The guard wasn’t about to obey. His eyes locked on Aphelia, reading her words as bait to split his focus.

Seeing that, Aphelia shook her head and snapped her fingers with a smile.

In that instant, the barrier around the manor shattered. Rain fell in sheets, washing the lavish estate like a gray river. Thunder boomed; lightning flickered. A bolt like a sky-ripping blade lit the courtyard, and bathed the vast hall in cold fire.

Outside, the seemingly calm yard was already heaped with corpses. The downpour scoured the high walls like a sluice, and either blood or rain crept into the hall.

Even dull, the guard caught, in that flash, the huge shape coiled on the beams. He saw only a hazy, transparent mass writhing, but those scarlet pupils stabbed his nerves. He roared by reflex and cut; vast Arcane Power, hooked by rage, became a keening arc that slashed for Aphelia.

Decent, for a Demigod’s strike. What a pity...

She raised her scepter with a light hand. Gripping the middle, she met the onrushing blade-light as if it sought someone else. She hooked it with the Obsidian Scepter and flicked it aside like a stray reed.

A Demigod’s full-force blow couldn’t even scratch her under Aphelia’s casual wrist. Not just the bedraggled prince on the dais, but the guard who’d swung, stared at her, slack-eyed. They listened for Arcane Power in the air, hunting a seam. However they looked, Aphelia stayed a mortal with no Arcane Power to their sight.

Doesn’t work on me.

She smiled after catching the blow and walked forward, slow as dusk rolling in. This time the guard dared not swing. He poured dense Arcane Power into a barrier, screening himself and the prince. He leveled his blade and settled into a bruiser’s stance.

Seeing a Demigod braced like a cornered beast, Aphelia laughed softly. She kept walking, unbothered, her Obsidian Scepter tap-tapping the floor like rain on tiles. The nearer she drew, the heavier the unseen weight pressed, like a mountain’s shadow. Yet in his pupils she was still a powerless mortal, death near yet the knife at his throat unseen.

At last he broke. Blood veined his eyes; he roared to stiffen his courage. Arcane Power erupted; a tornado ripped from the floor, and he charged within it, ready to die. Wind swallowed his form, grinding him into blades, at least to other eyes. To Aphelia, the blades weren’t there; she read his footwork like tracks in fresh snow.

As the storm neared, a transparent domain unfolded around her like a glass bell. People rubbed their eyes, doubting themselves, then found it wasn’t a trick. The raging gale froze in the air; even point-blank it couldn’t lift a strand of her hair.

Aphelia didn’t even move. She tapped the scepter; the slicing wind burst apart; the typhoon vanished like breath on glass. A sundered corpse hit the floor, and blood painted the stones.

Aphelia stood before the guard’s remains without a fleck on her, and brushed away lingering wind like dust. She walked toward the prince on the platform.

Only then did the limp guests see the huge shape ring the hall. Two savage crimson points hung there, predatory eyes burning like coals. Screams and wails flooded the hall; guests clawed for the doors, seeking escape from this butcher’s realm. Fear gnawed their hearts; they cringed from the figure advancing like nightfall.

The moment they crossed the threshold, an unseen lash cracked and hurled them back.

Ah, sorry, sorry... I forgot to say, no one leaves until it’s over. Anyone object?

Aphelia covered her mouth with a sheepish laugh. People tumbled back to their seats, scrambling like crabs. In their eyes, Aphelia was a lovely mask over a hungry ghost. Who dares object to someone who kills that clean? Think your life’s too long?

And an invisible blade hung over every head; if you crave risk, try it. The earlier runner now sprawled limp, not even twitching; no one wanted that lot.

Since that’s settled, Your Highness, should we settle the bill?

She stepped up; the Obsidian Scepter cracked down between his knees. He jerked back; his “throne” blocked his spine; nowhere to go. Cold sweat drenched him as he stared at the fissures between his legs. However lovely she was, nothing could drown the fear inside him.

Settle... a bill? What bill? I don’t owe anyone...

Disappointment washed over Aphelia’s flawless face. Without the blood and thunder, men would’ve offered even their lives for that look. But she wasn’t some delicate songbird. She was a true demoness in silk.

At the heart of the capital, in the most opulent hall, white-robed Merlin smiled at the supreme king. Your Majesty, you’ll wear the brand of a cold-blooded tyrant. You really won’t step in?

The king didn’t flare. He waved his guards away and answered with silence. Merlin shook his head, stepped closer, and spoke. You’re the Lord of the Demon World...

Merlin. Enough.

The king finally barked, voice low and hoarse, like gravel under boots. A black barrier flowered; majestic force flooded the palace, sweeping even Merlin aside a step.

After a long beat, the emperor spoke, helplessness dulling his tone. Merlin, after all these years, don’t you know me?

The emperor rose. Dark-red armor shed dim fire; a giant in majesty, he walked down toward Merlin. Each step rang with the blunt clash of iron.

Facing that sovereign, Merlin sighed, and tapped his staff. A plush sofa unfolded behind him; he dropped into it, ignoring the approaching monarch like a passing cloud.

Those brats dare call themselves my offspring? They’re nothing but products of outdated cloning, failed scraps of gene-tech.

You. This isn’t the old age. Talk of tech and clones—who even understands you now?

Merlin gave the emperor a pitying look. The armored figure stopped before him. Steam hissed from the plates like breath. Cylinders shot out like spikes; the great shell came apart like a clever toy.

The ruler within showed a face—no, a woman’s. A tall, lean figure stepped free, at odds with the hulking shell. Black Runes marked her skin like brands. Under thin cloth they pulsed with an ominous heartbeat.

The austere, long-legged beauty let out a long breath. A faint blood-mist curled from her lips. Her black eyes barely held a ripple of feeling.

Merlin, did you come today just for that?

It sounded like a question and small talk, all at once. Her voice was low, no longer the armor’s rasp, yet carried no warmth, like a flawless doll.

Of course not. We have to show the outsiders their emperor and this Royal Magus don’t get along. That draws the schemers out. As for heirs—say the word, and I’ll mass-produce a batch.

The black armor folded into a jagged throne. She sat, thought for a spell, and spoke. It’s not that I’m sentimental. This batch is decent. Good offerings, a fine medicine to restore our lord’s strength. But since the move is made, I won’t fuss.

She spoke like none of it touched her. Merlin’s smile turned wry. He tapped the black throne with his staff. What, too long sealed inside? Even your feelings got filed away?

Sorry. My feelings were sealed back then. Unless she undoes the lock.