Reeve opened his eyes slowly.
The first thing he felt was cold—not the sharp bite of winter, but a deep, lifeless chill that seeped into his bones. When he pushed himself up, his breath caught.
Everywhere he looked, death ruled the land.
Grass lay flattened and gray, stripped of life as if time itself had abandoned it. Trees stood twisted and broken, their bark cracked like old scars, branches reaching toward the sky in silent agony. No birds. No wind. No sound.
Only stillness.
Reeve swallowed.
"…Where are we?"
The girl stood beside him, her crimson eyes calmly scanning the wasteland as if this scene was ordinary.
"This is Frostveil," she replied.
Reeve frowned. "Frostveil…? Where is that?"
She turned to him then, studying his expression more carefully than before.
"You truly don't know anything about this world, do you?"
Reeve shook his head slowly. "I don't even know where this place fits on a map."
For the first time, her expression shifted—not anger, not arrogance—but understanding.
"You asked about my world before," she said quietly. "That realm you were pulled into… it is my domain. No one can enter it without my permission."
Reeve remembered the throne, the fire, the pressure of her mana.
"…You said from now on they have to ask me first."
"Yes," she confirmed. "Because you are bound to it."
Reeve paused, then asked carefully, "You also said… I can use your power."
She nodded. "You can."
"And that means," Reeve continued, eyes narrowing slightly, "I can use your world's power too?"
"…Yes."
That answer landed heavier than the wasteland itself.
"But I don't know anything about this world," Reeve admitted. "Its rules. Its history. Its enemies."
Silence followed.
Then the girl exhaled slowly.
"…I see."
Her gaze sharpened. "You are not from this world."
Reeve stiffened. "How did you know?"
"Because there is only one other being like you," she said.
"The Demon King."
Reeve's heart skipped.
"He came from another world as well," she continued. "Different knowledge. Different logic. Different cruelty. This world rejected him… so he decided to rule it instead."
Before Reeve could respond—
> "…Reeve."
A familiar whisper brushed his mind.
His eyes widened. "System…? I thought you were dead."
> "I cannot die until you do."
A faint, bitter relief crossed his face. "Then tell me—do you know about the Demon King?"
The system paused.
> "I possess data on the Demon King's actions, abilities, and influence."
"…However, I have no record of him originating from another world."
That answer sent a quiet chill down Reeve's spine.
So even the system didn't know everything.
---
Elsewhere
A vast throne room drowned in shadows.
A figure sat casually upon a throne carved from blackened bone, one leg resting over the other. Crimson light pulsed faintly behind his eyes.
Before him, Lynvar knelt.
His body was still scarred—burn marks crawling across his armor and flesh, mana unstable, breathing heavy. Yet he bowed his head without hesitation.
"The boy has changed," Lynvar said. "That fireball… it was not normal."
The Demon King chuckled softly.
"So," he murmured, resting his chin on his hand, "he has begun to touch what he shouldn't."
His smile widened—slow, delighted, dangerous.
"Good," he said. "Very good."
The game had finally begun.