It was the future the Divine of Power had scryed, the vista she cherished most, a moon-carved perfection. She gifted that beauty to the Sword Saint. Honors, respect, recognition—everything he wanted, the gods pressed into his hands. As the Sword Saint said, it left no regrets.

Bel, in her past life, once called down that same moonlit scene—white snow, red plum like embers—when she fought Endless Demon King Andreas to the death. She made it her graveyard. It burned itself into me.

“But… I forgot my teacher’s name.” The ache came first, then the whisper. “I used to remember. I called him that when I was little. I left nothing to remember him by…”

“Because he didn’t want to be remembered. He didn’t want to leave anything to miss.”

“But I do…”

Troublesome. On ordinary days I’d call it that and move on.

I’ve always felt tangled hearts and stubborn clinging are worthless.

But I’m prepping to duel Anna, so I’m leveling my mood. I’m calming the Ocean of Darkness inside me. A sage’s hush, a fine-grained acceptance, that’s the shape I’m holding.

I’ll try to think through the other’s thoughts. I’ll speak calmly, understand, and find common ground, no matter who it is.

Like my talk just now with the Divine of Power, Fis. The old me—wild and snarling—wouldn’t preach or advise. Who cares what he wants, or what havoc follows.

To part well with Anna, dropping my stature a notch and resonating with her feels necessary.

And I argued with Ferrel recently. As for the outcome—let’s just say I’m heavy with reflection.

So I try to comfort Julian, who lost her teacher.

I draw from Shadow the thing she watched for two hundred years, and set it by her knees.

“This is… an incense burner! My teacher’s incense burner! How is it with you? Wasn’t it supposed to stay there?”

“Both swords were his—too familiar to swap. The incense burner was less bound. The Sword Saint had very little. Two swords, one incense burner, a white robe. Leaving you anything at all is already rare.”

“Thank you… thank you…”

In truth, I paid three Beatrice silvers for the shop’s finest burner. I traded with the Sword Saint and earned a beautiful ending.

Killing can solve most problems. For those it can’t, other means are hard too. That’s true. But solving a problem isn’t the same as a good ending. Only travelers who leave the world with no attachment, or Demon Kings who make destruction their everything, can cut so clean.

For now, I like the way “mutual understanding” works. The effect and the efficiency please me.

Julian crushed the burner to her chest. Her small face scrunched tight. Quiet sobs first, then tears like beads spilling, then the whimper swelling.

“It’s raining…”

I opened my palm and looked up at a clear sky as I said it.

Authority can’t strictly summon heavy rain. Authority moves only within its own domain. But if your domain is vast, you can play many games.

Shadow is everywhere. So I can be anywhere.

“The rain is heavy…”

Thunder rolled across the open-air training ground. A downpour split the sky and hammered the stone.

I sat with Julian in the rain until she stopped crying.

“That’s enough, Demon King. I don’t need your pity.” She wiped the red at her eyes, pinched her nose, and steadied herself.

“I admire your resilience.” I stilled the rain that shouldn’t exist and returned it to nature’s rule. I set a second gift on the stone bench by her knees. “This is the map to the Savior Demon King Army’s temporary headquarters. Find a woman named Vega. She’ll teach you anything you want.”

“Also from my teacher?” Her eyes flared, a smile rising like dawn.

“I think you know he was clum— not built for teaching. He asked me to teach you something instead.”

“So… my teacher wants me to learn Demonfolk martial arts?”

“Martial technique is the body’s design put to use. It’s the compact form of our forebears’ obsession and spirit. Don’t split it by race. That insults heroes of the past.”

“Uh… sorry.”

“I— no, I don’t have time. Vega can teach you every magic in the world. Alchemy, magitech, blood magic, even the forbidden. She can teach every combat art. The Hero’s family secret sword, the Colonna royal standard style, the blood-war struggle school. Whatever you want, she can teach. I promised the Sword Saint this.”

“Then…”

“First, stances can’t be taught.”

“I don’t want to learn anything else.”

“…”

Should I say “I knew it,” or “I saw it coming”?

After I stilled the Ocean of Darkness for a while, my frenzy, my bloodlust, my hunger to destroy all went quiet together. Without the impulses I usually choke down, my chest felt hollow.

In that leisure, my mind fell still. I even wanted a book.

If I hadn’t been born a king, I might have been a poet.

I pushed away the drift, and with patience that would’ve shocked me any other day, I went on.

“A stance is a realm forged from one’s soul and will. It imitates the Creator’s way, birthing a new concept this world doesn’t hold. A Demon King can do something similar. We lean on authority and rank. Doing it on will alone would awe even a Demon King.”

“What use are you then?”

“Easy. Hear me out. The finest martial artist alive, Augustus, could become a god. He spent his life refining stances. It’s a path with terrible returns. It drains your limited years. Anyone with a scrap of talent avoids groping in pure black.”

“You can’t see what’s ahead. You don’t know if your actions mean anything. Forget feeling stones to cross a river. There are no stones to brace on. There’s no river to sense. You don’t know where you stand, or where you arrived. It’s a way forward braided with despair. A very cruel road.”

“…”

“We call stances ‘the resolve of the weak.’ These people who lack talent, power, authority—what remains at the end is resolve. The Sword Saint walked that way. He doesn’t want you to step onto his dead road.”

“What if I want it? I want to choose to waste my value and talent. I want to satisfy myself. Not just to grow stronger. The source and form of power are part of self-acceptance. Demon King, you’ll guide me, right?”

“As I said, no one can teach you. But we can give… guidance. It won’t hand you a stance. It will at least keep you from walking away from your goal.”

“That’s enough.” She stood so fast her waist-sword struck the stone bench, ringing bright and bold.

“Thanks, Demon King.” She said it barely above a breath.

“Hey, aren’t you afraid I’ll tell people where your base is?”

I was about to leave, but the lingering anti-magic ward still gnawed at my domain. I walked out of Swordgate with Julian. She would take an airship to my temporary base near Hero Academy. I planned to go farther, slip the ward, and reach Anna through Shadow.

She asked on a whim.

It’s simple.

People like to ask why I share. Why I say too much. Why serious secrets slide out of my mouth.

It’s simple. It’s never trust. Trust crumbles before pride, grand causes, and heavy profit.

There’s only one real reason—

Because I don’t care. Even if you tell others, it doesn’t matter. Nothing will change.