“Why is it always this ceiling…”

I blinked awake. For the second time today, that pure-white ceiling of the Sanctuary of Life hung over me like a blank winter sky.

“My apologies, master. I couldn’t swap it, so you can’t sigh, ‘Ah, an unfamiliar ceiling.’”

Vega had clearly been waiting. She flipped my blanket like a crisp breeze, hauled my groggy self off the bed, and traded the white patient gown for my usual black coat, a night river thrown over my shoulders.

“It’s fine, don’t fuss. Hm? What’re you doing?”

“But I do fuss, my languid master. Sun has already descended. This isn’t nap time.”

“I just got resurrected. A little concern won’t kill anyone.”

Vega pushed me toward the window with firm hands, a tide shoving a lazy boat.

On the battlefield, one side gathered a sea of radiance and hurled it into the other side’s drowning darkness. Magic flares burst midway, like lightning tearing open clouds.

“Sun has manifested. Per your script, branch instance sixteen, my time is tight and you love to slack. You should head out as the World Saving Demon King.”

“Nope… the moment I see Sane’s righteous face, my limbs go heavy… wait. Saint Mire is coming. Put on your serious face.”

Dozens of seconds later, Saint Mire eased the door open like a cautious breeze. She peeked in, saw me still sprawled on the bed, and whispered to Vega:

“How’s Andor?”

“Stabilizing, thank you for your care, High Divine Healer.”

Vega bowed with courtly grace, eyes lowered in sad dusk, gazing at the “unconscious” me.

Beautiful acting. I could only play dead to match her.

“Stabilizing is good, stabilizing is good.”

Saint Mire looked relieved. A mature woman with a girl’s gesture, she patted her chest, a sparrow settling its flutter.

“Only… the master was talking in his sleep. He said…”

Vega hesitated, clouded by a small storm.

“What did he say?”

“He said… ‘Don’t leave me.’ It sounded so sad.”

“That’s…”

Saint Mire shook her head, worried, words like leaves that wouldn’t settle.

Silence pooled. The room steeped in grief, like I’d already died and they were mourning a body. Honestly, I wanted a few more minutes. Work this intense, this long—nothing like it since the Icefield Riot in the Demon Realm forty years ago.

Through the Shadow domain, I felt Vega’s aura boil like water under a lid. She was angry. Very angry.

Fine, fine. I’ll work. Happy?

I kicked off with a rough drumroll of coughing.

“Cough, cough… ugh… same old ceiling… sorry—cough—fill me in! What’s the situation?!”

“Wait, you should rest!”

“I’ve rest—cough—rested plenty. Where’s Stini and the others? How are they? Tell me!”

“Andor, lie down! (Dragon Tongue)”

Saint Mire frowned and spoke the Dragon Tongue, words that fall as iron and become reality. Humans can’t reach that tier of being.

“They’re holding. Assisting Sun to drive back the Demon King—”

“I’m going too! They, they—”

I cut her off, only to be shoved back to the bed by language that weighed like mountains.

Saint Mire glared, a halo of sacred authority around her, or rather… the pressure of a true powerhouse.

“They’re fine. No one’s dead. You need rest. Your body took too many emergency Divine Arts. You cannot fight. You must rest.”

“But my companions—”

“They’re all better off than you. They can still fight. You can’t even handle a bumpy walk without your organs bleeding. Simultaneous organ failure. Spine split in two. A heart missing a third. Half your bones hairline-close to shattering. That’s after healing. Without Sun’s grace, you’d have met the god of death. So I’ll repeat: you must, absolutely must, recuperate.”

“Saint Mire… tell me. When my companions need me most, what am I doing?”

I raised a hand, the skin a map of visible cuts, and spoke weakly, bleak as ash.

“You were already brave.”

“Bravery alone doesn’t make a Hero.”

“You’ve done your utmost.”

“Everyone has done their utmost.”

“But if you die, you become nothing.”

“…”

“Andor, I’m not your teacher. But as a Divine Healer guiding the lost, remember this: if you can’t accept it, do better next time. We weep for the dead, yet we live for the living. If you die, you slip into nothing, into forgetting.”

“…”

“Think it through. Vega, watch your master. Don’t let him run. You’re trained for this. In his state he couldn’t beat a civilian. Guard him. Guard our Hero.”

“Yes, Lady Saint Mire.”

She shed that aura of a Divine Being’s proxy, then fussed like a grandmother for a few more lines, and finally left, still uneasy.

“Time to swap roles.”

I snapped my fingers. Vega put on a tall top hat, turned it a touch, pressed it snug. Her shape flowed like ink and became me—hair to boots—perfectly mirrored.

