When Qing offered a third path for humans and Demonfolk to live in peace, Douglas smoothed his voice like a hand over ripples.

“Sir Qing, you still don’t see it. Your kin aren’t like you. They… don’t believe humans and Demonfolk stand equal.”

“That’s why we must advocate. We must tell Andor and Anna they shouldn’t kill. With a peace covenant, we show peace yields more than war.”

Qing opened his hands, clumsy wings testing air, yet he poured out his beliefs like water seeking a channel.

Douglas rubbed his brow, thumb erasing chalk from a weary slate.

He’d spoken with Qing for two days straight. Iron in his blood promised sleepless years of battle, yet words would grind stone without shaping it.

Qing was a gifted thinker, a lantern in a windy pass. Perhaps he’d pondered for a century in the Demon Realm. His perseverance, a root gripping cliff.

But the sages had gathered every branch of human thought. They’d watched countless debates, obsessions, storms of mind, and trimmed their own views like a well‑kept garden.

Douglas could counter every sentence Qing raised, each idea with a nail‑hard rebuttal.

The elder knew every tongue’s shape, the power in sound. He chose soft leaves over hard thorns, and he left his true feeling in the breeze.

“…If you’d come study at the Academy, it’d please both of us.”

“My ideas… are still too shallow?”

A shadow passed over Qing’s face, like dusk touching water.

“As an ally about to sign a peace covenant, and as the Speaker of the Council of Sages, I should say ‘no’ and affirm you. But as a professor who acknowledges your resolve, I should say ‘yes’ and point out your gaps.”

“I don’t know… I haven’t seen much. I’ve never investigated. Right and duty, true and false—the Demon Realm has none of it.”

Douglas sighed, a leaf letting go in autumn.

He was the Speaker of the Council of Sages, a statesman. Before that, he was a great sage who named the world, a teacher who drew lines of right and duty.

He said,

“…After the peace covenant is signed, I’ll open the library to you and set up courses at the Academy.”

“Really? I can study like a normal person?”

“Yes. I’ll sway those stubborn stones.” Douglas pulled a pocket watch from his coat, checked the hour. Not yet time for the next class. “SkywardCity used to be a dragons’ roost. Then sages came, and different folk settled. Why can’t this city hold a Demon King?”

Still, he thought, if it were that other Demon King—black eyes behind a mask like coal in snow—no hint of fixation, no fever to leverage, no seam to pry, no sense in his so‑called evil.

That kind of creature would never be a friend to people.

Qing sprang up, heart like a bird in a cage, and gripped Douglas’s hand.

“Thank you! Thank you, Mr. Douglas!”

Douglas had the measure of Qing’s nature. With a plan set ahead, he’d perform well. If things strayed, he’d unravel, reverting to a child’s raw self.

Now Douglas saw Qing as one of his talented students, a sapling worth careful watering.

“Mr. Douglas, don’t you feel the room’s off?”

He felt it. The Shadow was restless, like ink boiling.

Battle instinct rose from his bloodline. He stood, stance sharp as a blade. The other Demon King had returned.

“I think it’s best not to raise flags—no ‘I’ll go home and marry after this fight,’ or ‘after the peace covenant, life goes quiet.’ Death flags are hungry.”

The Shadow spat out its cargo. The masked Demon King wore a black coat with no seam, no stitch. If you had to call it something, it was a garment shaped from pure Shadow.

Unexpectedly, a plain‑faced young man stood behind Andor, like a stone hiding in moss.

“See, if a Demon King slips into Atland and kills a few leaders—people already doubt peace with Demonfolk—then more will say, ‘It’s a plot to gather leaders for Slaughter.’ What would you do, dear brother?”

The World Saving Demon King stood with courtly grace, words silk over steel.

Yet in the sage’s sight, Douglas watched a dragon bud from his Shadow, horns twisted like withered roots, tongue forked, venom dripping like cold rain.

He disliked this Demon King. Andor hid too much, knew too much, spoke too many lies like smoke.

But Douglas had no line to snag him, no clean rebuttal for that coil of language.

“You’d leap out yourself, die to prove it wasn’t a plot, and let Douglas kill you. Ha. Just a guess. But don’t raise that kind of flag.”

“Lord Andor, who is this?”

“Daviya. You can call him by his other name—‘Dispute.’ He’s a Demon King here to hear the peace talks.”

The young man stepped forward, easy as wind through reeds, and greeted both Qing and Douglas.

“Qing, long time no see. Mr. Douglas, I’ve heard your name for ages.”

“Rooms for Laisent and Pesait are set…” Andor’s tone was a pebble skipping water. “There’ll be more Demon Kings later. Mr. Douglas, please ask the Council of Sages to arrange rooms.”

That had been in the prior agreement. Andor said he would persuade those Demon Kings on the day of the peace conference.

But Douglas didn’t know what reason Andor would use to sway the ones ready for Slaughter in the hall. He didn’t know if he could sway them, or how many.

He could only trust him, a bridge spanning mist.

Every Demon King who’d infiltrated had been dragged into light by Andor. The alarms of the groups headquartered in SkywardCity had done nothing but ring hollow bells.

Demon Kings hostile to humans lingered here only because Andor asked. Without Andor’s help, a frontal clash… Douglas refused to count the bodies that thought would pile.

Andor checked his pocket watch again, then nudged Daviya toward Qing.

“I have a date. I’ll go first. You two carry on.”

He folded back into the Shadow, leaving the three in a polite silence, like guests stranded after the host departs.

“Andor seems to have a new girlfriend. Let’s not disturb him.”

Daviya bowed to Douglas with grace, a Demon King with a philosopher’s tone, more dashing than Qing, closer to the mask people expect.

“I’m Daviya, Andor’s ally. Please guide me in the coming days.”

“Ally! Daviya, you came too!”

Qing burst with joy, tugging at Daviya’s sleeve like a child at festival stalls, asking after his days. Daviya answered one by one, rain pattering on tiles.

Douglas didn’t believe things flowed as simply as words promised. The river always hid stones.

He knew most people get placed as “ally” or “enemy,” black and white like ink and paper. But actions rarely sit that neatly on shelves.

Betrayal, hesitation, persuasion, fear, concession. Some friends are headaches that outdo enemies.

Andor said, “Teammates as dumb as pigs are scarier than enemies as sharp as gods.” Shallow words, but the truth was the bone.

Douglas welcomed with warmth, watched with winter eyes.