Deep within the gloomy, damp dungeons of the Darklord Citadel, Alquett lay bound by anti-magic chains, utterly immobilized.

Her battered armor hung precariously on her frame. Fresh, crimson welts circled her wrists and neck—a testament to her fierce, futile struggles.

All of it had been for nothing.

Just days ago, when her Hero squad had raced from the Imperial Capital to the frontier, victory seemed certain. With her arrival, the human empire’s forces surged forward like an unstoppable tide, seizing vast Demonkind territories and pushing the front lines nearly ten thousand miles beyond the border.

Had momentum held, they could have stormed the Darklord Citadel itself—razed its towers, slain the legendary Demonlord, and ended this centuries-long war for good.

Since the kingdoms declared war on Demonkind, generations had bled for this truth: light and darkness could never coexist. From their very birth, demons were destined to clash with humanity. Only by eradicating every last demon could peace flourish. This was the creed Alquett, born a Hero, had never doubted.

Yet when she urged, *"Let’s eliminate the Demonlord now,"* her fellow Heroes and commanders had all looked away, their expressions unreadable.

*"This year’s victories are enough for commendation."*

*"No need to gamble our advantage on reckless advances."*

*"Just do the bare minimum for the Church’s records—what’s the pay worth, anyway?"*

*"...I should shove the Holy Sword right up their—!"*

Every day the Demonlord lived, innocent captives suffered. Two days meant double the torment. A year? An eternity of agony. Such simple logic, yet they stalled. Even her fellow Church-chosen Heroes refused to back her.

In the end, only her squad charged ahead. Ambushed while pursuing the Demonlord’s Four Generals, they were overwhelmed. Trustworthy shield-warrior Tarik took multiple arrows, forced to retreat for healing. Timid but peerless elven archer Silverwind vanished mid-battle.

But the deepest wound was Viola Grey—her squad’s sole mage, her dearest friend. The Imperial Magic Academy’s star pupil, master of healing and support spells... now dragged away by filthy goblins, bound and thrown into this very citadel.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours without her staff. Seventy-two hours for that gentle, noble-born girl—pure and radiant as a blooming flower—to endure the horrors of a demon prison. Alquett couldn’t bear to imagine it.

Memories of cheap romance novels flashed in her mind: beautiful girls captured by monsters, their fates worse than death. A shiver ripped through Alquett. Her pulse hammered. Blood burned in her veins.

*"Viola... my dear... hold on. I’m coming for you..."*

A murmur escaped her lips. Then—wine fumes. Roasted meats. Raucous laughter drifting from the corridor.

*A banquet?*

*How disgustingly decadent.*

While the front lines bled, demons feasted? What was there to celebrate—

Her gaze dropped to the chains biting into her own tender skin. *Ah.* Capturing a top-tier Hero warranted celebration, apparently.

*Fools.*

She whispered the true command phrase of the anti-magic chains. The restraints slackened instantly.

This "lock" was *her* sacred artifact. Did they truly think a demon’s clumsy incantation could control it?

*If all demons are this gullible, the Citadel will fall sooner than I thought.*

But first—Viola. Where was she?

*Scritch.*

The dungeon door groaned open. Light footsteps tapped closer—boots or heels—echoing through the stone halls toward her cell.

Alquett snapped the chains back into place, face hardening into defiant resolve as she glared at the doorway.

Silky black twin-tails framed a pale face. Crimson eyes glowed in the gloom. A gothic lace-trimmed dress hugged her petite frame. Wings folded neatly behind her. Tiny horns peeked from her hair. A tail flicked playfully.

The juvenile Dragonmaid who’d captured her. *Lilith*, was it?

*Disgusting liar. Even her name reeks of deceit.*

Lilith stopped outside the bars, studying Alquett in silence. Then, softly:

*"So beautiful."*

*What?* Flattery to weaken her guard? Or a prelude to sending brutish orcs to...?

Alquett braced for the worst—but this wasn’t the lecherous brute she’d planned for.

*My fault. Got carried away in battle. Left only this one to "capture" me.*

Lilith dragged a stool to the cell door, plopped down, and propped her chin on her palms. She just... stared. Shifting. Scratching her knee. Kicking her heels against the stool legs.

*"...Are you done gawking?!"*

After fifteen suffocating minutes, Alquett snapped—cheeks flushed. Being scrutinized like this by a child was unbearable. *Viola needed her!*

That roaming gaze even made her feel... exposed.

*"Kill me! Torture me! Get it over with!"*

*"Ah... that’s not in my job description, you know."* Lilith scratched her chin, shrugging.

*"Job description?!"*

*"Yep! I tend the cooking fires. Fetch water. Deliver meals to prisoners like you."*

*"...What?"*

*"The usual guard, Rek, got drunk. I’m covering his shift—ugh, so boring."* Lilith’s nose wrinkled. *"I just meant... girls here are stunning. No makeup skills either! Like that hat-wearing one we caught days ago—"*

*"HAT-WEARING?!"* Alquett’s breath hitched. *"Purple apprentice robes? Braided hair? Dimples when she smiles?!"*

*"Yeah! Viola, right? I brought her meals these past two days."*

*"Where is she?! Is she—?!"* Alquett’s urgency shattered her caution.

Lilith tapped her lip, smiling sweetly. Her next words froze Alquett’s blood:

*"After three days of training... she’s fully embraced life here in the Darklord Citadel~"*

***Crack.***

Something inside the cell—something fragile—shattered silently.