The smoke of Ironrock Fortress sank into the dusk, the charred walls weeping with cooling lava. A bat-winged courier demon swept across the crimson wilderness and flung a bloodstained dispatch toward the Demon King’s citadel:
“General Krog has taken Ironrock Fortress! His Majesty is invited to preside over the victory feast!”
On the throne, Abler lifted his head, the demon-marked cloak behind him undulating like a living thing. At his left side, the black-haired female general Andrea suddenly pressed a hand to her sword hilt.
“Krog has never sent word by courier. If he does not report the victory himself, it reeks of deceit. Rumor has it that Krog has reached some accord with the human armies. I believe he harbors a divided heart… This banquet may be a crown of thorns.”
Her silver armor reflected a chill light, like eternal polar ice that would never melt.
“Krog is my confidant. He has stood at my side for many years, no less than you. I know his loyalty.” Black flame kindled at Abler’s fingertips, reducing the dispatch to ash. “But your vigilance is not without merit. Pass the order: Andrea, lead the royal guard and accompany me to Ironrock Fortress.”
The war chariot rumbled across the scorched earth of Ironrock Fortress. Abler’s gaze swept over the piled corpses of demon soldiers that lined the road. The guard commander whispered:
“After the fortress fell, General Krog executed all the captured human soldiers. He said it was revenge for the patrol squad killed last month.”
Abler frowned. Krog had always advocated leniency toward prisoners. Such cruelty was unlike him.
At the gates, a man disguised as Krog’s adjutant knelt in feigned reverence. A bronze badge glinted faintly at his cuff — the secret insignia of the Human Inquisition.
“The general has already arranged the victory feast within the palace, and says he will present Ironrock’s treasure of state to His Majesty.”
The grand hall was eerily empty. The banners of the Three Human Kingdoms snapped in the high air. Andrea had drawn her sword three inches when Krog stepped from the shadows, the blue blood dripping from his great axe spattering the golden floor.
“Your Majesty finally arrives.” His voice quivered with uncontrollable excitement, the scar across his left eye twitching in the firelight — the scar he had taken ten years ago when shielding Abler from an arrow. Now it seemed to mock his past loyalty.
“You dare collude with humans!” Abler surged to his feet, the throne’s armrest shattering in his palm. “The corpses of Ironrock’s demon host are not yet cold, and already you hunger to crown yourself king?!”
Krog burst into mad laughter, the sound steeped in greed and frenzy.
“King? Does Your Majesty think me unworthy? I have coveted this throne for a long time!” He tore open his tunic. A blood-red brand blazed across his chest, which he slapped with disdain. “Merely a human trick. If it wins me supreme power, what of it?”
At that moment, Anos drove a holy silver dagger toward Abler’s back, its blade slick with fresh demon blood.
“Don’t waste words with him! Today is the day he dies!”
“Clang!” Andrea’s rapier locked against Krog’s axe. Fury and disbelief flared in her eyes. The axe-wind ripped across her shoulder, spraying blood on the cold floor.
“Traitor!” Andrea roared, lunging with her blade. Krog snarled, axe sweeping, merciless.
“You thought I was truly loyal?!” His axe smashed past Abler’s ear into the throne, shards flying. His eyes blazed with vicious hatred. “Following you, there was never a future. Only by overthrowing you can I become a true king!” He swung again, each strike meant to kill.
Abler crashed through the stained glass and plummeted into the moat. The freezing water swallowed him whole. The holy silver poison gnawed at his demon core with every heartbeat, each pulse a rending agony. Struggling to surface, he saw atop the battlements the banners of the Three Kingdoms unfurling, their victory hymns intertwining with the howls of his army’s rout — dull blades sawing endlessly at his nerves.
Suddenly, Andrea’s spiritual brand detonated in his mind, burning with a dying flare: “To the southeast… Twilight Town… Live!” Along with it surged a vision that seared his eyes — her ice armor shattering, her silver sword breaking, her body bracing the fortress gate as the human coalition surged behind her.
