Lanqi's Decisive Battle in the City of Flowers' Demon Realm

Sector 10, Posen Demon Realm. The din of rain crackled ceaselessly like fireworks. Billboard signs and colossal screens between the buildings flickered through the curtain of rain, staining the water into brilliant colors that reflected off the slick pavement—dizzying, splendid, and swaying. Three in the morning. A torrential downpour had broken abruptly as night fell over the City of Flowers, Palieu, and had now raged for hours. Dense raindrops pelted the streets across the entire city, quickly converging into gurgling streams that raced heedlessly down the slopes, as though determined to cleanse the city or swallow it whole. Unlike Palieu's municipal districts, the Posen Demon Realm starting from Sector 7 on the north bank retained more of the lingering architectural grandeur of Herrom from the Northern Continent. Through the tempest, row upon row of illuminated skyscrapers glowed brightly, their spires shimmering like radiant lighthouses. Inside a luxurious mansion at the heart of Sector 10, Posen Demon Realm. The sound of rain faded to a murmur, replaced by an unbroken stream of laughter and cheerful chatter. A grand midnight banquet was underway. Demon guests were gathered in throngs, raising their glasses in celebration. *Just a tiny bit more.* Lanqi's emerald-green eyes flickered with a faint glint of gold from time to time, followed by his hand reaching out to pop another pastry into his mouth. At the same time, he kept reminding Talia in his mind. Beside him stood a six-tiered dessert tower adorned with gold-leaf macarons, translucent apple-lime jellies shaped like forest critters, and glistening mini-soufflés baked with fruit wine resting on ice sculpted from the purest spring water. Every so often, he took another piece. Because it was so late, Talia was starving. Yet she couldn't show herself, making standing beside the banquet buffet an excruciating torture. So Lanqi had finally compromised, letting her eat using his body—just this once. *I know, I know. Your taste buds seem different from mine, though. Whenever I eat through your body, sweet things taste sweeter and sour things taste sourer.* Talia chewed using Lanqi's mouth while sending her thoughts back to him. Perhaps because he hadn't eaten that wide a variety of delicacies, his sensory thresholds were lower. "..." Lanqi didn't reply. He was somewhat worried that Talia would get a taste for it and want to hijack his body again in the future. "Rocky, does a banquet at this hour bother you at all?" In a corner of the mansion, Nigel stood chatting beside the food table with Lanqi. Lanqi was currently using the false identity of Rocky McCarthy, so Nigel naturally addressed him as Rocky. "Not at all. I think it's quite lively. Young people shouldn't turn night into day all the time, of course, but an occasional celebration is nice," Lanqi replied amiably. The banquet's timing didn't surprise Lanqi; back then, Purgatory Corridors Academy had held its exam week at night as well. It was just that he had been much more exhausted lately than usual, so he felt a bit drowsy at this hour. Talia was refreshed and full of energy every day, meaning he was effectively shouldering the fatigue of two people alone. Though he hadn't yet tested what it felt like for Talia to unleash her full strength, he had a feeling that if she ever drained his mana completely, he might collapse and sleep for a day or two straight. Standing in this great hall spanning nearly a thousand square meters, Lanqi and Nigel looked into the distance where a ball was in full swing. Seven colossal crystal chandeliers hung from the sixteen-meter-high vaulted ceiling, illuminating the hall like a canopy of stars. Silks and finery mingled amidst the bustling crowd. The guests wore tailored evening wear: gentlemen with feather-trimmed silk bowties or fresh lapel blossoms, and ladies draped in silk and velvet gowns embellished with maple-leaf gemstones or painted with fireworks. As the orchestra struck up a Demon Realm waltz, couples glided across the black-and-white marble floor, their hemlines swirling. White wine from Posen's South Aquitaine borderlands and sparkling rosé from the Kingdom of Aloran were poured into crystal flutes etched with motifs of Bacchus. Crisp clinks of glasses drifted from the hall's edges as demon nobles chatted while watching the veil of rain outside the windows. Demon waiters in black tailcoats wove through the crowd, carrying silver trays laden with champagne and desserts. Lanqi and Nigel looked distinctly out of place. They neither danced nor mingled, simply standing by a twenty-meter-long buffet table. "I'm sorry for dragging you into a demon banquet like this," Nigel said. He felt that as a human, Lanqi must find this quite agonizing. Of course, if his own standing in the Demon Realm were better, Lanqi wouldn't have been reduced to standing around with him like a punished schoolboy. "To tell you the truth, I could probably mingle and make friends with every demon here within a few hours. I'm actually pretty experienced with banquets like this," Lanqi told Nigel. "You've attended banquets with demons before?" Nigel asked, surprised. "I've hosted quite a few myself back in the day," Lanqi nodded. Back then, he had been in Naicalis, capital of the ancient Demon Realm. It was a pity that Talia hadn't gotten to taste all that fine food, something Hyperion had lamented deeply on her behalf. Besides, if Talia was good with children, she could have helped him look after Xigelei. *I am the sovereign King of Demons, and you want me to babysit?* Talia asked in his mind. *Because I've realized Hyperion isn't great with kids. When she's asleep, she'll steal the blanket, and she might even kick Xigelei off the bed. That's why Xigelei claimed she dreamt of Hyperion beating her,* Lanqi sighed. He was confident Talia had already heard a few stories about the previous Shadow World from Hyperion. *...* Talia related to that all too well. She, too, often woke up in the middle of the night to find her blanket gone. *Fine, then. If you want me to come along, I can handle logistics. You can focus on fighting the Blood Clan in peace.