“I’ll save this world. I’ll pull it back from a cliff by my own hands. Not for you. For me, and for my lovely girlfriend, Ferrel.”

“So I need 52,970,003 people to die. Stones tallied on a cold abacus.”

“Yes—dying because of me, killed by me, dying with hatred for me.”

“The total is 52,970,003. About one-tenth of the Primordial Nine Races.”

“That was the answer I wrote down when I was all-knowing and all-powerful. Frost etched on glass.”

Haydon watched the Demon King wearing a boy’s skin spread his arms. A stage curtain thrown wide to the wind.

He showed Him the grand stage, the city, and—this world. A lantern turning in dusk.

Andor’s so-called world. A name cut into stone.

He was happy to say it out loud. Joy rang like a bell in fog.

Mortals can’t grasp a Divine Being’s mind. A moth trying to drink the sun.

The gods don’t mind, but humans can’t bear that vastness. Souls and brains pop like overripe fruit.

Then they’re assimilated by the concept the god embodies. Snow melting into a river.

So now Haydon lowered his aspect and dimmed his divinity. A lamp shaded by a sleeve.

He could hardly see anything now. Future and matter veiled like mist.

He walks this mortal world in a mortal body, with a mortal soul. Footsteps like pebbles in a stream.

He can’t wield the god’s Absolute authority. A scepter asleep under ice.

He only remembers the “futures” he saw when he was Divine. A plan written like starlit ink.

Haydon felt the world was his chessboard and all beings his stones. A moonlit river for a board.

He played against the Demon King across the flow of fate. Two shadows facing over still water.

“After I set the grand stage, I started writing little scripts.” Pages fluttered like sparrows.

“It was me! I arranged Kairi’s string of events.” Threads braided like smoke.

“Haydon, did you know, Victor tailed Kairi just for this single arrow.” A stray dog glued to footsteps.

“He hasn’t slept for days. Nights stacked like bricks, just to wait for this shot!”

“Too awesome, too awesome, the expression was perfect.” A flower opening in a storm.

“Did you see it? This love and hate of the human world.” Fire racing over dry grass.

The Demon King across from Him laughed hysterically. Glass cracking in frost.

He mocked heroes, brave men, sages. He juggled their joys and sorrows like knives in torchlight.

He, like me, abandoned omniscience and omnipotence. Crowns set aside like masks on a table.

He confined himself to a mortal scope so he could touch this world. Fingers pressing wet clay.

Haydon felt he should clap. Palms meeting like rain on leaves.

After all, the other was a future partner—the only partner. A lone bridge over a ravine.

He should let the other be a little happy before him. A lantern warmed by a second flame.

Yet at the same time, Haydon felt Andor wanted applause. Thunder muffled by velvet.

But not from him. A door closing like a lid on a jar.

Unlike me, he calls this world a grand play. A mountain of boards for a stage.

The Demon King writes the script, though he steps onstage at times. He sips a hero’s joys and griefs like bitter tea.

He still keeps himself in the playwright’s seat. A pen steady as a spear.

Better to call him a magician. Moonlight on water for smoke and mirrors.

A magician needs an audience to gasp at flawless tricks. Cold air blooming with breath.

He also needs another magician. Only a peer can see the hidden method and hear the craft’s true heart. Two mirrors facing like twin lakes.

Enemies and friends both. Teacher and student both. Red threads knotted together.

“Then, Vega…” Haydon spoke with feigned hesitation. A leaf drifting on water.

He knew all about the Demon King’s layout, yet he still asked. A hook cast where fish already swirl.

First, to mislead the Demon King’s read of his ability. A veil pulled like morning mist.

Second, to flatter the Demon King. A cup of warm wine at dusk.

After all, Haydon had returned Ferrel to Andor. A lost bird set back on a branch.

That made cooperation possible between them—neither wants to disappoint Ferrel. A small sun held in the hand.

If Andor’s script was grand and sweeping, then Haydon’s board was siege by inches. Stones set along a path.

Every motion, every expression, tilted the future. Ripples widening on a pond.

Haydon had seen those futures. He walked them step by step toward the one he wanted. Threaded footprints like stitches.

Both knew Wisdom God Haydon was true “omniscience.” A sky without clouds.

That’s why Andor feared Him deeply. A wolf wary of firelines.