The will to live drowned the pain. Abler swam southeast with all his strength. He did not know how long he fought the current before dragging himself onto shore. Rain drenched him instantly. The holy silver poison ravaged his body, magic leeched away step by step. Each stagger felt like walking on blades, his vision blurring.
The flight was endless torment. Rain washed away blood, but not the bone-deep pain, not the chill of betrayal. His magic drained swiftly; his body faltered again and again into the mud.
At last, the silhouette of Twilight Town emerged. The human border town glowed with warm light, mocking his wretched state. From a tavern floated a song like needles in his ears: “…Slayer of the Demon King, crowned by three realms!”
He stumbled into an alley, his body collapsing. Just then, an oak door swung open. Warm golden light spilled out, illuminating a sign marked with a violet crest: Thorn Apothecary.
“Get lost, drunkard.” A cold female voice drifted down, detached and commanding.
Abler raised his head with effort. At a second-floor window stood a figure with waterfall-white hair, polishing a long glass vial. Her gray-blue eyes glimmered like a frozen lake, cold and unapproachable.
“Not drunk…” He tried to explain, but blood filled his throat, and darkness seized him as he collapsed into the rain.
The demon-marked cloak peeled and charred under the silver’s corrosion, revealing the festering wound at his shoulder, hideous beneath the rain.
Linata descended the stairs, clutching a poisoned dagger. When the door opened, the aura of holy silver made her narrow her eyes.
“Church agents?” She nudged the unconscious man with her boot. “Only the Inquisition dares use holy silver wounds.”
No answer. From the alley mouth came the clang of patrol boots. “Search! Lord Anos says the Demon King fled to Twilight Town!”
Linata clicked her tongue, grabbed Abler by the collar, and dragged him inside. Healing green light cloaked the wound, but the poison lashed back, burning her fingertips!
“Troublesome.” She tore his ruined shirt, blackened demon-marks pulsing like living veins. From her cabinet she clasped demon-sealing shackles on his wrists, then poured half a vial of shadow suppressant down his throat — a narcotic designed for demons.
Abler woke in agony. Above him leaned the white-haired woman, stitching his wound. Cold blue strands brushed his chest as a bloodied silver needle darted through flesh.
“Holy silver poison. Five hundred gold.” She didn’t lift her head. “Upfront or on credit?”
“H… human… I am—” Abler tried to rasp, but fainted again. His eyes caught the wanted poster by the window — his shattered crown sketched in bold strokes, headline glaring: “The Demon King slain! Andrea the Remnant — bounty, one hundred thousand!”
Linata gripped his chin, turning his face into the lamplight. “Nice eye color.” She studied his deep crimson irises. With a fingertip she smeared his blood onto the shackles. “Your getup isn’t like an ordinary man.” A faint curiosity flickered in her gaze at the black-clad stranger who had collapsed at her door.
A thunderous pounding rattled the door. “Open up! Inquisition search!”
Linata kicked Abler under the workbench, pried open a hidden hatch. A frozen snow-lizard corpse tumbled out — the reagent for shadow suppressant.
“You’re delaying my dissection specimen.” She swung the door open with a frosty scowl. “Spill snow-lizard bile in here and who pays?”
The knights recoiled at the stench. “Someone saw an injured man…”
“Injured?” Linata raised her bloody needle. “I was bleeding the mayor for gout. Want to see the puncture?”
The knight’s sword point leveled at the workbench. “Underneath!”
“Go ahead.” She stepped aside. “But knock over that succubus gland extract, and the whole town’s dreams tonight will be your responsibility.”
The captain, Frye, froze with his blade above the bottle, throat bobbing. “An intruder at the inn?” he barked. “Which inn?!”
“Th-the Wild Deer Inn!” a soldier stammered. “A black-robed man slipped into the stables!”
