Indeed, human society never lacked entertainment—mundane things sparked endless inspiration.

Rean sat in his tiny alchemy workshop, leisurely gazing at the moon. Crimson flames danced in his palm, melting a floating sliver of metal. The molten liquid slowly shaped into a thin cylindrical shell with a solid pointed tip and a matching base plug (actually the primer). As it cooled, a flawless bullet casing rested on the table.

After sealing an agreement with Tyler, Rean decided to craft a bullet based purely on his own understanding—it was one of his current fascinations. Following the banquet, Olga had silently claimed a room on the second floor as her quarters and collapsed into sleep. Seeing her still upset, Rean left her be and retreated to tinker in the workshop.

Though Rean specialized in destructive magic, that didn’t mean he handled mana carelessly. Quite the opposite—his signature fusion magic relied on near-perfect control. Leveling a city or igniting a fingertip flame? Effortless. Hand-forging metal was trivial. Once an idea formed, he could manifest it instantly.

Time to test.

Casing done. Next: gunpowder…

Rean’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t gathered any. Without it, the bullet was useless—no propulsion, no projectile.

Not ideal to go hunting for it now…

Wait. Gunpowder wasn’t the only option, was it?

A new idea sparked. If gunpowder’s role was explosive propulsion, a better substitute surely existed!

*Hehehe…*

Chuckling mischievously, Rean pulled out a tiny transparent crystal and stuffed it into the hollow casing.

As noted before: spiritual vein blockages manifested differently across realms. In the Celestial Realm, harmless spirits and fantasy creatures; in the Demon Realm, mana giants impervious to physical attacks; in the Human Realm, these mana crystals—deemed worthless since most couldn’t utilize them directly.

But Rean could absorb any form of mana. For massive spells? Perfect batteries. And from his grenade experiments: replacing gunpowder with mana might yield even greater thrust and destructive force.

He inserted a smaller crystal into the base cap to trigger the larger one, then sealed the halves.

“Christine-style bullet, prototype complete~”

Holding it under the moonlight, Rean examined the casing. It gleamed silvery-smooth—so elegant it hardly seemed a weapon, more like a polished silver mirror reflecting his “menacing” grin in full detail.

He wouldn’t hesitate to use it. This bullet was forged to take down Mammon. An unfired bullet was just scrap.

More importantly—it was a prototype. Without live testing, how could he confirm battlefield viability?

Pinching the bullet, Rean conjured a mana barrier with his left hand, stepped back to the door, and flicked the base lightly with his right fingertip…

*Bang!* *Thud!*

Recoil slammed him against the door, stars bursting behind his eyes.

Thankfully, the silencing barrier kept the noise from waking Olga downstairs.

Rubbing his sore head, Rean straightened—and grinned.

The barrier was webbed with cracks across its entire surface; half the projectile was embedded deep within. A few more shots, and its defense would shatter completely.

He’d calibrated it to mimic the average third-tier defense magic used by Mammon’s army mages protecting regular troops. One special bullet broke it. Deploy this across an entire army? Strength would multiply exponentially.

At this rate, Yethania might even become a border fortress under King Tiehua’s command…

Rean tossed the spent casing onto the workbench and sank into his chair.

Enough for today. Without proper blueprints, no amount of tinkering would yield perfectly matched calibers. Firearms set the standard—not bullets.

Still… he wasn’t resting just for lack of schematics. Something else weighed on him.

Cang Lin.

Before parting in Tyler’s courtyard, she’d hesitated—clearly wanting to ask something—then fled wordlessly, as if escaping.

What had she needed to say?

Leaning back, Rean twirled the casing, recalling her expression: serious, strained, resolute. No drunken joke. Genuine trouble.

He knew little of her. A mysterious woman wrapped in intriguing secrets. They’d met only four times over two days. Their sole commonality? Restless wanderers. What could compel her to rely on a near-stranger?

Well. Since she hadn’t spoken, she likely didn’t wish to burden him. Without a clear request, he had no reason to step in.

Matters not tied to him deserved respect for her choice—that was Rean’s principle among humans.

If she chose to bear it alone, so be it. As long as she wouldn’t regret it.

He wasn’t cold. He’d weighed what he *could* and *should* do. Had she asked, he’d have helped.

But she hadn’t. So he’d remain a quiet observer.

May she resolve it on her own.

Shaking his head, Rean rose and headed for the door.

…

Morning sunlight was irritating.

Shattering dreams, wrecking sleep schedules, dragging one from night’s peace into the day’s chaos.

Rean dragged himself up, smoothed his messy hair in the mirror. Slight dark circles betrayed lingering fatigue.

Last night, after the workshop, he’d claimed a larger empty room—the first proper bed since Olga’s arrival. Days of exhaustion, unleashed by soft sheets, demanded a full day’s rest.

Waking meant his perfect sleep plan was ruined. His schedule was set—especially this morning’s errand.

He stepped out of bed. A cerulean stream washed over him, cleansing sweat and grime. Crimson light flared beneath his clothes, steaming away moisture. Passing through a transmutation circle, his sleepwear shifted into crisp black casual wear—a picture of a refined young master.

Truly, mana control had perks. No bathroom needed for a fresh start.

Refreshed, Rean descended to the kitchen, rolled up his sleeves, and retrieved pre-sliced bread, eggs, and milk prepared before storage in his dimensional space.

Thankfully, the previous owner left non-valuable items—kitchen fully functional.

Anticipating trouble, Rean prepared breakfast for Olga. No apology yesterday; letting her go hungry today might literally flip the city upside down.

He watched the sizzling egg—orange yolk and translucent white solidifying into golden and milky hues.

*Damn…* Since when did the mighty Seventh Demon King so naturally cook breakfast for a napping angel?

Staring at the transforming egg, Rean realized the absurdity. If other Demon Kings heard? They wouldn’t accuse him of betraying the Demon Realm—they’d die laughing on their thrones.

Still, he wouldn’t flip the pan. The eggs were innocent.

“Done.”

He placed the egg sandwich on a plate, left a note: *“Out for a bit. Back by noon.”* Dusting his hands, he turned to leave.

—

The barrier alarm chimed. Rean hurried to the hall window—and chuckled.

A chestnut-haired girl stood before the shut door, clad in a red dress layered with white lace: elegant, playful. Only her expression clashed—annoyed at the manor, yet stubbornly rooted in place.