* She had long been curious about the McCarthy Restaurant. Spending her days having morning tea, afternoon tea, and evening tea while babysitting didn't sound so bad. *Deal,* Lanqi promised. Next time he entered a Shadow World, he would definitely bring Talia along to enjoy herself. Just picturing the three of them getting along was heartwarming. In the ballroom. Nigel was visibly surprised to hear that Lanqi had hosted several demon banquets. "Really?" He hadn't expected Lanqi to have met other demons, let alone be well acquainted with them. Demons were exceedingly rare in the Hutton Kingdom, though he had heard Lanqi had visited the Northern Continent and was skilled at clearing Shadow Worlds, so it made some sense. "Of course. I know a thing or two about demon etiquette as well," Lanqi nodded. "If Miss Tata were here, you could have shared a dance with her." Nigel offered a helpless little smile. Although it felt like Lanqi and Tata were always bickering, their relationship was surprisingly close. "Haha, her... wait, she actually might know how." Lanqi habitually started to tease Tata, only to remember that she was an actual princess. Having treated her like the unemployed gray-haired girl next door for so long, he often forgot her true identity. *So what if I know how? Do you think I'd say yes to you?* Talia said in Lanqi's mind. *No. With our coordination, out of four steps, we'd probably step on each other's feet twice.* The more Lanqi worked with Talia, the more he felt like they were sine and cosine functions. Destined never to align. *Don't you think that, if only to practice our synergy, you ought to at least try asking your master first?* Talia asked after a brief silence. *Well, there's no chance right now anyway. I can't just have you appear out of thin air. Wait, did you actually want to say yes?* Lanqi replied helplessly in thought. "It's a pity about tonight, but the day of the Fireworks Festival in two days features a masquerade ball at the Temple of Love. You could invite Tata to go with you," Nigel suddenly recalled, offering the suggestion. "..." Lanqi was struck speechless and looked over at Nigel. In his mind, Tata fell silent as well, as if waiting to see how he would dig himself out of this. As everyone knew, the biggest gap between top laners was always the jungler gap. And right at the start of the match, Lanqi had felt that crushing difference. "What's wrong?" Nigel got the vague impression that Lanqi had been mid-duel with someone just now, and that his offhand comment had shattered Lanqi's momentum. "By the way, Nigel, is your full name Nigel Quelston?" Lanqi abruptly changed the subject, catching Nigel off guard. Although Nigel had a rather poor reputation in the Posen Demon Realm, most of the demons here still showed him proper respect, some even addressing him as Young Master Quelston. At Lord Perlman Quelston's banquet, even Lord Astaroth of Sector 7 hadn't gone out of his way to cause trouble for Nigel or Butler Rocky. Still, Astaroth hadn't been able to resist coming over to taunt Nigel with a couple of snide remarks before Nigel's deadpan silence prompted Lord Eureka of Sector 8—a gentle, bespectacled demon lady—to lead him away. "Yes. I was adopted and mentored by Master Perlman from a young age. To me, he is like a foster father," Nigel acknowledged. "Then Ciara Quelston, whose birthday it is today, is essentially your adoptive sister?" Lanqi looked toward a young woman in the distance, surrounded like the moon among stars as demons frequently greeted her, and asked Nigel. "..." Nigel neither denied it nor nodded, looking as though he lacked the face to call her his sister. "It's her birthday. As her elder brother, you should at least go over and offer your best wishes." Lanqi patted him on the back, nudging him forward. He could tell Nigel was reluctant to face his master's daughter, Ciara. Yet he had also noticed Nigel glancing toward Ciara several times, and Ciara glancing toward Nigel just as often, even if their eyes never quite met. "That accident wasn't your fault. If I had to guess, you were protecting Ciara, weren't you?" Lanqi continued, looking at Nigel, who remained rooted like an immovable block of iron. Rumor had it that when Nigel executed his cursed, berserk younger sister, the elder sister, Ciara, had been present as well. Clearly, had Nigel not made the cruel choice to strike, Ciara would have died as well. "That doesn't change the outcome, nor the pain inflicted on Ciara," Nigel murmured, his gaze downcast. "Your decisiveness and resolve saved her life. There's no need to blame yourself. A tragedy occurred, time cannot be turned back, and some things cannot be undone in a lifetime—but the tragedy happening in the first place was not your fault." Lanqi kept patting Nigel's back, as if he would keep going until Nigel finally took a step. "You need to understand that, all right?" "..." Nigel gave Lanqi a complicated look and nodded. His deep, dark eyes finally turned toward the radiance where Ciara stood. At that moment, a sigh sounded in Lanqi's mind. *Look at you, occasionally doing something decent after all. If you acted like this all the time, why would Hubao ever have to worry so much?* Talia realized that Lanqi's bizarre emotional communication skills made him seem like an evil cult leader when used poorly, but like a little angel when used well. She had been observing Lanqi through his own senses. To some degree, Lanqi's condition had improved dramatically compared to six months ago. For others, growth meant drawing closer to truth and divinity; for Lanqi, everything was reversed. His growth meant shedding the mantle of a deity so he could gradually become more like a human. Through Hubao's tireless efforts, Lanqi had grown much better. *I do good deeds all the time,* Lanqi replied in thought. He had done so many good deeds over the past year that he couldn't even count them; his ledger of merit was practically overflowing. *...* Talia decided Hubao still had a long way to go. When necessary, she would have to step in and help Hubao discipline Lanqi herself. In the glittering hall of raised goblets and flowing banners. Nigel, having traded his usual military attire for formal evening wear, walked through the throng of finery. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he saw only that graceful figure in the distance. The young woman wore a pale purple gown, resembling a wisteria blossom, looking exceptionally radiant amidst the surrounding demon guests. As the young man strode slowly toward her, the guests turned their heads one by one. The girl keenly sensed his approach. When she turned around and saw that familiar, handsome face, her eyes widened in shock. She had never imagined he would actually walk over to her. Yet just as he seemed to have made up his mind... Nigel's steps abruptly halted. A single gaze froze him in his tracks. At the very peak of the ball's merriment, a mysterious man descending unhurriedly from the top of the grand staircase drew every guest's attention. He was clad in a classical navy-blue suit, holding a cane behind his back that gleamed softly in the candlelight. Lord Perlman had come down. The gentle smile in his eyes seemed to ask Nigel: *Where do you think you are going?