“Of course not, Lord Senro…”
Right now, Nero wished he had Aphelia’s kind of strength, so the pressure wouldn’t crush his chest like a mountain of ice.
People call it aura when someone’s presence stands out like stormlight; every Titleholder carries that “field,” a quality that spills from them, whether unwitting or controlled. When power grows too vast, that quality gains weight—unseen, yet felt like winter on bare skin.
“If that’s so, why haven’t I seen what I should see yet…”
Under Senro’s unconscious sway, the air cooled like dusk on a glacier, and frost filmed across the wooden round table like a silver veil.
Cold sweat beaded on Nero’s brow, fear prickling like needles; he worried one flick of displeasure would turn him into an ice statue. Last time he was at his own manor, and it still took three days to break free; now they were in the administrative hall.
“In truth, it’s an ally of mine…”
As Nero spoke, Jasmine’s gaze slid toward him like a cautious bird. She wanted to warn him not to reveal Aphelia under that pressure, but in that instant it felt like plunging into an ice pit; she didn’t dare move.
Senro’s cool, beautiful eyes had turned on Jasmine without a sound, like moonlight on black water.
Jasmine finally understood Nero’s torment across the table; ten seconds, and sweat soaked her black robe like rain; one minute, and the ice-aspected Arcane Power in her body began to run uneven, like eddies under broken ice.
A short slice of time felt like ten thousand frozen years to Jasmine; every breath was a blade.
Feeling that pressure lighten, Nero glanced at Jasmine and realized what had shifted; he rushed to speak.
“My ally attempted the Titleholder breakthrough and failed. She’s healing. If you doubt me, I can take you to see her.”
Nero’s words landed, and the weight on Jasmine eased like a thaw. She gulped air in ragged waves, a drowning soul breaching the surface; her pallor and scrambled Arcane Power spoke louder than pride.
Her once-loose black robe clung to her like wet bark; that brief suppression had pushed a near-Titleholder to brush hands with death.
How did Nero, with only super-tier strength, endure this crushing presence for so long? The thought rose in Jasmine like mist.
She worked to steady the ice-aspected Arcane Power in her body; under Senro’s influence, those currents wanted to slip free, leave her skin like snowflakes, and stream toward Senro like moths to a white flame.
Like a minister before an emperor, Jasmine couldn’t help the thought: if she stood against Senro, could she even lift a hand?
Senro didn’t care for Jasmine’s inner storm. She sighed, a sound like wind through icicles, then spoke.
“With that look, you still mean to vie for the Demon King’s throne? Give it up early. In the final contest, you’ll never be a match for your sister.”
Nero didn’t refute it at once. He took the files from Jasmine, laid them on the round table, and offered them for Senro’s review like grain before the scales.
Senro didn’t refuse. Auditing Nero’s year of progress was one of her aims; though his mere super-tier strength left a chill of disappointment like sparse snow.
“Grain output, troop supply…”
Her reading scorched fast as lightning through cloud; what needed a storage ring to hold, she could sweep in a single glance, then reach for the next sheaf. On the files Jasmine had arranged to muddy waters, Senro murmured “Boring,” and they drifted into crystal powder like shattered frost.
Nero and Jasmine didn’t wait long; Senro finished the review, and Nero no longer saw that earlier disappointment in her eyes. Relief slid through him like warm smoke.
Then her next words tightened his gut again like a fist of ice.
“Looks like you’ve grown fast. Does holding a plain make you giddy? If the Plains hiccup, you’ll scramble. And that massive Hydra family isn’t under your thumb… I hear the Plains haven’t been quiet lately?”
Nero wiped cold sweat in his heart. He had no doubt Senro already knew pieces of the truth, and that came down to her profession.
Royal Chief Priestess of the Demon World, its most authoritative seer. Anything she commits to fully foretell is an event that shakes the whole Demon World—proof of how deep her divination runs, like roots in permafrost.
