"Still dancing to that old hag's tune, huh?"
I sit, legs crossed, addressing Lernen before me—a man bearing the title of First-Class Mage from the Continental Magic Association, the pinnacle of modern human mages. He's here to "investigate" this village, supposedly. How transparent. It's clearly that elf, Serie, pulling the strings. What a hassle. First-Class Mage sounds grand, but he's just her errand boy.
"Serie's whims are nothing new," Lernen replies coolly.
"You're admitting she's a nuisance," I retort, smirking.
My sarcasm doesn't faze him. He responds with calm composure, as expected. No wonder he's her favorite. Acknowledging her as both a nuisance and capricious—bet he'd say it to her face, too.
"Been about ten years, hasn't it? You've aged a bit," I note.
"More gray hairs, but he's way stronger now! Amazing for just ten years!" Linie chimes in.
"Indeed," I agree.
"Compared to you two, I'm still far behind," Lernen says humbly.
I study him. Last we met was a decade ago; he was around thirty then, so forty now, give or take. His appearance hasn't changed much, though Linie's right—there's a touch more gray. But it's his magic that's transformed. Already refined ten years ago, his mana's now even sharper. To Linie, who can see mana flow, it's obvious. Had he been around fifty years ago during the war, he'd have been a nightmare for the Demon King's army. Even now, he's a problem—for me, especially.
"Still so humble… unlike her disciple," I quip.
"Serie often calls me a coward," he replies.
That's his most troublesome trait. At this level, he has no arrogance, no pride typical of mages. He genuinely belittles himself—not false modesty, but the opposite of Serie's haughty nature. They say disciples resemble their masters, but these two couldn't be more different.
"A coward, huh? Since when does a coward face us alone? Testing me?" I challenge.
"Never. I'm not worthy of testing you, Lady Aura," he insists.
Lernen's unwavering respect is infuriating. A coward? Where's the coward who strides solo before me, a Great Demon and former Seven Sages, and Linie, my subordinate? Not a coward—reckless. Not quite a hero's party, but monstrous in his own right.
"Hey, Lernen, wanna spar again? I've gotten stronger, too!" Linie beams.
"If Lady Linie wishes, I'd be honored," he replies.
"Really?! Awesome! But just call me Linie, like I said before!" she protests.
"No, Lady Linie is my superior," he insists.
"Mmph…" Linie pouts.
Linie tugs at him, eyes sparkling. I forgot—she's fond of him, not like Serie, but as a rival. It started ten years ago when they met. Lernen saw through Linie's mana disguise instantly, claiming it was a "slight flicker." Impossible. Even then, her disguise fooled mana-sensitive demons. Now, it could deceive even me, a Great Demon. She might soon see through Serie's tricks, too. Since then, Linie's taken a liking to him—not as a friend, but something else. They're close in age, after all. Though he brushed off her request to drop the formalities again.
"Let's save that for later. So, what's your real purpose? You wouldn't come for a mere investigation," I press, recrossing my legs and resting my chin on my hand.
No point in games. Let's get to it.
"As expected of Lady Aura." Lernen hands me a letter, as if he'd been waiting. "From Serie."
A formal missive, like those annoying ones from the capital when I was in the Holy City. I break the seal and read. My grip tightens, crumpling the paper.
"Are you mocking me? Sending this… you're begging to be killed," I snarl, unleashing raw killing intent—not the Scales, not demonic, just pure malice.
The letter's contents? Cooperate with the southern nations' peace talks, and they'll leave us alone. In other words, obey or be crushed. Arrogant beyond a declaration of war.
(They think they've got me cornered!)
I've lost my ties to the kingdom, the hero's party's backing. Serie knows I can't use them as a shield anymore. She's been waiting for this—maybe revenge for that incident in the capital. Like Himmel said, she's childish. But I'm cornered. Refuse, and the Magic Association brands me an enemy. Attack Lernen, and I lose. Checkmate from the start. She hasn't lived this long for nothing.
"My apologies," Lernen says, unfazed.
That's why they sent him. He knows we can't touch him. He might even escape us if we tried. But something else bothers me.
"She claimed she had no interest in human conflicts. What's changed?" I ask.