* Nigel's feet felt sunken in mire, unable to move another inch. He had slain one of his mentor's daughters with his own hands, and now he had the shameless audacity to approach the other. His master's gentle smile felt like torture, leaving him with the sensation of plummeting into an abyss. Perlman soon shifted his gaze away from his prized student, sweeping over the gathered guests. As the Lord of Sector 10, Perlman was tall and slender, standing straight as a sculpture. Every step he took was composed. Even from afar, one could feel an all-embracing grace and dignity radiating from his eyes. Though he looked only in his thirties, his attire lent him an aura of maturity, ensuring no one would doubt he had lived for centuries. As the host of the banquet, Perlman reached the ground-floor ballroom, and the once-boisterous party fell dead silent in an instant. The orchestra stopped playing in unison. The guests parted to make way, lowering their heads in awe and deliberately avoiding his gaze. He seemed like a god walking among mortals, or a bright moon rising in the dark night, outshining every demon present. As Perlman strolled slowly into the center of the dance floor, Nigel stared intently at his teacher's back. Just as all those years ago, he could never fathom what his master was thinking or what his true stance was. Perlman, drawing all eyes, had pale skin. His hat concealed his demon features, with only his pointed ears hinting at his demon heritage. His short hair seemed meticulously slicked back, with silver streaks visible at his temples beneath the brim. Perlman inclined his head slightly toward the crowd. While all the demons waited in silence, the enigmatic demon lord finally spoke. "Honored ladies and gentlemen." He looked around at the guests, his eyes sharp as torches. "Thank you all for gracing us with your presence tonight to celebrate my daughter's birthday." His voice was deep and magnetic, carrying the rich resonance of a cello, possessing an almost hypnotic quality. The demons' faces were still bathed in the afterglow of the joyous feast, whispering to neighbors or nodding with smiles. "However, as I am sure you all know, many years ago I had another daughter, who died young under the curse of the Grand Wizard Palroni." The moment those words fell, the air froze solid. Many demons couldn't help darting glances in Ciara's direction, or toward Nigel. Ciara's expression shifted through a flurry of emotions before her head slowly drooped. She and her sister were twins. In their childhood, every birthday had been celebrated together. Only later had it become hers alone. Yet she didn't know why her father would bring up her late sister at this precise moment— Because the look in Nigel's eyes as he stared toward her had already been tainted with a trace of dread. As though looking at her instantly brought back the memory of the sister whose head he had severed with his own hands. "From then on, Ciara's birthday banquets became far lonelier. Not only did I lose a beloved daughter, but the student I raised as my own son also departed from my side," Lord Perlman continued, his voice devoid of anger, filled instead with acceptance and a barely perceptible trace of self-mockery. "I believe you all know that a century ago, when the Northern Continent's Demon Realm still stood and before the war had begun, I crossed the sea in an attempt to break the prejudice between humans and demons, wishing to build a society where humans and demons could co-exist in harmony and mutual benefit." He seemed to reminisce about the ideals and fiery passion of his youth, touched by nostalgia. The demons nodded slightly in respect. Everyone had witnessed Lord Perlman's efforts. That the Posen Demon Realm existed today was largely due to Perlman's contributions. "I have said all this today because I wish to reveal a truth to you all." Perlman tapped his cane lightly. A magical projection screen slowly materialized upon the banquet wall behind him. He said nothing more, resting his hands upon his cane and waiting for the images behind him to play out. The demons looked over in bewilderment. The perspective followed a mysterious figure clad in a dark gray cloak. A corner of the screen displayed the time: 3:26 AM. Which was right now. Yet the surrounding architecture was not the Posen Demon Realm, but the southern bank of Palieu, a setting quite familiar to them. Muffled thunder rumbled across overcast skies, and heavy raindrops poured down, splashing violently on the empty streets. The cloaked figure walked with an umbrella across the plaza before the South Bank City Hall. His movements were agile. The faint rustle of cloth was swiftly swallowed by the night wind. When a streetlamp illuminated him once more, he had somehow assumed the guise of a white-coated researcher. The mysterious figure hurried across the plaza, his silhouette flickering behind an inconspicuous door at the rear of City Hall, before folding his umbrella and appearing inside the building. Such agility and conduct caused the demons in the ballroom to exchange startled glances. By all rights, the boundary barrier of Palieu's City Hall was not easily bypassed, and forcing entry was an outright crime. They had no idea what Lord Perlman wanted them to see. On the screen, the mysterious figure disguised as a researcher walked down to an office on the basement level of City Hall. Stepping up to the wall, his fingers tapped a rapid, intricate sequence of secret codes onto the stone bricks. With the final code entered, the wall spun open silently like a Rubik's cube, revealing a dark, sunken passageway behind it. He stepped inside. The wall closed seamlessly behind him, as if it had never been breached. Passing through several corridors and taking several turns, he entered a cargo lift. Amidst the gloom of the descent, magic-circuit lamps embedded every few meters flickered faintly. The sounds of the outside world were entirely shut out, giving way to a whole new space. Ahead stood a door several meters tall, forged from cold, unyielding anti-magic steel, layered with dense runic seals that pulsed with light in a rhythmic, breathing cycle. Yet the figure acted as though he already knew the cipher, tapping lightly on the magic-circuit input terminal at the side and swiping a keycard across it. The door erupted with dazzling light, which shattered into countless fragments that danced and swirled in midair before vanishing into the thick darkness like a brilliant burst of fireworks. The anti-magic steel door swung open. In that