Frye cursed, withdrew, smashing a rack. “Seal every stable in town! And you—” his sword flicked toward Linata. “If you see a red-eyed demon, the bounty could buy your wreck of a shop!” A scroll slapped onto the bench, puffing up clouds of powder.
The door slammed shut. Chains clattered into place. Linata flicked open the wanted poster — the Demon King’s skull shattered, “dead or alive” scrawled beneath. Andrea’s face was half-blotted by a bloody handprint. Linata pressed the parchment under a jar. “At least it makes good blotting paper.”
****
At dawn the next day, the moment the hidden hatch creaked open, Abler jolted upright.
“Where is the assassin?!”
“Thud!” His forehead smacked into the underside of the workbench. A shadow of demon horns flickered briefly above his head before vanishing. He looked around at the scattered shards of herbs in confusion.
“This place… the enemy’s war camp?”
“It’s a morgue.” Linata plopped a bowl of oatmeal porridge on the bench. “You, corpse number seven.” She tossed him the wanted poster, the ink beneath the Demon King’s shattered skull still wet.
Abler stared at the portrait in brooding silence. “This fiend… horns upon his brow, black flame in his gaze… truly a formidable foe!” His fingers instinctively brushed at his own forehead.
“How long does the red-eyed merchant plan to drag out the debt?” Linata’s silver hairpin suddenly darted toward his pupil—
“Wait!” Abler seized her wrist. “My name is Ab—Abu. I’m a crystal trader. Yesterday I was struck by bandits’ poisoned blades…” He unwrapped his bandages to display the wound. “I’ll settle the debt in goods!”
Linata withdrew her hand with a cold smile. “Bandits rob crystals and also stab their seller?”
“Because I shielded the finest amethyst!” Mist rose in Abler’s palm, coalescing into the image of a crystal heart, pulsing like living flesh — the projection of his demon core.
“Oh?” Linata scooped a spoonful of porridge and dumped it onto the illusion. “Then how much is this bowl of oatmeal worth in heart-shaped crystals?” She hadn’t even finished her sentence before Abler slumped unconscious again.
When Linata dragged him to the attic, the holy silver poison flared once more. Demon-marks bulged beneath his skin, writhing like a swarm of insects gnawing at his marrow.
“Hold still.” She pinned him to the creaking wooden bed, pressing a cotton ball soaked in potion to his wound. “Third vial of suppressant. That’s seven hundred gold you owe me.” As the cotton touched the scorched edges of the mark, the blackened lines lashed out, enraged serpents.
Abler grunted, eyes darting toward a glass jar on the nightstand. Inside floated a dusky purple crystal, its cut surface still throbbing with a shadow aura he knew well. “That is…”
“Scrap I took last month.” Linata followed his gaze, tapping the jar with tweezers. “A hunter claimed it warded off evil. Couldn’t scare away even a rat.” She turned back to rummage among the shelves. The hem of her white coat brushed the jar’s mouth, and the crystal quivered faintly.
Abler’s fingers curled. That was the protective crystal he himself had bestowed upon a border lord ten years ago — now dismissed as junk in an apothecary’s shelf. A bitter taste surged in his throat, barely swallowed as the poison stabbed upward into his temples, darkening his sight.
Three days passed. Twilight Town’s morning mist always carried a strange stench — disinfectant mixed with demon blood. Linata came each day on schedule, yanking back his blanket, probing his wound with a silver needle as if handling a piece of spoiled leather.
“If it hurts, say so.” Once, she pierced through fresh-grown flesh buds. Watching sweat bead on Abler’s forehead, her lips curled faintly. “Demons truly have a talent for enduring pain.”
Abler crushed the bed sheets in his fists. The bedframe groaned under his grip — only then did he realize he nearly shattered human furniture.
“Just… an ordinary mercenary.” His voice rasped like sandpaper.
Linata arched a brow, tossed the bloody probe into a tray. “Mercenaries don’t carry breathing demon-marks. Nor do they make holy silver poison bite back. And last night—you cried out in some archaic tongue, shouting ‘my throne.’”
