Aphelia froze, shock pooling like cold water, while the maid only smiled and kept spooning medicine into her.
Under the black-robed woman’s pressure, Aphelia had no way to resist. She swallowed quietly, eyes skimming the room like a wary bird.
“Don’t look. Don’t listen. In your state, you can’t slip past my eyes.”
The woman’s pale hand clamped Aphelia’s throat, cool as porcelain. To outsiders, it looked like two beauties trading flirtation in a thin mist.
Beside them, the fox-eared maid couldn’t stand it. Her snow-white tail flicked against Jasmine’s arm, cheeks puffed with stormy air.
“Jasmine, she’s a patient. Don’t be that rough!”
Jasmine only watched her, gaze soft under frost, a thread of pity and care glinting like winter sun. She said nothing.
The maid glared back, stubborn as a cub. The wooden spoon stayed in Aphelia’s mouth, leaving her jaw caught open like a trapped door.
In that wordless duel, Jasmine never budged. Her presence swelled like a rising tide. The fox maid held on, a kitten facing a hawk.
Spoon still lodged, Aphelia felt despair curl like smoke. If this went on, her image would crumble. A bead of crystal stained her lip.
“Mmm-mmm—(Take the spoon out first!)”
The two kept staring, while Aphelia’s eyes pleaded like a drowning girl. Then the door swung open with a slice of light.
“I’m back. That person woke—”
A blond youth stepped in. He saw the locked gazes and Aphelia on the bed, eyes rolling like moons about to flip.
“So… you just forgot the job?”
He pulled Christine aside. Her face flushed like ripe peaches. He felt an absurd headache bloom, a need-to-facepalm throb behind his eyes.
At that moment, Aphelia looked hollow, eyes glazed like still ponds, staring at the ceiling as if nothing had happened.
“This friend from the Human Realm, how do you feel now?”
“Not great… wait. Did you say Human Realm?” Aphelia’s heart kicked like a drum, then smoothed to a steady wave.
If this wasn’t the Human Realm, relief settled like dew. The Church’s hunt couldn’t reach here. She might get time to mend.
They’d sheltered her, so there was room to bargain. As a quasi-titled fighter, she was a blade worth weighing on any scale.
The black-robed woman felt close to her level, but any faction craved high-end strength like fire craves air. The outcome might still disappoint.
“Yes. In your tongue, this place is the Demon World.”
Nero yanked the curtains wide. Sunlight poured like warm honey through glass, richer with light’s essence than in the Human Realm.
Heat spread through Aphelia’s wounded body like coals under silk. She felt a gentle warmth seep into broken places.
“Surprised? It’s fine. I can imagine your Realm’s wild tales about the Demon World.”
“How did you know I came from the Human Realm?” She turned her head like a cautious bird, breath and voice held to a calm rhythm.
“Hm. Me answering alone feels unfair.” Nero smiled. He signaled Christine to draw the curtains closed, then set a chair before Aphelia.
“Let’s trade. One question for one question.”
Aphelia tried to sit, discomfort pricking like pins. Even with the chair, she felt the posture gap, not a level field for talk.
“Christine, give me a hand.” Nero’s voice was easy, seeing through her thoughts like clear glass.
Christine’s white tail swayed like a plume. She came with a bright smile to Aphelia’s side.
“Sorry. I might hurt you by accident.”
She lifted Aphelia without a ripple of pain. Her plush tail cushioned beneath, guarding her from knocks like a cloud pillow.
Once Christine settled her upright, Nero sent a glance, a silent question: satisfied?
“Start simple. My name—Aphelia.”
“For Westerners, that’s a fine name.” From the doorway, Jasmine spoke, arms folded like a closed fan, praise edged with frost.
“Miss Jasmine, if you don’t mind, would you explain?” Nero turned, curiosity bright like a spark.
“In their meaning, it points to guardianship.”
“I see. It is a good name. Forgive me—so much talk, and I haven’t given mine.” Nero’s smile creased like sunlight on water.
“Nero. That’s my name. No special meaning.”
“Nero… then your surname?” Aphelia’s thoughts clicked like beads. The question slipped out, then she bit it back.
She saw Nero’s amused eyes and exhaled like a tired bellows. “Ask.”
“An honor.” Nero cleared his throat, pleased to steer the current like a boatman.
“How did you arrive in the Demon World? I’m very curious.”
Aphelia was ready. Lies fit badly here. Better a half truth, shrouded like mist.
“A war caught me. Some outrageously strong magic shook the void. I got swept into turbulence. I woke up here, as you saw.”
Nero nodded, noting things down in silence like ink lines. Then he smiled.
“Since you asked my surname, I’ll keep it simple. You asked because you’ve heard something. My surname was stripped for certain reasons.”
Aphelia had asked because, when the Demon King traded life for hers, fragments whispered a name: Nero Claudius.
That name pointed to one person—the crown prince of the Demon World—like a sign carved in stone.
It couldn’t be that coincidental… could it? A lost surname felt like a veil. And he had a guard near her level.
This wasn’t a small family. It smelled of power like iron in rain.
“Heh. Then my injuries—how bad? That shouldn’t need a trade, right?” Aphelia lifted a hand, playfulness like a thin flare.
Nero’s face tightened, awkward as a knot. Aphelia froze, a chill like ice cracking underfoot. Terminal? Impossible. She was quasi-titled.
“Ahem. I’ll explain.” Jasmine stepped to her bedside, gaze steady, breath long as a sigh.
“For those who chase strength to the brink, your wounds are an incurable disease.” Her words fell like slow snow.
“Your body’s fine. Your flesh is tough as tempered steel. With a few days of care, you’ll mend. Temporal turbulence is nothing.”
“But your soul…” Jasmine paused, weighing words like stones on a scale.
“Your soul has lost two parts, likely forever. Those parts were two supreme Essences you once wielded.”
“Even their remnants still tug at you, like tides pulling the moon.”
“Now, aside from your body and Arcane Power, you may no longer count as a powerhouse.”
