“So that’s it… Mr. Rean was worried about this all along…”

“Exactly. Though we secured what could be called a perfect victory in the city’s defense, it doesn’t guarantee Yethania lasting peace.”

Leaning against the office wall, Rean analyzed the situation for Tyler with a grave expression.

“We annihilated Mammon’s vanguard and slew General Aidan Gram. With no survivors to report back, Mammon will launch another assault on Yethania within half a month at the latest. Knowing his forces were wiped out, his counterattack will be far fiercer. In my estimation—even if he skips the next wave, he’ll surely come in person after we repel them once more.”

Rarely did Rean adopt such solemn focus. Truth be told, this was his true self: the iron-willed prince, mind clear of distractions, wholly devoted to duty. Only when trivial thoughts fell away did this form emerge.

“You’re right. I’ve been uneasy too. Mammon, the Fifth Demon King, harbors an obsessive drive for plunder. Fail once? He’ll keep coming.”

Tyler nodded vigorously at Rean’s words, yet a faint bitterness flickered across his wrinkled face—as if weighed by unspoken worries.

“Something troubling you, Lord Mayor?”

“Sigh… Mr. Rean saw it today. Without your aid, this city would’ve become a mountain of corpses and a river of blood. Now? Fewer than five thousand soldiers remain battle-ready. We can’t withstand a strong foe anytime soon.”

True. Even thirty thousand vanguard troops had nearly overwhelmed them. If Mammon led the next assault personally, his army might swell tenfold. Though Rean could wipe out a hundred thousand in one move, flaunting such power would only make him feared as a monster—a truth he understood well.

Thus, for the greater plan, today’s display was the absolute limit he’d show ordinary soldiers and civilians.

Then… to save Yethania from this crisis, unconventional paths must be taken.

“I’m glad you don’t intend to rely solely on me. A ruler’s core principle: never let outsiders dictate your land’s fate.”

A faint smile touched Rean’s lips, leaving Tyler momentarily flustered.

“What do you mean, Mr. Rean?”

“Next time Mammon attacks, I won’t fight openly like today—no grand magic to crush them instantly. Instead, I’ll strengthen Yethania’s soldiers. Help them win with minimal casualties. Methods that cause no bodily harm, of course.”

*Teach a man to fish…* Rean had long decided. Beyond this crisis, once he achieved his own goals, he’d leave Yethania. Who’d protect it then? Wars between human nations could erupt. That girl who missed every target lacked the skill. Tyler grew frail with age. If he fell, annexation by rival nobles loomed.

So—within reason—he’d make them stronger. After all, none could ever surpass his single strike.

“Easy to say… but what can be done in such little time? Even with your skill, training five thousand soldiers to face Mammon in half a month seems impossible.”

Disbelief glinted in Tyler’s eyes—not distrust in Rean, but realism. Training five thousand fighters was grueling work. To claim readiness against Mammon in weeks? Daunting.

“Don’t call it impossible before trying. That mindset shrinks what *is* achievable.”

Rean shrugged with an easy smile, slipping back into his usual carefree yet unshakable demeanor.

“And more importantly—never doubt a genius.”

For Rean, master of magic and alchemy at the continent’s peak, crafting lethal tools was trivial. The real challenge? Teaching soldiers to wield them safely.

“So you *do* have a plan?”

Hope sparked in Tyler’s gaze—he looked at Rean like a savior. Rean sighed inwardly. *Still pinning hopes on me…*

But he let it pass. At least Tyler hadn’t demanded he fight against his will.

Rean smiled, straightened up, and stepped toward the window overlooking the garden. Gloria was gone. Only scarecrows stood companionless.

“I have a method. But first—Lord Mayor, tell me about the gun your daughter uses.”

Tyler blinked, confused.

“An old friend at the National Mechanical Research Institute modified it from standard firearms, meant for mass military use. Abandoned due to cost inefficiency. He gifted it to me during my last visit to the Royal Capital Lutan. Since Gloria lacked magic aptitude and disliked swords, I gave it to her for protection… Are you interested, Mr. Rean?”

*You guessed right, old man. I am.*

Though Rean stood atop the Demon Realm, curiosity for the unknown still burned within him. Human machinery—their greatest non-magical strength, absent in the Demon Realm—naturally fascinated him. Far more than just a gun.

“No, interest doesn’t mean I’ll take what’s yours,” Rean shook his head. “But the bullets? Earlier, while your daughter practiced, they looked different from standard rounds.”

“Also his modification—a special design sealing gunpowder directly inside. He shared the crafting method with the gun. I now have artisans custom-make them for her.”

Hmm…

A sly grin spread across Rean’s face, leaving Tyler utterly baffled.

“How does this connect to your earlier topic?”

“You’ll see in a few days.” Rean’s tone turned playfully slippery. “But first… a small request…”

…

After parting with Tyler, Rean returned alone to the courtyard. To his surprise, Cang Lin and Olga hadn’t moved—they quietly watched the distant revelers.

“Yo. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He waved lazily as he approached.

“You said *right back*! Guests are already slipping away!” Olga’s frustration flared at his nonchalance. “Got tangled up with some girl again?”

*How’d she know?! Did she follow me?!*

Silence from Rean deepened Olga’s scowl. Her brows knotted tight.

“So… you *were* flirting…”

“Olga’s just upset you left her waiting,” Cang Lin chimed gently. “You should soothe her, Rean.”

“I-I’m not pouting! Cang Lin, stop it!” Olga flushed, flustered.

“Alright, my fault. Join the celebration with me?” Rean leaned close, whispering by her ear with a grin, “Or… we can celebrate slowly back home later. The night’s still young.”

Olga jolted, shoved his face away, cheeks blazing crimson as the wine beside her. She shot him a fierce glare.

“No need! I’m leaving!”

She spun and stomped off in heels. Watching her swift retreat, Rean mused: *Angels really are different… walking that fast in heels.*

“You teased her on purpose… Chase her now. Still time to apologize.”

“I’ll make it up later,” Rean sighed. “You heading out too?”

Noting guests thinning without their host, he prepared to leave.

“Mm. Partly to check on Olga… partly…” Cang Lin hesitated. “I wanted to ask a favor.”

“Speak freely.”

Curiosity stirred—Cang Lin rarely made requests.

“Actually… never mind. Too much to ask. Forget I said it. Farewell.”

She cut herself off, turned, and left. Rean stood alone, bewildered.

…

“Is this the place…?”

Beneath silver moonlight, a crimson-clad figure stood on blood-stained earth. Her clear crimson eyes—like exquisitely carved rubies—gazed at the city ahead. Reflected within them, the city shimmered with ethereal beauty, like jade in a mirror.

“Wait for me. This time… it will end.”

She murmured to herself, stepping slowly toward the gate. Behind her, a sheathless longsword caught the cold moonlight, its blade gleaming with a deep, blood-red radiance.