Life kept repeating itself, like a mill wheel turning; even knowing Anna was brewing something grand, my days flipped the same page as always.

Morning was solo matches; afternoon, I paired with the Divine Healer Elina. We didn’t sign up for the six‑man team fight, so nights left a lake of time to date Raven—if she said yes.

Spare hours wove into helping Vega, greeting would‑be sinners who wanted deals, and netting mid‑tier recruits for the future Demon King Army.

If the grind grated, I’d visit the Great Seal under the Hero Academy and play with Lady Light Jade, buffing goodwill like polishing jade.

If that still counted as work, then coffee and small talk with the literary maiden fused from forbidden knowledge in the Grand Library was real rest, like rain on bamboo.

After all, that literary maiden was a life stirred awake for hobby, a garden path off the main road; goodwill helps, but she’s not on my map.

Everything advanced steadily, like bamboo growing by night.

Everything looked normal, the current sliding toward the bright bank.

Except my arch foe—Libisi, top retainer to the Son of the Demon King with Slaughter’s authority—brushed my domain and, for some reason, uttered “Shadow.”

Maybe it was a slip, but words are the outer skin of concepts, like bark on a tree.

If I weren’t around the Hero Academy, I’d shrug; yet my domain rippled back: a Slaughter‑aligned being brushed my field, less than three hundred meters away.

Anna has only two upper retainers; Nan Lu I’ve already caught, now caged in the Andor Army’s temporary camp, bamboo bars and all, so by elimination it’s Libisi.

I pulled out a map and matched the domain’s whisper to the grid, like tracing constellations.

Mm, three hundred meters… right here, Old Tree Pavilion.

An upscale restaurant in a mountain‑east style, lacquer and lanterns; prices beyond the middle class. Looks like Anna gave Libisi a fat, gold‑leaf budget.

The instant I spotted Libisi, I narrowed my senses on that patch of air, like a hawk fixing on a field.

But the Son of the Demon King handles his domain like a dull blade; I only caught Libisi telling Catherine to kill the Hero Squad and shatter her heart—textbook villainy.

Not interesting—lukewarm tea under a gray noon—so plain it made me drowsy.

I yawned, pushed sleep back like a heavy curtain, and kept writing my future action plan.

Anna’s a competent villain, but cruelty and schemes have limits; she can trick mortals with demonfolk magic, yet as a fellow lord of darkness, that malice is kids splashing in a shallow pond.

On this board I had many moves: arrange a “coincidence” to expose Libisi’s trick; or craft a custom detection spell for Raven to fish her out, hook glinting; or easier, plant evidence so when the crowd feels fooled, they discover she’s truly demonfolk.

If I wanted, I could snuff Libisi anytime, like pinching a candle.

She slipped back into the crowd with Catherine and my domain went quiet, but this is my home field at the Hero Academy; I haven’t spent six months here daydreaming under eaves.

For one, Vega has laid plenty of arrays that can flip the surroundings into the Shadow Realm in a blink, like ink spooling through water.

I scratched my head and chased off the lazy thought—“just scribble something; better to roll in the sheets with Vega”—like shooing a cat from the desk.

I held a bigger, messier plan, like a long scroll waiting to unroll.

If I wrote it out, it’d devour the night; no sleep today, and no rolling in the sheets.

Hmm… it concerns the future I’m laying like stones in a garden; I’d better be serious.

“Vega, another coffee, please—ah, heavy on milk and sugar.” Steam curled up like pale incense.

“My single‑mindedly lazy master, you won’t sleep again tonight?” Vega said, voice neat as folded silk.

Even at bedtime, Vega kept her maid dress; former wraith‑retainers wear uniforms as a silk‑chain on the heart, a charm to keep spirits steady.

Which means, when wraiths fight, clothes explode; if it’s a girl, it’s eye candy like fireworks, but if it’s a male like Yakfarro’s retainer Zrolar… that’s psychic pollution, like oil on snow.

She poured the black river from the pot into my favorite cup, added a little milk and sugar, and stirred with patient ripples.

I sipped before the sugar could vanish. Mmm, good; Vega’s coffee tasted right as usual, like dark silk. The baked sweets beside it warmed the stomach like a midnight hearth.

The main plan had taken shape in my head like a scaffold; only some detail guesses and forecasts remained.

These small nails mattered; one wrong link, and I’d rebuild the whole frame.

Three hours later, I finished the rough framework of our operation—call it a skeleton; now I needed Vega to bring me details to flesh it out.

I handed the twenty‑page draft to Vega, who’d been on standby like a shadow by my side; she took it at once and read.

While I waited, I picked up the forgotten cup and found the dregs still warm, like a small ember. Vega must’ve swapped it; what else? I thanked my omnipotent maid again in silence.

It was past midnight; darkness drummed up the wild bones in our souls. Sleep didn’t bite as expected; more than rest, I wanted to roll in the sheets with Vega.

Vega finished the twenty pages fast, like wind skimming a scroll. She straightened her thoughts, then asked in a businesslike tone.

“My vain master, is your head still intact?” Her words sent rings across the pond.

“That’s harsh. Couldn’t you say, ‘Did you really come up with this astonishing plan?’ Something that sounds like praise?” I flicked the line back like a fan.

The maid nicknamed “Vega the Vicious” ignored my grumbling and kept firing questions, like arrows from a tidy quiver.

“Setting aside success rates: too many participants, no clean way to steer a crowd, no way to know the prime trigger time, too many lucky breaks required. My three hours wasted, Master—are you serious? It’s like herding cats in fog.”

Vega always kept a proper face, but after a century together I could read the fine grain—now it was disdain and doubt, like frost on a window.

“Those details are all on you.” I spread my hands like a lazy cat.

My I‑don’t‑care shrug irked her further, like a spark catching dry straw.

“My mad master, this plan needs lots of intel, and most of it’s unreachable. For example, how long can Alpha stall Lady Anna if he risks his life? We can’t know. That’s not something overtime can fix, like trying to bottle wind.”

It seemed Vega didn’t hate overtime; she hated meaningless overtime; bosses love that kind of employee, like an abacus clicking true.

Still, I wasn’t just making her life hard. I drained cup and pot like a desert traveler and laid it out for her.

“Vega, this is a first draft. I haven’t started the backup plans yet.”

Vega fell quiet and listened, like a bell covered by snow.

“The point of this plan is, it doesn’t have to succeed.” The dice rolled, but the board stayed mine.

“Success is better, sure, but failure’s fine.”

“Opposite of last time against Anna: last time we’d lose no matter what, so we sought the smallest wound; this time we profit no matter what, and we push to make the harvest as large as possible.” Scales and sickles, both ready.

A few cookies down, I returned to the desk; sweet dryness made me thirsty, so I had Vega bring wine, a red lantern for the tongue.

Next, I had to write Vega’s task list and the branch plans for each failure point, then revise after tomorrow’s intel, like pruning a bonsai.

No sleep tonight, and tomorrow’s a coin toss, like clouds that won’t promise sun.

A villain’s to‑do list is long, like a dragon’s tail.

Being a villain isn’t easy at all, like walking a blade over ice.