“Please make Rafi the Demon King.” The words fell like a gauntlet clanging on stone.
Crack. The formed Magic Cannon shattered like glass, and Ling stared at the Demon King, dazed as if splashed by cold rain.
“Uh… say that again. I didn’t catch it,” she said, voice drifting like a lost leaf.
“Please make Rafi the Demon King! This crown in my hand is the Demon King’s symbol—please push her to the level where she can wear it.” The crown flashed like a slice of moon.
Wow, what kind of request is that? Ling thought, a spark jumping like a firefly. Did Rafi cut some backroom deal with this Demon King?
The Demon King noticed the shock on Ling’s face and started to explain, voice rolling like distant thunder. “I know you’re surprised, but this is my choice. The reason starts from when I was one year old, back when I—”
“Stop, stop, stop!” Ling cut in, like a blade snapping a thread.
She didn’t want a story that ran for centuries like a river that never reached the sea.
The Demon King’s memory broke, and she puffed her cheeks like a sulking girl, her tone soft and sour as damp wind. “Fine, I won’t say it. Hmph. Anyway, you’re to train Rafi hard and raise her to the Demon King’s lowest standard. That’s my condition for guiding you.”
Teach the one who once hurt her? The thought pricked like a thorn, and Ling’s chest tightened like a knotted rope.
But then she saw Alicia’s soul in her mind, drifting like a lone lantern in dark fog, and the hesitation froze like frost and fell away.
Seeing Ling agree, the Demon King smiled, warm as a candle breaking cold dusk. “Then go. You’ve got at most a month, less if you can. The sooner the better.”
Ling opened her mouth to speak, but a repulsive force swelled like a sudden wave and shoved her out the door.
Thud.
A stone slab slid from nowhere and sealed the entrance like a tomb lid. Ling could force it open, sure, but it felt as pointless as kicking a mountain.
She had a quest now, so who cared about the NPC’s mood? With that thought like a tossed pebble, she turned and left.
Outside the Demon King’s manor, Rafi and Nina were playing a handheld dug from their luggage, thumbs tapping like rain on tin. They only noticed Ling when she was a meter away, a shadow falling like a cloud.
“Ah… sorry, didn’t notice,” Rafi said, scratching the back of her head like a dog ruffling its fur, apology soft as mist.
Rafi feels… different, Ling thought, surprise rippling like a small wave. The edge in her isn’t there anymore.
“All right, time for real work. Stop drowning in that not-even-fun toy,” Ling said, and snatched Nina’s console like a hawk plucking a chick, tucking it against her chest.
Rafi saw Ling bullying Nina, but it slid off her like rain off a leaf; she could buy another. What she cared about was the outcome, a line pulled tight like a fishing wire.
“Did the Demon King agree? Then… where is he?” Her gaze flicked around like a searching cat.
“Don’t bother. That shut-in won’t come out,” Ling said, the word dull as a stone. “He insists I train you up. Only then will he take me to the Yanluo King.”
“Oh… I see… Wait, no! What does training me have to do with him taking you to the Yanluo King?” Her thought shot straight like an arrow, not looping the globe three times.
Ling coughed, dropped her voice, and let it boom like a drum in a cave. “I like it. So what?”
That line, in the Demon King’s timbre, begged for a punch like a smug mask at a festival. Rafi’s fist twitched like a coiled spring, then lowered after weighing the gap like a scale.
Seeing Rafi refuse to bite, Ling felt boredom crawl like dust, clicked her tongue, and turned her back like a closing door. “Be here tomorrow morning. I’ll set your training. He says there are rooms here; sleep in one tonight.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She strode back into the Demon King’s manor like a night wind, picked a large room at a glance, and went in.
Click.
She locked the door, then spread natural magic over it like frost glazing wood, hardening its defenses like bark thickening in winter.
She swept the corners with her eyes, a lantern circling a dark well, and confirmed no one could sneak a night ambush.
Then, a tiny girl in body but not in will, Ling dove onto the bed like a cub into moss, wriggling like a caterpillar until the quilts were a tousled meadow.
After a few minutes, boredom settled like dust. She curled into a normal sleeping pose, planning to skip dinner and washing like postponed chores under rain. She was tired—in every sense—like a burnt-out ember.
Soft breaths rose and fell—hoo, hoo, hoo—like waves smoothing sand.
Soon, only a sleeping girl’s breathing and a wavering candle remained, flame painting her silhouette on the wall like ink. Beside it hovered another shadow, a mature woman’s outline so thin it was almost invisible, like fog at dawn. The rest sank into quiet, as if snow had fallen.
At first light, Ling pushed out of the blankets like a sprout from soil, stretched, and climbed off the bed with purpose beating like a drum. Today was Rafi’s first day of training, and she had to take it seriously.
But first, food and a bath, she thought, hunger ringing like a bell.
She opened the door in high spirits, eyes closed as she walked, joy bubbling like spring water—then her forehead struck something solid.
Ling, tough as ironwood, didn’t budge, so the other person toppled like a felled sapling.
She blinked open her eyes and saw a blonde, cat-eared girl sprawled on the floor, fur-tipped ears trembling like leaves in wind.
