“Do you even know what you’re saying?!” Wever’s voice cracked like thin ice, his gaze on Zero a trembling animal caught in torchlight.

Zero smiled, iron chains coiled around the Divinity holders like cold serpents, their nerves jittering like leaves in a winter gale.

“Didn’t catch that?” Zero shrugged, casual as dust on a lone roadside stone.

“Why! You’re human—why hand the vast Snow Empire to the Demon Race? Traitor!” Wever’s words ground like grit between teeth.

Zero tilted his head, yanked the chain like a hawk jerking a tether, dragged Wever close, and clamped his throat with a hand as calm as moonlight.

“You lot are beyond saving,” he said, voice flat as a dead sea.

He swept the room; their eyes were knives and wolf-yellow lanterns, anger and fear circling him like storm birds.

He looked back at Wever, fingers firm as iron roots. “How many times do I have to remind you? Guardians of Mit—remember this. Right now, you have no path to bargain with me head-on.”

Zero smiled, light as frost on glass. “Relax. I’m only borrowing your land for a spell; when the sun comes full circle, I’ll return it.”

“What if we refuse?” Wever’s voice thudded like a stone tossed in a well.

Zero blinked, then cocked his head with a summer-cat grin. “Then I act myself, and Mit becomes erased chalk after rain—your nation gone, your line wiped.”

He flung Wever away like a broken spear, then met hundreds of hateful stares, steady as a cliff against waves. “Easy. Don’t glare at me like bonfire embers. My aim? To wake the Abyss’s consciousness from its deep-sea sleep. After that, I’ll help drive the Demon Race out of your soil. Satisfied?”

“I know most of you crawled out of that catastrophe,” Zero added, words ash-dark. “You weren’t tied to Birand, so under his annihilating light, you only fell back in strength. It burns, doesn’t it?”

From the bedraggled mass, a man stepped forward like a reed through snow.

He pulled the chain from his neck; links fell like shed snakes. He frowned at Zero. “You’re strong. Far beyond what I imagined.”

Zero sneered, a thin blade of sound. “Spare me the fluff.”

Charles looked over the bound crowd, sighed like wind through empty halls, and gripped the chains of hundreds with hands that shook like bowstrings. A man about to enter godhood, he spent ten long minutes gathering power just to peel iron from flesh. This one was terror wrapped in skin.

“Sir, how should I address you?” Charles asked, voice flat as a worn road.

“Call me Zero,” he said, brow lifting like a raised banner. “Hm? You’re not just a Divinity holder, are you?”

Charles nodded, steady as a drum. “I’m the previous national Chief Guardian. Right now, a Transcender with full Divinity. I’m about to step into godhood.”

“About to enter godhood?” Zero shook his head, a slow wind over stones. “You’re joking.”

“I know it’s nearly impossible,” Charles said, a rueful curve like rain on slate. “But I’ve absorbed the source of Mit’s Spring of Magic. I can feel it—godhood close like thunder in the bones.”

Zero’s surprise flickered like a struck match. “You swallowed a nation’s Spring of Magic? So you hold the loudest voice here.”

The Spring of Magic was a font where primordial mana pooled like starlight water, a lace-thread to the world’s root.

Most nations built their capitals around it like towns around an ancient well.

It sharpened your bond with the elements, purified mana till it shone like polished jade.

The benefits were too many to count, spilling like grain from a cracked silo.

The royal family gripped it like a crown’s last gem.

Each year, they measured it out to the Mage Association, drops of dawn for research.

“Yes, Mr. Zero,” Charles sighed, breath thin as fog. “If your reasons move me, I expect everyone will agree.”

Zero looked over them, head shaking like a slow pendulum. “I don’t need your agreement.”

“Then why bind us here?” Charles’ eyes were layered like stormglass. “Bottom line—you fear we’ll shatter Mit’s dragon veins and keep you from summoning the Abyss’s consciousness through the Demon Race. Am I wrong?”

Zero smiled without answering, a closed fan in twilight.

This one knew more than most.

“Mr. Zero, what do you say?” Charles pressed, voice taut as wire.

Zero stood quiet for a moment, a lake before dawn, then nodded. “Fine. Since someone sees straight, I’ll spell it out.”

Charles gave a bitter nod, the taste iron-cold. Gather every strong one with overwhelming force, then batter their pride with swagger like a thunderclap—who dares say no?

Look—Hall lies there, toothless as a ruined gate. That’s your example.

Charles stared at Zero, helplessness flooding him like a cold tide.

Zero wrapped the main chain around his left hand, coils like a steel dragon, and smiled at the crowd. “Tell me—do you hate the great Hero, Birand?”

“Of course,” Charles said, words heavy as wet earth. “His final Annihilation Dawn wiped out homes beyond count.”

They thought for a heartbeat, then heads bowed like reeds in wind.

Most had once stood taller than they do now; Birand’s last act froze their climb at the Transcender’s threshold, ice sealing a mountain pass.

