He patted Aphelia’s shoulder. His words hit like cold rain. She froze, then lunged with a question.

“You’re Sigdrifa’s executor, yet you don’t stand with her?”

“Of course not. If I were in her camp, I’d already be dragged out of the Land of the Dead. Would you still be here threatening me?”

That staggered Aphelia like a gust through fog. She recovered, huffed coldly.

“You really think I’ll buy that?”

“Believe it or not, it’s the truth.”

The Demon King cut the words like a blade, iron and unmistakable.

“Truth? Whose truth? Yours?”

Aphelia’s retort was needle-sharp. She was sick of it—this endless fog binding her. Right now, the answer felt almost beside the point.

Whatever his answer. Whatever his allegiance. What does it have to do with me?

“Hahaha. Eternal truth, naturally. Aphelia, after all this time, I think I get why so many hopes were placed on you.”

He stepped past her and reclaimed the throne. Grass had crept over it. Hairline cracks veined the stone like weathered jade. Yet the throne held, clinging tight, refusing to fall.

“You’re not someone who stops. Even when the fog thickens. Even when the wind strips you raw. You’d still push forward for the truth, wouldn’t you?”

The Demon King asked with a smile. He got only Aphelia’s cold snort.

“It’s admirable. That human stubbornness—you’ve carried it whole. Humans are born small in this boundless world. Show a glint of light, and malice from the dark buries it, turning it into a gorgeous dream.”

“Even so, you keep going like moths to a flame. I think I understand now why Lady Brynhildr’s love for you has been so wide.”

His voice faded, and the desolate hall stirred. Sound rose from above—the blurred dome overhead.

“What are you even saying now…”

Aphelia moved to cut him off. She saw the odd grief in his eyes and faltered.

“Hey, Aphelia.”

He shook his head with a weary smile and watched the dome slowly change.

“After learning of Brynhildr and Sigdrifa’s mythic past, did you ever feel—even a flicker—of yearning?”

“For power?”

That answer didn’t please him. His gaze never left the massive dome.

“Not just to rule a world like them. To have their power and sight. To truly step outside this world and look upon the endless stars?”

“See? They had power beyond measure, yet never went to that sky, did they?”

“If they’d gone into that endless expanse, the so‑called Star Remnant would have been ants to crush. I’ll never deny Brynhildr’s eternal love for humans. But I won’t affirm Sigdrifa’s crooked blade of love.”

His words quickened. The vast dome began to shed. Shards fell like scales, and a thin light worked to pierce the barren hall.

Aphelia noticed his eyes dim as the light seeped in, like embers losing glow.

“Aphelia, tell me. With endless power, spanning the eternity of time, yet never surpassing the human self—is that bliss, or is it tragic?”

He seemed to ask her, and those two goddesses of the far ages. The Demon King stood stripped of malice and mockery, calm as still water.

The dome’s skin was nearly gone. In Aphelia’s black eyes, there spread a river of stars, distant and without end.

“I don’t know. That’s too far from me. I only want strength—enough to guard my own. Your vast vow… I can’t grasp it.”

Her voice dropped. Those goddesses were beyond the world. She wouldn’t guess; she didn’t want to guess.

As if he had expected it, the Demon King chuckled, then laughed unrestrained. His dim eyes brimmed with tears he couldn’t hold back.

“Reaper, get out here! This time, I win!”

After a long breath, he roared. No swell of Arcane Power. No terror in the air. Just a wounded beast’s cry—stubborn and final.

His howl broke the dome at last. Starlight flooded the world. The barren hall filled with light, as if they stood inside the Milky River itself.

“Reaper? What Reaper?”

Her answer came fast. The palace doors pushed open. A tide of shadow poured in, and a cloaked figure stepped before them.

He—or she—looked like a weathered traveler. The cloak was frayed and old, yet it wrapped the figure whole, a silhouette barely human, offering nothing to Aphelia’s eyes.

Even blind, the Demon King felt the arrival.

“Reaper, for the one hundred eight thousand nine hundred forty‑first time, I win.”

His tone carried the taste of a brave man walking to his death.

The cloaked Reaper approached. From under the cloak, a pocket watch emerged—two faces, opposite as night and day. The figure halted before the Demon King and spoke with a hollow voice.

“You win. By our pact, I’ll take your last shred of humanity.”

“Wait!”

Aphelia couldn’t hold back. The thing before her reeked of death, cold as iron water, yet she shouted anyway.

The cloaked figure turned. A gaze from under the hood washed over her, unreadable and deep as winter ocean.

That chill cut to bone. Aphelia’s throat tightened. Even so, she stepped between the Reaper and the Demon King.

“Why? He won. Why strip his humanity?”

“Exchange.”

The cloaked one’s voice was airy, and empty of feeling.

“Exchange what?”

Aphelia moved to press, but the Demon King caught her arm.

“To exchange you, of course. Did you think a soul recast and thrown into the Primordial Flame could walk out of the Land of the Dead unscathed? Your sea of consciousness shattered. You’ve died countless times.”

He spoke with a smile and tried to stand. Vines sprang from the barren throne and wrapped him tight, binding him to stone.

“W‑wait. We’re enemies. Even if you trade me out, Sigdrifa can’t do anything to me now…”

“That’s why I said I’m not on Sigdrifa’s side. Honestly—your body resets to female, and your thinking slides back to a schoolgirl?”

He gave a helpless, bitter smile. Aphelia flushed, ready to swing, then let her hand fall.

“Give me a moment, Reaper. Call it a reward for playing this game with you one hundred eight thousand nine hundred forty‑one times.”

The cloaked figure said nothing. It stepped back and held the tide of shadow with a raised hand.

“Thank you… Then, Aphelia, after today, we truly won’t meet again.”

“Heh. My former mortal enemy, and you’re giving me last words?”

Aphelia shook her head with a wry smile. His state calmed her—half mockery, half self‑mockery.

“Time’s short. I only hope you won’t lose yourself on the road ahead. No matter how bleak the future looks, never forget the priceless fact that you’re human.”

What kind of last words are those…

Aphelia bit her lip. Why should this sudden sacrifice fall on her?

The Demon King nudged her aside, then nodded to the cloaked Reaper.

“One last thing. Keep moving, and you’ll understand why I was here on this day. Don’t hand the world to a madwoman like Sigdrifa.”

The words barely landed before space tore open beside the Reaper. It seized Aphelia without a heartbeat of reaction and wrenched her from the barren hall. In a blink, only the Reaper and the Demon King remained.

“Cough… ha. So I was right to wait here through one hundred eight thousand nine hundred forty‑one choices, across this inverted time.”

He looked up at that jeweled sky with a satisfied gaze and murmured, a wish finally done.

The Reaper drew out the pocket watch and pressed it to his brow.

“Even if no one remembers you in ages to come?”

That hollow voice held a thread of irony.

“Ah… even if no one remembers me.”