Rumble…

The ground heaved violently.

Leading the Demon King’s army outside the capital, Geshkafor let out a groan.

“What in the world…?”

The magic circle he had glimpsed inside the pit now spread outward, sprawling beneath the imperial palace and beyond. Soldiers looked down at the glowing lines beneath their feet, panic creeping into their voices.

“W-what is this?”

“Isn’t this dangerous?”

“Get away from it!”

Confusion swept the ranks like wildfire.

“Ugh, seriously…”

Geshkafor rubbed his brow, then turned to another of the Four Heavenly Kings.

“Hey. You could lend a hand instead of just standing there. You’ve got seniority, don’t you?”

Damon, a veteran from the previous Demon King’s era, gave a weary sigh.

“You think I’ve seen anything like this before? I’ve no idea what’s going on either.”

“Utterly useless.”

Geshkafor groaned, but Damon spoke again after a pause.

“…There might be something we can try.”

“What?”

Geshkafor’s head shot up.

“What is it?”

“Circles this large aren’t drawn directly onto the ground. They’re projected through conduits—facilities that channel and anchor them.”

“Projected?”

“In other words, there should be structures sustaining this formation. Break them, and you could collapse the circle.”

“Are you serious?”

Damon nodded slowly.

“Probably. I saw smaller versions back in the old days. Priests and magi would hide such anchors wherever they could.”

“And how do we find them?”

“…No idea.”

Damon’s voice dropped.

“That’s not my field. I only deal with the dead. I am, after all, the King of the Dead.”

“…”

Geshkafor glanced back at the palace.

So if everything goes wrong and we all die, he’ll just raise us as soldiers again…

But that wouldn’t save him. If he died, there’d be no glory, no recognition.

I can’t just run. I need results.

Already, he was treated as lesser among the Four Demon General compared to Beatrice. He couldn’t settle for that.

“I’ll find those facilities,” Geshkafor said flatly. “You take the army and retreat farther from the capital.”

“What? You want me to leave you here?”

“You want to come with me, then? We don’t have time. Choose fast.”

Damon grimaced, thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“No. The Demon King told me to safeguard the army. That’s my duty.”

Cowardice. Geshkafor could see it written plain on his face. He snorted bitterly.

King of the Dead, huh?

So afraid, even after surviving to serve again. Perhaps that was why he lived.

“Fine. I’m going. Do your job.”

He strode off without looking back. Damon watched him go, muttering under his breath.

“Idiot.”

His thoughts lingered on what he had glimpsed earlier—a figure moving through the skies.

“Still… thanks to him, my contribution will look all the greater.”

After all, if Geshkafor died, there’d be no glory to claim. Protecting the army’s safe withdrawal would be more than enough to secure Damon’s own share of merit.

“Do your best, then.”

He smirked, keeping one truth to himself: that Yuru had already entered that direction.

♧

“Clay, are you all right?”

Even after Tia had leapt into the pit, Clay could barely steady himself. Beatrice, watching him struggle, spoke gently.

“You should withdraw, not just the army. You need to leave too.”

“No.”

Clay shook his head.

“I can’t. Not yet.”

The rumbling from below wasn’t merely the circle’s tremors. Something else stirred.

“There’s more down there. I have to see it.”

“You don’t need to.”

Beatrice’s voice sharpened.

“Don’t you realize this trap is aimed at you?”

She too recognized it as a seal-breaking circle for an ancient god. But this wasn’t simply to unbind a seal. It was crafted to ensnare him, to draw him in.

“That’s why I must go.”

Clay forced himself upright.

“They’ve already bound me to it. If I flee now, I may never escape its reach. Better to find the source and cut it out.”

He looked at her directly.

“Beatrice—will you help me?”

She sighed, exasperated.

“You really can’t be stopped…”

She wanted to drag him out by force, but he was unbending. He moved as though retreat meant never returning, as though leaving now would close this path forever.

“…Very well.”

She lifted him to his feet.

“I’ll let you go. But not unguarded.”

Gathering her dark mana, she wrapped him in it like a cloak.

“The circle targets you. If it doesn’t press down on anyone else with mana, then it is fixed on your existence alone.”

