“Bachros, give up resisting. You have nowhere left to run.”
The cold voice pierced the deathly silence of the forest.
Its owner—the Chief Executive Officer of the Blade of Dawn, the elven prodigy, Tilia Stuart—hovered several yards above the dusky treetops.
Her amber eyes cut through the dimness of the woods, calmly fixed on the figure below, teetering on the brink of collapse.
Her prey, Bachros—the capable lieutenant under Demon King Goreya Sagus.
At this moment, Bachros was leaning heavily against the roots of a charred giant tree, gasping violently.
A deep fissure split his face; his entire body resembled cracked porcelain, ready to shatter completely at any moment.
“Give up? You must be joking!” Bachros shot Tilia a vicious glare.
He never expected to be reduced to this pitiful state of a beaten dog.
Though she was the CEO, it was far from enough for just one person to push him into such a dire situation.
“Defiant even at death’s door?”
“If you hadn’t ambushed me, how could you possibly be my match?”
Bachros had come to complete the task assigned by Goreya but fell into the trap Tilia had set as soon as he arrived.
“I’m the Chief Executive Officer—defeating a mere subordinate of a Demon King should be a given. As for your ‘ambush’…” Tilia’s fingers glowed with Saint Light, “…that’s called strategic assurance. Understand?”
“Executive Officer? Who wears clothes like that?” Bachros’ gaze flicked to her outfit.
Tilia was dressed in a uniquely designed black robe.
Calling it a robe was misleading—it resembled more some sort of shameful play attire: a daring diamond-shaped cutout revealed confident charm across her chest, while the hem was cleverly split, exposing glimpses of long, slender legs with every movement.
This outfit was less about holiness and more about an intimidating style imbued with personal flair amid the lethal atmosphere.
“Do you want to die quickly?” Tilia’s tone was calm, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her anger.
Slowly, she raised her right hand; the Saint Light responded as if under absolute command, wildly converging and condensing into her palm!
“You have a few seconds left to say your last words.”
The Saint Light in Tilia’s hand gathered to its limit, the terrifying pressure solidifying the air.
Bachros did not give up.
Instead, during their brief conversation, he stealthily reached for his waist—where a pouch shimmered faintly with spatial fluctuations.
His fingertips brushed a hard object; his heart tightened, and he quickly grabbed and pulled it out!
“Hurry! The Deep Space Scroll! Just tear it open—”
He opened his palm, but his pupils shrank sharply.
What lay in his palm was no life-saving scroll but a distorted document pouch!
Scrawled messily on the pouch were the words: “Abyssal Direct Monster Resource Development and Cultivation Division · Internal Study Document (Confidential).”
“Damn you!!”
Before setting out, that old fool in intelligence had solemnly handed him the “latest teleportation scroll”!
Now recalling the evasive look… that bastard definitely mixed up the equipment application form with study materials!
Worse yet, this damned pouch felt disturbingly familiar.
His eyes flicked to the back of the pouch, where a sloppy line in the common language of demons stabbed into his mind: “This document contains a powerful Trigger-type Tracking Scroll (Internal), facilitating high-level supervisors to verify study progress…”
“………………”
A furious rage erupted from his tailbone all the way to his crown.
Bachros finally understood why he was so precisely ambushed! That cursed tracking scroll!
“In the name of the Goddess Saint Light, I deliver your judgment!”
The sharp command fell, and Tilia’s palm struck down with tremendous force.
At the same time, the gathered Saint Light burst forth, transforming into a massive, world-destroying pillar of light that completely engulfed Bachros’ figure.
When the light dispersed and dust settled, Bachros’ breath was barely perceptible; his left arm had been utterly pulverized to powder within the radiance.
“…Ha… haha…” A blood-tinged, twisted laugh forced its way out from Bachros’ throat.
“Never thought… never thought I’d end up like this.”
Glancing at his cracked body, Bachros sighed softly.
Once, he was just an ordinary demon.
At that time, demons fared poorly on the continent, and he suffered greatly because of it.
That deep-rooted humiliation in his heart eventually forged a heavy vow—restore the demon race’s glory; it was their duty.
To lead the demons, one must possess overwhelming power and supreme authority.
The Demon King’s throne became his first goal.
He endured countless hardships, steadily growing stronger.
The supreme throne was finally within reach… yet fate revealed its cruel smile at that moment.
Goreya Sagus—the prodigious young demon girl who emerged from nowhere—claimed the Demon King’s throne with an unmatched presence, effortlessly seizing it.
Though it was a blow, Bachros could accept such an outcome.
The rule of a stronger one ultimately benefited the race.
So he concealed his ambition and joined her ranks, content to be a subordinate.
But this was the beginning of all his trials.
Goreya’s talent was indeed astonishing, but so was her laziness.
She detested any tedious affairs.
