The Demon Lord's palace wasn't made of stone.
It wasn't carved by hands or built by labourers.
It was alive.
The walls pulsed, their blackened surfaces shifting, as if breathing. The crimson veins that ran through them glowed faintly, casting eerie light throughout the massive chamber. The air was thick—not just with magic, but with something deeper, something sentient.
Envy had once thought she had seen darkness before.
She had lived in the slums, in assassin hideouts, in places where the sun never reached.
But this—this was something else.
This was where nightmares were born.
And she belonged here now.
As she walked through the throne room, the weight of the scythe in her grip was both comforting and unfamiliar. The blade glowed a deep, poisonous violet—the colour of her resentment, her rage, her envy—twisting and flickering like a living flame.
She could feel the power inside it, pulsing in rhythm with her own breath. It wanted to be used.
And soon, it would be.
But first—
She had to meet him.
At the far end of the chamber, standing just beneath the Demon Lord's throne, was Virion.
His appearance was refined, yet dangerous, the perfect image of a noble turned executioner. He was tall and draped in obsidian robes, his armour lined with gold vigils that pulsed faintly.
Two black horns curved from the side of his forehead, and his piercing amber eyes studied her with cool indifference.
She could tell—he wasn't impressed by her.
Good.
She'd make him be.
"Lady Envy," he greeted smoothly, inclining his head. "It seems the Demon Lord has found you… worthy."
Envy's grip on her scythe tightened. She didn't need to hear the unspoken part of that sentence.
For now.
The Demon Lord, seated gracefully on her throne, smiled faintly. "Virion will teach you about your new powers, Envy. You have been given strength, but without discipline, you are nothing more than a reckless child swinging a weapon she does not understand."
Envy's teeth clenched.
She hated being looked down on.
But she knew better than to challenge the Demon Lord's words.
Virion, however, smirked. "A child, indeed. One reborn, but still crawling."
Envy stepped forward, her violet eyes flashing with warning. "If you're so eager to test me, let's see if your blood glows like that pretty armour of yours."
Virion chuckled, unfazed. "Oh, you will have plenty of time to fight, little blade. But first—"
He turned toward the Demon Lord, his amusement vanishing into something colder, more calculated.
"The humans believe they have won."
The Demon Lord tilted her head, smiling knowingly. "Let them. Call back our forces."
Envy's eyes narrowed slightly. "We're retreating?"
Virion glanced at her, unimpressed. "Not retreating. Withdrawing."
The Demon Lord rested her chin upon her palm, her crimson eyes glimmering with satisfaction.
"The purpose of this battle was never victory."
Her words sent a chill through Envy's spine.
"Then what was it?"
The Demon Lord's smile deepened.
"Exhaustion."
The realization struck like a blade to the gut.
The demons had never fought to conquer Solmaria—they had fought to bleed the humans dry.
To make them fight for every inch of land, to make them watch their people die in the streets, to let them believe they had survived—only to realize they were now too weak to stand against what came next.
A war of attrition and fear.
A war that would never truly end.
Envy exhaled slowly, gripping her scythe.
So this was what it meant to serve the Demon Lord.
She liked it.
*
*
*
The war room of Solmaria had witnessed countless debates, strategies, and desperate arguments throughout its existence.
But never this.
Never had a summoned hero dared to challenge royalty.
Never had someone spat in the face of their authority with absolute defiance.
And yet—
Here Leon Yuuki stood, his presence drenched in quiet fury, his hand clenched tight around the hilt of his katana.
A weapon that pulsed with something unnatural.
The queen, usually composed, sat frozen. The King of Solmaria, known for his patience, barely concealed his tension.
The High Council—a collection of nobles and generals who had long thought themselves untouchable—now sat in stunned, breathless silence.
Even The Crimson Vow—his own allies, his comrades—looked shaken.
Because this was not Leon speaking.
This was something else.
Leon's voice was steady.
Cold.
Filled with venom that burned rather than stung.
"I did not choose to be summoned."
The words hung in the air, sharp and absolute.
He took a slow step forward, the faintest crimson aura flickering around him, licking at the edges of his figure like fire starved of air.
His grip on the katana tightened, but he did not raise it.
Yet the room felt as if he had.
"I did not ask to be brought here. I did not ask to be called 'hero.'" His eyes, dark and unreadable, bore into the queen's. "Your war is not my war. And yet, you expect me to fight it without question."
Seraphina, the princess, parted her lips to speak, but no words came.
Leon wasn't done.
"King Edric of Eldoria gave me Sylva as a reward."
A sharp intake of breath from the council.
Leon ignored them.
His voice remained steady, but there was something visceral in his tone.
"I rejected it. I rejected him. And I will reject anyone else who thinks they have the right to decide who is worth respect and who is not."
His gaze locked onto the knight who had insulted Sylva earlier.
The man flinched.
Leon's words cut deeper than any sword ever could.
"If I hear another insult toward her—from any of you—" His eyes flickered, his katana's aura flaring slightly, "even if it comes from the mouths of a king or queen themselves…"
The room felt heavier.
More suffocating.
"I will not tolerate it."
Sylva knew.
She could see it.
This wasn't just Leon.
The words he spoke—raw, venomous, dangerous—were not entirely his own.
The katana was speaking with him.
No.
Through him.
The faint crimson glow in his eyes, the way his presence seemed to press down upon the entire chamber, the way his very words felt like unsheathed steel against skin.
The blade had infused itself into him.
It was feeding off his emotions—his resentment, his exhaustion, his unwillingness to be treated as a pawn.
And it was speaking.
And yet—
Even knowing this, Sylva could not bring herself to stop him.
Because for the first time since she had known him—Leon was being honest.
This was what he truly felt.
This was who he was becoming.
