In the palace, a small room near the rooftop sat hushed, frost clinging like pale moss.

The ruler of the Miter Empire, Jelan Osborne, faced a tall silhouette and sighed, his breath like winter wind under eaves.

That towering figure was Charles, returned like a stone pillar cast by dusk.

Charles watched Jelan, waiting for an answer, eyes flat as sealed water.

“Are we really leaving?” Jelan kneaded his temple, pain drumming in his skull like cold iron.

Charles nodded; right now, everyone felt caged and stifled, like wolves locked behind bars.

“Jelan. You’re a wise king. You know which weight tips the scale,” Charles said, sinking into the chair like a weary mountain.

“We truly have no retreat?” Jelan groaned, then smashed the table to splinters; his voice flared like a torch.

Charles met his eyes and patted his shoulder. “I’m as unwilling as you. But reality is iron. Believe me, junior, the load on my shoulders is a mountain too.”

He stood, face still as carved wood. “Miter kept the Holy Court Church from flooding in. That brought good, and bad.”

Jelan went silent, rubbing his temples, his breath a thin mist like winter steam.

“Our elders feared the Holy Court Church—glorious after the war—would sink claws into Miter,” Jelan sighed, voice drifting like smoke.

“Who knew that made us the first target for the Demon Race,” Jelan muttered, headache throbbing like beating drums.

Charles nodded. “Don’t blame the forebears. No one thought the Demon Race would return. Back then, every race’s top fighters signed death warrants to exterminate them. Why are they alive now? Heh. The shadows speak.”

“The Demon Race lost the war, but they’re terrifying. We meant to wipe them out, to cut future weeds,” Charles said, eyes cold as sleet. “But fate turned. Heaven’s mandate didn’t favor our side. Nor did your court.”

Jelan shook his head with a bitter smile, like reeds bowing under rain.

Back then, many nobles and power-holders hunted demon secrets—longevity and bodies born strong like bronze. They snatched lesser demons in the dark, while checkpoints blurred like fog. Many demons slipped away; nothing could be done.

Charles stopped staring at Jelan and went on. “Worst of all, behind them stands a presence we can’t fathom, like a black sun beyond clouds.”

His mask cracked; hatred burned in his gaze like a furnace. “If it were just today’s Demon Race, and I found them, I’d take them alive and burn them alive.”

He watched the snowfield beyond the window, flurries drifting like torn silk, and shook his head. “Maybe the Hero’s methods were right.”

He drew out a silver pocket watch; the girl on it smiled sweet as spring water. He blinked and said, “Maybe those hidden folk started plotting when the Demon Race moved on the continent—no, back when the Hero stood tall.”

Zero lounged on a chair, humming nonsense like a stray wind, then sprang up.

He blasted a huge sneeze, sharp as snapped bamboo.

“Fu/ck. Someone’s badmouthing this lord again?”

“But we can’t move every citizen,” Jelan sighed; old folks clung to their homes like roots to old soil. “What reason can I give to rip them away?”

Charles’ face stayed cold, like a winter blade. “Let them be. I’ve found surviving demons. At that existence’s order, they’ll stage a play with us. Move as many as we can. If not, we can’t help it. In a month, he’ll descend and sweep the human race.”

Charles turned back; Jelan met the gaze, eyes aching like worn glass.

Charles sighed without sound. “I know schemers may shatter your lifelong honor. But decide.”

“Understand—his power could erase Miter in a heartbeat, like a candle snuffed by storm.”

Jelan closed his eyes for a long breath, then opened them; bloodshot eyes locked on Charles like rusted hooks. His voice rasped old as bark. “I understand. What play?”

Charles looked at Jelan, suddenly ten years older under snow-light.

He nodded, turned, hands clasped behind his back like a sealed scroll. “Plague.”

“What do we do?”

“Spread rumors in small towns around us, and in the imperial center,” Charles said, voice steady as a drum.

“What if they see through it?” Jelan asked, worry flickering like a moth.

“Relax. The Demon Race may be lesser, but their craft won’t disappoint,” Charles sighed, breath thin as frost.

“Make it quick.”

Half a month later, the city had mended like stitched cloth under cold sun.

“Oh ho, all fixed in half a month?” Eli stood before rows of low, flat buildings, people flowing like a silent tide with a faint killing aura.

“And there are more people,” Liqianyu dismounted, scratching her head like a confused sparrow.