Among her seven top lieutenants? Except for Bachros himself, the other six were all unreliable!
Whenever a mission advanced, they constantly messed up and made blunders due to their carelessness.
Could the grand revival be allowed to falter?
Reluctantly, Bachros had to shoulder those piled-up responsibilities, which should have been shared.
He no longer expected help from those “colleagues,” but never imagined they would drag him into such an embarrassing predicament.
That old bastard in intelligence! And those six freeloaders! This demon race is doomed.
Enough.
Destroy it all!
Let whoever wants to revive this demon race do it; Bachros was done!!!
Better to disappear altogether.
This thought sprouted like a poisonous vine in despair, seducing with destruction and release, seizing Bachros’ entire mind instantly.
“Heh… never thought that thing I got by coincidence would really come in handy one day.”
“Tilia…” Bachros struggled, leaning against the charred tree, summoning all his strength to straighten his wavering spine, “Let’s call this a draw this time…”
Tilia suddenly felt an indescribable unease; a terrifying premonition overwhelmed her.
Sensing it, she acted swiftly.
But it was all too late.
Roar——!!!!
Countless sticky, ink-black beams of devouring light suddenly burst forth from every savage crack in Bachros’ body!
Like molten lava suppressed for eons finding its vent!
A pure black orb appeared at the core of his shattered body, then expanded into a sphere that swallowed all light, sound, and even space itself—a sphere of utter darkness! It spread with a speed beyond perception!
The terrifying black tide swept everything away, instantly devouring Tilia and the glow of her Magic Array, the charred giant tree, and all the ancient woods within dozens of yards!
Then—not a roar—
but a deeper, more profound rumble, like a colossal celestial mill grinding the void, freezing souls!
After the shock passed, all returned to silence.
Only a massive, perfect, bottomless hemispherical pit remained.
The pit’s edges were smooth as glass, as if erased instantly by some invisible force.
Bachros, Tilia Stuart… and the entire forest that had covered them—all vanished without a trace.
Meanwhile, inside the Demon King’s Castle.
On the throne of the Demon King, Goreya Sagus reclined lazily with a hint of casual allure.
She wore a form-fitting black dress, the hem just above her knees, outlining elegant leg lines.
Her striking long legs were sheathed in high-quality, delicately matte black stockings, gracefully crossed.
A foot wrapped in black silk tapped rhythmically in the air as she hummed an off-key little tune, like a playful cat pawing at invisible yarn.
One hand propped her exquisitely sculpted chin, while the other absentmindedly twisted a lock of moonlit black hair.
Her ruby eyes, as if containing molten lava and starlight, casually scanned the vast dome ceiling of the hall.
Yet, a closer look revealed a faint trace of something elusive, a thought that seemed to pierce space itself, fixed on a specific direction.
“Lady Sagus,” a demon woman in traditional maid attire stood at the foot of the stairs, voice tinged with concern, “It’s past the appointed time… entrusting such an important mission solely to Lord Bachros—isn’t that too risky? The Saint Tower Church has been unusually active in that region lately…”
“Oh, Lilyth, you worry too much~” Goreya’s voice remained light.
She stopped playing with her hair, turned, and winked at the maid, her long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.
Yet, the light in those ruby eyes seemed dimmer than usual, as if veiled by a faint shadow even she did not notice.
“That kind of small task is nothing but a walk in the park for Bachros!” Goreya tilted her head slightly, flashing a bright, sly smile.
“He’s so clever.” Her tone remained casual, but before she finished, a cold glint flashed through her ruby eyes.
The smile on her face was briefly clouded by shadow, and her voice deepened.
“Even if a few unwise fools try to cause trouble…” She flicked a delicate fingertip lightly, as if flicking away a speck of dust, “I guess with just a ‘pop,’ they’ll all be reduced to ashes.”
“And then—”
The shadow passed as quickly as it came.
Goreya’s expression brightened like the sun breaking through clouds, her voice deliberately lingering, her eyes sparkling with renewed anticipation, as if stars danced within.
“—he’ll appear before me on time, obediently reporting the progress!”
“But, Lady Sagus, what if…” The maid couldn’t help but speak again, watching her Demon King’s overly optimistic expression.
“No what ifs!” Goreya sat up a little straighter, shifting her crossed legs into a more elegant posture.
Her chin lifted, and her ruby eyes gleamed.
Deep within that light, a mysterious emotion intensified and sharpened to near obsession, filling a quietly spreading emptiness.
“Bachros…” She paused, her tone unusually serious, tinged with a subtle tenderness, “…is the most relied upon and trusted arm of mine. He has never disappointed me when he makes a promise.”
She tapped the armrest of the throne lightly with her fingertips, gazing off into the distance once more, a faint but resolute smile curling her lips.
“This time will be no different. I believe he will handle things perfectly.”