The shroud dulled his presence, blurring his outline to the world.

“I’ve poured nearly all my power into this. It’s bound to your will—use it wisely. Whatever happens, do not force your own strength. If you flare again, the world will mark you all over.”

Clay nodded firmly.

“Understood.”

He turned.

“Naiad. Stay with Beatrice. Make sure she gets out safely.”

“What?”

Naiad’s eyes went wide.

“Only you?” Naiad’s voice was strained. “It’s too dangerous. I have to go with you.”

“Beatrice has given me nearly all her strength. She’ll be defenseless for a while—she needs your support.”

“No…!”

Naiad’s chest heaved. She glanced from Beatrice to Clay, then squeezed her eyes shut.

“Fine! Fine, I get it!”

She flicked a drop of water onto the floor. It rippled outward into a small pool—and from it, a faint blue figure rose.

“I’ll leave an Undine here. A water spirit. It will take my place and lend you its strength.”

Water flowed to support Beatrice, cradling her gently.

“If it gets too dangerous, promise me you’ll come back! Promise!”

“I promise.”

“Good. I’ll believe you.”

Still muttering, Naiad led Beatrice away. Clay exhaled and lowered his gaze back to the pit.

“Syltanaro. Can you hold on?”

『Yes. But without your power, I can’t last long.』

She could still draw from stored mana, but not replenish it from him—not now. As a weapon, she needed to resonate with her wielder to fully unleash herself.

“Then we hurry.”

Clay leapt once more into the pit.

♧

“Damn it…”

Within the imperial palace.

Geshkafor, who had slipped back inside, scanned the halls nervously, sweat running down his face.

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

He had no idea what the circle’s sustaining facilities might look like. He only guessed that something tied to the circle would give off a glow, some sign he could track.

“Where are you?”

His growl echoed through the ruined corridors. And then—

“…Huh?”

He spotted someone.

A figure he recognized, crossing a hallway ahead—Crown Prince Neville, Clay’s supposed ally.

“What’s he doing here?”

Neville should have been in Yaphenon, handling administration. Clay hadn’t placed him in the Demon King’s army at all.

Unease prickled down Geshkafor’s spine. He stalked after him.

But the chase didn’t last long.

“Geshkafor.”

Neville turned, already aware of the tail. His calm voice carried across the hall.

“You’re dull-witted, but lucky. Few ever manage to meet me here.”

“…What?”

The words made no sense. Geshkafor snorted.

“Listen, human. Have you lost your mind? Just because the Demon King keeps you close, you’ve forgotten your place?”

“No. It’s demons like you who don’t know theirs.”

Neville turned fully, his expression cold.

“Elhaen cast you into your own corners to live like vermin. And still you scurry out, desperate. Insects.”

“You bastard!”

Geshkafor didn’t know what this was—but even he realized this was no longer the meek prince he knew.

“Cross the line again and I’ll—”

“Kill me?” Neville tilted his head. “Would Clay like that? I think not.”

“You arrogant…”

Rage boiled in him, but Neville was right. He couldn’t touch him. Clay himself had brought Neville, and killing him would be unforgivable.

“If you can’t act, I’ll take my leave. The circle’s output feels weak. I need to feed it more power.”

“!”

That word—circle.

Before Neville could take another step, Geshkafor lunged.

Whoooom!

His massive arm came crashing down.

KA-BOOOOM!

The impact split stone and shook the palace.

“…What?”

His strike had landed—but not on Neville. A golden barrier shimmered, stopping him cold.

“I’ve been given more blessings than you can imagine.”

BANG!

Neville’s fist shot out. Geshkafor’s bulk was hurled back, his body bouncing across the floor like a broken doll.

“Khaghh!”

He groaned, forcing his eyes up.

“What… are you?”

“Only a devoted follower of Clay.”

Neville’s gaze hardened.

“Not the Demon King. The Hero.”

“…Damn you.”

Realization struck—he was an enemy. But before Geshkafor could act again—

“Ah.”

A light voice cut through the dust.

A woman in a wide-brimmed hat appeared.

“So it was you, then.”

Yuru, Master of the Blue Tower, smiled faintly at Neville.

“You’re the culprit.”

(End of Chapter)