Later, when Vega wrapped up the petty chores and rolled his stiff neck back into his tent, he found the long-awaited gin gone—moonlight stolen by Berenz and Dulan. His storm of fury can wait.

Just now, I felt the rules of the world tilt, like wind shifting on open water. I logged the Malice Knight’s traits, sketched specialized gear, sent it to my subordinate, Andor, and the whole thing still left a knot in my chest.

———

The Nameless Sword Saint had been staring at that grassland for a long, long time, like a lone pine fixed against a sea of green.

After we broke the woods and reached a low knoll where the Bach Grassland spread like a bronze ocean, he just stood there, unmoving, eyes far as a hawk’s. It left his student, Julian, and the Demon World Surveillance Squad monitor, Eil, a little adrift.

I used the lull to pull out paper and tools, lines gliding like swallows, and worked on gear sketches.

I knew what he was watching across that waving field.

The Slaughter Demon King, Anna.

My younger sister, Anna—who’d shared my bed just days ago, like fire pressed to frost.

The villain who’d lingered on the Bach Grassland these last days, waiting for any Hero to step forward, like a blade stuck in the road on purpose.

“She’s waiting for someone,” Eil said at last, his voice slipping out of the helm like a shadow.

His face was lost behind the visor, cold iron where a smile should be, but he was looking my way.

On the road, he was a quiet sort, words kept like knives in a sheath. Sometimes he sparred with those who failed to challenge the Sword Saint, or, on request, stood as Julian’s test opponent.

Eil was strong. His way of fighting was a storm breaking—familiar, like a song I’d heard before the snow.

The way he talked, too. A déjà vu cadence, like someone I used to know leaning in close.

“Is that so?”

I’d sent the sketch to Vega. With nothing left to do, I sat on the ground, bored as dry leaves, and answered without thinking.

“You know what I mean.”

“Are we close, that you sound so sure?”

But I did know. He was right. The Demon World Surveillance Squad should know Demonfolk and Demon Kings. Yet not fearing me, knowing me so well—especially knowing Andor—was odd.

I’ve never hunted humans when I was among the Demonfolk, not once. Where did Eil learn me from?

Well, not getting it is fine. I am a public figure. I can’t just kill over a trifle, right?

“She’s waiting for you. She wants you to kill her. You, not the Sword Saint. Am I wrong?”

“Yeah. And what of it?”

“Then why bring the Sword Saint here? Do you want him to kill her? Aren’t you going to keep your oath?”

“Don’t act like you’ve got it all figured out. I’ve got my reasons.”

He was wrapped head-to-toe in pitch-black armor, night hammered into plate, no features showing. I couldn’t even pin his race. So I held back the urge to call him kid.

I’m three hundred-something, but I’m no dragon or wingedfolk who lived since the Golden End. Time folds different for them.

I wasn’t angry. Neither was he. While our dear main character watched the horizon, we traded easy words, small stones tossed into a pond.

“Can the Sword Saint kill the world as a whole? That’s a question you can’t prove. If the answer’s no, he can’t kill the concept of Slaughter, either. He’ll never ‘win.’ When his pilgrimage ends, I’ll personally send Anna back to the Demon Realm.”

“And if—maybe, perhaps, by a chance—the answer is yes?”

“…”

“Demon King, with your scheming, you had to run this math. So what’s your answer?”

“The answer is: it doesn’t change much.”

I straightened my crooked mask and spread my hands, palms bare as a stage.

Now Eil went quiet. He wanted to speak, but found no bridge to reach.

“If it’s ‘yes,’ it still doesn’t matter. The only shift is that it won’t be me, but the Sword Saint, who sends Anna back to the Demon Realm. He’ll still die to destiny. Anna still returns. Nothing changes.”

Julian didn’t get it. She kept glancing between me and the Sword Saint fixed on the distance, like a sparrow eyeing two hawks, no space to wedge in a word.

What I mean is—

—The day his pilgrimage ends is the day the Sword Saint dies.

That ending sits right with me. It sits right with him.

—After that, I’ll kill Anna with my own hands and send her back to the Demon Realm.

That ending sits right with me. It sits right with her.

So everyone has to work for the ending they want. Not just me. Anyone.

When the Sword Saint reaches the western plains, he’ll know Anna’s here, waiting like a stone altar for any Hero to swarm her. I’ll bring him here. Whether he challenges her is his choice.

Know this: my sister wants more than a duel with me. She wants a funeral made of silk and thunder. My advice is why she lingers on this grassland, drawing challengers—modeled after how, in my previous life, the Shadow Demon Andor was ambushed by the Hero Stini.