Prediction isn’t without price. Even as a Titleholder—perhaps, faintly, beyond—Senro once foresaw an event touching the world’s fate; she was gravely wounded and had to recuperate for a full year, winter stretched long.
But what happened on the Hydra Plains, for her, needed no prophecy; a sift through the royal spies’ reports was enough to sketch most truths, like tracking snowprints across a field.
Someone of her caliber needn’t bother with threats or lies.
“Yes, minor issues. I’ve already sent people to handle them…”
Nero answered in a hurry, hoping Senro wouldn’t dig deeper; then everything could stay buried like ashes under snow.
“How you handle it isn’t my concern.”
Nero raised a hand to explain further, but Senro rose, her voice cutting like a shard. The ice chair dissolved into the air like breath in winter; impatience showed, and she meant to end this audit cleanly.
Nero didn’t try to stop her; he didn’t dare. Try, and he’d end as a popsicle. With Senro’s cold temperament, if she pursued the matter, he’d be done; what truly happened on the Hydra Plains couldn’t face daylight yet.
“His Majesty the Demon King has one opinion: don’t go too far.”
With that, Senro opened a portal like a circle of pale moonlight. Without waiting for Nero’s reply, she stepped through and was gone, clean as a blade drawn, leaving only drifting ice crystals to prove she’d been there.
“This is a bit too strong…”
Watching that vanishing figure, Jasmine shivered as fear bled from her pupils. She hated to admit it, but only after Senro left did her scrambled Arcane Power settle, returning to its proper flow like a river finding its bed.
“Of course it’s terrifying… She’s been a Titleholder for years. Have you heard of the general who tried to rebel in the capital?”
Jasmine didn’t see why Nero dug up that story—Senro wasn’t its lead—but she nodded like a willow in wind.
“Of course. He seized nearly half the soldiers. Close to a hundred thousand rebels entered the capital to stage a coup. Overnight, the Demon King sealed them and sent them to the Human World, right?”
“I’ll correct two points. First, they weren’t sealed; they were annihilated to the last. Second, that year, the capital snowed for an entire year.”
Jasmine caught Nero’s meaning at once. She fixed him with a hard stare, searching for a fleck of falsehood; his clear eyes were a still lake—no ripples.
“This… how is that possible? She did all that alone? Even a Titleholder can’t do it, can they? A whole year of heaven’s signs shifted—and that general was a Titleholder too.”
Jasmine’s instincts bucked; the truth felt too wild, overturning her image of Titleholders like a table flipped in a storm.
“That’s the fact. Though, she did bring some good news…”
“Good news? How did you even hear good in that blizzard?”
Jasmine’s emotions slipped their reins, words tumbling like loose stones. Nero only sighed, a thin mist, not angered; he understood. Back then, he had little besides bloodline, only barely better than Jasmine.
“Let’s talk back at the manor. You need to settle your state.”
While they prepared to return, Aphelia, out on the Plains, had found a Mana Crystal lode. She sat with eyes closed in the dim mine, restoring Arcane Power with a steady rhythm. Around her lay drained Mana Crystals like pale husks, and the corpses of Dark Dragon Soldiers like burnt cinders.
After she ran Arcane Power through her body once, Aphelia opened her eyes and ended the restoration. She let out a long breath, rose, and sensed the surroundings like a hawk’s sweep.
“Call it luck? Beneath this abandoned shaft, there’s a pocket of high-density Mana Crystals, small but bright.”
Three days ago, Aphelia headed for this abandoned lode and ran into Dark Dragon Riders patrolling like wolves. To reach it, she spent two days on ambush and counter-ambush, then made it on the last day, cutting down the Dark Dragon Soldiers guarding the waste shaft.
Her senses then found a cluster of high-density crystals deeper down, a sharp surprise like starlight in a cave. She set several wards like thin shields, then rushed to restore her Arcane Power.
To fully refill her reserves, Aphelia took an extra half-day, tuning the flow until it reached a spillover balance—so even in a fight, recovery would hum within her like a spring under ice.
