“Ah… sorry, I forgot to clear this—let me make you some space,” he said, brushing clutter aside like leaves swept off a stone step.

Sensing Ling’s awkwardness, the Demon King kindly carved out a spot—just one spot, barely wide enough for a loli to perch like a sparrow on a rail.

Curiosity rose in Ling like mist over a river; she studied the Demon King with bright eyes and tangled doubt.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

—Normally, Rafi would brag about how strong I am, how terrifying I am, how I’m someone you don’t provoke unless you want a flood at your doorstep… so why does he look calm as winter water?

The Demon King shook his head like a pendulum, then nodded like a slow tide turning.

“Yeah. I admit you’re stronger than me—much stronger. If I have to compare, the gap between us is a whole universe… heh. You’re like a monster in human skin.”

Ling blinked, stunned, her thoughts scattering like starlight. She’d measured their gap in God Kings and got just a galaxy’s diameter—so why was he calling it a universe?

Seeing Ling sink into thought like a stone into deep water, the Demon King went on, voice steady as a lantern in wind.

“Me? I’m a thousand-something years old this year. By daemon standards, I’m still a young buck. Converted to human age, I’m 24. But because of my race, I’ve got less than ten years left, like an autumn clock with few ticks remaining. I also attended a lecture by an elder in a toad cap; he taught me elder wisdom and had me recite poems. So I’m optimistic. Even facing someone who’s stronger by who-knows-how-many folds, I’ve got nothing to fear.”

Ling’s mind revved hot like a furnace, processing the tight weave of information thread by thread.

Ding~

A chime rang in her head like a silver bell, and a neat scientific proof unfurled like a white paper in a lab. Researcher-Ling read it at a glance.

“The Demon King is 24; Beast Senpai is 24. The Demon King is a student; Beast Senpai is a student. The Demon King is a Daemon; Beast Senpai is a stench-man!—Thus speaks Beast Senpai’s Demon King, QED!”

Hearing this odd yet oddly sound logic, a bead of sweat sprang to the Demon King’s forehead, glittering like dew.

“Uh… does any of that have anything to do with why you came?” His voice jittered like a drumstick on a rim.

Ling answered with a smile curved like a crescent moon.

“Nope~”

The loli’s cuteness hit like an arrow to the heart.

The Demon King took a critical blow.

The Demon King couldn’t get back up.

“Ahem! Alright, let’s forget that,” he said, coughing, trying to cover his embarrassment like dust thrown over a fire.

Ling, quick to understand, nodded at once like bamboo bending to breeze.

“Back to business, Miss Ling. You didn’t come just to tease me, did you?”

“Of course not! I’m not one of those idle folks with oceans of time. I came for serious work.”

She paused, breath settling like quiet snow, then locked eyes with him, voice dropping like a stone into a still lake.

“Take me to the Yanluo King.”

“I refuse.”

The refusal was clean as a blade. Ling blinked, the surprise flaring like a match in the dark.

“Why?”

He fished a nearly-spent cigarette butt from his left pocket, the ember a dying star.

“No reason. It’s just not happening.”

Eight words fell like an iron gate, and Ling felt a choke of pain like a tight collar at her throat.

If soft won’t work, go hard. Ling, true to the law of fang and claw, chose the blunt path.

“Ultimate Magic Cannon: Thirty—”

But before the Magic Cannon could prime, his hand flashed forward like a hawk’s stoop, pressed her wrist down, and stopped the spell cold.

“Calm down.”

“How am I supposed to calm down?!”

She tore free like a blade from a scabbard; her little pink fist bloomed with green mana like jade fire, then shot forward and aimed straight for the bridge of his nose.

By rights, she wasn’t at full speed; the Demon King could have seen it and slipped aside like a leaf in current. But he didn’t. He stood firm and let a blow that could level a building come at him like a crashing wave.

Thump!

Her fist struck the air in front of his nose—stopped short, hanging there less than five centimeters away, poised like a drawn bow. Wind pressure from the punch sliced his cheek like razors, and when the gale died, his face was lined with shallow and deep cuts like claw marks on bark.

Ling watched the wounds knit themselves like silk thread pulling tight and asked, voice rough as gravel, “Why?”

The Demon King’s calm was smooth as pond water, as if the attack had happened to someone else.

“I told you. With about ten years of life left, I don’t fear death anymore. Have you seen a dying man afraid of dying? We’re the kind who’ve thought it through; unless we’ve got a wish left undone, we’ll smile and embrace the Reaper like autumn leaves embracing frost.”

Even Ling caught that simple hint, the meaning shining like a lantern behind paper.

“Say it. What do you need me to do?”

Silence held a while like dusk before stars, then joy rose on his face, his mouth lifting notch by notch like a tide.

Ling eyed that awkward, crooked grin, and a bad premonition bubbled up like sour water.

Sure enough, he pulled a crown from a cardboard box in the corner, a purple gemstone glowing like a small twilight in his palm.

—Another creep who wants me as his queen so he can power up? I misread him. I thought he’d be someone I could talk to.

If he’s just another creep, then killing him would be a public service.

With that thought, a Magic Cannon gathered like storm-light. Just as it was about to fire, the Demon King spoke again, voice steady as a stepping stone.

“Please raise Rafi into the Demon King.”