Maybe it was Rafi’s wicked sense of humor; Alicia dropped onto a low hill near the Ulu Empire, a lump of earth curled like a sleeping beast.

The hill’s weeds brushed her boots, a green tangle whispering against leather like nettles under rain.

She hated those tall blades sliding over her ankles, itch crawling like a line of ants under skin.

She lifted her gaze toward Ulu’s walls, gray stone standing like storm-beaten cliffs on a bitter shore.

Unlike Moser, Gill didn’t flinch at the dead; the wall still wore fragments of bodies and smeared blood, black as stale wine, rank as rot.

Beyond the gate, the Demon Elite stood frozen like a forest of iron trees, and the two scenes together made a nightmare tapestry.

She was a Yokai now, but she’d been human once; unlike Ling, she’d never decided people were darkness itself, so she only frowned at this sight, like a cloud pulling tight before rain.

She climbed the battlements, brow knit; she raised her Demonblade, and fire poured from the edge like a sunrise wind, swallowing corpses and blood.

It was all she could do—she couldn’t bury them all, so she burned them; better a clean flame than slow decay gnawing like beetles.

Clap clap clap~

The clapping came after the last ember dimmed, but in it Alicia heard mockery, sharp as pebbles flicked at glass.

“What do you mean…” Her tone dropped first, cold as well-water, and it made the black-haired, red-eyed man shiver like a reed in a chill draft.

“Ah-la-la~ I’m just marveling at Miss Alicia’s act of kindness~” His words fluttered like cheap silk in a market wind.

“I don’t recall giving my name. I don’t recall letting you call me that.”

He only smiled, showing neat white front teeth like a freshly painted gate.

“Well~ red-haired Alicia, I do have a little bit of intel.” His tease bobbed like a cork on a muddy stream.

When did I get saddled with that ridiculous title?

“Forget it. It’s not important. But you’ll use my full name. Or else…”

Her Demonblade flashed in the sun, a line of light that stabbed Gill’s eyes like a splinter, and he rubbed them with a wince.

“Yes, yes! Got it, got it. Miss Alicia, please sheathe your sorcery—this humble one won’t err again~” His bow was as gaudy as a street performer’s fan.

She clicked her tongue, a dry sound like a seed pod; jokers in solemn places always felt like dust blown into a temple.

“From the look of you, you’re not the type to listen to anyone.”

“Mm, that’s true. What’s this got to do with the Demon King? Is she the same? Then we’d get along~” His grin spread like ink in water.

Alicia felt her temper edge toward eruption, a volcano under snow; for a ‘king,’ he acted like a brat who’d smash your figurines just to watch you cry.

“I’ll warn you one last time. Don’t spin lazy guesses. If you must think them, don’t say them. Stand still and let me finish. Got it?”

Even brats have quiet moments; her blade traced a curve and Gill nodded obediently, though his red eyes held no promise of obedience, gleaming like foxfire.

“Good. I’ll say this once. Whether you get it or not, I won’t repeat it. Understood?”

“Understood, understood!!” He bobbed like a pecking chick, a ridiculous rhythm that sat on his face like a crooked mask.

“Step back first. Mm… there, that far. The Demon King’s demand is simple—hand over every Beastfolk in your empire. Old, dead, young, frail; if they’re Beastfolk, they go.”

“Hm? No compensation at all?” His question flicked up like a fish’s tail in muddy shallows.

Alicia’s eyes angled away, cool as a cat turning its head. “No.”

Gill lit up like he’d found a coin in dust; he pointed at her gaze and laughed.

“Ho-la-ho-la~ Alicia, you shouldn’t look away when you lie~”

He tugged the tiger’s whiskers. Her Demonblade spun once, a flourish like a swallow cutting air, and the tip traced a flower on his pointing finger.

It was a true bloom—his thin skin etched with a blood blossom, red as a camellia in frost, bright yet without a drop spilling.

“I’m finding I really hate you…” Her words fell like a small stone into still water, ripples tight and cold.

By a brat’s logic he should have run, yet Gill didn’t; he smiled instead, sly as a cat under a lantern.

“Hey~ Alicia, do you know what I thought when the Demon King almost killed me?”

She had zero interest in a brat’s thoughts; she turned to leave, message delivered like a sealed letter set on a table—Gill would bring the Beastfolk, and her part was done.

“Don’t walk so fast, ‘non-human’ Alicia~” The tag hit like a nail tapped into wood; she paused and looked back, killing intent rising like a blade-thin moon above clouds.

“Come on, don’t be so fierce. No one knows this; I won’t tell. I just want you to listen to one sentence~” His voice smoothed out like oil on stone.

“Say it. I’ll decide after whether you die.” Calm first, then steel, her tone a winter river with ice just under the skin.

“When the Demon King was about to finish me, I wished for a hero to descend from the sky. Then you did. Do you know what that means?”

Alicia said nothing, silence hanging like a paper lantern unlit.

“It means you’re my hero~ Will you be my queen, beautiful Alicia?” His words fell like rose petals tossed from a balcony, more theater than heart.

Alicia looked at Gill, and she found she could barely restrain the urge to lift her hand and drive her Demonblade into his skull, the thought heavy as winter and sharp as a drawn icicle.