The flames roared, engulfing the slave traders’ underground market, forcing merchants, guests, and droves of slaves to flee without a moment’s delay—after all, no one wanted to die.
Soon, this chaos plunged the empire’s border city into pandemonium, with screams echoing everywhere.
Soldiers were dispatched to quell the unrest, stretched too thin to handle anything else.
And that “anything else” was none other than Sig, the arsonist responsible for this mayhem.
He stood at the exit, like a suspect returning to the crime scene, arms crossed over his chest, his face stern and unyielding.
He watched silently as the last person escaped, then let out a cryptic smile.
With a snap of his fingers, a surge of magical energy erupted, triggering a massive explosion from within, obliterating all traces of sin and evidence.
Handsome and suave, he turned to leave—though, regrettably, without a cigarette in his mouth to complete the look.
Snap.
After the explosion, his clothes were reduced to ashes, yet he stood unscathed.
Too busy posing, he forgot to run.
Now, he was stuck—moving would make his clothes fall apart, ruining his cool demeanor and the fearsome reputation of the Hakimi Demon King.
So, he stayed put, standing alone in his “majestic” glory, like some legendary soldier from a summer camp, eyes blazing with intensity.
Enter Emilia, arriving late, her silver hair disheveled in the wind, her delicate face etched with worry.
She had just finished the task Sig entrusted to her—settling the carefully selected slaves near their shared cabin.
Though she knew Sig was nearly invincible, worry was worry.
Galloping over on horseback, she sighed in relief upon seeing him unharmed.
Dismounting gracefully, she approached, puzzled, and asked, “What’s wrong, Sig?”
As she drew closer, trying to get a better look, he barked, arms outstretched, “Ha! Don’t come near! The scars on my back are a swordsman’s shame!”
But his disobedient clothes betrayed him, slipping to the ground like sand through fingers.
Tears streamed down his face, his lips trembling as he struggled to maintain composure. “My life is over.”
Out of nowhere, a plastic chair appeared.
He sat, utterly exposed, slumping lifelessly, as if turned to pale ash.
He muttered, “I’ve burned out, reduced to white ashes.”
Emilia was speechless.
This guy’s theatrics are something else.
She hadn’t realized he was this dramatic.
Unsure how to respond but wanting to respect his moment, she rummaged for some men’s clothing to cover her “brother.”
Some time later, Sig, now dressed like he was sporting brand-new holiday underwear, sat atop a horse, revitalized.
He couldn’t help but marvel: clothes and pants were truly humanity’s greatest invention.
The two rode on, galloping past the chaotic crowds and noisy city, nearing their destination.
Emilia in front, Sig behind—less awkward than their first ride together.
Why?
No reason.
He didn’t feel like explaining.
Sensing the moment was right, Emilia glanced back, pulling out a heavy pouch of gold coins.
She handed it to him carefully—a finely embroidered bag, likely her personal item, with a surprisingly large storage capacity. “For you, Sig.”
“Three thousand gold coins? Don’t tell me you picked this up off the ground. Not bad, not bad. You’re learning fast. It’s a waste not to take what nobody claims. You’re doing a good deed—recycling, saving the environment!”
He grabbed the pouch without hesitation, stuffing it into his pants.
A quick magical sense told him the rough amount.
Pleased, he nodded, reaching out to pat her soft hair.
Emilia didn’t resist.
She tilted her head slightly, silver hair cascading over her shoulder, compliant and cooperative.
Perhaps she noticed his affection growing, or maybe she wondered if she could push it further.
She continued, “Why didn’t you leave earlier? Were you checking the situation or worried about hurting innocents?”
“Hmph,” he scoffed. “I just don’t like getting tangled in too much karma.”
And he merely responded indifferently with a single sentence, a magical flame reigniting in his hand at some point.
The fire was as black as ink, yet tinged with traces of white, much like his inner self.
He stared at it quietly for a moment, then with a forceful wave, the fire vanished as if it had never existed.
But in a distant, secluded village, it flared up again, igniting the exasperated Delly.
Her anger burned so fiercely that her face had been flushed red all day.
The armor she wore no longer gleamed as it once did.
She sat there carelessly, relentlessly tapping the table to vent her frustration.
She hoped that Duke Ole, sitting before her, would show some reaction, instead of acting like a living corpse all the time—silent, unresponsive, and wearing that perpetually bitter and resentful expression that irritated her just by looking at him…
Hmph.
“Speak, speak! Why aren’t you helping? Can’t you see the people here are suffering, Ole?”
“Help? I don’t have any reason to help. You should be grateful I have a good temper and still show some respect to His Majesty the Emperor. If it were any other noble, you might not be sitting here right now—you’d be kneeling.”
Ole spoke with a meaningful tone, shaking his head helplessly.
He knew Delly hadn’t yet grasped her current status and situation.
She needed to learn to keep a low profile.
She naively thought her so-called status came from the Emperor, when in reality, it was granted by Emilia.
Without Emilia, even the Emperor was nothing but a puppet, let alone a mere imperial guard like her.
Pausing for a moment, as if doing a bit of charity, he decided to give her a reminder.
“You need to understand, things aren’t what they used to be. In the past, people respected you, feared you, and listened to you because you had the Emperor backing you, and the Emperor had Emilia behind him. Back then, she was the sole voice of authority in the empire, the symbol of power. Now, the Emperor is like a clay idol crossing a river—barely able to save himself. Who would still care about a pretentious nobody like you? If you don’t wise up, don’t blame me when disaster strikes and I didn’t warn you.”
“You’re talking nonsense…”
She had intended to retort, but couldn’t find a suitable reason.
Deep down, she even felt he made sense.
She stood there awkwardly, fidgeting uncomfortably.
After holding back for a while, she finally forced out a few more words, her tone still defiant.
She was starting to regret driving Emilia away…
“It’s all Emilia’s fault.”
“Hahaha, you’re hopeless. Forget it, talking to you is a waste of time. I, too, hope to find Emilia as soon as possible. Without her, the empire will fall, and the people will be displaced, suffering endlessly.”
As if amused by her reaction, he stood up and, in a commanding tone, continued questioning Delly.
“Is there anyone who was close to Emilia, or someone who took care of her since she was young? Preferably someone who wasn’t involved in the events of a year ago. Such a person might know her whereabouts.”
“There is… I know someone… an old nun.”
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This is actually Seig’s chance to destroy the empire by inciting rebellion