“Wedding, trip, where, hold?”

“So could you please toss the proposal aside for now? That’s not the point, not the arrowhead of this hunt.”

I went in ready to talk business, only to find a wall where words should go, like fog against a cliff. Still, I’ve grown used to speaking with Ferrel on a foundation of mutual misfire, like two boats passing in river mist, so I didn’t lose my cool.

Instead, a thin warmth of nostalgia rose, like steam off old tea.

Let’s skip the idle reeds. With people like Ferrel and Gloria, whose three views point to three moons, the right way is simple: make requests only, like planting flags on ice, don’t force understanding.

Or just outline what comes next, like tolling a bell before a storm. A threat at least rings true.

“If you can’t prove you won’t derail my plan, I’ll kill you here,” I said, like laying a blade on an altar.

Clear cause and effect, like tracks in fresh snow.

No matter how farce-bright the air turns, my purpose doesn’t drift, like a compass pinned to north.

This isn’t a thing you can smooth over with banter and tricks; this is a slaughter-net for villains, a circle of knives like a crescent moon. Vega has plotted since Helena, so today we can paralyze the Demon Slaying Sword completely, like cutting tendons in a single stroke.

I’d just received the message—“the encirclement is set, come quick”—and hurried from Lady Light Jade like a shadow fleeing dawn.

But—

Seeing Gloria scratch her head in fog, my weeks of plans and backhands felt useless, like arrows thudding into a haystack. My muscles went slack like damp rope.

Maybe she needs to see blood—no, oil—before she grasps how bad this is, like a machine learning pain through sparks.

No… wrong…

Looks like Gloria’s signal-noise infected me, and I almost made a joke of a choice, like juggling knives over oil.

I’m a villain.

My choices must be optimal, like a hawk choosing the tallest pine.

So what’s the optimal?

Make her shut up for good, like snuffing a candle with wet fingers.

Asking if she can give a reason that won’t out me was courtesy only, a symbolic bridge over a ravine. If not, I strike.

“Mm…” Gloria stared ahead like a frozen screen, still as a pond in winter.

“No? That’s a pity,” I said, like dusting ash from a sleeve.

I drew my beloved halberd Nandu from the Shadow, and chopped for her head like a falling guillotine.

No florid lines, like a winter tree without leaves.

No tender words, like a dry well without echoes.

No desperate pleas, like a kite whose string already snapped.

Only half a sentence’s worth of time, like a breath lost to wind.

Simple Slaughter: a clean throat-cut, guts scooped like warm ropes, flesh torn like wet parchment—make the most blood bloom in the shortest time, like poppies in a storm.

That’s how a villain should look, like ink on snow.

“Andor, hopes, to get, a good ending…?” she said, voice like pebbles skipping water.

“Whether that convinces me or not, you think I won’t kill you, so you won’t even guard yourself?” My words were knives dragged slow.

The halberd’s edge kissed her cheek like frost. Red liquid slid from the cut like a bead of pomegranate.

Blood or not, it looked the part, like lacquer on a shrine.

“Killing me, not, a good ending.”

“Who knows? For most people’s joy, a few die as payment, right?” I said, like counting coins under rain.

“But Andor, loves me. That, for Andor, not, a good ending. So Andor, won’t, kill me.” Her faith was a candle that didn’t flicker.

Her gray eyes shone with a mechanical gloss, like moonlight on steel. She truly wasn’t afraid I’d take her head; she watched me, quiet, our gazes locked like two blades crossing.

Why?

Why trust me this far, like walking blindfolded on ice?

I lied to you all, you know, like a fox in priest’s robes.

This isn’t how I pictured my reveal, like a curtain tearing at the wrong cue.

Usually, when things drift off the map like this, Shadow Demon Andor turns—

—irritable, like a hornet nest kicked.

“Don’t joke. Love? How do you know who I love? Do you even know what love is? Don’t wrap me in pretty words like silk over a knife.”

“Don’t know. But Andor, should, know,” she said, voice steady as rain.

She shook her head, careless of the blade floating there, and the wound tore wider like cloth.

I moved Nandu aside on instinct, like sliding fire away from paper.

“Andor, very gentle,” she said, like a bell rung soft.

“That’s not the reason I was waiting for,” I said, like frost over coals.

“So, I, love, Andor,” she said, simple as a seed in soil.

“Can you explain?” I asked, letting the heat drain like steam from rice.

After the snap comes the calm; Andor is the cool, silent evil, like a deep lake. Even with frenzy in the depths, I keep it hidden like eels under silt.

