Jetri was in a foul mood. A truly terrible one.

To put it bluntly, he felt like a gamer who’d fought tooth and nail to the final boss, credits rolling before his eyes—only for the screen to flicker. Poof. Save file vanished.

The Sage, who shall remain nameless, now radiated resentment deeper than a vengeful ghost’s.

He yanked down a galloping knight mid-rant about the Demon King’s resurrection.

“What happened?” Jetri asked, already bracing for the answer.

The knight’s eyes were hollow, exhaustion etched deep. Even after Jetri roughly magicked him off his horse, he just stared blankly and bellowed:

“The Demon King’s army has returned! Satan is reborn!”

“Why scream so damn loud?!” Jetri slapped a hand over the man’s helmet.

Well—not just a slap.

A wizard’s palm meeting steel hurt like hell.

He merely cast a second-circle Clarity spell instead.

“AAAAH! SATAN! THE DEMON KING!!!” The knight jolted awake, shrieking in terror—then slumped sideways, unconscious.

Jetri checked his neck.

Alive.

Fine.

He sighed, dumping the knight roadside. A second-circle Restoration spell later, Jetri knew lingering here yielded nothing.

Half an hour after, he stood in Hanover Palace’s war room.

King Delan’s face was grim.

“Your Majesty, what’s the situation?” Vya asked.

She wasn’t feigning ignorance—she knew of the Demon King’s “return,” but not the details.

“Minister Pyle, brief them.” The king nodded to Delan’s other powerholder.

Lee Pyle, Delan’s Prime Minister.

“The situation is simple,” the silver-haired, weary-eyed minister stated coolly. “Satan declared his resurrection and purged unstable elements within the Demon Clan. Now his army marches on Delan’s border.”

“Don’t they attack yearly?” Lilith frowned, her half-elf ears twitching.

“Yes. But this time, Satan vows to lead the charge himself.”

Jetri’s gaze turned glacial. There was no hiding now.

As always, he stayed silent in meetings. If he had opinions, he’d voice them privately to the king or Pyle.

“Additionally,” Pyle continued, “Satan grants one year.”

“One year for what?” Victoria’s eyes were still faintly red-rimmed, but all grief had hardened into resolve.

“One year for the Radiant Star Squad to slay him again.” Pyle’s voice was heavy.

King Hanover II shut his eyes, pain raw on his face—a rare sight for the diligent ruler. He stayed silent. His daughter *had* to return to the Demon Realm’s heart. He was no legendary king, but a responsible father and leader. He wouldn’t beg her to stay.

“Did Satan say this personally?” Vya pressed.

“The messenger knights confirmed it,” Pyle sighed.

Jetri’s mind replayed their last battle—not searching for clues, but mapping better routes.

“Jetri,” Pyle turned to him. “Your thoughts?”

“A trap.” Jetri’s tone was flat.

“The Archmage Corps agrees.”

“But an open one.” Jetri met Pyle’s gaze. He knew the minister needed someone to voice the unspoken: *The Radiant Star Squad must go.* They’d killed Satan once. Heroes couldn’t refuse. No kingdom could bear the shame of forcing them.

“So we go.”

Pyle nodded grimly, waiting for Jetri’s price.

But Jetri shifted his gaze to Vya. “Captain?”

“You decide,” she murmured.

“Good.” He faced Pyle again. “Funds. Gear. Personnel. I need substantial support.”

“Granted.” Pyle’s tight smile wasn’t about the terms—it was the Demon King’s army camped at Delan’s gates. As Prime Minister of a frontline kingdom, he knew their strength. Jetri understood Delan’s limits; begging other nations for aid was a headache he’d avoid. “Substantial” was generous enough.

And so—

One week after their victory parade through the capital, the Radiant Star Squad set out again to slay the Demon King.

Hooray.

Like hell.

Jetri sat in the cramped carriage.

No rattling wheels. No creaking wood.

Yet it felt deafening.

He was back to those old adventuring days.

He sat alone on one bench.

Vya and the two female squadmates shared the other, laughing and chatting.

He stared blankly ahead.

*Tsk.*

Jetri clicked his tongue in irritation, glaring at the carriage floor.

*Another day watching the Valiant Hero and his companions coo over each other. How wonderful.*

Wait—hadn’t Violette and Vya whispered something before departure?

He’d ignored it, but they’d kept glancing at him while murmuring, their expressions stormy enough to spark a fight any second.

Jetri filed it away under *Things to Worry About Later*.

—*Who stole my retirement?*

Jetri’s frustration surged.

He’d already planned his quiet countryside life.

How did it come to this?

A flicker of suspicion rose. He looked up at Vya.

In the tight space, his gaze was obvious.

Vya’s bright eyes met his, questioning.

*Why doubt Vya?*

Jetri sighed, shook his head with a faint smile, and looked back down.

This time, his mind held only route plans and contingency strategies.

He didn’t notice the faint crimson climbing Vya’s earlobes.