Isabella stood atop an ancient magic circle, her pale golden eyes slowly opening.

She gazed around. Everywhere she looked lay the desolate ruins of a forgotten sanctuary.

The elven maiden knew this place—the Abyssal Sanctuary.

Sanctuaries were meant to honor deities.

Yet the Demonfolk’s goddess, the legendary Abyssal Goddess…

For generations beyond count, had she ever blessed the Demonfolk?

Unlike humans or other races—

Their gods’ countless blessings were woven into legends.

Whenever the Demonfolk flourished, entering an era of "glorious reign" and birthing a "King of This Age,"

The goddesses of the Pantheon would create beings called "Heroes."

They’d be granted the mission to slay the Demon King.

Thus halting the Demonfolk’s rise.

Compared to them, the Demonfolk seemed pitifully forsaken.

Even when a great Demon King emerged, one who might restore their glory,

The Abyssal Goddess remained absent—never once heard granting him blessings.

Generation after generation, Demon Kings met ruin.

Slowly, faith in the Abyssal Goddess wavered among the Demonfolk.

Now, only a few Abyssal Sanctuaries within Demon territory still received offerings.

The rest were abandoned, crumbling into ruins.

Yet beneath the Demon King Palace, teleportation arrays remained intact—gateways to every Abyssal Sanctuary.

Isabella’s delicate brows furrowed slightly. She lifted a hand to cover her nose and mouth.

As an elf, she had a mild aversion to filth.

Normally, she’d never set foot in such ruins.

But for that runaway scoundrel…

She’d chase him to the ends of the earth. No retreat.

Determination hardened her gaze, yet beneath it shimmered worry and grievance.

It only made the elven maiden’s beauty more exquisite.

Isabella reached out, sensing the ambient elemental magic.

A palm-sized orb of firefly-like light bloomed above her hand.

It illuminated the surroundings—and revealed footprints on the ground, still carrying the boy’s scent.

Her eyes flickered. Following Roy’s trail, she found the sanctuary’s sole exit:

A clear pool fed by an underground spring.

Without hesitation, Isabella leaped in.

Her slender form glided through the subterranean current like a mermaid in the deep sea.

Moonlight finally kissed the water’s surface as she emerged from a lake in Eoliel’s territory.

Gasping for air, her ample bosom rose above the water in perfect curves.

Silver hair clung to her flawless cheeks, dripping with droplets.

Her gaze fixed on the distant silhouette of a city.

Yet in her eyes, only one figure surfaced—a young man’s shadow.

Her fists clenched. A petulant flush colored her cheeks.

*When we meet again… what should I call you?*

*Your Highness? Your Majesty the Demon King? Roy…*

*Or…*

*"Master"?*

………………

Deep night. Sister Aisha’s bedroom.

Roy slept soundly cradled in warm, fragrant softness—a privilege of youth cuddling a beautiful, mature sister.

Just as he savored this tender dream,

A faint, familiar fragrance drifted near.

It stirred nostalgia—and jolted him wide awake.

The room remained unchanged. His vision was still filled with Sister Aisha’s "great holiness."

Ordinary girls might be called "greatly wicked,"

But as a nun, Sister Aisha earned a new term from Roy:

"Great holiness."

Undeniably heart-healing.

Yet now was no time for "ball-watching."

The killing intent seeping from behind chilled his spine.

Roy murmured an ancient demonic incantation into Aisha’s ear.

*A sleep charm.*

Ensuring her rest remained undisturbed.

No matter what chaos erupted beside her, she’d sleep soundly till dawn.

(Not that anything *would* erupt beside Sister Aisha—Roy wasn’t *that* reckless.)

Only then did he turn, feigning calm despite his thumping heart.

Moonlight bathed the windowsill, illuminating a figure of flawless grace.

Silver hair like frost. Cheeks like snow. Delicate, pointed ears marking her noble blood.

A beauty stepped from a painting—elegance honed by centuries of lineage.

Once the Elvenfolk’s princess.

Then a war trophy of the Demonfolk.

Now… a maid serving the Demon King.

"Isabella…" Roy spoke her name, warmth and longing woven into the syllables.

The elven maiden’s furious eyes flickered, disarmed for a breath.

*No!* she scolded herself. *Don’t be charmed again!*

Did he think a single call could erase days of vanishing without a word?

Did he expect forgiveness so easily?

*What a cunning scheme!*

*And Roy—you scoundrel!*

*Look at yourself!*

Roy saw the silent accusation in her glare. Only her noble upbringing held back greater fury.

He scratched his head sheepishly.

*What’s wrong with this?*

*Sharing a bed with a kind nun from the human town?*

*No, no—too vulgar.*

*Two wounded hearts finding solace in each other’s warmth.*

"Ahem. Isabella, this is a misunderstanding," he began.

"I know you’re upset, but please—don’t rush to judge."

"Let me explain properly—"

*Slowly spin my lies…*

Isabella ignored him. Her gaze slid past Roy’s handsome face

To the golden-haired girl beside him—curves rivaling, even surpassing her own.

Clad only in undergarments, nearly bare.

Yet Isabella caught not a trace of *his* scent on her.

Relief flickered, faint but real.

But confusion remained.

*What is this?*

*Caught in bed… before anything even happened?*

Roy wore an expression of pure innocence.

*As if to say, "Sister Aisha and I share pure friendship."*

*Since when does "pure friendship" happen in bed?!*

Isabella’s teeth clenched. A cold, mocking smile forced its way onto her lips.

"Yes. I’ve come."

"But it seems… I’ve come at the wrong moment."

"Forgive my intrusion… *Your Majesty the Demon King*."