He refused any information from Haydon. Hands closed like shells.

If they were enemies, that dread was a sharp deterrent. A drawn bow over black water.

But if they meant to cooperate, a one-sided, crushing edge becomes a block. A stone too heavy for the boat.

Haydon needed Andor’s recognition. A seal pressed into wax.

In recent trades, Haydon asked only symbolic prices. Pebbles traded for gold.

He was almost all giving, to win Andor’s favor. Banners lowering like kneeling reeds.

At least he was willing to boast before me now. A window opened in rain. A good omen, like swallows back to the eaves.

“To keep Justin from sensing anything off, her avatar rode Justin.” A shadow entering a sleeve.

“Only the slightest guidance. See, well done, right? Justin never noticed he was steered by Vega.” His pride flashed like a knife edge.

The Demon King slapped the guardrail in excitement. Metal rang like a bell.

He looked down at the chaos below. Smoke and cries twisted like vines.

The Heretic Inquisitors soothed the children. Leaves trembling in wind.

They worked the scene in a rush. Dust rising like gnats.

Abigail propped a near-faint Stini and moved aside. Two reeds in a current.

She treated the grave wounds from catching the anti-magic bolt barehanded. Blood seeping like ink.

As for the Sage Ambroliel… The name hovered like a moth on glass.

He shook off the Heretic Inquisitor trying to speak to him. A sleeve brushing dew.

He stared toward this direction. An arrow of sight through dusk.

Andor grinned and flashed a victory sign. A gull’s wings in a V.

He couldn’t see anyway. Distance lay like fog.

“Haydon, anything else to say?” Andor’s words curled like lazy smoke.

“Unlike the cranky one below who pulled all-nighters, I’m free and in a good mood. If you’ve got complaints, spit them.” A lizard basking on warm stone.

“Well then, if it’s hard for you, let me talk.” A smile bent like a hook.

“To save the world, I could just take Ferrel with me to the Land of Endings.” Riverlight on steel.

“Then not a single person would die. Silver would transition smoothly into Bronze.” A ladder lowered by rain.

“How to keep the gods away from the mortal realm would be your business.” A wall raised of mist.

“How the Huangdi cuts down Chiyou would be his business.” An old thunder rolling past the hills.

“At least those 52,970,003 wouldn’t have to die—but I refuse.” A stone dropped down a well.

“I won’t budge, Haydon.” A jaw set like iron.

“They have to die. They must die.” Drumbeats in snow.

“I’ve no personal grudge against them.” Hands cold as river stones.

“For the ending that satisfies me, they have to die. That’s all. So please, let them die.” Silk soft, blade sharp.

“As for the remaining nine-tenths, they’ve no right to hate me.” A cloud’s shrug.

“Because I saved them. If I go all-out and end the world, we all go together.” One breath blows out every candle.

“No one survives. Now I give them two choices.” Antlers branching at a fork.

“Either realize the world I want, or say goodbye to Bronze, Black Iron, and earth.” A farewell tasting of dust.

Haydon knew all of it, yet he listened patiently. A bay holding quiet water.

He let the boy finish his story. Thread wound onto the spindle.

Andor did not confess and did not atone. He lifted his chin like a spear-point.

“You know it. A villain owes no one salvation. Don’t press a hero’s creed on me.” A shield against the sun.

“I refrain from striking first. That’s already my greatest mercy.” Frost-gilt restraint.

“I ran the numbers when I was still omniscient.” Abacus beads clicking like rain.

“What it costs to save this world. How much Ferrel and I could keep.”

“Frankly, this is far from my bottom line. My bottom line only needs 16,770,000 dead.”

“Haydon, you know it. I don’t lie to you.” Lead laid on the table.

“But what number is the bottom line for the gods, and for mortals?” A snort in cold air.

“Ha. As long as civilization doesn’t go extinct, right? So for my happiness, please let those 36,370,000 die.” A brand hissing in water.

The boy slammed the rail. Metal clanged like thunder in a gorge.

Down below, no one seemed to hear. Silence pooled like black water.

He made big gestures. Arms cutting air like oars.

No one answered. He slouched on the rail. A cat draped on a sill.

He glanced back at Haydon. A knife-blink under sunglasses.

Even through the lenses, Andor’s gaze was cold. Winter light in a mirror.

“Still don’t want to speak?” Sleet tapping on stone.

