Good grief… Is this also part of the Celestial Realm’s joint strategy? If so, it’s surprisingly effective.

While casting the teleportation spell, Rean couldn’t help but smile wryly inwardly.

Admittedly, the “beauty trap” works universally across eras and realms—commoners or nobles, mortals or demons. Any being capable of emotion is inevitably swayed by it.

Still, he was long past the naive age where a single word could make his heart flutter…

Gurgle…

Orange specks of light drifted one by one from the unconscious children, floating toward Rean and Olga. A searing ache bloomed deep within Rean’s core, making him frown slightly.

Just as he’d suspected: over centuries, Ifrit’s sealing medium had absorbed its fiery essence. That energy had slowly awakened inside the children and now neared Ifrit’s own intensity.

Thankfully, Behemoth’s devouring power activated directly within Rean. The Beast of Gluttony relentlessly consumed the rampaging flames, shielding him from being scorched.

But…

“Don’t push yourself… This was my duty. Leave the rest to me.”

Rean turned. Beads of sweat dotted Olga’s forehead; her furrowed brows silently screamed agony.

Unlike Rean, Olga had no way to suppress the fiery chaos within. Ice magic might ease the pain—but casting it while drawing the sealing medium risked freezing the entire room solid. She wouldn’t take that chance.

“I’m fine… Just handle your part.”

Olga shook her head, refusing.

Why insist on sharing the burden? He could’ve managed alone.

Rean sighed inwardly. Her insistence made no sense. Since he could withstand the flames, why interfere? To spare him suffering? Or to win his favor?

Typical self-righteousness… Just like *that* person.

For a fleeting moment, Rean saw in Olga the ghost of someone long gone—always lecturing him with stubborn, almost childish kindness. Once, it had annoyed him deeply.

This time… not so much.

Once the last orange orb lifted from the children, Rean tested the air. Only when the heat clearly receded did he exhale in relief.

“Don’t worry. It wasn’t plague. We’ve treated them. They’ll wake in half a day. Give them this medicine, let them rest—they’ll fully recover.”

Wiping sweat from his brow, Rean pulled a small vial from subspace and handed it to the lead father. Homemade restorative medicine.

The man accepted it with trembling hands, tears shimmering, on the verge of falling.

“Endless gratitude, Lord Rean… May Christine’s glory endure forever!”

“May Christine’s glory endure forever!”

Led by the man, the crowd bowed deeply. Their unified chant shook dust from the ceiling.

*If they knew their new Demon King of the Christine family was a coward who fled an arranged marriage…* Rean thought dryly.

“No need for ceremony. Protecting subjects is the Demon King’s—ahem, the Demon King *family’s* duty. I only did what was right.” He stiffened, then suddenly grabbed Olga’s hand. “We have other matters. I’ll check back later.”

Before anyone could respond, Rean pulled Olga from the makeshift infirmary and hurried into the street.

“Slow down… Why run so fast…?”

Olga panted behind him, legs buckling. She barely caught up before collapsing against his back.

Rean didn’t pause. He guided her into a shadowed alley, slammed a palm against the wall. Azure-white ice surged across the stone. In seconds, a massive ice bench bloomed from the surface.

【Seventh-Tier Ice Magic: Azure Frost Coffin】—A technique meant to entomb foes in eternal frost. Now scaled down solely to give Olga rest.

“Don’t speak. Just lie here.”

As Olga settled onto the bench, white vapor hissed from its surface. Ignoring the searing heat—his palm burning as if gripping embers—Rean clasped her right hand tightly.

Worse than I thought…

He’d assumed ice magic after absorption would suffice. But seeing Olga too weak to cast even a whisper of spell, memory struck: the sealing medium was no ordinary artifact. Crafted by Lucifer himself—the Cursed Blade, Fenrir’s Fang, a “Heaven-Smiting Weapon.” Its enchantments targeted angels. Absorbing even a fragment was like swallowing poison. No wonder she was failing.

Strength meant nothing if unusable.

“Why dive into this mess and play tough?” Rean murmured, watching her hazy eyes and heaving chest. A chuckle, devoid of mockery. “In the end… I still handle it.”

He readied the teleportation spell again—to draw the shard into himself.

Wait…

*Right. I’m a runaway groom. Not a healer.*

*If I bolt now while she’s down… no one catches me.*

……………

“Mmm…”

Olga’s awareness returned. *Miscalculation. The fragment’s power… enchanted. Collapsed in minutes.*

But… why no burning pain? A cool comfort soothed her back… and her chest…

*Her chest!?*

Eyes flew open. Rean’s relaxed face hovered above. Her head rested on his lap. Dim alley. Empty. Perfect for… anything.

“Yo. Awake?”

She ignored him, lifting her head slightly. A cold hand pressed firmly over her chest—*his* hand.

“You should stay like this a little longer…”

Rean spoke casually—but from the corner of his eye, he saw her palm slicing through the air with a whistle.

“To think I ever trusted you even a trace! How naive I was!” *SLAP!*

A sharp crack, Olga’s furious shout, and Rean’s yelp echoed together down the silent alley.