instant, blinding white light flooded the screen. At the end of the dark subterranean tunnel, an enormous research facility revealed itself. The pure white interior resembled a sterile paradise, yet felt equally like a heavily fortified secret chamber. Lights crisscrossed the space, casting blurred silhouettes of researchers in the depths. They all turned toward the newcomer, appearing confused as to why this researcher had arrived at such an ungodly hour. However... The mysterious figure gave them no answer. He simply stepped straight into the underground facility, glancing around, letting the jarring sights of the secret laboratory fill the screen. Under the pallid lights, even in the dead of night, several researchers in lab coats were engrossed in their work before monitoring and control consoles. The air was laden with a pungent stench of reagents and blood. Beyond the precision magic-circuit machinery being assembled, misshapen specimens floating in solution tanks met the eye at every turn. "What is that?" "Corpses of our demon kin?!" "Weren't all the cursed berserkers supposed to have been cremated?!" Gasps of horror broke out among the demons watching the live broadcast in the banquet hall. Those grotesque specimens were not humans—they were demons who had mutated and gone berserk under the curse. According to the Senate's official reports, all berserk demons who were executed were meant to be cremated to eliminate any risk of "contagion" that might unsettle the demon population. Who could have imagined that so many corpses of berserk demons had been sent here instead? Inside the laboratory... The researchers seemed to sense something was amiss as well. A researcher appearing at such an irregular hour felt like an imposter. By all rights, their facility's existence should never have been compromised, nor should any of their staff have been captured. One researcher moved to sound the alarm immediately. Unfortunately, it was already too late. Without so much as lifting a finger, the mysterious figure merely chuckled softly. From the shadow beneath his feet, an eerie burst of deep-blue flames surged upward, darting out as if alive. The tongues of fire spiraled through the air, swallowing the terrified researchers in an instant. When the deep-blue flames subsided, the researchers had been reduced to charred remains across the floor. And the figure radiating terrifying mana reverted once more to the mysterious person draped in the gray cloak. The stench of burnt flesh and sulfur hung thick in the air, the floor cracked by the heat. The slaughter had only just begun. The mysterious figure stepped forward, striding through charred corpses, splashing blood, and blaring sirens, turning the entire facility into a living hell amidst a sea of flames. Nigel's eyes went wide as he watched the screen. Though he hadn't known such an underground facility existed on Palieu's south bank, the intruder's practiced disguise and infiltration reminded him vaguely of a dangerous entity he had clashed with before. The moment that deep-blue cursed flame flared, he was certain: this was the culprit who had been spreading the curse through the City of Flowers recently! Tonight, taking advantage of his presence in the Posen Demon Realm, rather than attacking him at the banquet, the culprit had slipped into Palieu's municipal districts—even infiltrating the south bank where the Senate resided. Nigel didn't hesitate for another second, preparing to dash out of the banquet hall. Yet the moment he tried to move, he felt his feet shackled by an immense, crushing force. He raised his head. Perlman's gaze was locked onto him. Perlman's wordless silence seemed to demand that Nigel watch everything to the very end. "..." Nigel's hand, poised to grip the dagger inside his coat, was forced back down. Besides, even if he rushed back to the south bank now, it would already be too late. The broadcast continued. The gray-cloaked figure dragged the body of the chief researcher, strolling impassively through this museum-like purgatory. Viscera floated in glass jars along the corridor, and living specimens still twitched inside life-support pods. He reached the deepest recess of the facility. A heavy ward door of anti-magic steel was covered with sealing runes. This time... He lifted the battered chief researcher, aligning the man's eye with the scanning terminal, and slotted the keycard from the chief's body into the groove beside the door. Multiple layers of ward doors rotated open. The chamber within was like another world entirely. Pitch-black walls coated in frost swallowed nearly all light and echo; not a trace of breathing could be heard. There was only suffocating silence and bottomless black. At the center of the chamber, several pillar-like beams of anti-magic steel extended upward, anchoring heavy chains. Runes carved into the steel flickered with faint crimson pinpricks in the darkness. At the end of the chains, a mechanical grimoire as dark as ink was bound in layers. A single glance was enough to recognize it as a book-type magic-circuit artifact—a forbidden relic capable of overturning the natural order of the world. Multiple boundaries swirled around the book, phasing in and out of sight. The cloaked figure approached the grimoire and summoned the deep-blue flames once more. The chains snapped, and the boundaries fractured inch by inch. As the flames died down, he slowly reached out and took down the damaged, perilous relic. "..." Beneath the hood of the cloak, the corners of the figure's mouth curved upward. He knew precisely how to wield this artifact. Even with several missing pieces at the corners like a fragmented puzzle, it slowly began to reawaken in his hands. The book was completely black—a deep, light-devouring darkness, as if condensed from the void of the endless abyss, pulsing like a living thing. Once opened, the cover transformed into a gateway to the unknown. Dense alchemical patterns snaked across the binding, looking ready to leap off the cover and take form as grotesque monsters at any moment. Dark red eyeballs were embedded along the spine, rolling up and down restlessly, dull and lifeless like clotted beads of blood. [Palroni's Record of Resentment] [Category: Magic-circuit Artifact] [Quality: Red Legendary (Damaged)] [Tier: 8] [Effect: Can bestow a curse upon demons bound by contract, provided the true name is known and the contract structure is understood. Under extreme psychological pressure, cursed demons have a chance of entering an ultra-berserk state that burns away their life force. Due to structural damage to the artifact, the effect is unstable and cannot be cast as a targeted