“Keep going.” A pebble dropped in a well.

“Fine, fine, I’ll say it. I’m not wrong!” Fire licking dry bark.

“No one gets to accuse me! This is the optimal solution!” A compass needle fixed in ice.

“In an age without salvation, it’s the best ending! You got a better one? Of course not!”

“So do as I say! Follow my lead! Got it?!” Lightning cracking over sand.

Haydon smiled. A crescent boat on dark water.

The other finally said what he truly wanted to say. A seed showing green.

“I’ve only one question.” A sparrow perching on the rim.

“…Ask. I thought you’d preach at me again. Beg me to spare mortals.” Ash after flame.

This was the time. A hawk stooping from cloud.

This was the deadliest stroke. A blade hidden in silk.

“Andor, who are you arguing with?” A bell rung at midnight.

“… ” Andor stayed silent. A blind window in rain.

“You’re defending the ‘rightness of evil.’ You argue you’re the optimal answer.” Cool water over stone.

“I admit, you are right. But why argue? Andor, what need have you to argue?” Smoke curling without wind.

“… ”

“As you said, you’re right, and you’re the villain. No need to prove it.” Shadows walking in step.

“The Demon King doesn’t care how many die. So the one who cares must be…” A reed arrow pointing.

“Enough! I want to argue for Ferrel!” The dam burst.

“Even if that fool can’t understand evil, I just… I just want to explain it to her! Got a problem?!” Sparks leaping from flint.

“I know.” A lantern lit in a window.

“Then why keep talking!” Frost biting the tongue.

“Then what about Stini? Do you want to explain this ‘rightness of evil’ to her?” A leaf drifting on water.

“… ”

The Demon King deflated like a punctured ball. Wet rope over a rail.

His hands rested on the guard, limp. Rain on old wood.

Haydon counted on his fingers. Beads clicking on a string.

“And Raven, Elina, Gloria, Catherine… and the new ones: Nagash, Hattie, Victor…” Pebbles dropped in a bowl.

“Haydon, shut up.” A knife through cloth.

“They’re all afraid of ‘Savior Demon King Andor.’” Iron masks on a wall.

“Now even ‘Shadow Artisan Andor’ unsettles them.” A draft through a paper door.

“I said, shut up.” Silk fraying under strain.

The Divine Being shrugged. Wings lifting once.

He closed his mouth and stepped closer. Dusk closing the gap.

A magician needs another magician to witness his sleight. Moon-silk passing hand to hand.

They are neither enemies nor friends. Neither teacher nor student. Twin rivers running side by side.

“You know…” Smoke rising from damp wood.

“I know what I’m doing!” Andor snapped. Bees boiling from a hive.

“That’s enough. It’s enough that you’re willing to think.” Moss-soft words.

“I’ve never looked away! I don’t need your reminders!” A drumbeat under storm.

“As you wish.” Snow settling on stone.

Silence stretched again. Ink pooling in a well.

Below, the people thinned out. Footsteps ebbing like tide.

Kairi’s body was carried away. A white bundle like a cloud.

Abigail and Stini returned to the Great Temple. Two silhouettes under a pale sky.

The Heretic Inquisitors pulled down the cordon and sent the children home. Ribbons snapping like twigs.

The Sage withdrew his gaze and went back to the small chapel. A door closed with a blink.

From this angle, he was gone. A stone hidden under grass.

“…Haydon, after the Peace Conference, I’ll find Ferrel, and sign a pact with you.” Stakes driven into earth.

“All right.” A nod in the dark.

“Then this is the last trade before we become allies. I’ll pay with ‘saving the world.’ And you will pay…” A breath held between waves.

“‘Fifty-two million, nine hundred seventy thousand and three lives,’ right. Deal.” A seal pressed into wax.

“Deal.” A shadow dipping to water.

Andor nodded in silence. Night laying a palm on his head.

He pushed his slipping sunglasses back up. A bead clicking on a string.

He tried one last joke at the end. To ease the sour air, or to keep his absurd Demon King mask.

His smile tugged up, stiff as dried bark.

“Hey, look. ‘Savior Demon King’ Andor. I’m serious about the ‘savior.’ But a ‘Demon King’ can’t slack on the job.”

The line fell like a dull pebble.

Sadly, it wasn’t very funny. A firework that only smoked.