“My lord,”

Liebich swung her long, provocative legs and stepped into the Demon King’s Hall, breathing in air sharp with Slaughter like iron fog.

She was a creature of concept and needed no breath, yet in human guise she liked to inhale the idea of Shadow, a cool river that soothed her mind.

“Still cozy in here. If only our domain could spill over the whole world, like night swallowing a city.”

Anna sat bored on the throne, a play whip tracing lazy arcs like a cat’s tail; she heard Liebich, cracked an eye, and shook her head like a slow bell.

“Can’t be done. Look at the oldest Demon Kings—mountains that rival gods—yet they keep silent; tell me why that sea stays calm.”

“No idea, my lord.”

Liebich planted her naginata in the floor like a black reed, then slid back to her bench, night falling over her shoulders.

“That’s why you’re a commander, not a strategist. Nan Lu isn’t either. I envy Andor’s Vega—one star that saves ten storms. Think: the great at the peak say nothing, don’t expand their domains; why does the horizon stop there?”

“Still no idea.”

“At least think ten heartbeats before you answer.”

“…Still nothing.”

Sleep tugged at Liebich like deep water; her lashes lowered as if dusk touched a lake.

“Fine. Keep being Bloodhungry Liebich. Just remember, we don’t get to shatter the world like glass.”

“Oh.”

She waved, a bored leaf in wind, signaling she’d heard, but her interest was ash.

“You really don’t want to know why?”

“My lord, give the word and I’ll move like a blade. I won’t think; muzzling my bloodthirst is a storm that drains me. I’ll be your hands, your sword—your mind should turn like its own moon.”

“Liebich…”

“What is it, my lord?”

“I miss Nan Lu. Your reactions aren’t as cute—like frost without sunlight. Maybe we swap that… Catherine back for Nan Lu?”

“…I’m disappointed, but be sober. His Highness Andor won’t accept that trade; that gate is iron.”

Anna sighed, tapping the throne like rain on stone, boredom pooling like stagnant water.

Silence pooled in the Demon King’s Hall; neither Anna nor Liebich liked small talk, and without Nan Lu as warm lantern, the air cooled into winter.

They waited. Anna kept communing with the domain of Slaughter, a black tide humming under her skin. Liebich slept on her bench, breath like a quiet cave; only Catherine’s muted groans rippled the stillness.

Life here was mostly dull, a gray field under long moons. The Demonfolk live ages; unlike short-lived breeds, they don’t hoard time. They don’t need food, aren’t eager; their motion is the Ocean of Darkness inside them—rage and ruin, a storm that never ends.

For Anna and Liebich, the apex of the dark camp, the seasons stretch like silk. There’s time to plot every move like chess in mist, and time to linger with the few they like, no need to chase lightning.

Time dripped bit by bit, resin on a tree; this hidden corner felt forgotten by the world, its days slow and self-willed like a mountain stream.

Then Anna lifted her head, a sleepwalker snapping lucid; her voice rang like a bell in fog. “Hey, Liebich, the Hero Academy’s holding a combat festival.”

“Correct, my lord.” Liebich rose from her bench like a shadow uncurling, tugged the naginata free with a steel whisper, swung it twice, and shouldered it like a black sail. “My lesser retainers brought me the same wind. So, my lord…”

“Mm. I’ve got work for you.”

“Since Nan Lu left, my workload’s swelling like tide.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t bring her up. I can’t step out; I’m hunting Dispute, that slippery eel. Not as hidden as Andor’s full secrecy, but tracking is a thorn bush. A mere Son of the Demon King doesn’t get godlike omniscience.”

“Then I go alone? Any detailed lines to carve?”

“No. Go. Have a little fun—a holiday with knives. Stir trouble like leaves in a storm.”

Anna waved, eyes narrowing, her true body sinking into the Ocean of Darkness like a whale into depth, resonating with the target she sought.

“Oh, right. Wait. Take Catherine with you.”

“If it’s your will. But she’s not trained; she’s a stiff winter branch, no help in a fight…”

“It’s early yet. Mortal minds are tougher than stone; without a few centuries of schooling, you won’t corrupt and convert her. Compared to you, the time’s more than double. And she’s cool-tempered ice. But… there are shortcuts through the forest.”

Anna flicked her whip; whoosh—air parted, and it landed on Catherine with a low thud, a drum in the dark.

A fresh blood line opened on Catherine’s skin; her light ranger gear tore like paper, and a rank scent of lust crept in like damp heat. She tried to dodge, but thorny brambles kept her like barbed vines and bit her pale flesh.

Pain tightened her body, and the devices on her trembled like trapped birds. A muffled sound climbed her throat, shame braided with hurt like two black ribbons. Her mouth wasn’t gagged, yet she kept silent, endurance clenched like a fist.

“So stubborn—stubborn enough to be dull,” Anna chuckled, ku-ku-ku, a crow on a branch. “My lesser retainers say her adventurer team came out of the Hero Academy. Take her to play. I’ll lend you the operational authority over the Slaughter concept inside her. The rest—you know the path.”

Anna wore her signature wicked smile, then tossed the small whip; it flew like a snake of leather toward Liebich.

“Understood. You want her to kill her own partners, like a winter blade, right?”

Liebich caught the whip and tucked it inside the hem of her qipao, moon-silk against steel; one clean slash severed the brambles coiled on Catherine, and she grabbed the back of the limp woman’s collar like a cat lifting a kit.

“Not—that way,” Anna purred, voice dripping like honey and ash. “Make it interesting. Play with varieties. I can watch from here, like stars over a red river.”

A flush climbed Anna’s cheeks; her fantasies sparked like dry tinder.

“My lord, killing during the Academy Combat Festival is fine, but too much and nets will close. I can run like smoke, yet Catherine may get cut down like grass.”

“Mm… then it’s yours to steer. Do as you will,” Anna muttered, brows drooping like wet feathers; she clicked her tongue, thought a moment, then waved—rain softening iron—telling her subordinate to rein in a bit.

“Yes. Then, my lord, I’ll depart like a raven on the wind…”

“Wait…”

For the first time since she’d been seized, Catherine spoke; her slender arms braced her up like stalks in rain. She stared straight at Anna, eyes brimming with tears and pain, a storm behind glass.

“Don’t… don’t kill them… I’m begging you…”

“I see,” Anna breathed, ku-ku-ku, a hungry smile blooming like night flowers.

Interest lit her like a candle; though she couldn’t step off the throne, she braced both hands on the armrests, torso leaning forward like a child seeing a toy change color.

“How interesting. You love them—heart like ember under ash.”

“Please… don’t…”

“That’s why killing them has value,” Anna whispered, voice a slow blade. “The more precious the feeling, the deeper the wound when it’s slain. Ku-ku-ku. So good, so beautiful—I’m getting wet like rain over summer stone.”

Anna leaned back, joy spilling like wine, then snapped forward; her full chest rose and fell, a tide against shore.

“Know this. Carve it in your heart like a scar. It’s your fault. Because of you, they’ll die—by your own hand. Ku-ku-ku, ku-ku-ku. Show me a prettier, more desperate face, you swine!”

“No…”

“Liebich, take her. Hurry. I can’t wait—fire on my tongue.”

Anna waved, sending the order like a falcon.

“Your will, my lord.”

The great doors swung and closed with a heavy boom, and with that sound, Liebich’s steps and Catherine’s pleading were cut off like threads.

Anna propped her chin with one hand, lounged on the throne like a panther at ease, a strange smile blooming like a pale orchid.

“What will unfold below?” she murmured, voice cool as moonlight. “Andor, will you come? I’m looking forward to meeting you again, like thunder meeting rain.”