Roy slowly came to his senses, then turned to his maid as if remembering something.

"Isabella, remind the little Demon Sword for me—it’s fine if she doesn’t push herself so hard."

"There’s no need to go easy on troublesome Demonfolk."

"I’m such a tyrant~"

Isabella blinked in slight surprise at his words.

But she quickly understood, her beautiful eyes lighting up.

The girl knew her master’s intentions well.

Since he had confirmed the Hero would appear soon,

it meant her master—the Demon King—would undoubtedly rise as the "Sovereign of This World," leading all Demonfolk to glory.

By then, everything he did would be politically unassailable and utterly legitimate.

Isabella had long resented the nobles who covertly defied her master’s decrees.

Now, with his explicit permission?

She and Yukshir would make those detestable nobles pay.

A hint of vindictive delight flickered across the Elven maid’s fair cheeks.

Feeling the night breeze brush against him, Roy continued:

"Also, once we return to the Demon King’s Castle..."

"Isabella, check the Demon General registry for me. Find anyone whose signature trait is a roar like a wolf mixed with an eagle’s cry."

"It must be some hybrid Demonfolk."

"Focus on the Seventh Stronghold area—it might be one of her subordinates."

Roy narrowed the search to Demon Generals for a reason.

Aisha and Airi’s parents had been legendary kingdom-class adventurers.

In an era without Heroes, they were the strongest fighters any ordinary nation could field.

Even mighty empires granted them high status and respect.

To defeat such a pair single-handedly?

Only a Demon General could manage that—

and at least a mid-tier one at that.

A brief note on Demonfolk military ranks:

From highest to lowest—

Grand Commander, Autocratic Demon General, High-tier Demon General, Mid-tier Demon General, Low-tier Demon General, Captain of a Thousand, Captain of a Hundred, and regular soldiers.

The "Grand Commander" title belonged solely to the Demon King, supreme commander in foreign wars.

The famed Autocratic Demon Generals stemmed from an ancient system.

Long ago, during Demonfolk’s peak expansion—when they reportedly ruled the entire Divine Blessing Continent—

the Demon King’s Castle Ymir and its seven guarding strongholds formed their unshakable core.

The Demon King ruled Ymir directly,

while the seven strongholds were each governed by an Autocratic Demon General.

These generals stood "beneath only one demon, above ten thousand others."

This system arose because the Demon King couldn’t personally manage vast territories,

and victorious generals demanded rewards worthy of their conquests.

Thus, the Autocratic Demon General system was born: seven generals ruling seven strongholds in the Demon King’s stead.

But now, that system had rotted into a bloated, uncontrollable burden.

In both his past life and this one,

these Autocratic Demon Generals were among Roy’s most urgent threats.

Some were so dangerous...

they proved more troublesome than the Heroes themselves.

Otherwise, why—

despite ruling from the impregnable Demon King’s Castle,

protected by seven strongholds—

could Hero teams still breach every defense to reach the Demon King Palace for an early final battle?

Only because traitors lurked within the Demonfolk ranks.

The thought still made Roy grind his teeth.

Sometimes, a traitor’s harm cut deeper than any external enemy.

Though unaware of her master’s full plan, Isabella nodded firmly.

"I will, my lord."

Once back at the castle, she’d scour the Demon General registry immediately.

"Then I’m counting on you, Isabella."

Roy gently pulled the maid into his embrace.

Reunited after so long, they had countless words left unspoken.

Though reborn with regrets, Roy refused to burden her with heaviness.

Instead, he showed only the playful, mischievous side fitting his youthful appearance—

teasing his lovely Elven Maid until she burst into giggles one moment,

then flushed with shyness the next.

As the moonlit night deepened the romance,

their silhouettes merged once more in an inevitable kiss.

Isabella understood anew:

her master’s lips were truly sweet.

Long moments later, their lips parted reluctantly,

soft breaths mingling in the night air,

leaving a silver thread of moisture in the moonlight.

Roy’s cheeks were flushed too, but he feigned nonchalance with a grin.

"Isabella, did you know~?"

"Under Eoliel law, you might get arrested for this."

*You wouldn’t want others knowing what you did to this innocent young man, would you, Miss Elf?*

Floating in post-kiss daze, Isabella froze at his words.

Then a flustered, indignant blush spread across her face.

"Then you’re doomed, Master!"

"Eh? Why?"

"Elves are long-lived! By human standards, I’m... at best a toddler who just learned to walk!"

"!?"

*Since when did that loophole exist?*

Seeing her master’s stunned expression, Isabella fought a laugh.

But she puffed out her chest—making it sway slightly—and held up two fingers with mock solemnity.

"Now, you have only two choices."

"First: surrender quietly. With my testimony and your good behavior, the judge might reduce your sentence~"

"But you’d still get three years of ‘wifely’ imprisonment! Maximum penalty: death!"

"As for the second option... mmph?"

"Mmph!"

"...~"

There was no second option.

Roy broke the law again,

claiming her lips once more.

*Pun-ish. So very pun-ish.*

(Though Isabella was only teasing.

Elven longevity referred only to their extended adulthood and elder years.

Before that, they matured nearly as fast as humans.

If Roy recalled correctly...

Isabella’s coming-of-age day was approaching soon.

What gift should he give his loyal Elven Maid—

the beautiful Miss Isabella—

as thanks for her years of companionship, and for all the years ahead?

The answer... was obvious.

Just like in his past life.

—It was Roy himself.)