"Milord, welcome."

Wely’s Tavern had an unusual guest today—an even more unusual sight was the mug of beer he ordered.

The few demons scattered around the tavern wisely shuffled aside as Rogue took a seat at the bar.

"You seem troubled," Wely remarked. This was the first time he’d seen Rogue drink here; usually, the man only came for information.

"Two jugs of bloodwine. For my estate."

"Right away, milord."

Rogue rarely touched alcohol. Ever since leaving Aria’s castle, a suffocating pressure had coiled in his chest—as if an invisible hand gripped his throat.

*I got carried away.*

His fingers traced the rim of the wooden mug. Kurero’s words to Aria echoed in his mind. That cup of dragon blood? A first warning.

Killing the elf was a blatant message: *Don’t act against my will. Your autonomy exists only within my control.*

Witnessing Lilitha’s gradual change—the soft calls of "Master," her sweet smiles—had ensnared Rogue’s lonely heart. He’d forgotten why he’d raised her in the first place:

*To groom a compliant pet for Lady Aria.*

He was merely a caretaker. Not her true owner.

Only twenty-some days remained until the two-month deadline. Then, he’d have to give Lilitha back.

*How foolishly I took it all for granted.*

*Clang!*

The sound snapped Rogue back to reality. Wely stood across the bar, smiling faintly. "Milord, something rather interesting has surfaced lately. Might you be curious?"

"Interesting?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.

Wely nodded. "Over the past two days, Abyssal Creatures have begun appearing within the Demon Lord Fortress. Even General Germok’s soldiers—many have been infected."

*Abyssal Creatures...*

The words dragged Rogue’s thoughts to the Great Abyss chasm he’d passed—and to Puppet Number Five.

He stayed silent, gesturing for Wely to continue.

"With your capabilities, milord, this is a golden opportunity. Senior priests are scarce here. You could profit handsomely from treating infected soldiers, commoners... even nobles." Wely finally revealed his aim. "I propose crafting antidotes. My tavern will supply materials and handle sales—at no cost to you. You’d take seventy percent of the profits."

A merchant’s greed. If Rogue needed coin, he might have agreed.

But his mind was elsewhere. "If Lady Aria tasks me with this later, I’ll reconsider your offer. For now—tell me more about these Abyssal Creatures in the fortress."

"Of course." Wely bowed slightly.

As Wely spoke, Rogue pieced together the timeline:

A week ago, Abyssal Creatures first surfaced near the fortress. Distant from the Great Abyss, steward Mallo dismissed it, sending only a handful of soldiers to deal with it.

Disastrously. Three soldiers returned infected—their bodies parasitized. They had to be executed and burned.

Soon, the creatures infested sewers and garbage pits—places branded "filthy"—then spread rapidly with the heavy rains.

They remained dormant until three nights ago. Something triggered them. Hidden creatures turned frenzied overnight.

Infected soldiers who’d merely carried the taint suddenly sprouted grotesque tentacles. Those with strong wills fought the corruption with magic—or chose suicide.

The rest lost their minds. Some died screaming; others attacked their own kin.

Mallo and the nobles tried to suppress the news, but panic spread. Only after Aria intervened last night did the chaos subside.

Now, every priest in the fortress was overwhelmed with treatment.

Rogue absorbed it all. After further discussion, he left the tavern.

He stretched his senses along the path back to his estate. No unusual auras trailed him. Number Five remained quietly within the manor walls—never stepping outside.

Because of Rogue, the puppet carried an Abyssal aura. He’d layered multiple concealment runes over him, terrified of discovery.

*We were both aboveground when this started. Suspicion shouldn’t fall on him.*

Rogue placed the two jugs of bloodwine in his room—bribes for prisoners, a pretext to see Moy again.

But now... He checked the time. *Feeding Lilitha.*

He needed a plan.

Aria’s suspicion had crystallized. Whether she intended to kill him was unclear, but his recent actions had certainly crossed her line. In her most ruthless state, she might strike.

Rogue knew his strength. Against the Demon King?

*No chance of victory.*

"I’m still just a fish awaiting slaughter..." he muttered bitterly, silver light flickering in his palm.

This power could invade dreams. He’d start with Moy’s.

*Perhaps his dreams can define my identity.*

Then Lilitha’s. If the man from her Dragon Isle memories was his younger self... then she, too, was tied to his past.

Moy had said it: *Seek your memories and origins through Lilitha.*

"...I pray things don’t spiral further."

This ability was his only thread to his lost self. Until he unraveled the truth, he had to protect Lilitha and Moy.

*If necessary... I’ll defy Aria.*

Three years. No past. No future. Every day drowning in confusion, forced to wear masks, to crawl like a rat in shadows. Stumbling through the Demon Lord Fortress. Even ensnared by compulsion magic—a puppet on strings.

Rogue refused to live numbly any longer. Even a sliver of hope was worth shattering this cage.

He took several deep breaths, forcing the storm of thoughts down. *Not yet. No rebellion without preparation.*

Calm. Calculated.

He picked up a small cup, gripping it firmly.

First—draw a small cup of dragon blood from Lilitha.