spell.] [Note: No forgiveness, no release. My hatred and wrath burn in hell. One day, they shall burst forth to scorch the world, burn this filthy realm to ash, and annihilate this fallen race.] Before the broadcast could shift again, screams of panic erupted through Perlman's banquet hall. "The legend of the Grand Wizard Palroni was real?!" "The Senate didn't destroy this book—they hid it away to study it?! What were they trying to do? Enslave us completely?!" "Then the reason the curse couldn't be eradicated for a century... the true culprits were those greedy humans in the Senate all along?!" The demons who had lived in the Posen Demon Realm for generations harbored deep terror toward this artifact and the tales of the Grand Wizard Palroni. Even Nigel's pupils contracted as he stared at the screen, trembling uncontrollably. "How is this possible?" A few demons who were more sympathetic to humans voiced their protests, their eyes filled with disbelief. "This is precisely what is taking place right now," Perlman said calmly, as though stating the most self-evident fact. He tapped the floor once more with his cane. The broadcast was mirrored across the glass curtain walls outside the mansion and the public megascreens throughout the city. Every nighttime screen across Sector 10 of the Posen Demon Realm simultaneously projected this absurd, shocking spectacle, broadcasting it to all demon residents. "The secret research facility covertly assembled by the Senate a century ago has been studying the surviving components of *Palroni's Record of Resentment*, assembling and restoring it toward a controllable state. Yet the curse it radiates has poisoned this land for years," Perlman pressed his thin lips together, a subtle, mocking smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Once, I naively believed humans and demons could coexist in harmony. I pursued it relentlessly, compromised endlessly, and the dream that seemed close to realization over these years blinded me like an illusion. Only when it shattered completely was I finally convinced: humans are foolish, despicable creatures. Once their greed begins to fester, it can never be stopped. For that desire, they can become something far more terrifying than demons. Looking back today, I do not regret the price I paid, for it allowed me to see through so much." His voice held helplessness, regret, and an inexplicable fury. Looking at the stunned faces of his guests, Perlman's eyes curled with a cold smile. "The shadow over Posen now hangs above our heads. I fear this ball must come to an end." The guests below panicked, their faces pale as ash. The lively, joyful gathering was instantly replaced by a stifling dread. Yet no one knew what to do. When they looked toward Perlman again, their faces were filled with pleading, hoping he could offer a solution. Yet he merely swept his gaze across the room, perfectly poised. Under the glow of the magical screen, an inscrutable expression played across his handsome face. "These are the crimes of the Senate. I summoned you all here today so you could witness the truth! We demons have no need to live under the charity of these humans any longer." The rhythm of Perlman's speech seemed to kindle emotion, stoking flames of fury in the eyes of the demons present. "Today, I shall introduce to you our true king." He swept his cane out, pointing toward the screen in the banquet hall. There, the cloaked figure holding the grimoire pulled back her hood. Silver hair tumbled down, and as she looked back slightly, people caught sight of her deep-blue eyes. A wicked smile curled at her lips. That face provoked another round of gasps throughout the hall. Because that demon was extraordinarily famous in the Kingdom of Posen. Inside Parkinson Palace hung a portrait modeled after her— *Sleeping Beauty*! "She is the last royal scion of the orthodox Demon Realm, the great demon Iphatia! She shall lead us in restoring our nation here in Posen! We are witnesses to the sins of humanity. They are the traitors; we are the betrayed. There is no forgiveness, no mercy—only vengeance, nothing but vengeance!!" Perlman raised both hands high, his resolute, stirring voice pouring like molten steel into the demons' hearts, channeling a majestic wrath that promised to lead them to victory. Even Talia, deep within Lanqi's spiritual realm, grew agitated. Because the demon holding that cursed grimoire on the screen bore the exact face of the Duchess from the portrait in Hyperion's home—her most treasured younger sister! *No, that isn't my sister! The curse spreader is impersonating her!* Talia shouted anxiously in Lanqi's heart. *Calm down, Talia. If you manifest, you can only fight for three minutes at most,* Lanqi said steadily to Talia in his soul space. They had to observe the situation first. Recklessly trying to overpower the enemy had terrible odds of success. Even if they stepped in tonight, they had to consider how to accomplish the most decisive objectives within that limited combat window. Hearing Lanqi's words, Talia considered it for a moment and gradually regained her composure. Piecing the clues together, one thing had become clear to both of them. Lord Perlman and the curse spreader were in league. Their goal was to overthrow the Senate, instigate an uprising, and seize control of the Kingdom of Posen. Normally, the greatest obstacle to such a move would be the United Council of Kingdoms and the alliance of eastern kingdoms. Even if Perlman and the curse spreader succeeded, Posen's allies would help the Senate launch a reclamation war; the Posen Demon Realm alone had no hope of contending with a colossus like the United Council of Kingdoms. Yet this timing was exceptionally delicate. It was as though a prophet had calculated the exact moment war would erupt on the Southern Continent. Once the Creti Empire to the south went to war, the United Council would be too overwhelmed to spare any aid for Posen's former rulers! Compared to Lanqi's original estimate of the Southern Continent war's outbreak, this was slightly ahead of schedule. Without prophets interfering with each other and creating variables, Perlman and the curse spreader might have waited a bit longer before making their move. But that hardly mattered now. An unprecedented upheaval in the Kingdom of Posen would begin this very night. Perlman surveyed the hall with haughty arrogance, seemingly relishing the expressions on the demons' faces. "Perlman, you go too far!" Just then, a cool, crisp female voice shattered the silence. The demons turned toward the sound and saw a woman in a pure white gown standing at the other end of the hall, having appeared there at some point unannounced. Her silver-white hair cascaded down to her waist like a waterfall, and her pale, ice-blue eyes flashed with crystalline anger. The speaker was none other than the long-silent Lord of Sector 9, Etio. "She is not Iphatia at all!" Etio pointed at the figure on the screen, denouncing her. Some powerful demon must have used transformation magic to disguise themselves as Iphatia, conspiring with Perlman to rule the demons under Iphatia's name. With such crimes committed, even if Iphatia truly returned one day, she would never be able to live the normal life she desired; she would bear infamy for eternity! All her efforts over the past decade, her dream of growing old with Mikhail, would be utterly ruined. "Oh?" Perlman's expression seemed to ask: *What right do you have to claim she isn't?