This was a good start—proof she was beginning to think.

Wondering if my actions were tied to this clock? Exactly what Rogue intended by placing it in the warehouse.

Before this scene, Rogue wouldn’t disappoint Lilitha’s expectations. The moment the clock chimed, he pushed open the warehouse door. Light flooded in, and a flicker of delight crossed Lilitha’s face.

*Delighted she’d guessed my pattern?*

*Or because my arrival meant the pendant was here?*

Rogue stood still, observing her next move.

Just as he’d predicted, Lilitha walked toward him. Normally, he’d have to drag her out when she was uncooperative—but when she reached him, he gently pushed her back. Confusion flickered in her eyes. Fear still lingered, her body trembling slightly. Rogue guided her to the small stool nearby.

Her usual bathing spot.

He brought out the wooden tub, set food aside as usual, and hung the pendant on the wall. While filling the tub, he added fresh medicinal herbs.

Lilitha kept trying to reach the pendant, but it hung too high. Rogue patiently held her in place.

Her minor wounds had fully healed. Even the severe injuries from past abuse were scabbing over. Dragons healed fast—Rogue hadn’t used a single healing spell. Next came treating the deep scars, slowly restoring the beauty hidden beneath them.

Once the herbal water was ready, Rogue lifted the uncooperative Lilitha into the tub. She barely struggled, just gripping the rim, eyes fixed on the pendant.

*Why isn’t it glowing?*

But as a pet, this was rude. Rogue pressed her head, forcing her to look at him. Each time her gaze drifted toward the pendant, he corrected her. She soon understood: no eye contact meant no bath.

To get the pendant faster, she had to obey.

Her body had grown used to his touch. This time, aside from stiffness, she offered little resistance. Only when he washed her hair and plump tail did she frown in displeasure.

After drying her silver hair with magic came the dreaded feeding. Only when everything was done did Rogue hand her the pendant.

Lilitha stroked it, glancing at Rogue repeatedly. *Why won’t it glow? If it doesn’t… where’s Father?* Unease gnawed at her, yet she still felt that faint, invisible thread connecting her to him.

The moment ten minutes passed, Rogue took the pendant back. As he left, Lilitha felt a pang of loss. When the door shut and darkness swallowed the warehouse, she hugged her shoulders and shivered.

She hated this suffocating gloom.

The clock sat in the corner. She waited for its next chime.

Outside, Rogue was pleased with her progress. Once she stabilized, he’d gradually reduce her access to the pendant.

Everything was moving in the right direction.

By noon, after feeding her, Rogue inspected the manor. The mana-suppressing barrier was complete—and upgraded. This array could now withstand two high-tier magical assaults.

Tonight was when the tavern keeper predicted the attack. Yet Rogue felt an inexplicable unease.

Evening feeding went smoothly, but Lilitha’s spirit had dimmed since morning. She seemed troubled.

*She senses it too.*

Rogue considered himself strong. Though a healing-focused Priest with no past memories, he could still claim combat prowess. His instincts were rarely wrong—and this dread was intensifying, like a storm about to break.

That night, unable to focus on studying Draconic, he stepped out of his room. Germok approached.

"Rogue. No anomalies here?"

Rogue frowned. "Something happened?"

Germok shook his head. "Probably just my nerves."

"You felt it too?" Rogue gazed at the sky. The moon glowed an eerie crimson.

Germok exhaled, his three-meter frame turning toward Aria’s direction. "The Silver Dragon King falls tonight. That unease… it’s his."

Rogue instinctively glanced at the warehouse. Usually asleep by now, Lilitha was pacing restlessly inside.

*So the Silver Dragon King truly dies tonight.*

"Strengthen defenses. Tonight’s their perfect chance."

The tavern keeper’s intel was reliable. Their calm these past days was just waiting.

A Legendary would join the fight—desperate to reclaim Lilitha.

Rogue spread his palm. Scars and calluses covered it. For some reason, his heart raced.

***BOOM!***

Flames erupted over the Demon Lord Fortress. Defensive arrays hummed to life as a colossal silver dragon soared above the city, its breath engulfing rooftops.

Germok grinned, bloodthirsty eyes locked on the beast. "Bold little pests. Tonight, none of them leave alive."

Wings spread. Muscles bulged. His height surged from three meters to five. With a thrust of claws and wings, he launched toward the dragon.

Demon Lord Army guards mobilized. Rogue activated the manor’s defenses.

Seven-star and eight-star elites guarded the grounds—yet his unease refused to fade.

The dragon above the fortress radiated Legendary pressure, palpable even here. *Why attack the fortress head-on now?*

A diversion?

But they’d already committed a Legendary. What made them think they could breach *this* manor?

Rogue’s staff materialized in his hand—not the wooden elf-crafted one, but a new one: obsidian-black, woven from tiny skulls. Their jagged edges gleamed under the crimson moon.

More sword than staff.

Then—a dragon’s roar shook the entire underworld.

Powerful. Agonized. Defiant. Yet threaded with resignation.

Silver specks gathered in the distant sky, then scattered like falling stars.

Even this desolate underground realm seemed to breathe with renewed life.

The Silver Dragon King had fallen.

Rogue had no time to mourn. He whirled toward the opposite horizon, staff gripped tight. Muscles locked. Every hair on his body stood on end. Danger screamed in his veins.

A tiny speck of light swelled on the horizon, surging toward them with crushing force.

"This… is an Overlord Magic!"