The “Dispute” Demon King, Daviya, a refined youth, sipped tea like the moon mirrored on still water.

The “Class” Demon King, Biyag, a child-short figure drowning in lavish silks, tapped the tabletop like a woodpecker on old bark.

The “Obstinacy” Demon King, Peset, a jester-painted woman, trimmed her nails like pruning thorns from a rose.

The “Loyalty” Demon King, Leitson, a rough giant in an open shirt, slept with boots on the table like a bear in winter.

The “Flaw” Demon King, Yinkanpai, an ugly plump woman, laughed with a handsome butler like smoke twining with incense.

All the Demon Kings let the stifled air congeal, like frost sealing a pond, speaking as if no one else existed.

They offered no judgment, because neither side of the standoff was a foe they wished to make, like hunters circling the same tiger.

Then someone finally couldn’t endure it, like a bowstring pulled too long.

Clack-clack.

Anna hauled up her Giant Scythe, its blade dragging the floor like a cold river, passed the round table of Demon Kings, and stopped at the far wall.

She raised the scythe, the edge poised at the throat of the woman pinned to the wall like a butterfly under glass.

“Andor cut plenty of deals with you. You should know who he is and where he hides. So tell me—where is he?”

“...Look, I’m bleeding again. You owe me a price again.”

“Answer me, Kadula!”

Kadula, the “Value” Demon King, had her right hand nailed to the wall by a little white scythe named Siku, like a winter thorn.

Oily black blood kept sliding down, making the carpet shine with foul night, like tar under starlight.

She slumped, withered, then lifted her head with effort, eyes sealed by scabbed tracks like dried riverbeds.

She split a mocking smile, thin as a knife: “Little Anna, you must be at your limit. Otherwise why seize me, why make me your enemy?”

“I can kill you. This power is everything. So tell me what I want to know.”

“To know Value, you pay a Price. I’m no Divine Being; I can’t pull precious intel from thin air, like fish from a dry well.”

“I’ll pay. Name it.”

“Haha. Little Anna, you can’t afford it,” Kadula laughed, coughing blood and smiling like a child playing in rain.

“That price is too steep. The value’s beyond words. You can’t afford it,” she said, voice like gravel over silk.

“How much? Don’t play with me!”

“Maybe... your life? Seems still a bit short. Haha. I told you—you can’t afford it,” she chimed, like bells in a crypt.

“Why that expensive! I just want Andor dragged into the open.”

“That’s why it’s costly. To bend the world’s proper track is like pushing a mountain; without the resolve to die, you move nothing.”

“So knowing where Andor is would change the world’s track?”

“No. It wouldn’t.”

“...”

“Because even if you—your lot—learn where he hides, he’ll set the veering track back, like a river finding its bed. You can’t beat him. Just intending to know what shouldn’t be known demands a price. If you’ve time to pester Andor, little Anna, better kill two more people and rise to Demon King sooner.”

“...So you’re not saying anything?”

“Haha. Stubborn to the end. I admire you, little Anna,” she said, like a fox amused by a trap.

Anna lifted her demonic armament, the Giant Scythe called Shenghuan, and brought it down like a falling moon.

The tip stopped at the front of Kadula’s scalp and would go no farther, like an ax stalled in ironwood.

“You—”

Anna’s mouth twitched, and her peerless face twisted with venom, like a rose caught by frost.

She turned, her gaze a killing wind, locking onto the other Demon Kings.

Fine threads cinched tight around the scythe’s haft like spider silk on a fly.

Light from a crown fell like a veil, shrouding Kadula’s body.

A wide-backed saber and a square bronze sword stabbed into the floor, crossing as an X to catch the crescent blade like damming a flood.

The “Flaw” Demon King writhed her fat body and seized Anna’s shoulder like a clamp.

“Anna, enough. There’s no need to kill Kadula, right?”

That hand squeezed hard, like a vise on wet stone.

“Maybe... we can talk again. About Kadula?”

“I also think we shouldn’t kill on impulse. Haha, we’re all Demon Kings; there’s no reason that must be killed,” another voice drifted, light as smoke.

“I want Andor dead. That has nothing to do with Kadula,” Anna said, words like flint.

The mood didn’t change; everyone spoke as if to themselves, or to the air, like wind in tall grass.

Not my business. I don’t know. Don’t drag me in—those feelings hung in the room like damp clothes.

Hearing all this, Anna’s face twisted further—rage boiling like a black tide.

Kadula was her catch, her interrogation, her enemy; yet these bastards wanted to stop her.

“Damn it...” The curse dropped like a stone in a well.

