“Step up, Daviya!”

Anna gripped the Giant Scythe with one hand and pressed the domed beach hat with the other, spun like a waltzing gull, and beckoned him in.

Daviya’s fingers shook on the silk-thin threads, sweat cold as dew ran down his back. His eyes lagged; his gut did the work, and he barely met three scythe cleaves and one sneaking little sickle.

Still standing without a scratch was luck, a coin tossed in a storm.

“Uh, Anna... I’m not good at fighting.”

“Then die. Do I need to spell it out?”

She snorted, the sound like frost snapping, and wound the scythe in a slow coil as she tiptoed forward like a stalking cat.

Daviya spread his threadlike arcane armament, “Obsession,” weaving it round himself like a spider’s veil. If her swings stayed at that speed—

—he couldn’t block at all.

That seeming slowness was a mirage, heat shimmer on a road. Only when the scythe kissed his chest and a blood-metal stink rushed in did he realize he’d been watching an afterimage; by the time he moved to guard, the strike was already over.

The Giant Scythe came like an untouchable calamity, a landslide through reeds, shredding every filament that dared to bar it. The girl’s footwork was a perfect dance, a princess stepping on moonlight, but the lazy-turning blade bled death with every breath.

Daviya rolled hard, a leaf in sudden wind, ducked a horizontal sweep, and slipped out of her reach for a heartbeat.

He gulped air like a drowning man. It was animal instinct, and he forgot a Demon King could run mana instead of blood.

“With technique like that, why’re you bullying me? Go hunt a Hero in the street!”

“If I accidentally killed a Hero, Andor would flip the table. You won’t.”

Daviya didn’t know if “you won’t” meant “a Demon King doesn’t die easy,” or “even if you die, Andor won’t care.” He didn’t want to know; the thought was a thorn.

Life in the Council of Sages had been easy, a warm lamp in a winter study. No need to be dragged around by Anna. He’d used the ‘Dispute’ domain’s insights—sophistry, blur, lure—to wage round after round of wars of thought with the sages. Losing to silver tongues or leaving sages tongue-tied was fun, and his domain climbed like ivy.

He was probably the one enjoying the peace talks the most, a cat in a sunbeam.

When he heard Anna was looking for him, he crushed his wineglass like ice with his fingers, sitting in the library chatting with Douglas over a book.

She’d given a death order back then: if he couldn’t wreck the peace talks, she’d cut him down. Now, sure, after talking with Andor, he could explain he’d “had no choice, lost helplessly, even had his armament taken.” But if Anna ignored it, swung “Slaughter,” and chopped off his head, not even Andor could sew it back.

We’d prepared all the arguments under heaven; the one fear left was simple: what if the other side didn’t care about reason?

It didn’t go as expected.

Anna didn’t hear a word. She stuffed his lunch steak down his throat, hauled him by the collar to Andor, and demanded his armament be returned.

Then she dragged him to a small room. He barely swallowed the steak before she tossed him to the floor.

Fight me. I promise not to use an Authority Domain. She said that, tossed him his armament, and sank into a battle stance like a wolf before snow.

Daviya wanted to cry. He could argue. He could persuade. But only if the other side talked. You can’t just demand fists. He wasn’t built for this.

She didn’t care. If he wouldn’t go first, she would. A duel is a duel, like fire is fire.

During Hero Andor’s recent heresy trial, unresolved “Dispute” fattened Daviya’s gains like rain on fields. He even began to slowly summon a domain inside SkywardCity—under Andor’s full, cold gaze.

He felt the threshold to Demon King near, a mountain pass in fog. Every day he touched his right brow to check if a new horn had sprouted.

So when he threw his first strike, he thought maybe he could stand against Anna. Maybe not win—but at least not get one-shot.

Authority Domain. A few centuries of battle craft. A signature spell polished like jade. Infinite mana supply inside his domain. He threw everything like dice—barely slid past Anna’s first cut.

The Giant Scythe whooshed by, a windmill in a gale. Then the little sickle “Deathgrief” came right after, brushing his neck like winter steel. He didn’t register it until chill bled under his fingers, and he realized the little blade had already flown past his back.

Anna shook her head, annoyed, like a hawk missing a rabbit.

“Threw it off. Martial skill is hard.”

This wasn’t magic.

Anna used only martial skill. Against magic’s thousand faces, this was a different sea. In martial skill, more speed, more force—that’s the whole scripture.

These not-yet-ascended Sons of the Demon King had fought in the Demon Realm by crushing Authority Domains, sky versus sky, flex versus flex. The best could even peel off their own time and matter, stepping for a breath into the beyond.

Only Andor never bothered with a domain. He’d yawn, plant a single halberd strike through every challenger like a farmer splitting wood at dawn, then turn away. Daviya had been among the beaten many times, limp as a rope, watching him leave.