* Seeing two Tier 8 demon lords confronting each other, the demons in the hall looked back and forth, unsure whom to believe. Everyone knew Lord Etio was the demon who understood Duke Mikhail's wife, Iphatia, better than anyone in the Posen Demon Realm. Her words carried immense credibility. Yet with matters having reached this stage... In a sense, whether the demon wielding *Palroni's Record of Resentment* was the true Iphatia no longer mattered. Many demons began retreating toward the exits, seeking to flee the ballroom. Perlman made no move to stop them, instead gesturing for his household servants to evacuate the guests. Before long, only a handful of figures remained in the hall, determined to see things through to the end. "Perlman, you claimed you wanted to lead Palieu. I always respected you back then, yet now you choose war and tyranny as your beginning, stooping so low as to besmirch Iphatia's name! Just how did you fall into this state?!" Etio demanded, suppressing her rage. Perlman's lips curled into a sneer. "Etio, you remain as naive as ever. Because you never experienced the moment everything shattered, you naturally cannot understand the choice I make today." He tilted his head slightly, leaning on his cane as he addressed Etio. "Sophistry! Wrong is wrong, and right is right!" Etio barked coldly. "I indeed cannot understand you, but I will never allow you to lead Palieu and our demon kin astray!" Before her voice had faded, twenty-two crystalline ice lances formed around her, hurtling toward Perlman. The magical screen floating in midair shattered instantly, blown into countless fragments by the terrifying mana. Yet just as her ice lances reached Perlman, they dissolved into nothingness under the force of telekinesis, and the stone floor beneath Etio's feet lit up. Silver light flared, and Etio's body abruptly seized up, bound by invisible boundary shackles. "It seems we cannot see eye to eye." Perlman looked at Etio with a cooler gaze, as though regarding something dull. "As long as you die here, she *is* Iphatia." Etio's expression shifted slightly. Sensing the mansion's restrictive boundary, she realized this terrain was terribly unfavorable for a battle. "Do not resort to violence in my home." He raised his cane and brought it down again. An invisible telekinetic pressure instantly magnified gravity a hundredfold upon Etio, cracking the stone floor beneath her. Etio gritted her silver teeth, trying to break through the boundary's hold, but another wave of telekinesis crashed down on her a second later. The clash between two Tier 8 demon lords threw the entire hall into utter chaos. The remaining demons fled in panic, stumbling toward the doors, overturning banquet tables laden with delicacies. Glassware shattered on the floor, while others were so terrified they froze in place, faces ash-gray, legs trembling as if caught in a paralysis spell. Yet Perlman did not seem inclined to harm them. After suppressing Etio, he did not press the attack, allowing the demons ample time to leave the mansion and flee toward safety. Soon, the mansion became nearly desolate. The crystal chandeliers overhead swayed precariously, and the fine food and wine had all crashed to the floor, champagne pooling across the tiles. "Oh, right. Iphatia still has a daughter who could verify her identity," Perlman said to Etio as if recalling something. He strolled forward, looking at the battered Etio with mocking amusement in his eyes. The irony was that once the dust settled, her daughter would barely be able to protect herself, swiftly drowned out by curses and condemnation, with no opportunity to prove her mother wasn't her mother. "If you dare harm Hyperion... don't forget she still has an aunt! Princess Talia will never spare you!" Etio clenched her teeth, glaring defiantly at Perlman. "Oh? That missing princess?" Perlman seemed to see right through Etio's thoughts. "Rather than pinning your hopes on a princess who hasn't appeared for a century and whose fate remains unknown, you would be better off praying that some other great demon comes to stop me." "You have a daughter of your own—how could you do something like this?!" Etio's face turned deathly pale, her hands trembling uncontrollably. She could not afford to lose today, or she dared not imagine what would become of Palieu, the Posen Royal Palace, and Hyperion. Yet she was at an absolute disadvantage; Perlman hadn't even begun to fight her in earnest. All she knew was that Perlman was a mage specializing primarily in telekinesis, with spiritual magic as his secondary focus. The difference between spiritual magic and telekinesis lay in the fact that spiritual magic controlled living beings from within, whereas telekinesis controlled them from without. For example, spiritual magic could not make a non-flying creature take flight, but telekinetic magic could lift a target into the air. Conversely, spiritual magic could inflict specialized interference beyond simple physical restraint, such as mental confusion, which telekinesis could not achieve. Furthermore, telekinesis could be resisted and broken through sheer physical force, making it difficult to lock down martial combatants, whereas spiritual magic easily subdued martial artists but struggled against mages, priests, and special beings with high magic resistance. Mastering both spiritual magic and telekinesis produced an almost inescapable control that required a combatant to possess both physical and magical prowess to contend with Perlman. Having actually crossed blows with him, Etio found Perlman bottomlessly deep, his terrifying telekinesis nearly impossible to counter. "Nigel, you understand the whole story now, don't you?" During the brief lull, Perlman turned toward Nigel, who had been standing with lowered head at the side of the hall for a long time. "..." Nigel clenched his