A demonic craft, the “False-Face Gentleman.” It can impersonate any person, skin to voice.

The white gown I’d stripped and re-worn—no need now. I guided Shadow to wrap me, swallow the white, and knit into matte-black cloth, night with no stars.

Vega took my place on the bed and handed me a mask. The one I wear when I debut as the World Saving Demon King. Three days of work… no, wait.

“This isn’t my mask. Mine wasn’t this pretty.”

“My indulgent master, I couldn’t stomach my proud master wearing something that ugly. I did some touch-ups. I hope you like it.”

This woman…

The False-Face Gentleman disguises everything, so her face wore my usual deadpan. No ripples, no tells.

“…Thanks, though.”

I nodded to Vega and slipped into Shadow, like ink through water.

I think I smiled.

Sun’s divine tool was a scepter. In his human-world temple, he’s a sage with a raised scepter, a lighthouse carved in light.

God-Tools and Devil-Tools are kin—tools to summon a domain so a Divine Being or Demon can wield authority in the mortal world. A Devil-Tool is a Demon King’s half-body, half its permissions. Without it, in the Demon Realm you can manage, but in the human world your authority is sealed. You fight like a peak warrior or mage, maybe even below legend tier.

That’s why tales love “the Hero kills the Demon King after a girl steals his Devil-Tool.”

When Sane descended, he sought a proxy who could resonate with his rank. He chose Elina. She best matches the wide-domain god Infinite, but urgency trumps perfection.

And only upon descent did he see the fire inside that obedient girl’s calm surface.

It wasn’t him using her body. It was the girl’s resolve hauling down his authority to strike the Demon King who slew the one she loved.

Legendary magic: Guardian’s Zeal.

Elina—or Sane—swung scepter and flail. She seized the Demon King from thin air and hacked him down, thunder hammering a tree.

Scepter and flail are heavy-strike weapons. Meat meets metal and it’s maim or die. A Demon King’s body breaks physics, but under a blow of equal rank, or higher, it’s paper in a rainstorm.

“O god, high on your cloud—do you only have this?”

Anna spat blood in gulps, laughing like a mad wind. The next heartbeat, the flail smashed her head, her face pulped flat.

The corpse flew, then some unknown hand dragged it back midair, forcing it into another pair of crushing blows, scepter and flail drumming like war.

You burn bright? A candle, no matter how fierce, can’t vie with the sun.

Elina-Sane roared. The human half let fury surge; the god half guided motion like a calm river steering boulders.

Stini, grievously hurt, still kept Throne Shatter active, sealing the Demon King’s authority.

Raven lobbed alchemical black tech, jamming Anna’s movements like grit in gears.

Gloria took most of Anna’s attacks, from Giant Scythe to small sickle, a shield willow bending yet unbroken.

Across from them, Anna died. Then lived. Then died again.

She grew stronger as she fought, like steel tempered in flame.

We seemed to have the edge, but a Divine Being’s possession can’t last long. Rank weighs down flesh. Elina is a rare, high-resonance proxy, yet limits remain.

Sane saw it and poured on offense, hoping to drive the Demon King back fast.

Even a Divine Being can’t kill the concept of Slaughter itself.

So the assaults blazed brighter, the results shone grander. And Anna’s grin grew feral, a wolf’s moonlit smile.

Soon, Sane had to halt the rampage, let light and heat spill off the girl in waves. His power thinned from her, a hot mist rising, so it wouldn’t crush Elina.

“That’s it? How dull. You blazed with empty righteousness. What did you change?”

The flames on Anna fell away. Splintered bone and torn meat burned clean. A peerless beauty stepped out of the smoke like a sculpture revealed.

“I’m not Head. I don’t see the future. But I know this—if I didn’t come, I couldn’t face my vow with pride.”

Steam poured from Elina’s body. Heat warped even the light, turning air into a mirage.

“In truth, you did nothing. The mortals you guard will still die. This city will still be butchered.”

“…”

Sane fell silent. He had misread this Son of the Demon King. Even in the Demon Realm, Anna is among the cruelest, vilest. Not a rule-bound climber seeking rank.

His acts had achieved nothing.

Elina-Sane lifted her chin through the shining mist. Will burned in her eyes, a small sun.

“You’re right. But I—”

A Long Halberd streaked in from afar, pinning Anna to the earth like a black ray spearing a shadow.

“You’re right. You waited until I arrived.”

I brushed my mask—prettier after Vega’s touch—recalled my beloved halberd, and caught it, a storm settling in my grip.

“Andor…”

Anna resurrected again. Her voice was low, packed with caution and hostility, a wolf’s hackles up. Even a god’s descent hadn’t made her this wary.