Turning around, Rogue observed the scene inside the warehouse. Lilitha didn’t care that her clothes were soaked and stained. After the small window at the top slammed shut, she lunged toward where the pendant lay. Though her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark, she fumbled until her fingers closed around it.

Only when she confirmed the diamond-shaped crystal at the pendant’s center was still intact did she exhale deeply, a trace of relief washing over her. *Father’s pendant is still here.*

But the memory of what just happened flashed back. She clutched her neck, her body trembling violently as she gasped for air in ragged breaths.

After a long while, she crawled back to her usual corner. Instinctively, she glanced up at the warehouse ceiling—then flinched, curling her body even tighter.

Rogue had been watching for half an hour. Seeing no further movement from Lilitha, he stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Her state has reverted to how it was three days ago... but I still pushed too hard. Future punishments need moderation."

Pulling out a parchment notebook and quill, Rogue jotted down Lilitha’s condition. After instructing Unit One to stay guard, he headed toward the flower garden on the left.

Unit Three was there, watering plants with constant gurgling sounds—as if its programming genuinely enjoyed the task.

Rogue took two winding paths before stopping outside a factory building. This was where other prisoners were held, another magic-suppressed zone.

In his estate, the North Gate housed Rogue’s residence and the main entrance. The East, West, and South sectors held prisoners: East for minor offenders, West for mid-level, and South for the worst—those meant for execution after interrogation. Lilitha’s warehouse sat closer to the estate’s center.

Now, Rogue stood before the South Sector’s prison block.

He pulled out a parchment notebook stamped "12" and paced the narrow path outside the cells. He couldn’t watch Lilitha all day—not when he’d raised her training priority but still had duties to fulfill.

"Prisoner 12 nearly broke during the last session," he murmured, scanning his notes. "Unit Four has been applying daily torture at varying intensities. If she still won’t talk... she’ll have to be eliminated."

The factory was small. Rogue soon reached the cell marked "12."

Built from thick logs and wrapped in thorned demon vines, the cell’s floor was layered with straw—surprisingly clean except for the bloodstains soaking through.

"Garavie Hills," Rogue called, opening the cell door.

She was the daughter of a human noble, suspected of knowing secrets about the Abyssal Church. Three years ago, when the Hero Squad marched to slay Demon King Aria, they’d been crushed by her Legendary might and her demon armies. Just as Aria was about to annihilate them, the Abyssal Church—the very symbol of evil—intervened and saved the heroes. From that moment, Aria marked them for vengeance.

Rogue’s mission was to extract any secrets Garavie might hold about that day and the Church’s involvement.

The moment the door opened, a gaunt woman with a voluptuous figure barely covered by two rags lunged out. But before reaching Rogue, she dropped to her knees, clutching his leg. Prolonged torture had shredded her voice into a beastly rasp: "Lord Rogue! Please, spare me! I truly know no secrets! A curse binds me—I’d die the moment I speak of such things! I *will* die!"

Her cries drew attention from neighboring cells.

Rogue frowned and kicked her back inside. "Your only value lies in that secret. Lady Aria has no other use for you."

Garavie scrambled forward again, prostrating herself. Her once-fair face twisted into a desperate, ingratiating smile. "I understand, Lord Rogue! If *you* speak for me, Aria won’t kill me. To her, I’m less than an ant. You don’t have to obey her every command! I’m valuable—I have *great* value!"

"I can order my family to send gold! Resources, food—anything! I’ll reveal all our family secrets!" Her words tumbled out frantically. Then, catching Rogue’s gaze, her eyes lit up.

"And slaves! The Hills family trades in slaves! However many you want, I’ll provide them! It must be lonely here in the Demon Lord Fortress... We’re both human. I’ll even be *your* slave! Many barons desired me—I’ll satisfy you completely, Lord Rogue!"

She tore off her remaining rags, pressing her face against Rogue’s boot, rubbing her cheek against the leather as she offered everything she had left.

Rogue crouched down, lifting her chin with one finger. His eyes locked onto hers. "Anything at all... except the Abyssal Church’s secret?"

"*Yes! Yes! Yes!*" Garavie nodded wildly, euphoria flooding her features.

*He’s human. A man alone in this demon fortress must crave companionship. I’m nobility. Refined. Human. He’ll desire me. I can survive!*

Sometimes, survival demands any price.

Rogue’s expression remained blank. "Then tell me... do you know how to raise a pet?"

"A... pet?" Garavie froze. Then she dropped flat, stretching out her tongue to lick Rogue’s boot earnestly. "*Woof! Woof!* I can be a pet too! Walk me daily, Lord Rogue! Do anything you wish to me—*woof!*"

She licked and rubbed against his boot, as if she’d already become his devoted creature.

She was overjoyed he’d shown interest—utterly missing the growing regret in Rogue’s eyes.

*This* wasn’t the pet he wanted.

Just as Lady Aria’s desired "pet"—Lilitha, the Young Dragon Princess—wasn’t meant to be like this.

*Why did Lady Aria even order me to raise a dragon girl as a pet?*

"Kill her," Rogue stood abruptly, kicking Garavie toward Unit Four.

Garavie froze mid-crawl, her face draining of color. Before she could speak, Unit Four’s foot crushed her skull.

Blood splattered across the door of Cell 11. The silent demon inside suddenly slammed against the bars, greedily licking the fresh blood from the metal.

Rogue shot Unit Four a displeased glance, then sighed. "A shame Lady Aria has no soul mages. Interrogations wouldn’t be so tedious."

He strode toward the exit, flipping through his notes. "Prisoner 17—Moy Gracy. I’ll visit you soon. Think carefully before I return."

As Rogue neared the exit, a one-armed demon in Cell 1 called out, "Hey, Rogue!"

Rogue paused, raising an eyebrow.

The demon grinned, nodding at Garavie’s corpse being dragged away. "That one? Give her to me. Aria dislikes corpses. You know how it is."

"She’s dead."

"No matter. She’s still warm."

Rogue glanced at Garavie’s bleeding form and shook his head. "Lady Aria gave no orders to grant you special treatment."

He walked out. Behind him, scattered demonic laughter echoed: "Pathetic fool."

Rogue glanced back at Garavie’s body, tucking away his notebook.

*Two months ago, she lived in luxury. Now she dies here. Truly pitiful.*

What Rogue didn’t notice was that when the demons spoke those words, their gaze had never been on Garavie.