Rogue stepped into the cell.

The demon nearest to the entrance—Demon No. 1, who’d tried to claim that Galavi noble’s corpse last time—let out a whistle at the sight of him. "Hey Rogue, been a while since you dropped by. If you’d stayed away longer, the girl inside was about to kill a few more people."

Rogue glanced at the demon. Among the twenty prisoners, he was one of the few who ever spoke to him.

Curious, Rogue turned to Gilbert—his name—and said, "Tell me more."

"Two cups of blood wine?" Gilbert smacked his lips, as if savoring a memory.

But the moment that demand left his mouth, Rogue calmly walked past him. Lady Aria had warned him: this demon was tainted by the Abyss. Avoid contact unless interrogating.

Before Moy’s cell, her limbs were spread in a "T" shape, chained to a thick wooden post. Her coarse cloth garments barely covered her private parts, leaving large patches of pale skin exposed, still marked with fading whip scars.

Her head hung low, seemingly asleep. Long golden bangs hid her eyes, yet her uncovered features revealed a strikingly beautiful woman.

Rogue unlocked the cell door. The sound startled Moy awake. The instant her gaze locked onto him, Rogue felt as if a sharp sword pressed against his throat.

Magic was completely sealed here. Yet she radiated such might—truly worthy of the Sword Saint title.

But when she recognized Rogue, the hostility in her eyes faded. Beneath those golden bangs, her expression turned complex.

This confirmed it: Moy knew him. From before his amnesia.

Rogue shut the cell door. Magic flared, sealing the room off from the outside world.

Interrogations required privacy. And the information he sought—about three years ago—demanded absolute secrecy.

Moy looked at Rogue and forced a faint smile. She glanced at her bound wrists. "This is really uncomfortable. Could you loosen them?"

Rogue’s face remained expressionless. "Half a month ago, you wanted to kill me. I think this position works fine for talking."

"I can’t beat you." Moy shook her head, showing no trace of hostility. "Besides, treating a prisoner well sometimes makes them more cooperative."

Studying her face, Rogue stayed silent for a moment. Then he snapped his fingers. Moy’s handcuffs and leg irons clicked open. She tumbled to the floor, landing in a duck-sit posture, leaning against the wooden post behind her.

Moy shook out her messy golden hair. Only then did Rogue see her full face: a high nose bridge, sharp eyes, and a long scar across her forehead. It didn’t ruin her beauty—it added a touch of grit and tragic elegance.

Noticing his stare, Moy looked away. "I must look awful. No Sword Saint grace left. Even my clothes..."

She glanced down at her chest. The fall had shifted the torn cloth, barely covering her curves. She met Rogue’s eyes again, a hint of shyness and embarrassment coloring her expression.

Her nearly bare, alluring body—flawless despite bloodstains and scars—was poison to any male’s desire. Her Legendary status, her fame, and her title as the God of Glory’s chosen one only intensified that pull.

Conquering such a woman would be worth extinguishing one’s soul.

Even Moy watched for Rogue’s reaction.

She was disappointed.

Rogue’s expression didn’t flicker. His deep eyes, shadowed by bangs, stayed utterly calm—as if he had no lust at all.

"The last woman who tried to seduce me had her head crushed by the puppet outside. Almost right in front of you," Rogue said flatly, his gaze fixed on Moy’s eyes.

He couldn’t deny her figure was tempting. He was a normal man. But his reason wouldn’t allow such acts. He knew what he could do—and what he shouldn’t even think about.

"Boring," Moy muttered, resigned. "Ask what you want. I’ll tell you what I can. But I have one condition."

"Go on." Rogue was surprised by her cooperation.

Moy smiled faintly. "After your questions, I want to chat with you."

"Chat?"

"Yeah. Casual talk. About home stuff. You’ve lost your memories, right? I know you. I know what happened before. I’ll tell you everything. I, Moy Gracy, swear by the God of Glory—every word I say is true."

She looked certain, invoking her deity’s name. If she’d lied, divine punishment would’ve struck already.

Rogue’s breath hitched. "Fine. I accept."

The information was worth a little idle chatter.

Moy nodded. "Ask what you need first. Work before friendly talk."

"You once received a Divine Edict from the God of Glory. What did it say?" Rogue cut straight to the mission.

"Is this what Aria wants to know?" Moy countered.

Rogue’s voice stayed level. "Just answer."

Moy shifted against the post with a sigh. "I’m sorry. I can’t answer that. It’s not that I won’t. Loyalty and honor are the Gracy family creed. I won’t betray my Deity. And if divine punishment falls, nowhere here—no place in the Demon Lord Fortress—will be safe."

Rogue frowned. He hadn’t known this. Doubt crept in.

He scribbled Moy’s words onto a parchment scroll with a quill. "Then how does one contact a Deity?"

"Through devout faith... and luck."

"Luck?"

"Yes. In the Gracy family, my two older brothers were better than me. They prayed daily, trained hard, spread the Deity’s light. I was just a child back then—I didn’t even understand faith. Yet I received the blessing." Moy’s expression grew distant, then she shook her head.

"A Deity’s Edict, favor, or will—it all depends on their mood. There’s no pattern."

Rogue felt dissatisfied. Her answer was absurd. Everything decided by a Deity’s whim?

Why did mortals blindly chase them?

Could their so-called grace truly be called "random"?

He didn’t know if it was true. He’d just report it to Lady Aria.

Moy added, "If you need, I’ll swear again that this is true—at least as I see it. Anything else you’d like to ask?"