fists, veins bulging on the back of his hands. "I never blamed you for leaving my side all those years ago, nor for going to the Senate. You were so much like my younger self—naive, passionate, resolute, yet capable of steadfastly charging down the wrong path. Over these years, I only hoped you would see for yourself what humans truly are," Perlman said, resting his cane behind his back once more as he instructed Nigel. "Nigel..." Etio had still been praying that Nigel might help her. As a Tier 7 demon warrior, Nigel possessed immense physical strength. If he was willing to aid her, he could act as a front-line tank, coordinating attacks alongside her. Yet putting herself in Nigel's shoes, his heart must be filled with irrepressible fury and boundless confusion. Etio felt a sink of despair. The live broadcast mirrored across Sector 10 and the banquet screen continued. Inside the laboratory, the curse spreader's long, well-defined fingers gently caressed the grimoire. Turning the dark red pages, his lips moved in a low chant, reciting incantations in the ancient demon script. At last, the ritual was complete. An invisible power burst forth from the book, billowing upward like an erupting black mist, as though tens of thousands of wailing wraiths were shrieking in their ears. ... Meanwhile. Approaching four in the morning. Under the assault of the storm, the night over the City of Flowers, Palieu, was darker than usual. Inside the Asturias Count's Mansion in Palieu's Sector 2. Countess Rosalinda stood in her dressing gown, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window, feeling an uneasy premonition. A bone-chilling aura was seeping through the city. "The fog is so heavy tonight." The rain poured fiercely, as though intent on dissolving heaven and earth into the pitch-black night. Although a heavy rain warning had been issued, communications with the south bank seemed temporarily severed. When she tried to contact Marquis Rises of the Senate, she couldn't get through. Looking into the distance, the surface of the Selena River churned under the pelting rain, looking as if it were boiling. The buildings along the riverbanks were swallowed by the curtain of rain, leaving only faint silhouettes like mirages in the stormy night. Unlike the north bank... Over the south bank of Palieu, heavy clouds clustered as if summoned, blotting out the last trace of silver moonlight. Gales howling with thunder and lightning swept past, rain crashing down in torrents onto the empty cobblestone streets. The sky was torn open by ominous crimson lightning, the flashes staining half the sky blood-red, illuminating the weeping cross atop the spire of Palieu Notre-Dame. Deafening thunderclaps shook the earth, spiderweb-like cracks spreading across brick-and-mortar buildings. In the next instant, countless humanoid black shadows burst through doors across the city. Their bodies were twisted and deformed, half-human and half-beast, letting out shrill howls mixed with cackling laughter, bloodthirsty madness dancing in their glowing red eyes. These cursed, berserk demons who had lost all reason stampeded through the storm like a surging tide. They smashed shop windows, broke down doors, dragged screaming children from their beds, and devoured them amidst their cries. Flailing their claws, they slashed at men, women, young and old fleeing in panic. Blood splashed through the rain, gathering into rancid rivers of gore. Piercing screams rose and fell, echoing amidst the thunder. Smoke billowed from fires blazing through the storm, contesting the downpour, blanketing the sky in an eerie orange-red glow that slowly crossed the river toward the north bank. The once-bustling Ghost Pipe Avenue turned into a living hell in a heartbeat. Amidst the rubble, berserk demons danced madly among mounds of corpses, battling police officers and knights. "The native demons of the northern and southern continents are truly foolish, actually dreaming of coexisting with humans..." The culprit behind it all, the silver-haired figure holding the magic-circuit artifact, hummed a tune as he strolled leisurely through the ruins and corpses. His destination was the Senate. Although the city defense barrier was suppressing the widespread outbreak of berserk demons across the districts, it was steadily overloading. Even if he took action now, he had little need to fear the suppressive force and attacks of the large-scale city defense installations. Tonight... The City of Flowers would plunge into eternal darkness, with no dawn to follow. ... Sector 10, Lord Perlman's banquet hall. Etio watched the screen with burning anxiety, yet holding her ground against Perlman's telekinesis alone took every ounce of her strength. She knew what the enemy was after. As long as they seized the city defense central keys from the estates of the Senate's three dukes and brought all three to the central control hub in South Bank Sector 1, they could shut down the barrier! At that point, no one would be able to stand against Perlman and the mysterious, wicked demon masquerading as Iphatia. Although all three dukes had Tier 7 guardians, the city defense barrier was already overloaded. That demon on the south bank appeared exceedingly strong; breaking through the guardians' lines to seize the keys would be child's play. Worse still, Duchess Tiffany's guardian, Nigel, was nowhere near her side. Nigel might even switch sides. "Etio, if you are willing to join us, I promise no harm will come to Hyperion. When Iphatia returns, we will hand the throne directly to her, because I believe with you present, we could cooperate and coexist with her. But if you insist on standing against me, then I am afraid today I must bid you farewell," Perlman said, looking at Etio. "Perlman..." Etio knew how seductive Perlman's words were; he understood her too well, aiming directly at the compromise she was most tempted to make. Yet if she truly agreed, it would be no different from betraying Lady Iphatia! Just as Etio braced for the worst, prepared to fight Perlman to the death... Nigel gripped his dagger, a faint crimson glow rising from the pitch-black blade, having clearly gathered power for a long time. Before Perlman could react, the blade howled through the air. Slashing straight toward Perlman! Seizing the opening, Etio summoned streaks of ice-blue lightning cascading from the heavens, threatening to freeze the very earth. "Oh? Nigel?" Perlman parried Nigel's blade with his cane, sounding genuinely surprised. Raising his other hand, he effortlessly deflected the icy lightning as well. Even facing Nigel and Etio together, he appeared entirely at ease. After he blocked Nigel's strike, the