Abler’s heart skipped. The suppressant made his magic sluggish, even his emotional veils unreliable. He turned his head toward the window. Outside, patrolmen nailed fresh warrants to an oak tree opposite — Andrea’s portrait with a new line added: Alive or dead, produce her body.
“Five hundred gold.” Linata straightened, packing her tools. “Today’s dressing fee. Together with what you already owe, that’s twelve hundred.” She pulled parchment from a drawer, scratching numbers in charcoal. “Pay in coin, or collateral of equal value.”
Abler’s eyes fixed on the silver bracelet at her wrist. Its edges bore a thorn-flower motif scorched by demon flame — the handiwork of Demonrealm smiths three centuries past.
“That piece…”
“An heirloom. Not for sale.” Linata instantly covered it with her other hand, gaze like ice. “Don’t even think of it.”
On the fourth morning, storm rain once again swept Twilight Town. Abler woke to rattling in the attic window. Linata was balanced on her toes, patching leaks between warped planks. Her white coat clung with dark patches where the rain had soaked through. Instinctively, he tried to raise a hand to help, but the shackles jerked his wound with searing pain.
“Stay down.” Linata didn’t even glance back. “If your stitches tear, I won’t sew you twice.” She swung back inside, hair dripping, clutching a soggy newspaper. “The mayor’s new proclamation. A Peace Memorial.”
She tossed it onto Abler’s chest. The gilded headline stabbed his eyes:
“Prince Krog Crowned. Three Realms Celebrate a New Era.”
The illustration showed his former general standing amid the ruins of Demon King City, wearing Abler’s broken crown, receiving the homage of human lords.
“The new Demon King knows his etiquette.” Linata toweled her hair, tone careless. “Already signed a trade pact with the humans. Dropped tariffs by thirty percent.” She jabbed a finger at the wanted poster in the corner. “And look—Andrea’s bounty is doubled to two hundred thousand.”
Abler’s knuckles whitened. On the page, Krog grinned with feral triumph. On his chest gleamed a medal — Andrea’s ice-crystal insignia, the honor Abler himself had forged for her. The holy silver poison surged in his veins, his horns flickering in shadow above his brow.
“You fear this new king?” Linata caught the tremor instantly. “Or is it vengeance against that deputy of yours?”
“He is unworthy.” Abler’s voice rumbled like a subterranean torrent. Demon-marks flared on his throat. “That throne… that medal…”
Cold water splashed his face. Linata pressed his shoulders down, her palm’s warmth seeping through the fabric. “Wake up. Here, you’re not even a debtor worth counting.” She pointed at the patrol sigils outside. “Krog is guest of honor to three kingdoms. You walk out there, you die.”
Abler’s struggle ebbed. Cold water mingled with cold sweat, dripping into his collar, raising a shiver. In Linata’s gray eyes he saw his reflection — ragged, weak, like a hound cast out.
“Andrea…” His voice shook without his knowing. “She will not die.”
Linata snorted, turning to the stairs. “Suit yourself.” The boards creaked under her steps. “Drink the medicine before lunch, or fifty more gold.”
The attic fell silent but for Abler’s breath. He lifted the newspaper once more, tracing Andrea’s face half-smeared with blood. Her shattered ice armor surged again in memory, overlapping with the cold bounty on the page.
The chains clinked sharply. Abler raised his shackled hand, staring at the demon-seal cuffs. The suppressant’s power was fading. A trickle of familiar magic stirred again in his core.
He would live. More than live — he would reclaim everything.
Outside, Twilight Town’s Peace Memorial Festival was already in preparation. Tavern banners rose, children played in the alleys. None knew that the man bound in the attic was already sketching vengeance with scarlet eyes.
And beneath the apothecary, Linata watched the crystal ball. It reflected Abler’s demon-marks casting a crown-shaped shadow upon the newspaper. She traced its surface with her fingertip, murmuring:
“Twelve hundred gold… That won’t buy your secret.”