The laughter died as if strangled by invisible hands.
Only the faint crackle of the chandelier candles dared to speak in that suffocating silence. The air grew heavy — thick with confusion, fear, and disbelief.
Dozens of noble eyes darted toward the corner where Saphy's words had landed like a thunderclap. The two servants froze, color draining from their faces. The younger one trembled so violently that the bowl in his hand rattled against the silver tray.
At the head of the table, the king's expression changed — the warmth that had lingered from the feast now vanished, replaced by cold, piercing focus. His fingers, which had moments ago lifted a chip in delight, now rested motionless upon the tablecloth.
Whispers began to ripple through the hall like tiny sparks before a storm.
"Demon… did she just say—"
"Impossible… in the Astley manor?"
"Is this… a joke?"
Each murmur carried dread. No one could bring themselves to laugh — not when they remembered who had spoken.
And there she stood — Sapphire Rosabelle Astley — still smiling, that same gentle, innocent smile that now felt strangely out of place.
Her small hand did not waver as she held out the bowl of golden chips toward the trembling figure in the corner.
The world seemed to narrow until only that moment existed — the girl, the accused, and the truth she was about to reveal.
M-M-My lady… that's n-not a nice joke to make."
The two servants stammered, exchanging panicked glances. Their smiles twitched unnaturally, eyes darting toward the exits. One gave a strained laugh that cracked midway.
"Y-Yes, you almost frightened us, miss. Please don't— ha-ha— say such things."
But Saphy's expression did not soften. Her gaze stayed fixed on them, clear and unblinking.
"There's no need to pretend," she said gently, her tone too calm, too certain. "You've worn those faces long enough."
Charles blinked, stepping forward in confusion.
"Saphy, that's not a nice thing to say to someone," he said quickly, his voice slightly strained. "You shouldn't accuse people like that."
He truly believed it was a child's misunderstanding. After all, the manor was surrounded by royal knights, lined with wards and enchanted tools that detected corruption. And with the king himself and the royal guardian — both peak-level ten professionals — present, the idea of a demon hiding among them seemed absurd.
But Saphy only pouted, stamping her little foot softly in protest.
"I'm not lying," she huffed, puffing her cheeks in childish defiance. "Let me show you."
Her small hand rose — and the world answered.
A swirl of light erupted from her palm, pure and blinding. It burst forth like a miniature sun, flooding the grand hall with brilliance that seared away every shadow. The nobles shielded their eyes, gasping as warmth and holy energy filled the air.
When the light touched the two servants, their disguises shattered like brittle glass.
A guttural shriek tore through the silence, sharp enough to make the chandeliers tremble. Flesh bubbled, fabric burned away, and beneath the illusion stood things that should not have existed.
Their skin was a sickly gray, veined with pulsing black lines that crawled like living worms beneath the surface. Their eyes glowed a furious red, slitted and wild, dripping a dark, tar-like fluid that hissed when it struck the floor. Horns burst from their skulls, jagged and uneven, curving backward like broken blades. One's jaw unhinged grotesquely, revealing rows upon rows of serrated teeth, and the other's limbs stretched unnaturally thin, fingers twisting into claws that scraped against the marble with a shrill metallic screech.
A foul stench of sulfur and decay spread instantly, choking the once-fragrant air of the hall.
Screams broke out among the nobles. Some stumbled back, others fainted outright. Guards drew blades, magic flaring in panicked haste.
And at the center of it all, Saphy stood unmoving — her eyes glowing faintly gold in the storm of chaos she had just unveiled.
Seeing their disguises shattered, the two demons froze for a heartbeat — then their expressions twisted into fury and despair.
They knew there was no escape. The moment their true forms were exposed before the king and nobles, their lives were forfeit.
But if they were to die, they would not die quietly.
Their eyes turned toward the small girl standing defiantly in the center of the hall — the one who had exposed them.
Their target.
Their threat.
They could feel it in their bones — if this child was allowed to grow, she would become a disaster for their kind.
"So be it," one of them snarled, voice guttural and trembling. "Then we'll take you with us!"
Their bodies tensed, muscles bulging beneath gray skin as they lunged forward. Claws stretched wide, teeth bared, their movement blurring like streaks of black lightning.