"She's concerned about valuable mages being wasted in prolonged wars. Foreign interference can't be ignored either," he explains.
"Magic's development over the war itself, huh? Typical," I mutter.
It makes sense. To her, magic should be used to eradicate demons. Zoltraak advanced in the south, as she predicted, but she wants more. The Association can't fully ignore foreign pressures, though she might be lying again.
"They talk of 'valuable mages,' but their quality's slipping. A mage who attacked Linie earlier had your certification," I point out.
"Third-Class, he said. No big deal. Needs more training," Linie adds.
"My apologies. We've instructed no attacks on you, but… we'll enforce it. Lady Linie's no ordinary foe. We may need to revise our exams," Lernen admits.
The mages' quality hasn't improved. Against Linie, it's no surprise, but still. By Association standards, she'd be First-Class, like Lernen. If all mages were like them, demon remnants would be wiped out fast. Serie's dream, but centuries off, probably.
"We're off-topic. Fine, it's not your fault," I concede.
"My thanks on Serie's behalf," he says.
"Keep it. I'm just avoiding being hunted," I snap.
I rein in my anger. Peace in the south benefits me, too. This village, my little project, isn't permanent. I planned to free it once stable. Aligning with Serie's scheme stings, but it proves my usefulness to humans. Like under Himmel's protection, I'll rebuild trust. Simple reason: survival. Always has been.
"Joking? Hunt you? Never," Lernen says.
"You sealed Macht, one of the Seven Sages. Don't play innocent," I retort.
His humility's almost mocking. Sealing Macht, the strongest Sage, makes them a threat. Not alone, but their collective strength mirrors the hero's party. I won't repeat past mistakes. Their elf-given privileges rival even our demonic magic, maybe even the Sages'.
"I'd never fight you head-on. I'd flee. I'm a coward, like you," I say.
"I understand," Lernen replies.
"I'm here, so we won't lose!" Linie declares.
"I'm counting on you," I tell her.
Exactly. No frontal battles. Flee, hide, ambush—options abound. Why do demons use words? Brute force is foolish. Pride, instinct—useless. Arrogance and carelessness are our weaknesses. Lernen's the model: a coward at the peak. Linie's already there, masking her mana and pride since birth, never misjudging strength. They're two of a kind, perfectly matched.
"As a gesture, please accept this," Lernen says, offering something.
Another hassle? It's a bottle with a figurine inside—a golem, he explains, a prototype for intercepting intruders. No selfish motives, just utility. His creations are guaranteed quality.
"Testing it here, huh? Fine, if it's useful," I say.
"My gratitude. But a condition—or rather, a request?" he asks.
"Go on."
"I'll be away for half a month. Guard this village in my absence," I state.
That's my request, born from my promise to her. Leaving this place worried me.
"I planned to use my enthralled beasts, but this is better. A fair deal, no?" I say, smirking.
My turn to have the upper hand. I'd intended my Scales-bound creatures to protect the village, but they're unreliable. Internal strife among the southern refugees could collapse this place—not ideal for them either. I've turned the tables.
"A welcome offer. I was sent to assist you, after all," Lernen reveals.
"What? Don't lie. Serie wouldn't say that," I snap.
"Not directly. She's clumsy but kind, much like you," he says.
"Take that back. You're definitely her disciple," I growl.
"Thank you," he replies, a faint smile breaking through.
His words sting worse than the letter. My face must mirror Serie's at such an insult. He's undeniably her disciple.
"Any message for Serie?" he asks, smoothly shifting topics.
"Tell her to stay sharp and not go senile," I say.
Relying on disciples might dull her. She'd better stay alert.
"Done? Let's go, Lernen!" Linie urges, dragging him.
"I look forward to your guidance, Lady Linie," he says.
"Keep it moderate. Don't get carried away," I warn.
"Got it!" Linie chirps.
Linie's impatient, but Lernen's unfazed. I caution them—both love battle too much. Ten years ago, their sparring shocked me. It could turn deadly if they lose control.
"Plans after this?" Lernen asks.
"Tonight, a meteor shower, first in fifty years. Stay if you're free," I say.
Another pointless event I've been dragged into, irrelevant yet inescapable.
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