Leon's words hung in the air like an unbreakable curse.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Even the High Commander of Solmaria, Cedric Renandt, said nothing.
Then, finally—
Leon exhaled, the tension in his shoulders not easing, but settling.
"I will fight this war."
A shift. A tiny breath of relief from the council.
"I will be the hero you want."
Another shift.
But then—
The final cut.
"So long as you stop pushing me."
His crimson aura flickered—and then vanished as he took a step back, the presence of the katana withdrawing into his body.
And without waiting for permission—
Without waiting for a response—
Leon turned and left the chamber.
The heavy doors slammed shut behind him.
No one spoke.
The knights, the council members—even the king and queen themselves—remained frozen in place.
Cedric let out a slow, measured breath.
"…That was not normal."
Princess Seraphina, for once, had nothing to say.
The knight who had insulted Sylva earlier looked ashen, his hands trembling slightly.
And Sylva—
She finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Because she knew something had changed.
Leon had not just spoken out against the council.
He had drawn a line between himself and them.
And she wasn't sure if anyone truly understood the consequences yet.
But they would.
Soon enough.
*
*
*
The Shadow did not move.
It did not breathe, did not shift, did not betray its presence.
It simply watched.
It had observed countless mortals, witnessed emperors rise and fall, seen warriors shape history with a single stroke of their blades.
But this?
This was something new.
Leon Yuuki stood in the center of the war room, his presence coiling with an aura of suppressed rage, his katana pulsing like a beast barely held on a leash.
He was not the strongest warrior the Shadow had ever seen.
Not yet.
But the way he spoke, the way his very words carried the weight of a blade—
It was delightful.
A human standing before kings and queens, before generals and noblemen, and speaking not as a servant, but as something more.
Something untouchable.
His threats were not hollow.
His presence was not empty bravado.
He had made them afraid.
Not just of his strength, but of the fact that they could no longer control him.
And the Shadow—
It liked that.
So it remained unseen, basking in the raw tension, absorbing the weight of Leon's words as they cut deeper than any blade ever could.
And when the summoned hero finally turned his back on them, leaving the chamber in silence and awe—
The Shadow, for the first time in a long while, felt something close to amusement.
It was time to return.
The Demon Lord would want to hear about this.
The citadel of the Demon Lord was nothing like the mortal kingdoms.
It was not built by hands, nor shaped by time.
It simply existed.
A place where reality bent under its ruler's will.
The Shadow moved through it effortlessly, slipping between the folds of space, its formless presence drifting past the kneeling demons and twisted warriors who served under the Demon Lord's banner.
They did not see it.
They could not see it.
The only one who ever truly could—
Was her.
And when the Shadow reached the throne room, ready to report—
It stopped.
Because it was not alone.
Someone else was there.
Virion and,
A girl.
No—a soldier, a blade, a monster in human skin.
She stood in the center of the chamber, her grip tight around a scythe pulsing with violet hunger, her newly reborn crimson eyes gleaming with fresh hatred.
And the Shadow recognized her instantly.
It had seen her die.
It had watched her fall, broken and discarded, her final moments spent drowning in the blood of her fallen comrades.
And yet—
Here she was.
Alive. Reborn.
Her gaze locked onto it, and the moment their eyes met—
She attacked.
Envy moved with inhuman speed, her scythe slashing forward in a blur of violet energy, a strike meant to cleave the Shadow apart.
She didn't hesitate.
She didn't question.
She simply attacked.
The Shadow tilted its head, unbothered.
And then—
Blades appeared from nowhere.
A dozen.
A hundred.
A thousand.
The air bent around them, a storm of floating, glimmering swords materializing in the blink of an eye.
Each one aimed directly at her.
Envy froze.
Her scythe still hummed with killing intent, but she was smart enough to recognize the danger.
The swords did not move.
But they could.
And she knew—
If she took one more step, if she dared to strike again—
They would cut her down without mercy.
The Shadow remained still, its voice calm and detached.
"New toy?"
Its words were not a question.
They were a statement.
Envy scowled, but did not lower her weapon.
The Demon Lord, seated on her throne, merely chuckled.
"Let her go."
The floating swords vanished in an instant.
And Envy—visibly furious at the restraint she had been forced to show—finally stepped back, though her grip on her scythe did not relax.
The Shadow studied her.
"You are not the same."
Envy's lips curled. "Neither are you."
An answer it hadn't expected.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The Demon Lord watched them both with amusement, before finally turning her gaze to the Shadow.
"Speak."
The Shadow drifted forward, its form shifting, its presence momentarily warping the very air.
"Leon Yuuki has changed."
The Demon Lord tilted her head, intrigued. "Explain."
The Shadow did.
It told her of the war room, of the weight of Leon's presence, of how he had stood against kings and queens without fear.
It told her of his katana, the way it whispered with him, the way it bled into his words, guiding his emotions, twisting his raw defiance into something venomous and absolute.
It told her of how even his own allies had been shaken.
And when the Shadow finally finished, the Demon Lord laughed softly.
"Oh, Leon."
She smiled.
"You're becoming exactly what I hoped you would."
The Shadow watched her, its voice unreadable.
"You are pleased."
The Demon Lord's smile deepened.
"Of course. He is learning. He is shedding his illusions." She leaned back against her throne, her crimson eyes glowing in the dim light. "And when the time comes, he will finally understand the truth."
Envy crossed her arms, watching the exchange with mild irritation.
"You talk like you know him."
The Demon Lord's gaze flickered toward her.
And in that instant—Envy felt something she hadn't before.
A deep, slow, suffocating understanding.
The Demon Lord did not simply want Leon dead.
She wanted him to break.
To become something else entirely.
And for the first time, Envy wondered—
If she had ever truly understood the kind of game she had stepped into.