If Jetri had to describe how he felt after talking with Falana, it would be this—*Riddle me this, riddler. Get out of the Demon Realm.*

Just like the drink he’d been given, everything she offered came with hints but no real answers.

Some things, she didn’t even hint at.

But then again, it made sense. Falana wasn’t human. She had no reason to help one.

Still, it left Jetri feeling… uneasy.

Demons weren’t kind. They were humanity’s natural enemies. While higher demons like succubi could communicate, lower demons—goblins, dog-headed fiends—were mindless beasts. Humans hadn’t even confirmed if these creatures had their own language. None could speak with humans.

These low-level demons infested jungles and wastelands bordering human nations. Their survival depended entirely on nearby human settlements. They produced nothing. They fed on livestock—or humans. It was unnatural, a species that would go extinct without raiding.

In truth, after kingdoms adopted scorched-earth tactics, these demons had nearly vanished.

Delan Kingdom’s records showed only two major demon invasions since the Day of Divine Seclusion. Both times, heaven-sent heroes—alone or in small groups—had driven the demons back.

Since then, no large-scale invasions occurred.

Even now, with demons attacking the border daily, the violence stayed within human tolerance.

Just enough to crush any thought of counterattack.

Low-level demons embodied bloodlust and cruelty. Higher demons, like succubi, fed on things humans couldn’t live without.

*Demons are powerful and evil.*

This belief was etched into every human heart.

Except Jetri’s.

He held little reverence for gods. His doubts weren’t from inability to guess—they were choices not to dwell.

So while Falana’s attitude puzzled him, it didn’t feel impossible.

He didn’t trust demons over humans. He simply thought objectively, without drowning in prejudice.

After speaking with Falana, Jetri got what he needed. He kicked open the door and left, expressionless, despite the Elven Aunt’s desperate pleas.

"Vya, we leave tomorrow," Jetri said, stretching his back wearily in the room, eyes closed.

"Leave? For where?" Vya asked, confused.

"Demon King’s Castle." His voice was flat.

Then he shut his eyes.

Vya’s expression tightened the moment his eyes closed.

"I’ll inform the others."

"Hmm." Jetri grunted. Sleep claimed him instantly.

Jetri was cautious—but not blindly so. His caution was arrogance disguised as prudence, rooted in self-trust.

He believed if Falana wanted them dead, she wouldn’t have waited. She could’ve struck when everyone was too exhausted to fight back.

So he slept soundly.

He was right. Falana kept her word.

Yet her figure still appeared in the castle corridor.

Before Vya.

"Since we first met, I’ve wondered…" Falana’s eyes crinkled at the corners, but held no warmth. "Why do you carry Satan’s mark?"

The Fallen Elf Territory wasn’t cold—not like the border. Night brought only a cool breeze.

Vya’s brows had furrowed the moment Falana appeared. Now, she drew her sword. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Ah. Tomorrow’s departure for the Demon King’s Castle makes you nervous," Falana’s lips curled slightly.

Vya repeated, "I don’t know what you mean."

Then added slowly, "But I won’t mind killing you again."

"Mm. I know you’re hiding something," Falana smiled dismissively. "But you can’t truly kill me. Your secrets, the truth you fear—it’ll surface eventually."

"Like what?" Vya’s face was blank. Only her sword glowed with a lake-like sheen.

"Oh, how scary~" Falana covered her mouth. "But you can’t kill me."

"Try me."

"…" Falana fell silent. A sigh escaped her. "You and Richard share a trait—wouldn’t it be easier to just yield?"

"What happened between you two?" Vya’s grip tightened on her sword. Armor creaked against the hilt.

"Why should I tell you?" Falana’s eyes opened wider. Her emerald gaze burned unnaturally bright in the dark. "I’m only warning you: Satan’s hunger and ambition are never small."

"Being watched by her isn’t a blessing. Of course, it’s none of my concern. But." Falana’s true nature surfaced—the Fallen Elf Grand Duke.

Her emerald eyes opened fully. Beautiful, yet utterly devoid of warmth. She stood at the corridor’s end.

Like a tree. A towering, awe-inspiring ancient tree.

"You’re Richard’s teammate. The only one he still trusts. He must not die for your sake. Even if you’re Satan’s pawn, I’ll kill you without hesitation."

Falana’s voice was flat. Devoid of emotion. Stating a fact.

She felt like a deity—dwelling in clouds, within the Divine Realm.

Vya stayed silent. Her sword hand tensed further.

"Killing you won’t be hard, little one. Easier than killing Richard. You’re not even whole."

Falana’s voice and form dissolved slowly.

Like a dream.

But Vya knew it was a display of power.

She didn’t even notice Falana’s arrival or departure—unlike Jetri.

It was like a night breeze brushing her cheek. Real, yet uncertain. Could she truly swear that on this night, in this year and month, such a breeze had touched her?

Still, she did what she’d planned.

The magic comm-link crackled to life. An arrogant, cold voice answered.

"I’m pleased you contacted me so soon. Let me guess… you’re in Falana’s territory."

Vya’s gaze dropped. "What price would it take… for you to ‘die’ again?"

"Again?" Satan’s tone sharpened with interest. "So you’re close to the Demon King’s Castle. Falana didn’t stop you after Chelsey died."

"Yes."

"My guess was correct… Pity. I have no plans to ‘die’ a second time." Satan’s voice dripped with mockery. "Still haven’t broken level 100?"

Vya’s other hand clenched silently.

"Or perhaps you’d like to try killing me for real."

"Though even if you did break through, I doubt you’d have the strength… exactly."