—So if Anna wishes to die under my glaive, she needs to work to not be killed by the Sword Saint.

Same for him. He wants his wish: to see what waits in the highest sky of swordsmanship.

But such sights lie past human knowing. Human souls rank too low; their capstone is the pseudo-god problem in legendary magic. Pseudo, and that’s all. If you want to see more, the price is more than life.

—So if the Sword Saint truly intends to see what he wants, he must harden himself and refuse a longer life.

I made a deal with Anna, and a wordless pact with the Sword Saint. My help will keep to fairness and parity—the kind devils preach with a smile.

The premise of help: they must first have the resolve and strength to carry their will through.

“I don’t understand. You could make everyone happier,” Eil said, still snagged on a thorn.

“The key isn’t ‘making everyone happy.’ That’s a human way to trade. What I hold to is fairness and reciprocity.”

“Even if you could steer us clear of all misfortune?”

“Hey, I’m the villain, the scoundrel, the bad guy. What more are you expecting of me? If you want a nice-everyone-smiles ending, go ask the Hero lady.”

“No. I mean—are Demon Kings stingy with kindness?”

I took a moment, tasting the question like bitter tea.

Yes or no both felt wrong.

“We’re a bit past small talk, so let me ask—why are you asking me this?”

“Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s curiosity. I’ve spent my life observing Demon Kings and Demonfolk. If I crossed a line, forgive the rudeness.”

“You didn’t. It’s small talk. If small talk needs too much thinking, it stops being small talk.”

“But you have considered using others’ slander to show your power to humans, haven’t you?”

“Good guess. But I won’t play tricks on people like the Sword Saint and Anna—their instincts and combat strength are absurd. We deal. That’s all. I use ‘helping the Sword Saint plan his pilgrimage’ as a diplomatic event with humans. I need Anna to exit the stage. They both take what they need. That’s everything you’re seeing.”

“What I truly want to know is your kindness. You still haven’t answered.”

I scrubbed at my hair, fingers combing a tangle of thorns.

“That one’s hard to explain. Do you understand the devil’s idea of fairness?”

“I don’t.”

“It’s a long lecture, so I’ll pass. Cutting to the bones: I need to show my attitude—my philosophy—to humans through this. If you’re curious, go ask the Sages in SkywardCity for their analysis on me—if you can get it. You’ll see I do all this to display my various stances.”

I shifted, lay back in the grass, sky pouring blue like cold water.

“That’s the curse of public figures. Even when it’s a pain, we have to show our stance, so friends and foes can settle. So they don’t waste nights thinking, ‘Is he planning to kill us?’ Maybe the kings won’t grasp my fairness, but I’ll still show it. Someone in this world will understand. Yes, I mean the Sages.”

“Kindness…”

“Still don’t get it? That thing’s optional.”

“…”

“As a Demon King, I’ll perform the bare minimum of ally-to-human acts. But whether the Sword Saint or Anna lives or dies—it’s not important to me. I want the result.”

“…You are indeed a Demon King.”

For some reason, there was relief in his sigh, like a man setting down a shield.

I leaned in to ask why, but the Sword Saint turned and walked back, breaking the spell of our talk like a bell.

Julian had heard me say words like “deal” and “use.” As she passed, she shot me a dagger look, sharp as frost. She’s really bad at people.

Eil slid back into silence, helm bowed, steps steady as a drumbeat.

I rose and followed the Sword Saint on the road again.

“Was it wise to discuss such things before me?” the Sword Saint asked soon after, his voice clean as wind on steel.

“It’s fine. You grasp it all, and you accept it. So it’s just talk to me.”

“So be it… She awaits you.”

“Eil already reminded me.”

“Won’t you go see her?”

“Of course I will. But not now. Anna knows I’m here, but her waiting—the timing—isn’t now.” I shook my head, like shedding rain.

“And when will it be?”

“When you’re dead. I’ll wear the most lavish dress, take up my beloved glaive, gather my spirit, and with the gravest rites, attend a ball, attend a funeral.”

“That sounds fitting.”

“And you? Not planning to test your blade? Anna is a fierce foe. You might glimpse the peak of the sword here.” I jogged two steps and fell in beside him.

“No need. The world is vast; any place can be a grave. Leave this grassland to that Demon King… or to you.”

I shrugged, a leaf riding wind.

“Then thanks for the understanding and support, Sir Sword Saint. Thanks for sparing Anna.”

“Demon King, you’re still a master of jokes,” the Sword Saint said, and he smiled, light as a drawn breath.