Beneath the moon, its pure light casts a glow, illuminating Emilia, her silver hair flowing, expression calm.
She sits quietly by the lake, silent and serene, like a breathtaking scene that even the gods would be moved by.
The chirping of insects echoes in her ears.
She gently bends down, her delicate hands slipping off her lady’s leather shoes, releasing a faint warmth.
She removes the fine white stockings that wrap her legs, the soft rustling sound pleasing to the ear, and neatly places them beside her.
Instinctively, she lifts her pristine white skirt, fully revealing her long, fair legs, her skin shimmering like precious jade.
Her pale, delicate feet lightly touch the water’s surface, stirring ripples.
As her feet dip into the water, she gently sways them, splashing lightly.
A cool sensation soon washes over her.
Her slender hands rest by her side, and perhaps sensing something, she doesn’t turn around, only giving a faint smile.
She waits as familiar footsteps draw closer.
The words that follow are, as always, absurdly abstract.
“Cosmic Superman, open your eyes, I am Shafulin…”
“Sig, you’re here.”
She doesn’t retort or object, her tone as gentle as ever, likely accustomed to his antics.
Besides, she finds her brother’s quirks rather endearing—at least he doesn’t ignore her or treat her with indifference.
Otherwise, even redemption wouldn’t be enough…
“I’m not Sig, I’m the Hakimi Demon King.”
His response is cryptic and meaningless, like asking for Zhou Shuren when you’re looking for Lu Xun.
Silently, he lowers his noble head, strokes his chin, and stares wide-eyed at the girl’s delicate feet, nodding for some unknown reason.
“Not bad, the old porridge bro would probably love this.”
At his words, she instinctively curls her toes, perhaps out of embarrassment, and dares not move her feet anymore.
“Alright, enough messing around, Emilia. I came to talk business. You picked a nice spot, by the way.”
For once, he grows serious, a breeze carrying a hint of melancholy brushing past his face.
His golden hair glimmers brilliantly, hands in his pockets, scratching an itch on his thigh.
Without hesitation, he speaks of critical matters, as the surroundings are empty, the moon dark and the wind high.
Even if Sig did something outrageous, no one would know.
But he wouldn’t…
“If we follow this plan, we’ll reach the ruins of the Demon King’s Castle in a few days. Those mercenaries—no, the noble’s private guards—will soon show their fangs. Before that, I need to confirm their strength and abilities. Better safe than sorry. Do you have any thoughts or plans regarding them? If so, speak up.”
His tone carries a hint of inquiry, checking if Emilia has any plans for these people to avoid unnecessary complications if both are scheming independently.
After all, they’ve learned from past mistakes…
As partners on the same boat, timely communication and coordination are necessary.
“Not yet. With you here, I feel at ease. It’s not about being lazy or indifferent, just… I don’t think it’s necessary.”
Realizing her words might sound off or insincere, she turns, looks up, and gazes earnestly at the “Hakimi” before her.
A sense of reassurance and safety wells up, as if it explains everything.
After a pause, she adopts a more proactive stance.
“If you need me to make a plan, I can arrange something.”
“No need. Even if you made a plan, it probably wouldn’t be used. Leave it to me. I was just asking to avoid any trouble. Get some rest.”
He shrugs casually, having gotten the answer he wanted, and prepares to leave to handle his important business.
Recalling the morning’s events, he frowns slightly.
“If you insist on sleeping in my tent, bring a bed. Stop acting like a speed bump in front of me.”
Though he still finds this woman annoying, a year of living together—seeing each other constantly—has made him accustomed to her presence.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
“Thanks.”
Her legs sway gently in the water again, her soft voice responding, a smile tugging at her lips as her delicate hands clutch her skirt.
She’s noticed that the closer she gets to her dear brother, the faster and higher their bond grows.
And she’s willing to let it happen—it’s a form of redemption, after all.
“…”
Sig, saying no more, turns to leave but kicks something, triggering his passive “I Pick It Up” skill.
Thinking it’s unwanted, he curiously bends down to retrieve it, holding it in his hands.
By the moonlight, he finally makes out the object’s shape: a beautiful lady’s leather shoe, faintly fragrant.
After all, a beautiful girl’s feet are always fragrant, and it’s obvious whose it is.
Setting it down now would be awkward—would he be seen as a creep?
To ease the tension, he launches into a brainstorming session, blurting out nonsense.
“I thought it was someone’s lunchbox, but it’s your shoe, Emilia, haha…”
“Um…”
Even she struggles to keep her composure, her small hand touching her snowy forehead, lips pursed.
It’s so embarrassing, she doesn’t know what to say—nothing feels appropriate.
In the end, both tactfully say no more.
Sig, feigning aloofness, turns and walks away without looking back, as if resolute in some decision.
His steps are firm as he disappears into the shadows of the forest.
He reaches into his pants, rummages around, and pulls out an ordinary, rusty sickle that still glimmers with past glory.
“I remember now. I remember everything. I’m not some Hakimi Demon King, nor am I Sig… I am…”
As his words fall, a trigger activates, and a curse emerges, enveloping him in black cloth.
His body grows slightly larger, his appearance fully concealed by a hood.
Even he can’t help but hum softly at the transformation.
Next, he prepares to stir up trouble, to confirm the enemy’s identity and the strength of the noble’s forces—preferably their core lineup and trump cards—so he can prepare countermeasures in advance.
After all, caution ensures a ship sails for ten thousand years.
Though the magical contract prevents either side from attacking or betraying the other until it takes effect, that’s between Emilia and them.
What does it have to do with me?
Answer me.
Look into my eyes.
As expected, something unexpected happens.
His infiltration is discovered, forcing him into combat.
The good news: it’s one-on-one.
The bad news: the opponent claims to be the strongest mage.
Tearing off a pitch-black blindfold, revealing pale blue eyes, the mage floats in the air with magic, looking down at Sig.
“Dealing with a petty thief from the wastelands like you doesn’t require backup. After all, I’m the strongest.”
“You’re the strongest? Can’t do much about that. I suppose I’m the greatest in history. I’ll go all out.”
Modern Strongest Nobody vs. History’s Greatest Hakimi
…
“Sorry for not letting you have your fun.”
The “nobody” lies defeated on the ground, muttering.
Though injured, he’s not in mortal danger—just stripped of all his valuable gear, even his clothes.
After all, Sig isn’t some demon.
He won’t kill without reason, but he can’t leave empty-handed either.
A thief never returns empty.
No, it’s just picking up stuff nobody wants.
Eliminating trails sounds like a good reason though