In the end, it was Jetri who freed Falana from her restraints and seals.
“I’ve never seen a surrendered enemy still raise their weapons,” Falana drawled, settling leisurely into a chair on the terrace. “Do you really want me dead?”
Jetri didn’t answer. He just sipped an unknown beverage, glancing sideways at the Fallen Elf Grand Duke, whose eyes were narrowed in a faint, knowing smile.
“As for Valiant Heroes—I’ve met many. But one with such a bloodthirsty heart? You’re the first.” She gracefully poured herself tea, her gentle voice flowing unhurriedly.
“So they all died.” Jetri’s tone was icy.
Falana’s smile dimmed slightly, replaced by confusion. “Not at all. I recall quite a few who made it back alive?”
“Is that so.” Jetri’s brow furrowed just a fraction.
“Yes. At the very least, they didn’t have *kill kill kill* rattling around in their skulls all day…” Falana slid a cup of black tea toward Jetri’s hand.
Jetri didn’t touch it. Not out of distrust—just a dislike for hot drinks.
But Falana’s words had triggered his chronic case of shit-talking syndrome.
*—Why, you ask?*
*Because I’m a transmigrator from Chunguo!*
*Heaven gave life to all things to nourish man, yet man repays Heaven with not a single virtue! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!*
*The fact I didn’t slaughter every last soul in the Fallen Elf Territory back then was already generous. Anyone else would’ve scrambled the yolk in every single one of your eggs!*
The rant died on Jetri’s tongue. No point spitting out words she wouldn’t understand.
“If I don’t strike first, should I wait for you to?”
“Eh… why would you think that?” The Elven Aunt’s expression flickered with hurt. “I could never bear to kill you.”
“You might not kill me. But locking me away for a century or eight—isn’t that the same as death?”
“Hmm?” The Elven Aunt blinked. “So that’s how you saw it?”
“Huh? What else did you expect after everything you said and did back then?” Jetri raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, my mistake. I apologize.” Falana’s smile returned, warm and elegant as she took a delicate sip of tea. “I only meant to apply a little pressure. Who knew you wouldn’t play along? As compensation… I’ll help you before we reach the Demon King’s Castle.”
“How?” Jetri paused mid-stir of his matcha cold brew.
“I’ll help you… kill.” Falana’s tone was breezy. “Consider our original deal void. Escorting you to the Demon King’s Castle will be my penalty fee.”
“I don’t trust you.” Jetri shook his head bluntly and resumed stirring his drink.
Falana’s half-lidded eyes opened a fraction wider. A trace of pain flashed in her emerald irises.
“…” She sighed softly. “So you never intended to honor our agreement from the start.”
“Naturally.” Jetri didn’t mince words.
“…” Falana shook her head. “Let me be clear: you cannot kill Satan. Not now. Not with even a shred of possibility.”
“Hah. I figured.” Jetri’s laughter was flat, devoid of mirth.
“You’re strange. Aren’t you afraid of death?” Falana leaned closer. “Satan isn’t as accommodating as I am. She’ll slaughter the worthless and weak without hesitation.”
“We’ll see. Who doesn’t want to live? But life and death are fate—”
“Chelsey’s mark?!” The Elf’s fury cut him off. Her eyes snapped wide open.
The aura of a Level 132 Fallen Elf Grand Duke erupted uncontrollably. The near-double level gap crushed Jetri’s breath from his lungs.
“What right does she have to mark what’s *mine*?!” Falana’s voice trembled with rage. “Did you and she…?!”
Jetri’s mind blurred under the assault. He couldn’t form words.
*Dying like this… too damn pathetic…*
His last conscious thought, as darkness swallowed him, was still shit-talk.
When he opened his eyes again, barely any time had passed. Steam still curled from the teacup.
Falana loomed close, gazing down at him slumped in the chair. Her face was utterly devoid of expression, her emerald eyes fully open.
Eyes so vivid, yet so cold.
“What exactly happened between you and Chelsey.” Her translucent green irises glowed faintly with chill light. Her voice was a tone Jetri had never heard before—glacial.
But Jetri was furious too.
*Ask that Succubus?*
*Was that my fault?*
And—“What’s it to you?” Jetri’s glare was sharp. “Besides, could I have stopped that Succubus even if I wanted to? Why not wait until she’s resurrected and ask *her*?”
“I didn’t hesitate to kill you. I won’t hesitate to kill her either. I’m not foolish enough to fall in love with an enemy like you.” Jetri almost laughed at the absurdity. “Hell, who *are* you to me anyway? What even *is* our relationship?”
Falana’s oppressive aura vanished in an instant—mostly because of his last sentence.
“Aww~ Don’t be mad~” Her voice turned honeyed, soothing.
“…” Jetri stared at her shamelessly ingratiating smile. “How pathetic.”
The Elven Aunt blinked. Then nodded.
Jetri never stood from his chair. Falana, however, shifted from towering accusation to crouching beside him, clutching his hand with a pleading grin.
“You said earlier… we’d certainly be killed by the Demon King?”
“Mm.”
“What if you joined us?”
“I won’t truly help you kill her. And even with me… the outcome won’t change.”
“…” Jetri fell silent. “Then last time—oh. You were dead. You wouldn’t know.”
“Exactly. Honestly, I was shocked to hear you’d killed her after I woke. I visited the Demon King’s Castle—she wasn’t resurrected. She never died. Neither did I or Chelsey. Satan brought us back.”
“Never died?” Jetri wasn’t surprised. His own calm startled him.
“So… heading straight to the Demon King’s Castle now is the same as slaughtering every high-ranking demon first?”
“Mm. Satan is proud. She’d never allow challengers to face her while distracted by demons—or anything else.” Falana crouched there, her expression almost normal—tinged with doting affection. But soon, that uncontrolled, lovesick grin crept back onto her exquisite face. “Even with me. Even with Chelsey added. The ending remains the same.”
Jetri edged away slightly. “So… neither you nor the Demon King truly care about us.”
“No. In truth… you matter greatly to us.”
“…” Jetri didn’t bother asking. His interest had faded. He spoke slowly, wearily. “Then… trouble you to take us to the Demon King’s Castle.”
“Of course.”
Falana’s voice was steady. But her expression—and the restless movement of her slender, pale hands—betrayed everything.
