Little Demon Sword Yukishir, whose combat prowess vanished the moment she left her master’s side, finally yielded under Isabella’s threats and bribes. She revealed the whereabouts of the Demon King Roy.

It seemed only natural.

Yet in truth, given Yukishir’s unwavering loyalty to Roy, how could she ever betray her master’s location so easily? Not even to the Elven Maid, who shared such intimacy with him!

The sole reason was this: Roy had instructed Yukshir beforehand.

—“If Isabella sees through your disguise, tell her where I am.”

—“It’s fine.”

—“But is it truly fine, Master?!”

—“Well… I might get eaten, if I’m unlucky~”

—“Eh?!”

Yukshir couldn’t grasp the Demon King’s words. She only felt dread—how terrifying the Elvenfolk were, devouring Demonfolk like this…

Yet she obeyed His Majesty without question. She truthfully disclosed his location to the maid.

Isabella immediately lost all interest in the sword-woman. She no longer pressured Yukshir to work. Such trivialities paled beside her master.

She left the Tower of Dominion and strode straight toward the heavily guarded teleportation array deep within the Demon King Palace.

On the third sublevel, molten lava flowed through underground rivers. A colossal three-headed hound blocked Isabella’s path. Its crimson eyes glowed, pointed ears stood rigid, and a spiked tail lashed like a whip. Its massive frame resembled a fortress wall—more lion or tiger than dog. A low, furious growl rumbled as dagger-like fangs, thick as a maiden’s thigh, gleamed from its jaws.

Sensing Isabella’s approach, the beast’s fur flared like flames, its body swelling larger. This was one of Demonfolk’s mightiest monsters: the classic Hell Hound.

Isabella didn’t even glance at it. She tossed a spherical object over her shoulder.

“Woof!~” x3

Three excited barks erupted simultaneously. The giant Hell Hound barreled after the ball like a wild stallion, leaping over Isabella’s head. Its charge whipped up a gale that sent the elf maiden’s black-and-white skirt fluttering wildly, revealing glimpses of snow-pale thighs.

The spiked tail whipped through the air. Isabella dodged with a single-handed side flip. In a flash, her slender leg traced an elegant arc, perfectly avoiding the strike.

Graceful. Utterly graceful!

Having lured the beast away, Isabella merely brushed stray silver strands from her ear. As if nothing had happened, she stepped calmly into the underground palace.

The ball she’d used? A delicacy from the Demon Realm capable of driving even Hell Hounds mad: the eyeball of a Cyclops.

………………

Beneath the Demon King Palace lay dozens of teleportation arrays leading across the Divine Blessing Continent. Most were now useless—magic stones depleted, arrays in human or orc territories destroyed. Only a handful remained functional.

Isabella sought the array dedicated to the human kingdom of Eoliel.

A Demonfolk mage guarding the chamber turned his ashen face beneath a hooded robe. He seemed unsurprised. “Come to see His Majesty? Follow me.”

“Thank you.”

As Isabella trailed him, a nearby array suddenly flared to life, bathing the chamber in soft green light. Pure, weightless mana coalesced at its center, flying toward her. It transformed into a glowing butterfly—wings shimmering, antennae delicate—circling her body before alighting on her shoulder with uncanny affection.

“…”

Isabella simply remained silent, unmoved by the spectacle.

The mage glanced back, his voice tinged with awe. “Truly, the princess of Elvenfolk possesses the purest elemental affinity.” He gestured toward the still-glowing array. “That one leads to a Demon Temple deep within Elven Forest. I can activate it anytime. You could return to your homeland.” His shadowed face twisted into a chilling smirk. He’d never trusted this silver-haired, pale-skinned elf. Only the Demon King’s command kept him compliant. Now, he tested her. Tempted her. Hoping to witness betrayal.

*Those not of our blood harbor alien hearts.*

Isabella shook her head.

The mana butterfly shattered into dust, vanishing as if rejected.

“Ever since they handed me over as a ‘war trophy’ in their surrender treaty…” Her voice stayed flat, heavy as stone. “That place ceased to be my home. I have no ties left to the Elvenfolk.”

The mage’s wrinkled face relaxed into a rasping chuckle. “Well said! Those pointy-eared hypocrites parade as holy while scheming in shadows! They start wars for profit, then sacrifice innocent women and children! At least we Demonfolk don’t hide our sins! Staying with our Demon King? Excellent choice!”

“…”

Isabella felt neither comfort nor offense. She pressed on. “Mage, I wish to reach my master swiftly.”

“Right, right! Your kin excel at tracking magic—you won’t need my help, will you?”

“…No. Thank you, Mage.”

The robed elder led her to an array etched with complex runes. Raising his gaunt, blue-skinned hands, he chanted ancient incantations. White light pulsed from the stones, growing blinding. Wind surged, whipping Isabella’s skirt as she stepped forward. Her plump lips pressed tight, long ears quivering slightly. She stepped onto the unknown path.

White light flashed. Consciousness fled.

When awareness returned, the Elven Maid stood within a buried temple in Eoliel.