The Demonic Race... they're getting more and more outrageous... the man thought. He lifted the silver cup from the table, sniffing the wine.

The wine was fragrant and mellow, but only that. He longed to gulp it down. For an old drunkard like him, swigging the continent's strongest Moro wine was easy. Yet, someone held him back...

"Dad! No sneaking drinks!" He recalled his daughter eyeing him with a hint of disdain, breaking out in a cold sweat. This little girl...

Drinking causes trouble...

Truth was, she hadn't existed before—just a drunken accident that gave him a daughter...

He was a reclusive man, wanting no one near him. Until one day, that woman appeared, announcing he had a child...

What a surprise fatherhood. She was only three, utterly destitute. Her ragged, thin clothes hung loosely. Her sallow face screamed malnutrition. She feared him deeply...

Her mother? The one who'd gotten him drunk. She'd suddenly claimed he had a kid... planning to dump the child on him while demanding hefty child support. After all, she'd kept this "money-loser" for three years...

He tossed her two hundred old gold coins without hesitation. "Take the kid and leave." She transformed instantly—like a starving wolf spotting prey—shedding her earlier arrogance. She fawned, eager to flee. Money mattered more than crossing him. To her, two hundred holy gold coins meant a lifetime of debauchery. This child? Ditch her. She'd already scammed the cash. Selling her wouldn't fetch much; probably no takers anyway. As her "mother," she might as well spare some goodwill.

And she was only three...

The woman rushed to leave the mansion. But the child, terrified of her mother, clung to a hall pillar, sobbing and refusing to go. Beaten or scolded, she wouldn't budge...

He was reclusive, after all. The noisy crying angered him. Scowling, silver cup in hand, he stomped downstairs. There she was—crying desperately, clinging tight.

Suddenly, his heart softened...

"Keep her. You can leave." He drove the woman away. She slunk off...

The child stopped crying instantly, as if understanding. She gazed at him with tear-filled eyes...

His heart softened again...

Her mother was pure scum...

Only then did he study the child closely.

She was ugly. Surviving without proper meals was a miracle. Her sallow skin clung to protruding bones—no trace of a little girl. Her messy hair, though tidied, looked hideous. Like a freak... so thin and unattractive...

"Hmm..." the man murmured thoughtfully.

Better bathe her first. She reeked of stench...

The mansion held no one but him. Naturally, he had to wash her...

She didn't resist. Obediently, she let him clean her. Everything flowed smoothly. She listened as if she had a soul...

"No name yet? Then I'll call you Lilith," he muttered to himself.

Time flies... Thirteen years gone in a blink... he sighed.