I’m going to build a city—or… a country, a Demonfolk nation, planted like a black standard in the mortal world.

Heat surged like a kettle’s hiss; I slammed the table, and my words leapt like sparks.

Across the table, Daviya and Kadula sat still as carved stone in a cold shrine.

Nothing? Not even a ripple?

Mm… word is big brother sold all your Demon Realm assets to devils, like dumping cargo into the abyss.

I feel you’ll settle in the mortal world, like an anchor dropped in shallow water.

Though my news isn’t as sharp as Kadula’s hawk-beak, with your twisted vine of thinking, I’ve got the same hunch.

These two gave me no face at all, like wind stripping a tree bare.

I think big brother should talk profit; that stirs us better than incense smoke.

Kadula lifted her cup like a balance scale; she’s a merchant who holds the authority of Value like a minting die.

And we’re Demonfolk, born like shadows under a blood moon.

We’re not human; saving her won’t make her spill her heart like warm tea, and Kadula calls me big brother while throwing stones the moment I slip, like a river that never hesitates to cut rock.

Demonfolk keep Demonfolk rules, like wolves running the ridge; we don’t trust human “favor,” and “virtue” is a joke tossed like a bone.

If you ask, “What does a Demon King truly want,” it’s a thorny forest.

Glutton demons want blood and flesh like fresh kill; humans want gold like sunlight on coins; the gods want justice like a noon-day blade.

So what do you—or we—chase, when a Demon King lives well by instinct like a mountain beast, unmoved by any lure?

So, besides… Daviya knows my drift; he drew lines in the air like a map traced in smoke.

Besides ascending to Demon King, proving your “bent,” and flinging a black banner at the gods—“evil” is a single word carved like stone.

I’m interested; please lay out your realm, big brother, like a surveyor unrolling a map.

Kadula sipped and licked her lips like a cat tasting cream.

Eil curled tight at my side like a hedgehog, almost burying his head in his goblet, eyes downcast, as if the golden wine could harden into solid gold.

Kadula and Daviya treated Eil like empty air, the way fog erases a road, and set every eye on me.

Good, very good, like a board cleared for chess.

I’ll build a nation set between the Demon Realm and the mortal world, a true Demonfolk Autonomous Dominion, like a bridge arched over a chasm.

I’ll open a permanent gate to the Demon Realm, a doorway like a standing whirlpool, so this place becomes a buffer zone between tides.

Culture, rules, institutions, knowledge—human and Demonfolk streams meet here like two rivers joining.

Question. Daviya raised a hand like a reed lifting in wind.

Go ahead. I kept my voice still, like water in a lidded cup.

How do you plan to open the gate, when that door is locked like iron?

You can’t do it doesn’t mean I can’t, like a key you haven’t seen.

Uh… even a fully ascended Demon King finds it hard, like pushing a mountain.

A Demon King can’t doesn’t mean I can’t, like a bird crossing a ravine on a single gust.

Since this is Andor, the eldest who can overturn Demon Kings in the Demon Realm like chess pieces, I… can’t argue.

If Daviya knew this invasion by the twenty-four Sons of the Demon King broke the rules, and I smuggled my siblings across the border like thieves under moonlight, he wouldn’t be surprised.

Question. Kadula’s voice rang like a clean bell.

Go ahead. My calm sat like a stone.

A new market means new flow, like a river cut into fresh earth; a nation more open than the Ban-Magic City has obvious value like gold in the pan.

So what institutions do you want, and how do you leash Demonfolk and rein in humans, like bridles on twin horses?

Iron law.

My answer was simple: we set rules like stakes in the ground, take human values as the baseline like bedrock, and aim them chiefly at Demonfolk.

Everything runs by rule like water in a canal; the ignorant bear no guilt, so I’ll force everyone to learn until knowledge shines like lamplight.

I welcome anyone who tries to game the law; loopholes show my net still has holes like a torn sail.

Set the rules so most are satisfied like guests full of wine, and anything inside the rules won’t be complained about, like rain in season.

I’ve always admired devil contracts, inked like black ice that never melts.

As for enforcement, my absolutely loyal thralls will show no mercy, like iron wolves; and dictatorship—who questions a Demon King’s fist of iron?

If balance breaks like a tipped scale, I’ll hand it to Vega, and I’ll steady the beam with a finger.

Only a safe field lets merchants trade, like farmers needing clear weather.

This will be a city where doors don’t need bars at night, because I’ll make theft feel like touching lightning, and robbery like hugging a thunderhead.

