In the height of midsummer, the mansion next door to Lysandra's cottage was always ablaze with lights at night, music drifting upon the air.
"Is there anything I should keep in mind once I meet Mr. McCarthy?"
Lysandra felt quite exhausted after finishing her shift and enduring the long journey home.
Yet, since he had taken the initiative to invite her, her surprise was accompanied by the feeling that this was a rare opportunity.
Going next door to explore this palace would serve as a welcome respite.
Perhaps tomorrow she could even recount the experience to the princess as a novel and amusing tale.
The only thing making Lysandra slightly nervous was wondering whether he might be an impossibly aloof demon. After all, among the demons, his existence was shrouded in rumor and mystery.
"There is no need to worry about anything. He is unlike any demon you might imagine."
The stern steward, Luka, offered a rare faint smile and paused briefly to reply.
"..."
Following the steward along the path, Lysandra watched the view suddenly open up beyond the grove.
Within the cerulean garden, male and female guests drifted like night moths, circling amidst whispers, fine wine, and starlight.
On this night of surging tides, guests could be seen diving from the water's edge into the turquoise waves or basking in the moonlight upon the sand, while several magicraft boats carved white wakes across the harbor, towing wakeboards behind them.
Luxurious magical vehicles served as shuttle buses under the moonlit sky, ferrying guests back and forth from the city.
Gardeners as disciplined and brisk as soldiers cleaned the grounds in real time with rags, brushes, hammers, and shears, hauling away fruit rinds and discarded trash.
Lysandra recalled that every morning when she set off for the royal palace, she would see farmers from the outskirts of Naicalis delivering dozens of crates of freshly picked Demon Realm fruits.
Passing through the outer gardens and stepping into the restaurant, she finally understood: the fruits were halved, pitted, and scooped, leaving only pure pulp, which the magic apparatuses in the dining hall—with just a few simple manipulations from the attendants—could press into hundreds of glasses of chilled, fresh juice within half an hour.
Standing in the restaurant's grand hall, Lysandra's eyes were instantly drawn to the brilliance overhead.
The three-dimensional reliefs depicting scenes of the Divine Era on the domed ceiling glittered like a sea of stars; magnificent sconces cast their glow over light-colored stone carvings, engraving countless bright traces of light onto the immaculate chalkstone floor.
Reflected from above and below, it felt as though one had stepped right into the Divine Era.
She could not help marveling at what manner of demon could have created such works of art.
Between the banquet tables, silver candelabras gleamed in candlelight, casting dancing shadows through the air. Elegantly attired demons were enjoying the banquet, raising their glasses to one another, their laughter and conversations echoing through the hall.
It was an intoxicating, decadent display of luxury.
Unlike Lysandra, a scion of a fallen noble house, the other guests here all appeared to be Naicalis's true elite of the present day; among the few faces she recognized were Demon Realm ministers to whom she would never dare even say hello around the royal palace.
The dazzling spectacle left her feeling a touch dizzy for a moment.
By the time she recovered her wits, she found that the steward had already bidden her farewell and walked off into the distance to begin his own busy duties. In his place, an attendant stepped up beside her to guide her through the gathering.
The bar was in constant motion, drink trays carried swiftly across the floor by bustling attendants like fluttering wings.
This was Lysandra's first time setting foot in McCarthy's residence.
She believed that not many guests had been invited tonight.
This was an exclusive, bespoke restaurant operating on a membership system. Lysandra did not even know what the threshold for membership was; all she knew was that if she were not Mr. McCarthy's neighbor, she would likely never have had the chance to set foot in such a palace.
"As a rising noble, Gareth Nocta, the Thunder Lord, needs the royal bloodline to prove the true caliber of the Nocta clan. He has made no small preparations this time."
When the voices reached Lysandra's ears, perhaps because what she cared about and understood was limited, her mind passively filtered the chaotic flood of chatter into the few fragments she could comprehend.
"The Grunewald family has a better shot. Orion Grunewald, the Mist Lord, possesses far deeper heritage, and word is he has already secured the Demon Realm's greatest artisan to work for him."
"I think Esmod Belphegor, the Midnight Lord, being a civil official, possesses the highest artistic talent. He might stand the best chance of moving the princess."
"To ensure the demons win, the Fall Lord has conceded quite a bit. As long as the paintings are submitted to the sealed golden chest on the first floor of the royal palace's Hall of Regents within the coming week, the Fall Lord will unseal and officiate them on the day of the grand ceremony, allowing the princess to publicly choose her favored painting."
Laughter and cheerful voices echoed throughout the hall—casual pleasantries, forgotten introductions, and lively chats between demons who did not even know each other's names. The demonic dignitaries shifted in fluid groups, swelling as newcomers joined, dispersing, and then reforming once more.
Painting on the spot was time-consuming and unpredictable in quality, so the Fall Lord had simply allowed the great demons to produce their works wherever they pleased and submit them before the grand ceremony struck its final chord.
The Fall Lord would naturally be able to discern whose mana imbued each painting and determine when it was completed based on the nature of the mana.
"In any case, we'll see the results revealed a week from now at the princess's selection ceremony."
The Thunder Lord's Nocta family, the Mist Lord's Grunewald family, and the Midnight Lord's Belphegor family had all had some degree of contact with Lysandra over the past few days, which was why those names were particularly etched in her mind.
Lysandra knew that with her own capabilities, she might never have interacted with the families of the great demons at the pinnacle of the Demon Realm in her entire life; this lone exception was entirely due to her current duties.
Many of the demonic dignitaries in this restaurant would likely be invited and eligible to attend the royal ceremony where the princess would choose a painting, and Lysandra had the privilege of accompanying the princess.
Just as being invited to this palatial restaurant tonight was another rare accident of fate in her life.