glass walls of the banquet hall behind him shattered like rain, and clean cuts cleaved through the mansion's walls, causing them to shift and collapse. Amidst the crumbling debris, the torrential rain poured down from the sky, unhindered by the roof, pelting Nigel and soaking his brown hair. "Master, it is you who have fallen," Nigel said in a resolute, hoarse voice. Just as when he had severed his adoptive sister's head, he was now prepared to slay his own teacher. "All I know is that a creature that dangerous is not a demon we can call a friend." With a ringing shout, he wrenched his blade free and lunged. Whatever sins he must bear, he was ready to carry them all—anything to keep his master from continuing down this path of ruin. "Striking at your own teacher... does your conscience truly feel no guilt?" Perlman asked with a smile. No matter how the rain lashed, it couldn't reach him. He parried Nigel's blade with his cane, just as he had sparred with Nigel all those years ago. "..." Nigel said no more, pouring his entire focus into the fight. "I am gratified, yet also deeply saddened." Perlman shook his head in disappointment, his gaze turning colder as he realized words would no longer sway Nigel. Immediately after... Nigel seemed struck by spiritual manipulation. His movements warped, lunging straight toward Perlman's cane. Seeing this, Etio tried to cast an ice crystal shield over him. "Don't mind me!" Nigel roared, twisting his wrist with all his might through the sickening crunch of fracturing bones. Raising his short blade before him with tremendous momentum, he used his own flesh and blood to construct a solid bulwark for Etio. Etio understood instantly. This time, centering upon the mansion's ruins, she gathered a chill even more terrifying than before. Clouds churned, snow began to fall, and the entire Posen Demon Realm seemed swept into an unprecedented blizzard. Perlman looked slightly surprised. Countless ice lances hurtled in from every direction, each bristling with deadly sharpness. Perlman's telekinesis was temporarily suppressed by the sheer onslaught of ice. In the next instant, heaven and earth shook! Countless bolts of ice-blue lightning rained down from the sky, weaving with the ice lances into a deadly web, determined to lock Perlman in this frozen purgatory forever. Ignoring his injuries, Nigel held the frontline, his dagger dancing into a flurry of afterimages, pressing an increasingly ferocious offensive alongside Etio's icy thunder behind him. In an instant, telekinesis, ice crystals, and crimson shadows clashed and wove together through the dim, stormy night! Wherever this power swept, buildings collapsed and streets split open; the entire center of Sector 10 seemed ready to crumble under the titanic battle! ... Atop a skyscraper several kilometers from the heart of the battlefield. Thunder roared and fierce winds howled. Two figures stood holding their breath, gazing toward the earth-shattering commotion in the distance. The rainy night sky was dyed a bizarre purplish-red, like the final afterglow before doomsday. At the center of that Tier 8 battlefield, Sector 10 of the Posen Demon Realm was being engulfed in a frozen hell. The city shook violently under their clashes. Lord Astaroth of Sector 7 and Lord Eureka of Sector 8 were still hesitating, watching the battle from afar atop the skyscraper without joining the fray. Even from such a distance, they could distinctly feel the terrifying power. Every collision between telekinesis and icy thunder whipped up gale-force winds in the air, snapping their cloaks furiously. They felt an unprecedented pressure, as though the world itself might splinter apart under the clash of those two Tier 8 demons. "Is this what a battle between Tier 8s looks like?" Astaroth muttered in a daze. "Indeed. This is the realm of the divine. I cannot imagine what would happen if two beings at the peak of Tier 8 fought... the entire Posen Demon Realm might turn to ash in an instant..." Eureka said with a trembling voice. For one thing, diving into such a battlefield made extraction nearly impossible. For another, they were torn. Perlman and Etio each told different stories. They had originally favored Perlman's vision of restoring the glory of the demon race. Yet after Nigel's words, they also felt that the figure suspected of deliberately spreading the curse was far too dangerous. Submitting to such an entity left their future entirely uncertain. "If all three keys held by the Senate's three dukes are taken, Palieu's city defenses will fall completely under Perlman's control. Then there will be no way to fight back," Lord Eureka of Sector 8 analyzed. "I'll follow your lead," Astaroth shook his head. Right now, the entire southern district was overrun with berserk demons, pushing the city defense barrier past its limits. Yet enforcement squads, the army, and the police were already battling the berserk demons across the city. If the Tier 8 demon on the south bank obtained the keys and reached the central defense hub in South Bank Sector 1 to alter the commands before the barrier recovered, everything would be over. Likewise, there was currently no one in the south capable of contending with a Tier 8 demon. "The condition for Nigel and Etio to win is defeating Lord Perlman and the mysterious demon simultaneously before the city falls," Eureka continued in a heavy tone. A city defense battle on par with a Tier 8 Shadow World had begun. Yet Perlman only needed to pin Etio and Nigel down in Sector 10 and wait for the mysterious demon to secure the keys, guaranteeing the south bank's fall. The combat strength between the two sides was fundamentally unequal. Etio couldn't even get past Perlman, let alone rush south to put out the fire. What was more, no one knew how many hidden cards Perlman and the mysterious demon still held; right now, he appeared merely to be toying with Etio and Nigel. "Is there truly no way for Nigel's side to win?" Astaroth shifted his gaze from the distant battlefield to Eureka beside him. Toward the restoration of the Demon Realm, he harbored both anticipation and suspicion, tinged with dread. He was wary of the mysterious demon who wielded *Palroni's Record of Resentment*. Perhaps facing such a demon king, he and Eureka would have no choice but to bend the knee, but there was no telling whether that king would be a tyrant. "In a situation like this, we can only wait for the party to wipe," Eureka sighed. Neither of them wanted to fight. There was no benefit to jumping in, only the risk of getting dragged down with them. "Unless the Goddess of Fate decides to play a practical joke," Eureka murmured hopelessly.