Find the optimal path.

Yes, seek the optimal, like a hunter circling the wind.

“I, love, Andor,” she repeated, each word a pebble in a stream.

“What’s in your love? Or what does this love even mean?” I asked, like weighing smoke.

She was a doll without anything, a child without names, like a paper lantern unlit. She mirrors Lady Light Jade like a lake reflects the moon, yet reversed, because Gloria holds only fixed logic. She can run by that daylight logic, yet she doesn’t know what it means, like a clock that keeps time without knowing noon.

Now, this doll became truly human, like clay breathing.

She’s starting to doubt herself in small ways, like a sprout nudging soil. Curious, not fierce, fine if left unsolved, yet nudged by a tiny current to understand, like a leaf following a brook.

No reason, so she thinks of reason, like a spider spinning air. No answer, so she seeks answers, like a moth finding the lamp. Besides that, she has nothing else to worry, like a sky without clouds.

“Andor, hopes, to get, a good ending. Andor, is, correct. So I, Gloria, trust, Andor’s, word, about, love,” she said, each comma a footbridge.

“So, you think my actions are correct, so my thoughts must be correct too?” I asked, like tapping a blade’s spine.

“Yes,” she said, a stone dropping into a well.

“But I’m a Demon King, a villain, a hate magnet with bared fangs. I’ve killed more than you’ve met, like a forest of skulls—and even so—”

“Andor, the only one, who can, get, a good ending. Andor, is, a gentle, correct, foolish, scoundrel,” she said, like counting stars on her fingers.

“Is that so…” I breathed, like wind over cold water.

You’re the fool.

Of all the altars to kneel at, you kneel at mine, hoping for the right answer, like a pilgrim kissing a wolf’s paw.

I’m the kind that eats you down to the bone, like acid under silk—yet now I can’t tell who the real monster is, like mirrors facing mirrors.

Vampires are monsters, yes; but a human who sees fangs and claws, and still offers their throat like a white swan—that’s no less monstrous.

“Efficient, win-win, balance, justice, parity, choice. More than Stini, more than Augustus, more than Maki, more than Father, I, Gloria, agree, with Andor,” she said, laying names like stones on a river path.

“…”

She’s the only one who recognized this correctness, like a night bird spotting a lighthouse.

A Demon King who lists the least deaths and the greatest gain, who shows the right answer like revealing a blade’s true edge—and the first to understand is a slow doll.

“Gloria, loves, Andor. Using, Andor’s, definition, of love,” she said, like holding a mirror to my face.

“That’s not what a human should say. I fought to install the Soul Component in you, not to make you someone’s accessory again. I admit the conquest thrills me like wine warming the chest, but your rashness irks me more, like grit in the eye.”

“Accepting, Andor, is, my, decision,” she said, firm as a nail in wood.

“…”

Thinking back, all the hostile motions were reflex, like flinches in thunder.

Maybe we both lacked killing intent from the start, no will to fight, like two cats eyeing and then yawning.

Maybe we already sensed the result of this encirclement, so we laid down the fight by instinct, like wolves avoiding a cliff.

I made every preparation, yet still held back, like a blade sheathed in rain; the only wound spilled just a few drops, like dew on a leaf.

Gloria never treated me as an enemy; even at the instant before death, she trusted I wouldn’t kill her, like a swallow flying into my hand.

No—she believes that even if I killed her, it would be “correct,” like frost ordained by winter.

This stubborn trust discards self and leans on me entirely, hard as iron and almost cruel, like vows carved in stone.

Even I feel the weight of it, like a mantle of lead.

But respecting another’s choice—that’s been my creed, like a rope I won’t cut.

And yes, a man’s conquest over a woman stirs secret joy, like embers under ash. A girl—even if only a girl in shape—depending on me like this is a sweet wine that turns the head.

So why refuse, like turning away from ripe fruit?

A villain eats the meal at his lips; why hesitate, like a tiger sniffing meat?

“Then next, to reach the good ending, I need you to cooperate like this…” I began, laying stones across the stream.

“I, think, honeymoon, trip, to the Arctic Tundra, is better,” she said, words like snowflakes falling off-beat.

“Can we please stay on topic first?” I said, hands in the air like gulls.

“I, like, fluffy, polar bears…” she murmured, eyes like clouds.

I never thought someone with tangled tongue could chatter so much, like a brook finding its voice. From another angle, maybe this is Gloria’s calm surface rippling with hidden joy, like fish stirring under ice.