"By the way, will I get to meet Mr. McCarthy?"
Lysandra navigated uncomfortably among the numerous demonic elites, careful not to bump into other demons or draw their attention.
"Even we cannot always locate Mr. McCarthy right away here, but as an invited guest, I am sure he wishes to see you,"
the attendant explained politely to Lysandra.
Lysandra nodded.
She noticed that demons throughout the hall were constantly talking about McCarthy, yet none of them seemed to truly know him either. After inquiring curiously about Mr. McCarthy's whereabouts, they would simply wander at leisure, as if strolling through an amusement park.
If even these true demonic dignitaries had never seen McCarthy's real face, did she actually stand a chance of meeting this neighbor?
"However, Mr. McCarthy is covering all expenses tonight. Aside from limited-supply items, everything is at your disposal. Please feel free to enjoy the restaurant without any reservations."
Having briefly explained the restaurant's arrangements, the disciplined attendant departed as well, returning to his duties.
Next, Lysandra tried asking a few nearby young ladies from wealthy families, who looked relatively approachable, about McCarthy's whereabouts.
She still wanted to find her neighbor; after all, what she held was a note signed "Rocky McCarthy," not a membership card.
The wealthy young ladies responded with surprised looks, stating they didn't know, but showed a flicker of interest in her.
"Could it be that you were personally invited by Mr. McCarthy?"
They looked Lysandra up and down, their eyes tinged with suspicion.
"Of course not, of course not."
Lysandra waved her hands repeatedly, smiling awkwardly as she fended off the questions before quickly stepping away.
Now she felt more and more that the idea of "Rocky McCarthy having invited her" was some sort of mistake—hardly believable if she told other demons.
If she failed to see Mr. McCarthy tonight, it would be thoroughly embarrassing.
And so, Lysandra slipped toward the dessert table—the only place where she wouldn't feel dull and lonely.
"I wonder if I could sneak some away to bring to the princess," she mumbled in an almost inaudible murmur, staring at a cat-head-shaped crème brûlée garnished with black rose petals and raspberry coulis.
The top had a crisp, caramelized crust, while beneath lay silky custard, accented by aromatic rose petals and tart raspberry sauce; exquisitely crafted, it looked utterly adorable.
The standard of this restaurant was surely worthy of the princess's stature.
It felt practically tailor-made for her.
Just as Lysandra was preparing to indulge in a luxurious feast to chase away her boredom, someone suddenly called her name.
"Lysandra Puckley?"
"..."
Lysandra froze in surprise, her hand halting mid-reach toward the pudding, and looked toward the voice.
A blonde female demon stood on the wide marble staircase leading to the second floor, looking down at the ground-floor hall with an air of mingled disdain and curiosity.
"Er, hello there,"
Lysandra called out, walking toward her.
She felt that whoever it was, so long as it was a demon she actually knew, she had to engage in conversation; it was better than having random strangers strike up small talk.
Even so...
This was a demonic classmate she really didn't want to see: Tia Nocta.
Back during their school days, if Lysandra was the struggling student, then Tia had been the honors student.
While she herself was the scion of a noble house in name only, the other was an impeccable high noble of the Demon King's Castle in every respect—and the cousin of the Thunder Lord.
"I truly never expected to see you here,"
the blonde demon noble said absentmindedly upon seeing Lysandra.
She shook Lysandra's hand with aloof indifference, her demeanor overbearing.
"Haha."
Lysandra rubbed the back of her head with a self-deprecating chuckle.
During their school days, she had always been meek and honest, complying with other demons whenever possible.
Even though she knew full well the other looked down on her, she simply accepted it.
"Though I did hear you've been doing work for the Fall Lord lately—playing house with that princess, was it?"
the blonde noble lady asked.
"Not really..."
Lysandra felt she wasn't just being conceited; the princess truly did treat her as a friend.
"What kind of demon is she?"
Tia, the blonde noble lady, asked as she led Lysandra up toward the second floor.
Her pace was slightly brisk, making Lysandra trailing beside her look more like an attendant.
"A very good demon."
Lysandra didn't know how to specifically describe Princess Hyperion, a demon who didn't seem much like a demon at all.
"Heh, for you to describe her like that, it seems there's truly nothing to look forward to."
Tia let out a soft sneer, folding her arms across her chest as she ushered Lysandra into a small circle like an underling.
"It really is an injustice to my cousin, though—having to possibly marry such a useless princess of the former demon dynasty,"
she said, shaking her head.
The mere thought of her cousin, the Thunder Lord, a general of the Demon Realm, having to compete with other great demons over a half-demon princess who fraternized with low-ranking nobility felt utterly laughable.
If not for the trace of former royal blood flowing through that princess's veins, and the fact that the Demon Realm could not produce a new Nine-Seal Great Demon to activate the New King's bloodline anytime soon, no great demon would actually want to marry her.
To prominent noble clans like theirs, the last princess of the fallen line was nothing more than a breeding tool steeped in political gain.
"..."
Lysandra wanted to retort, but as the murmur began to rise in her throat, she remembered the setting: Mr. McCarthy had invited her here, and the master of the palace had yet to appear. If she were to commit a breach of etiquette and offend other guests first, it would be terribly inappropriate.
Yet there was no denying it.
The princess's fate truly lay beyond her own control.
And she, Lysandra, had no power to change the outcome in the slightest.
If only a demon who could save the princess and deeply love her were to appear, Lysandra felt she would be genuinely happy for her. Alas, a demon capable of protecting a princess like a fairy-tale knight simply did not exist.
In this era, in a decadent Demon Realm awash with rampant materialism, only profit and power reigned supreme.
A demon in a high station who could still stay true to their original heart without being consumed by desire was a rarity.
Let alone those great demons who truly possessed the strength to marry royalty.
Chapter 566