In the demon realm, strength reigns supreme, and everyone speaks with their own power—even the Demon King can’t escape this logic.
The previous Demon King, who sparked the largest human-demon war in history with a vow to exterminate humanity, met his end a year ago.
In an internal duel within the demon tribe, he was challenged and killed by a rising star from the younger generation.
As part of the celebration for the new king’s ascension, Velrian, along with all the thirteen leaders who could be summoned, gathered in the Demon King’s castle.
During a break in the festivities, an exhausted Velrian leaned alone on the balcony of the banquet hall, sighing.
“…So tired.”
“What’s wrong, cute little witch?”
A sultry, teasing voice rang out as someone pressed against her from behind, wrapping their arms around Velrian’s neck, enveloping her in a strange fragrance.
“Get off me, annoying.”
Without looking, Velrian knew who it was and pushed them away irritably, turning around.
Standing there was a glamorous black-haired woman, strikingly tall with a figure that was almost scandalously exposed.
With bat-like wings, horns, and a signature heart-shaped tail, her identity was obvious even to a passerby.
One of the thirteen demon leaders, the Succubus Queen, Plosia.
Pushed away, Plosia wore a playful smile, licking her lips and leaning in again.
“Don’t be so cold, little witch. Got something bothering you? Tell big sister, let me comfort you—on the bed, of course~”
“…Don’t touch me.”
Velrian sighed, covering her face.
As the head of the witches, Velrian wasn’t exactly popular among the other leaders.
Even at events like this, they treated her like air, ignoring her or, for the less polite ones, throwing a few mocking remarks her way.
Except for this one.
Since their first meeting years ago, Plosia seemed to have taken a liking to Velrian.
She’d cling to her with questionable intentions at events like this, not to mention traveling halfway across the continent to harass her in witch territory.
Was this what you’d call a friend?
Who knows—maybe succubi were just naturally gifted at getting along with everyone.
But to Velrian, this gender-agnostic, hormone-dispensing machine, spouting dubious dirty jokes, wasn’t someone she could relax around.
As usual, Plosia, rejected, tilted her head with a look of mock regret.
“So cold. I was worried about you, you know~”
“…Worried enough to talk about beds?”
“Well, about half of that was a joke. Don’t take it so seriously~”
So half was serious.
Feeling her chastity at risk, Velrian got goosebumps and stepped back, instinctively covering her chest.
Plosia, clearly enjoying her reaction, watched with amusement before finally dropping the smile and asking seriously:
“No more jokes. You seem down—what’s wrong?”
Velrian’s face twitched slightly, and she averted her gaze:
“Nothing, I just don’t like these events.”
She was indeed unhappy.
She’d hoped the death of the previous Demon King, who’d etched the spell into her, would change things, but no luck.
The spell still functioned, forcing her to do infuriating tasks with no room for resistance or explanation.
As for the new Demon King, either he didn’t know about the spell or thought the status quo was fine, as he never mentioned it.
Coming to the event with a sliver of hope, Velrian’s disappointment left her in a sour mood.
Used to Velrian’s evasiveness, Plosia didn’t press further.
She leaned on the balcony railing, watching the passing guests, and changed the topic:
“Don’t you feel something’s missing today?”
“Missing?”
Velrian glanced at the banquet hall behind her.
Besides the leaders, the event had gathered representatives of smaller races, demon tribe members, and various big shots—over a thousand in total.
Spotting who was absent in such a crowd wasn’t easy… or maybe it was.
“No beastmen?”
The beastmen, the most numerous demon race, were led by their chieftain, one of the thirteen leaders.
These rough, rowdy troublemakers were everywhere, never missing a chance to stir things up—the polar opposite of the witches.
For them to skip a major event like the Demon King’s coronation was abnormal.
“Right, no beastmen.”
Plosia waved at a waiter, took a glass of red wine from the tray, and sipped it slowly, swirling it in her hand.
“About a month ago, the beastmen’s elite forces went all out to attack the human fortress city of Gerlos. Heard about it?”
“Yeah, but it’s been a month. Shouldn’t they be back by now?”
One of the thirteen leaders leading their entire elite force to attack a human city was rare in the thousand-year human-demon war.
When it happened, battles typically ended quickly, with humans having no chance of victory.
Gerlos was a fortified human city, but in Velrian’s estimation, it could hold out for two weeks at most.
So she hadn’t paid much attention.
Nor did she have the energy to.
Plosia gave a soft laugh.
“It’s over, just not how we imagined.”
“What? The humans held it?”
“They did. And more—latest reports say the beastmen’s army was split and surrounded, now completely routed.”
Velrian’s expression froze, and she shook her head in disbelief.
“…Impossible. The beastmen’s elite, crushed that easily?”
“It’s true. Even their mighty chieftain barely escaped. Heh, rumor is he was so wrecked he couldn’t get out of bed.”
If true, it was the demons’ biggest loss since the war began.
For the newly crowned Demon King, this was one hell of a welcome gift.
It was kind of satisfying to think about.
Of course, she couldn’t show it.
While Velrian stifled a laugh, Plosia’s hand slyly reached for her waist, only to be swatted back irritably.
“How many times do I have to tell you! Stop touching me, you perv! You’ll rub your weird smell on me!”
Thanks to the swat, Velrian didn’t burst out laughing.
Plosia, foiled again, withdrew her hand with a sigh:
“Why so stingy? You’ll get someone’s scent on you eventually. What’s wrong with letting big sister have a taste first… wait, I’m kidding! Don’t actually start chanting a spell, this is still a banquet…”
Seeing Velrian genuinely getting mad and ready to blast her, Plosia backed off and switched topics.
“Ugh, with the beastmen’s elites decimated, my territory’s going to see fewer visitors for a while. Some of my girls really liked their… big toys.”
This topic was worse. Velrian sighed, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.
“…I’m not interested in you succubi’s kinks.”
“By the way, I prefer the smaller ones. Corrupting innocent boys and girls until they can’t live without me—doesn’t that sound fun?”
“…No.”
“Whoops, just thinking about it makes me all we—”
“Stop!!”
Velrian, barely restraining the urge to yeet her, cut off the increasingly weird conversation and asked:
“Does the Demon King know about the beastmen’s defeat?”
Plosia glanced at the banquet’s center, where the new Demon King was swarmed by guests, barely visible, and shook her head with a wry smile.
“No, not yet. How do you deliver news like that during a coronation banquet?”
Succubi were an oddity among demons.
Even in the current human-demon slaughterfest, they maintained friendly ties with both sides, never truly fighting humans.
Even now, some human cities openly host “special shops” run by succubi.
Even the zealous previous Demon King turned a blind eye, as he relied on them for intel.
A noble or general, caught up in the heat of the moment, often spilled critical secrets in bed. Plosia was thus the most well-informed demon, bar none.
Her knowing about the beastmen’s defeat first wasn’t surprising.
But now, Velrian wanted to dig deeper.
“Who did it?”
“Hm?”
“Who defeated the beastmen’s army?”
“A member of the hero team Blade of the Goddess, Eze.”
“Hero… Eze.”
Velrian leaned on the balcony railing, gazing at the dark night sky, softly repeating the unfamiliar name.
After a moment’s thought, she looked at Plosia, dead serious:
“What else do you know about him? Anything—can you tell me more?”