After that, Ling and Rafi talked a little about the Mystic Realm, words drifting like incense over warm tea, quietly confirming the Daemons would join.

We never saw this twist coming. We reached for the Beastfolk and, like a blind cat stumbling on a dead mouse, Daemons fell into our lap.

What do you even call that? Luck dropping like a ripe fruit, victory won without lifting a finger?

“Alright, Ling. You two go find a spot to unwind,” Alicia said, steady as a whetstone under silk. “Let me sort the plan, then I’ll start moving troops.”

She still held a thorn against Rafi, but work was a cold blade; as an adult, Alicia kept personal heat out of it.

“Ms. Rafi, aren’t your Daemons afraid of bleeding men for nothing?”

“Ara? That?” Rafi smiled like moonlight on black water. “It’s fine. I’m not sending true soldiers. They’re the ones who tried to stop me when I became Demon King.”

“Most of their souls were already plundered once. The scraps of mind left, I reforged with forbidden arts. When they die, the flesh snaps back to the Underworld cages set for them, and after a time, they patch themselves up.”

“In theory, as long as there’s mana in the air around them, they don’t die.”

—No wonder she’s a Demon King. “Forbidden arts” rolls off her tongue like rain from iron.

“If that’s the case, will they hurt villagers?” Ling’s worry rose first, a chill under the ribs, then the question came. “They’re mindless, after all.”

“No need to fret.” Rafi’s voice was a lacquer seal. “Our orders are absolute to them. Add commands like ‘don’t harm runners’ and ‘don’t harm noncombatants,’ and we cut the harm to innocents to the bone.”

“...Alright. If you say so, I’ve got no complaints. Ling and I will head back.”

“Mm. Go. I’ll send word when it’s time.” Her smile was a velvet curtain over steel.

—Why does this feel like we’re playing the final boss?

As they stepped through the doorway, Ling and Alicia both felt that thought rise like a shadow behind them.

—

Three ornate chairs held three figures: a black-haired, red-eyed youth like a coal ember, a graceful pink-haired girl like a blush at dawn, and a white-haired old man who sat like a rock in a river, stark against the scene.

The black-haired youth slammed the table; sparks of heat leapt in his gaze. “We need to strike first! The Elvenfolk likely plan to invade our lands!”

The girl rolled her eyes, a petal flicked by wind. “Tch—pah, Gill, don’t get carried away. We could attack the Elvenfolk, sure, but crossing blades now could cut both hands.”

“We still don’t know where they’re headed. Charging blind into fog is a bad move.”

“Hah?!”

Gill—the black-haired, red-eyed youth—let a smile curl, sharp as a knife hidden in a sleeve. “Dorado, since when did you turn this cautious?”

Dorado’s face tightened, a shadow passing over water. “Hey! When did I allow you to call me by name?”

She let a hint of her aura breathe out, a chill like frost on skin, to weight her words.

It did little. Any king who sat here carried a stormfront in their chest.

What she showed now was a light breeze over the cheek—unseen unless you leaned into it.

“Dorado… the name isn’t the point.” Gill’s voice was iron on stone. “Why are you all so timid? The Elvenfolk can be beaten if our three nations join hands. We can win and keep casualties low.”

“No. Too risky.”

Gill’s push hit a wall, and irritation smoked up like hot oil. “Dorado! Have you been hanging around that old man Moser too much? Did he rub his fine cowardice on you? Hmm? Wait—don’t tell me you’re into that flavor?”

They were all adults at the table; innuendo drifted like a fox-smile. In one breath, Gill managed to offend two crowns.

On a normal day, he’d come home to two war notices. With all three kingdoms equal in strength, two hammers could shatter one jar without breaking a sweat.

“Gill, this is a critical hour.” Dorado’s voice was steady, a bell in mist. “As Queen of the Ailusen Empire, mercy sits in my heart. So even your insolence I can meet with a touch of mercy and pretend I didn’t hear.”

“But if there’s a next time—”

Magic and aura surged, a stormhead bearing down, the full pressure a monarch could wield. Even Gill felt two cold beads slide down his face.

“Alright, alright.” He lifted both palms, a grin like a fox under moonlight. “As Uru’s king, feeling my people’s sorrow is also one of my finer traits. I’ll drop it, Lady Dorado~”

Her aura drew back like a tide. Some little brothers only need a light tap; push too hard and they bite.

“Back to the matter. First, we veto attacking the Elvenfolk. Then—”

“Thud, thud, thud…”

Three soldiers in ornate armor of entirely different styles entered together, metal glinting like fish scales under torchlight.

They dropped to one knee in perfect sync, as if drilled until their bones remembered.

“Your Majesty Gill! Daemons are attacking!”

“Your Majesty, Queen Dorado—Daemons have breached the Empire!”

“My king! The Daemons—all out of the nest!”