

“Oh-ho… may I ask your name?” Eli asked, a knot of coincidence forming.

“I’m Li Gongxuan. My little sister is Li Qianyu. Friend, have you met her?” Li said, and seeing Eli’s face change, he grew more excited, heart pounding like a drum.

Finally. He’d find that damn sister. Then Father wouldn’t push him toward the Sun family’s flower, right?

Eli hesitated, a shadow crossing his eyes. “Uh… she’s your sister? Doesn’t… feel like it.”

“Relax,” Li said. “Just take me to her. You’ll know. And I won’t kidnap anyone in a capital packed with masters.”

“Alright then,” Eli sighed, shoulders loosening like snow sliding off a roof. “Follow me.”