“Shadow” slowly raised his head. Sharp eyes swept over the two women, finally settling on Seraphina.
“Especially guests as conspicuous as you two. If you want to obtain what you came for and leave here alive, you will obey my every instruction… No matter who you were before arriving here—merchant daughters, noble ladies, or even…”
He paused just long enough for the implication to sink in, his voice carrying no threat, only the cold statement of fact. “Even someone from the Demon King’s Castle… you will follow the rules here. Complete law of the jungle. Otherwise, Asma will very soon have two more corpses.”
Is he really Dekrian’s man? Seraphina felt the aura radiating from him—completely different from the dull, aimless thugs outside.
She nodded. “We understand. Lead the way.”
After passing the checkpoint, the road became even more treacherous.
Under Shadow’s guidance, Seraphina and Lina transferred to a far more decrepit bone-cart that drew no attention at all and followed a hidden trail deeper into Asma.
The closer they got to the city’s heart, the heavier Seraphina’s heart grew.
She had imagined the lower depths would be harsh, but she had not expected this level of misery.
What met her eyes was utter lawless chaos: ramshackle hovels patched together with broken stone, traces of fighting everywhere, garbage strewn about with no one to clear it.
Most of the demons here were hideous, eyes numb yet wary. When they saw the relatively “luxurious” cart Seraphina rode in, raw greed shone openly in their gazes.
Through the narrow gap in the curtain, Seraphina observed this place called the City of Hell. The order and splendour of the Demon King’s Castle simply did not exist here. In their place was the most primal blood and savagery.
What chilled her most was that, when she listened carefully to the conversations on the roadside, no one seemed to know anything about decrees from the Demon King’s Castle. Their talk was only of survival:
How much food they had stolen today, which gang had clashed again, which slave in the arena might survive the night…
Movira’s name was mentioned occasionally, but only as a distant, terrifying legend—or as background for swearing.
As for Seraphina herself… no one had ever heard of her. The policies she had pushed seemed never to have reached this place.
After Shadow settled them in a relatively hidden but equally dilapidated safe house, he spoke in a low voice. “The city lord usually appears at noon in the central arena. That is the only chance to meet him. But remember: Asma recognises only strength and money. Even His Grace the Duke’s influence means nothing here.”
With that, Shadow turned and left. His final words floated back faintly. “I will come for you tomorrow at noon.”
Seraphina lay on the crude pallet, listening to the distant roars, the clash of metal, and strange, indescribable howls.
Exhaustion finally dragged her into uneasy sleep in the second half of the night.
When the first pale light of dawn filtered through the cracked window, Seraphina sat up. She had not slept well at all.
Compared to the soft beds of the Demon King’s Castle, this felt like a steel plank.
After a simple meal of hard rations, Seraphina decided to walk the streets herself before noon arrived.
Lina could not stop her, so she silently followed, slipping a small dagger into the inner pocket of Seraphina’s cloak.
The moment the creaking wooden door was pushed open, a piercing stench assaulted them. Thank the gods winter was near; Seraphina dared not imagine summer.
Even so, the smell was nauseating.
After one night, Asma had not grown quiet; it merely changed its form of noise.
Sewage flowed openly in the streets. Demons lay collapsed in corners, impossible to tell if asleep or dead.
Emaciated young demons rummaged through garbage heaps for anything edible… garbage.
Seraphina walked carefully, trying to avoid the filth and the malicious stares.
She saw demons fighting savagely over a single piece of bread, saw crude stalls openly selling meat of unknown origin…
This place was a festering sore abandoned by civilisation, nothing but endless rot and barbarism.
Just as despair began to swallow her, a stumbling figure reeking of alcohol lurched out of a narrow alley and crashed straight toward her.
Seraphina stepped back quickly, but the edge of her cloak was still caught by a greasy hand.
“Well, well… where’d this tender-skinned little lady come from?” A filthy ogre-like demon grinned, yellowed tusks protruding, his bleary eyes raking over Seraphina and Lina.
“Nice figure… Looks like I hit the jackpot. Come… have a drink with me!”
Lina drew the short sword at her waist and slashed off the grabbed portion of cloak in one clean stroke, then glared icily at the ogre. “Get lost!”
“Heh heh, there’s an even feistier one!” The drunkard switched targets, leering as he reached for Lina.
Seraphina quickly pulled Lina aside and whispered, “No need to tangle with him. Let’s go.”
The ogre was so drunk he could barely stand; despite his size, he could not keep up with the two women running away. After a few steps he collapsed.
Moments after Seraphina and Lina vanished around a corner, a living shadow stretched like a tendril from the nearest alley.
It silently dragged the ogre’s body deeper into the darkness.
The eerie scene sobered the ogre halfway; he struggled wildly, but the faint shadow held the weight of a thousand catties.
“Which hand touched her?”
In the pitch-black alley, the ogre saw no figure—only an ice-cold voice.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about! Stop playing ghost and show yourself!”
Silence answered for a moment, then the voice spoke words that froze the ogre’s blood.
“You won’t say? Then both hands touched her. I’ll just cut them both off.”
The shadow crept up the ogre’s thick arms…
“Argh—!
…
“Begging for mercy? I was lying. You’ll die anyway.”
Far away, Seraphina instinctively glanced back. Nothing seemed out of place.
She did not know that the figure which had followed her all this time had just carried out a silent, ruthlessly efficient execution.
But this kind of protection, in Seraphina’s heart, would only widen the chasm between them.
Because Movira… was still doing things her own way.
At noon, guided by Shadow, Seraphina arrived at the very centre of Asma—a colossal arena built from black stone.
The closer they drew, the thicker the stench of blood, sweat, and frenzied excitement became.
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