Daviya was the type who’d given up comparing strength with Andor, like a runner who stops chasing a mountain. But looking at Anna now, she was closing on that untouchable back.

No—different.

If Andor was the absolute strong, anytime, anywhere, a casual halberd stroke beyond limits, sky tilting his will while all others waited like ants—

Then Anna was the challenger. She was strong, and knows she isn’t strong enough. She keeps breaking through, keeps climbing, carving defiance against the upper seat into every slash and step. She refines a crystalline killing intent, studies the bones of technique, and cleaves with her will and soul.

Andor, your sister in sheer power is nearly at your heels.

Daviya burned every trick and still lost, thrown down like a rag in rain.

“Anna, you want to challenge Andor?”

“I’ve been working for that from the start. You were just laughing.”

She sneered, kicked him like a stone, and walked out without a backward glance.

Fine. Everything—his domain, his body, even the Council’s practice arena—was at its limit, creaking like an overdrawn bow. He hadn’t even asked why she’d fight like a mortal, with mortal means.

He hadn’t fought like this in years. He lay there and nearly let sleep swallow him like black water.

A door crashed open, thunder in a corridor, and Daviya jolted from shallow sleep. The Council of Sages would’ve spared a tired man loud shock. So—Anna again. He hated himself for not crawling off when he could. She hadn’t left any orders.

This time he wasn’t the only offering.

Anna flung more Demon Kings onto the floor like firewood—“Obstinacy” Pescet, “Defect” Incant, “Loyalty” Letson, and several Sons of the Demon King Daviya barely knew.

Even “Pain,” the Demon King Qing, the poster child of these peace talks. Anna had probably made a lap of the Council of Sages and hauled in every Demon King she saw.

She didn’t care if they were displeased. If anything, their scowls were kindling.

She grinned at them, lips slitting to show sharp teeth, a rose with thorns.

Beautiful. Dangerous.

“I’m about to fight Andor to the death. Like mortals. With hands and steel. My choice—and his.”

“To meet that duel, I need hard training, I need my craft and body honed to kill. So I need you—not sparring partners. Test blades.”

“Unhappy? Angry? Fools! If Andor said this, you’d nod like pigeons.”

“I won’t argue anymore. I lost already. What I need from you... is simple.”

“Only this—”

“—Step up, and try to take my head!”

The girl who could topple cities licked her lips and laughed wickedly. She tightened on the Giant Scythe, sank her weight like a spring, and coiled to strike.

——————

There were still a few days between my heresy trial and the peace conference. Those days passed calm as a lake.

Anna behaved, a sheathed blade, and the other Demon Kings held still too. Everyone’s faces were bruised eggplants... whatever, no one died.

No battles. The plot slid forward through words like a slow river.

SkywardCity had no war.

Abigail took the seized crystal ball to Elina for appraisal—really, a seed I planted with Head to keep things moving.

Elina, in a “let’s try” mood, asked a Divine Being for an oracle. The answer was the usual silence. Head, back in the Starry Sky Divine Kingdom, had already told the other Primordial Deities to ignore the Deity of Justice’s resurrection.

A great sage, Ambroliel, happened to pass the temple to pray. He said he could check Douglas Academy’s library, then took the crystal ball into the secret stacks in SkywardCity’s core—Vega played librarian and hinted the answer might be inside. Much obliged.

Ambroliel noticed the crystal ball acted odd near the core district. He came back and told the Hero Squad, and Justin, tailing them, overheard—took a lot of work to steer him to the final shed-skin.

Raven, after delivering documents to the Truth Seekers Assembly, remembered she was on Heretic Inquisition turf and went quiet, shrinking her presence like a mouse in a church.

Anna, under the alias Naiche, bumped into the Hero Squad by chance. We sighed over meeting again after a contract’s end—sweet coincidence, like rain on parched earth.

I pitched Nivifar as our idol to the Council of Sages, hoping they’d send out an idol of their own and we’d form the “angle and devil” duo to promote human–Demonfolk harmony. Too bad there was no English in the Silver Era; the sages didn’t get the name and shot it down.

Douglas taught Qing philosophy. The adorable kid learns fast. Douglas bragged to me he’ll make the next sage. A Demon King switching careers to sage—delightful.

Plenty else happened. Julia Melansa came to settle a score with me and got “oops, thought you were a Heretic Inquisitor~” thoroughly beaten by Vega. Raven and Stini ran into fops from the Country of the Wilds and delivered a textbook face-slap. Side quests, all of them. I’ll spare the ink.

Soon—slowly, like dawn whitening the eaves—the most important bell rang.

The long-awaited peace conference finally opened.