Gloria stared at Rean, whose eyes sparkled with excitement, a whirl of question marks swirling in her head. For a moment, she felt utterly bewildered.

“Something even more miraculous… What do you mean?”

Could something he saw in Flaurus’s workshop have sparked his curiosity, making him eager to create something himself?

Don’t be ridiculous. If he could whip up a working invention that fast, he might as well apply to the Royal Capital’s Institute of Mechanics.

Tyler had once explained Flaurus’s situation: ostracized and furious, he’d resigned from the Institute and retreated to this border city, Yethania, to live in seclusion. In Gloria’s mind, Flaurus was already a master of mechanical engineering.

But Rean wasn’t someone easily figured out… the Demon King.

His divine talent was acknowledged across the Demon Realm. In just a few years, he created Fusion Magic—a technique that turned 1+1 into 11 in destructive power—and kept breaking new ground in alchemy. His inspiration was a powder keg; the tiniest spark could set it off. He was, without doubt, a Genius (a true genius)—the Great One, yeah!

“Well, I’m trying to craft some special bullets. Could I borrow your gun and a box of ammo? I’ll return them tomorrow. How about it?” Rean’s eyebrows twitched twice. He smiled, the corners of his mouth quirking slightly. “Of course, I’ll offer collateral.”

As he spoke, he pulled out the silver short sword—Holy Thunder Fang—that yesterday had obliterated both enemy and nearly half the city gatehouse in a single blast.

Sunlight glinted off the blade. The air around it shimmered slightly from crackling lightning energy. Saturated with the pure power of five thousand thunder crystals, its hue leaned toward platinum.

Considering its power and limited uses, deploying it against Mammon later could wipe out over a hundred thousand troops. But what if Mammon traced the sword back to him before it was spent? Unlike Aidan, Mammon wouldn’t be easy to chase down. He’d likely order soldiers to cover his retreat, then rally the other Demon Kings to strike Yethania and Christine together.

Might as well let Gloria keep it.

“It’s not a bad item. If you’re ever in danger alone, a handgun might not be enough, right?”

Holy Thunder Fang twirled in Rean’s hand, weaving a dazzling silver blur.

Though Gloria lacked the aptitude, she instinctively sensed the weapon’s extraordinary energy. This was no ordinary short sword.

Still…

“This gun is a gift from Father. I won’t trade it lightly.”

Gloria shook her head and refused the sword.

Hmm…

Rean felt a flicker of frustration. He’d gotten inspiration at Flaurus’s workshop and wanted to tinker with her gun—but he couldn’t push her.

Guess he’d just craft bullets quietly tonight…

Watching the light fade from Rean’s eyes, Gloria suddenly laughed. Maybe last night, he really *had* only corrected her shooting stance because it was that bad.

“But… if you behave well enough today, I *might* consider lending it to you.”

She spoke with feigned solemnity.

“Really?!”

“R-Really! So let go of my hands!”

Excited, Rean stepped forward and placed both hands on her shoulders. Startled by the sudden closeness, Gloria flushed with shyness and annoyance. Flustered, she shoved him away, puffed her cheeks, and turned her back.

Ugh… I really can’t lower my guard around this man! Give him an inch, he takes a mile!

“Ahem… My apologies, Miss. I overstepped.”

Rean cupped his chin, sincerely awkward. It was an old habit: novelty ignited him; the urge to tinker burned like wildfire. If someone lent him something, his excitement erupted like a volcano. Grabbing her shoulders was actually restrained.

“Then apologize properly! You got what you wanted. Now patrol the streets with me!”

Gloria spun around, seized his sleeve, and yanked him forward. The sight of a fuming young lady dragging a flustered “young master” drew curious glances from passersby.

Rean didn’t care. To him, this was just playing along. For someone of his status, losing temper over this would be the real disgrace. (A certain angel whose name starts with “A” would protest fiercely.)

Truth was, back in Christine, he often patrolled towns near the Demon King Citadel himself. Christine’s people were honest, his rule fair. Aside from being poorer, it wasn’t so different from Yethania.

He respected Gloria’s effort. She was trying, in her role as future city lord. Just… still a little immature.

They walked street after street through the eastern district. Gradually, Gloria’s anger cooled—until she realized she was still clutching Rean’s arm. Her heart hammered wildly.

(M-Miscalculation!)

How could she have initiated contact in a fit of anger?!

Clothes or not, a girl pulling a boy down the street looked… suspicious. She’d seen couples do this after petty quarrels. And hadn’t people been watching them?

Were they misunderstood?!

Calm down… She rarely appeared publicly, usually in plain clothes. Few would recognize her. Just act normal… Wait, why was *Rean* so calm?!

What infuriated her most wasn’t her mistake or his shoulder grab—it was her own flustered panic while his footsteps behind stayed perfectly steady, unwavering, as if he didn’t care at all.

“Your steps are getting messy. Finally realized what you’re doing… and got shy?”

Rean chuckled, watching the red creep from her ears down her jade-white nape to a soft pink.

“Shi… Who’d be shy over this?!”

She yanked her hand back, flustered rebuttal making her bite her tongue. She didn’t turn, but Rean saw the blush spread.

Just like that certain “A”-named someone…

But some things are better left unspoken.

Still… he’d probably ruined his chance to borrow the gun.

“Ugh, enough! Walking all of Yethania in one day’s impossible. I’m heading back.”

Gloria sighed in resignation, covering her face. They stood near a fork leading straight to Rean’s street—and the lord’s residence.

Rean glanced at the sun. Barely past noon. Half the “patrol” time remained. (He mentally swapped “parade” for “patrol.”)

Fine. Spending the whole day with her would’ve made *that person* tear the house down anyway.

“Alright. I’ll escort you home and pay respects to your father.”

He nodded helplessly, offering one last gentlemanly gesture.

“…As you wish.”

Gloria marched ahead without looking back. Rean sighed.

Yesterday, Tyler had asked him to look after her—clearly expecting she wouldn’t leave. Walking with her was always meant as guard duty, blueprint aside.

Turns out the city was perfectly peaceful.

They headed straight for the residence this time. Rean quietly admired the young lady’s stamina.

The gatekeeper recognized both the young mistress and Rean—the man Tyler personally received last night—and opened the gate at once.

But Rean noticed the gatekeeper’s uneasy glance at Gloria, cut short when he saw Rean.

Suspicious.

Upstairs, no sign of Tyler. A maid revealed he was in the reception room—but her expression tightened, reluctant.

“Guests at a time like this?” Rean frowned.

And there *was* a reception room? Then why talk in Tyler’s office last night…

“Father’s busy. After yesterday’s victory, people will come asking questions. I’ll just listen—won’t disturb them.”

Gloria calmly approached a vermilion door and pressed her ear against it.

“As long as you permit your daughter, Miss Gloria, to marry me, the Sherman family and all of Elbani will uphold our long-standing friendship with Yethania. Should the demons invade again, we can rightfully send aid.”

Gloria’s gaze froze.