“Seems Birand’s the tragic one,” Zero said, half-smile like a crescent blade. “He pulled your races from the Demon King Pandora’s slaughter, and you repay him with stones.”

“What he did hurt almost like the Demon King,” Charles replied, voice cold as river steel.

Zero shrugged, a loose cloak in breeze. “Whatever. I’m not wasting breath.”

He sealed the space with a silent gesture, air clamping down like a glass bell, then smiled. “Here’s good news.”

He paused, let curiosity peak like a rising sun, then nodded, satisfied. “The Hero Birand will revive soon. After how you treated him, how do you think he’ll ‘repay’ you?”

Wever jolted, words ringing like a cracked bell. “Impossible! Birand can’t revive!”

“Oh?” Zero’s tone was a cat’s paw. “What makes you so sure?”

“Lord Yuris and the Celestial God… they… they personally… he…” Wever’s tongue stumbled like a drunk in snow.

“Yuris, Yuris,” Zero said, a bored wave of hand. “Do you know what Yuris said before he died?”

“I… I don’t,” Wever whispered, fear a shadow gnawing the spine.

Zero shrugged, smooth as water. “A coward whose guts Birand scared out.”

Wever stared and said nothing, silence a locked door.

Zero paced once, reading faces like runes on bone, then smiled. “Yuris’s last words were these:

‘Birand can’t be killed—at least not by us. The only one who can kill Birand is Birand himself. Otherwise, even if we defeat him, he will cycle forever, until he kills everyone who bears ill will toward him.’”

Zero finished and let out a soft sigh, autumn wind through reeds.

Charles looked at him, shock bright as lightning. Those were indeed Yuris’s dying words. So Zero was there.

Only the key figures from all races had stood at Yuris’s end, and this one was clearly human.

Which meant he was one of the eleven humans at Yuris’s funeral besides Charles.

Charles narrowed his eyes, suspicion coiling like smoke. Who is this man…

“Hm… Third Prince, anything else to add?” Edlyn stroked her smooth chin, gaze cool as winter glass at Kait Osborne, pinned under Era’s grip like a stag under a trap.

Kait watched the little girl; green blood seeped from his lips like poison sap, his face calm as carved stone.

“I only regret this,” he said, voice steady as drumbeats fading. “Your Demon Race’s steps will soon halt.”

“Oh?” Edlyn smiled, a crescent over dark water. “Interesting. Why so sure?”

“Do you think Mit stood in the far north for centuries by scraping by?” Kait’s smile was a knife under silk.

“You demonkind are losers, and always will be,” he said, cruelty glinting like frost. “When Mit’s guardians awaken, your lineup won’t survive a single strike.”

Edlyn thought of Zero and Janus’s plan, and sighed at Kait like wind over a shutter. “Sorry, boy. Your wish won’t come true.”

Janus appeared at the doorway, her stride a quiet stream, and came forward. “All set?”

Edlyn gave her a layered look and nodded. “Mm.”

Janus listened to Kait, then sighed, a tired lantern in fog. “True. Without us, the Demon Race would likely be wiped out in this war.”

“I underestimated humans,” Edlyn murmured, the taste bitter as burnt tea.

“Yeah. Intel matters,” Janus said, smile fox-sharp. “Remember how you lost to the Hero?”

Edlyn tilted her head, a sparrow curious at rain. “Honestly? I still don’t know why.”

“Don’t jump when you hear it,” Janus warned, voice a soft chime.

“Go on,” Edlyn said, eyes half-lidded like a cat on a sill.

“Thirty percent of the ‘elite guards’ you picked back then were the Hero’s men,” Janus said, palm to her forehead like a weary priest. She let out a long breath.

“When the time comes, you can ask the Hero yourself.”

Edlyn listened without apology, face flat as slate. “One third were his? Heh???”

“Filthy humans…” She hugged her head, eyes rolling like tossed marbles. “Ah! My brain is trembling.”

Janus pointed at Edlyn’s chest with a teasing smile. “Don’t forget—you’ve got human blood now.”

Edlyn turned away, sulk heavy as raincloud.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Janus said, voice warm as a hearth. “You should thank that half-human blood. Without it, you might never match the Hero. I hate admitting it, but truth is truth.”

Edlyn ignored her and sighed, a long cloud over hills.

“What do you plan to do with Kait?” Janus asked, amused, eyes bright as foxfire.

Edlyn brushed at nonexistent dust, then straightened, Demon King’s aura rising like a black banner. “Occupy Mit. Restore our Demon Race. If I devour the Spring of Magic, I might climb back to the Transcender tier.”

Janus patted her small head, gentle as rain. “Don’t forget the Demon Race altar.”

“I know,” Edlyn said, sigh heavy as iron.

“I can teach you how to summon lesser demons straight into reality,” Janus offered, smile a silver hook.

Edlyn slanted her eyes, suspicion flaring like a match. “And how did you learn that?”

Janus blinked, stars quick in dark irises. “Fair point. Then go feel it out in the Abyss yourself.”