She drew back the force of the strike, and aimed at the Demon Kings by the round table, like a storm rolling to a new shore.

“Anna—”

Daviya spoke for the first time, voice steady as a metronome.

He toyed with the fine thread in his hand like a cat with string; unlike those who avoided her eyes, he met Anna’s fury head-on, like a spear to a shield.

“We joined to kill Andor. You hate him most, and since the Demon Realm you’ve fought him, so naturally you’re our leader. But you’re not as strong as you were. So when you choose something that hurts us all, we won’t agree.”

“Stop joking. I haven’t grown weaker...” Her denial came sharp, like steel on steel.

“But we think you have. Nan Lu was taken. Liebich was killed. Mortals beat you again and again. Now you want to push Kadula to our opposite side. Sorry. She’s a neutral who ‘helps us a lot.’ We all think she should live,” he said, words falling like cold rain.

“Then I—”

Useless? Meaningless? Anna wanted to roar, anger choking like smoke, and Daviya seemed to see through it like a lantern through fog.

“Yes. Worthless. Hurting Kadula only makes you owe her more Price. Nothing else,” he said, each word a nail.

“...”

“I know that by raw force you could floor everyone. But that can’t erase the fact you lost to mortals many times. So everyone thinks investing more in you won’t bring returns,” he said, calm as snow.

“In other words—” From the shadow veiled by her own blood and filth, Kadula’s eyes flashed like a firefly. “Little Anna, you’re walking farther down the loser’s road.”

“In other words, Value is Kadula’s Domain. Equivalent exchange is part of her. She can’t deny the Authority of her self; torture won’t pry her open,” another voice added, like stones clicking in a stream.

“In other words, maybe ask me other questions. You should get the price before you buy. Ask for answers you can afford,” Kadula sang, sweet as poison.

“In other words, a question has more than one way to ask. ‘How does Andor hide?’ ‘When and where will Andor appear next?’ ‘What is Andor plotting now?’ and so on,” they suggested, options fanning like cards.

“In other words, only the last one you can afford. Little Anna, the price is small: take me down from this wall, let me soak in hot water, give me a cup of herbal tea and a pretty Victorian dress, and I’ll answer,” Kadula said, her smile like lacquer.

Their tones rose and fell like a stage duet, mannered and absurd, like masks dancing.

Anna couldn’t refute, her silence heavy as iron.

Everyone still looked idle, as if daydreaming, yet every Authority Domain in the room surged, straining to bind the Giant Scythe Shenghuan like ropes on a mad horse.

All of them waited for Anna’s answer, patience thin as ice.

She gripped the scythe, glared at them like a lion ringed by spears, and stood alone.

She could kill everyone here with this armament; she had crushing strength; so why couldn’t she do it, like a wave that won’t break the cliff?

Do what? She didn’t know; frustration pressed like a tight collar.

She felt unfree; events wandered from her will like leaves blown off the path.

Not everything yields to strength. Andor always said that. Yet Andor could do it, like a hawk cutting the wind.

What would Andor do? Why could Andor do it? The questions burned like coals.

She’d always mimicked that bastard she loved and hated, reached almost his level, yet the result differed, like an echo that won’t match the shout.

Why couldn’t she move as effortlessly as he did, flawless as jade, handling any snare with ease?

What did she lack, a missing hinge or a lost star?

Anna didn’t know. She’d thought long and hard, but the answer stayed hidden like a fish in deep water.

At last, she turned her back, cold as a blade, and tore the little scythe Siku free.

Black blood burst like ink, but before it could touch her it was killed at the root, like frost burning a moth.

Kadula frowned, then smiled with a taunting curl, like a crescent moon.

Anna swung the Giant Scythe through empty air; with one stroke, she slew every restraint, armament, and Authority Domain on her, like cutting tangled reeds.

She stomped back to her seat, sat hard, and the chair clanged like a dropped shield.

Daviya reeled in the broken threads, shrugged like a man in rain, and went to lift Kadula from the wall.

“Thanks, Daviya.”

“Think how you’ll talk so Anna won’t get mad enough to kill you,” he said, half a sigh, like wind under a door.

Together they walked deeper into the castle, steps fading like lanterns down a corridor.

The air in the room, compared to the beginning, felt a shade warmer, like embers stirred.

The Demon Kings slowly began to talk to each other, words weaving like smoke.

Only Anna kept a cold face and said nothing; even when spoken to, she stayed silent, like stone.

“Less a proud lion, more a poor child thrown among her peers and making no friends,” Kadula quipped at the end, voice like a pin.

Everyone heard it, yet everyone acted as if they hadn’t, silence settling like snow.