Every noble screamed, chairs overturned, guards scrambled to form a barrier —
But they never reached her.
The demons' momentum froze mid-charge, their bodies locking in place as though trapped in invisible stone.
Their jaws hung open, claws halted mere inches from Saphy's small figure. Veins bulged across their arms as they struggled, but their bodies would not obey.
Confusion flashed in their glowing red eyes — until they realized where the crushing pressure came from.
High above the dais, the king remained seated upon his chair.
He had not raised a hand.
He had not uttered a spell.
He simply watched.
His gaze alone pinned them to the floor like insects beneath a divine spear.
It was then they understood — why he was called the peak of humanity.
A level ten professional did not need to move.
In his eyes, striking down such creatures was beneath his dignity.
His silent presence alone declared judgment.
And under that cold, emotionless stare, the two demons trembled — their once-twisted pride disintegrating into pure, instinctive fear.
It was a gaze that crushed the spirit without a touch.
A gaze that measured them as one might an ant: insignificant, fragile, and utterly powerless.
Their demonic instincts screamed in terror. They could feel it — an invisible force pressing down, searing through flesh and bone, suffocating even thought. Their corrupted bodies quivered uncontrollably, as if every fiber of their being recognized the futility of defiance.
One tried to snarl; only a hoarse rasp escaped. The other flexed claws that refused to obey. They were trapped, paralyzed not by magic, but by the sheer weight of the king's presence.
And yet — the king did nothing more. He did not strike, he did not cast a spell, he did not even blink.
He did not need to.
Every instinct, every shred of willpower these demons possessed screamed at them to flee — but flee was impossible. The king's quiet authority alone was enough to hold them in place until others could deal with them.
"Take them away," the king commanded.
A squad of guards stepped forward with precise, fluid movements. They bound the demons with mana-blocking handcuffs that glowed faintly, locking them completely in place. Even as the cuffs bit into their gray, veined wrists, the demons remained rigid, unable to resist the invisible pressure pressing down on them.
Without a sound, the guards led the two horrifying creatures out of the hall, and at the same time, they brought along Viscount Rudeus, who had been standing nervously among the crowd. The red-haired man's face went pale, realizing that these two, once disguised as servants, had been linked directly to him — whether by chance or design, he would now bear the weight of responsibility.
The king's gaze then swept over the remaining crowd, sharp and unwavering. It landed squarely on the viscount.
"Viscount Rudeus, yes?" His voice was calm, cold — yet carrying the weight of absolute authority. "You have some explaining to do."
The viscount froze, every instinct screaming in terror. Even if he had not been directly involved, the mere presence of the captured demons linked him to the crime. Punishment would come, regardless. His throat tightened, sweat forming on his brow as fear consumed him from the inside out.
The laughter, chatter, and lighthearted energy that had filled the hall moments ago vanished entirely. In its place, a chilling, suffocating silence settled over everyone present — nobles, servants, and Saphy herself.
The gleaming chandeliers now seemed cold, the warmth of the banquet forgotten. Only the king's golden eyes remained — piercing, unyielding, and absolute — as the hall trembled under the weight of his authority.
Just moments ago, the hall had been alive with laughter, music, and the shimmer of celebration. The air had danced with warmth — the fragrance of roasted delicacies, the sparkle of crystal goblets, and the cheerful murmur of nobles enjoying a night of peace.
Now, all of it felt like a distant dream. The same chandeliers that had cast golden light upon smiling faces now flickered weakly, their flames trembling in the heavy silence. Plates of untouched food grew cold. Nobles whispered in hushed tones, afraid that even their breath might draw the king's attention.
The grand hall, once the heart of festivity, had turned into a cathedral of fear.
And at the center of it stood a small girl — Sapphire Rosabelle Astley.
Her sapphire-blue eyes no longer glowed with light, yet they still carried the quiet certainty of truth. Her small hands rested at her sides, calm amid the storm she had created.
She had not meant to silence the celebration. She had only spoken what she saw — what was real.
But reality, once revealed, often leaves no room for laughter.
Around her, the nobles still trembled, the faint echoes of terror clinging to their hearts. The music had long since stopped, and even the orchestra dared not move.
The evening that had begun with joy ended in uneasy silence — a silence that marked not the end of a feast, but the beginning of something far greater.