“Must be Tengger and his lot back,” Eli shrugged, easy as a rolling wave.

“We had this much manpower?” Hilriad eyed the buildings circling the Prince’s residence, then sighed like a breeze through pine.

Eli facepalmed, exasperation flicking like a fan. “What are you doing? You’re their master. You don’t even know your numbers?”

“I went out to play, got ganked, thought I was bankrupt,” Hilriad sighed, shoulders drooping like wilted leaves.

They walked a long corridor, drawing near the estate like travelers to a lantern.

Hilriad ditched the carriage, servants pulling it away like ants with grain. He stretched, laughter bright as clear bells. “Home!”

He skipped to his gate, pressed the crystal orb; light glowed like dew.

Moments later, Moser’s voice floated out like a reed flute. “Who is it? Hm? Your Highness?”

In the hall, Moser lifted a ledger, peered at the crystal, joy blooming like spring. “You’re back?”

“Don’t talk so much! Open up!” Hilriad laughed, sunlight in his tone.

“Okay, okay. Coming.”

Eli watched, then sighed, his breath like mist. In public, Hilriad looked sunny as dawn.

He stepped to follow, then a prickle bit his temple like a nettle.

Eli yanked a brick from his storage, weight solid as earth.

Clang!

A thrusting longsword sliced the brick like a reed. As the blade drove on, Eli surged strength like a river in flood.

The broken halves clamped the steel, and the sword froze, stuck like bone in ice.

Liqianyu reacted; two hands unfurled behind her like shadowed lotus. Her Battle Aura burst, a storm around her skin, as she watched the gray-robed man by Eli.

On horseback, Li Gongxuan glanced without interest, then flopped back down like a lazy cat.

Eli smiled, warm as tea. “Yo. Long time no see, still that feral temper.”

Jim slid a step back, frowning at Eli like thunder before rain. “You reached Sacred Rank?”

“Yeah.” Eli shrugged, light as dust on water.

Jim went silent, ignored him, and ran into the estate like a sudden gust.

Liqianyu folded away her art, baffled. “What’s up with him?”

“Don’t mind him. A master’s pet seeing his master—of course excited,” Eli said, voice teasing as a fox.

Liqianyu nodded. “Oh.”

She kicked the still-lounging Li Gongxuan. “Jerk, up! Damn it, can’t you see the little groom’s been waiting to take your horse?”

Li Gongxuan lifted his head, listless as a limp flag. “Huh? Isn’t that you…”

Liqianyu arched a brow and pinched his ear, sharp as a crane’s beak. “Down!”

“Hey, hey! Ow, it hurts! What are you doing, murdering your bro?”

Eli watched the chaos, amused as a cat at fish, when Karlo tapped his shoulder like a falling leaf.

“Holy—!”

“Wah!”

Eli turned, then stared, speechless, face like a blank slate. “What, scaring me like that.”

“Your presence is so low. You scared me too,” Karlo muttered, voice thin as silk.

Karlo fell silent, dots of thought flickering like fireflies.

After a beat, she pointed at Li Gongxuan. “Hey, big bro, what’s with him? He’s been dull all the way.”

Eli shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe his kidneys are shot.”

Karlo tilted her head, puzzled as a sparrow. “Huh?”

Eli eyed Karlo. “Uh… Miss, who are you?”

Karlo froze, words tripping like pebbles. “I… um… I…”

He slapped his forehead, laughter breaking like sunlight. “Ah, sorry. Miss Karlo, with you not living inside Li Gongxuan, I honestly didn’t recognize you.”

Karlo seethed in silence, heart sputtering like hot oil. People are so bad now!

They settled the group, busy as bees, then gathered in the sitting hall. Hilriad listened to Moser’s report, boredom pooling like stagnant water.

Just as he tuned out, Moser said, “Your Highness. News from the royal palace. A divine physician appeared. He saved His Majesty.”

Hilriad blinked, then forced a smile like thin paper. “That’s good. Why the grave face?”

“Because, at the same time, rumors spread—there’s a destruction-level plague in our country,” Moser said, words cold as ash.

“Destruction-level plague?” Hilriad’s face tightened like a drawn bow.

“It can turn living people into undead monsters,” Moser whispered, a chill wind under doors.

“Huh?” Hilriad froze, mind blank as a pale field.

Eli sipped tea, eyes slanting toward Moser like a knife’s edge.

Plague? What trick is His Majesty playing now?