Sounds nice, like a chime struck true.

Kadula smiled, her big round eyes narrowing to knife-thin crescents, the way silk draws to a cord.

My not-so-cute brother and sister traded a glance like flint and steel, then smiled, and the questions came like arrows.

Since it’s a buffer, do humans go to the Demon Realm, and Demonfolk to the mortal world, like caravans crossing passes? Will that rock the city?

More open than the Ban-Magic City, yes; among humans are the fallen like rotten fruit, and among Demonfolk are the redeemed like lilies in mud.

Each side sets checkpoints, like tollgates at a bridge; pass the screening and you enter.

Who owns the checkpoints? Have you thought of that keystone?

Good question. The mortal-side checkpoint belongs to the Iron Kingdom Colonna, the most authoritative nation, their stamp as reliable as a steel seal.

The Demon Realm checkpoint belongs to Anna, like a gate kept by a scarlet sentinel.

Oh, you’ve already got approval from that—bitch—I mean, sister, like honey poured over vinegar?

Of course; why else would Anna stage that pageant of Slaughter, a parade like red rain?

She and I agreed; she’s returning to the Demon Realm, like a tide pulling back to sea.

But why Colonna, like a compass pointing there?

Because the site neighbors the Hero Academy, maybe even merges with it, and the Academy becomes the first gate like a sieve.

At last I saw Daviya and Kadula startled, their faces like masks cracking.

They almost moved in unison, lifting their cups and drinking like automatons, the way mill-wheels turn.

You must put a Hero next door, like a tiger by the door? You’re not afraid of a quick death?

The city will be torn down fast, like a tent in storm; there aren’t many justice idiots, but this counts as knocking on their gate.

I pressed their heads and eased them back like firm hands on restive horses.

Activating skill: Calm (Physical), like cool water on hot iron.

Don’t get excited. This city isn’t the illegal Ban-Magic City by Swordgate; it’s the legal focal point of mortal world and Demon Realm, like a lantern hung at a crossroads.

Humans and Demonfolk can quarrel here in daylight, like drums on a festival street; this is a free land.

As for being torn down… don’t worry; with me here, no one dares swing a hammer, like mice under a hawk’s shadow.

This is where a drink or a smoke would look dashing, like mist curling from a blade, but this isn’t chatter; it’s council.

I keep sharp with thirst and hunger, like a hunter before dawn.

After a dose of Calm (Physical), they saw the path like a road after rain.

But here’s the bigger snag: to build a city, you need land like earth under a house; where do you get it?

Not wasteland, but prime soil in the busiest heart, like the fat of the lamb.

As a Demon King, you could seize it, like a storm taking roofs, but that’s plunder of mortal goods.

You want humans to acknowledge you and grant lawful standing, like a seal on parchment; can you buy a city’s land from Colonna?

Buying’s hard as pulling teeth from iron; why buy at all?

Then how will you do it, like drawing water from stone?

Can’t you think romantically for once, like moonlight on a balcony? Don’t always plan how to cook humans; think opera.

I’m into tales of love and redemption lately, like roses climbing a wall.

I pushed back my chair and stood, straightened my collar like smoothing a banner, then bowed.

I gave Iron Kingdom Colonna’s old knightly salute, every angle clean as a blade; even the strictest master of ceremonies couldn’t find a flaw.

Vega drilled me for half a month like a devil, until I moved and spoke like a true noble, wine-smooth and winter-crisp.

Feels like I’ve grown a second etiquette persona, like a mask that fits too well.

Beautiful Princess Gloria—Gloria Colonna—your voice is honey, and without its balm for a day, my soul would dry like a riverbed.

I beg you, will you be my wife, like a star to my night?

It’s my only wish in this life; show mercy to a man mad with love like a moth to flame, and I’ll pay with everything I have, like emptying a treasury.

I sat back down and flipped the mask, like turning a coin.

I grabbed Kadula’s and Daviya’s cups and drained them like a desert, then took Eil’s and finished it too, like rain on parched earth.

Well—how’s that feel, like silk or syrup?

Mm… cheesy, like too much frosting.

Whatever. I’ll be a Demon King struck by love and turned by grace, like iron tempered to spring, and I’ll marry the Iron Kingdom Colonna’s third princess.

Then I get a fief, like land granted with a banner—simple as that.

I flipped the cup upside down, not leaving a single drop, like a sky swept clear.

Love and redemption, isn’t it, like two hands clasped on a bridge?