The High Inquisitor left the next morning. His white carriage rolled out of the gates, and the entire town of Garia collectively exhaled.
The tension vanished, instantly replaced by the smell of roasted nuts and spiced cider. It was the eve of the Harvest Festival. The streets were being decorated with orange banners, hay bales, and thousands of lanterns.
I should have been relieved. Zania was safe. My identity was secure.
But as I carried a crate of pumpkin tarts to the display window, I felt... itchy.
It was a specific kind of itch. The kind you get when you know a subordinate is about to do something incredibly stupid.
"Uncle Hans," I called out. "I am going to take a break. I need to check the inventory in the cellar."
"Sure thing, Ren! Bring up some more flour when you come back!"
I walked into the back room and locked the door. I didn't go to the cellar. Instead, I opened the window that faced the back alley.
"Malphas," I whispered.
The General materialized from the shadow of a dumpster. He was currently wearing a straw hat to blend in with the festival vibes. It looked ridiculous on him.
"Report," I said. "Has Volcan responded to the hive mind?"
"No, My Lord," Malphas said, his expression grim. "The link is dead. He severed it three days ago. He has blocked my transmission completely."
I nodded slowly. I had expected this.
"So he has officially gone rogue," I muttered. "I knew it was coming. Volcan always hated the peace treaty. He thinks I've gone soft. He probably sees the Inquisitor leaving as his green light."
"Shall we mobilize the Royal Guard?" Malphas asked, his hand drifting to his phantom sword. "I can have an assassin squad here by midnight to purge the traitor."
"No," I said, untying my apron. "If we bring more demons here, we risk exposing everything. This is a family dispute. We handle it internally."
I looked out at the festive street.
"Volcan is coming. I know that for a fact. The only questions are when and how. And knowing him, he won't be subtle."
I climbed out the window. "Keep the bakery running, Malphas. If anyone asks, I am in the bathroom with a stomach ache."
"Understood. I will tell them you ate a bad clam."
….
I patrolled the town for an hour, suppressing my presence completely.
The town was chaotic with preparations. Children ran around with sparklers. Merchants argued over stall placements. It was the perfect cover for a spy.
I expanded my sensory range. I wasn't looking for a person; Volcan's troops were mostly elemental demons. Imps, Gargoyles, Fire Wisps. They would look for heat sources.
I found it near the Town Square, right by the massive pile of wood stacked for the bonfire.
A "stray dog" was sniffing around the base of the wood pile.
But dogs don't have glowing orange eyes. And dogs don't leave faint footprints of ash on the cobblestones.
It was a Hellhound. A runt, likely used for reconnaissance.
I approached casually, whistling a tune. The "dog" tensed. It growled low in its throat—a sound like boiling water.
"Hey there, boy," I cooed, crouching down. "Are you lost?"
The Hellhound snarled and prepared to lunge at my throat.
[Spell: Zone of Silence].[Spell: Gravity Bind].
I snapped my fingers.
The Hellhound instantly flattened against the cobblestones as if a piano had been dropped on it. It opened its mouth to yelp, but no sound came out.
I grabbed it by the scruff of its neck (which burned slightly, but my skin was fireproof) and dragged it into the narrow alleyway behind the tavern.
"Drop the disguise," I ordered, my voice shifting into High Demonic.
The dog shimmered and melted away. In its place was a small, red-skinned Imp with jagged horns and terrified eyes. It was pinned to the wall by my gravity spell.
"M-Mercy!" the Imp squeaked. "I am just a tourist! I came for the cider!"
"Liar," I said calmly. "You are from the 4th Legion. Volcan's unit. I know he has betrayed me. Don't bother denying it."
I leaned in closer. My eyes shifted from human brown to glowing crimson for a split second.
"I just want the details, little spark. Why is your General sniffing around my town? Is he planning a barbecue?"
The Imp shook its head frantically. "I can't! He will extinguish me! He will turn me into a briquette!"
"And what do you think I will do to you?" I asked.
I held up my hand. I conjured a sphere of a swirling ball of magical ice that sucked the heat out of the air. Frost began to creep up the Imp's legs.
For a fire demon, cold is worse than death. It is agony.
"Okay! Okay!" the Imp screamed (silently, thanks to my ward). "I'll talk! You were right! He's attacking!"
"When?" I demanded.
"Tomorrow night!" the Imp blurted out. "During the climax of the festival! The fireworks!"
I paused. "The fireworks?"
"Yes! Volcan says he loves dramatic entrances!" The Imp was shivering violently now. "He is going to sync the opening of the Warp Gate with the explosion of the Grand Rocket! The loud noise will mask the sound of the portal tearing open! The flash of light will hide the army's arrival!"
I stared at the Imp.
It was so stupid. It was so theatrical. It was exactly something Volcan would do.
"So," I summarized. "He is going to invade in the middle of a crowd of three thousand civilians, while everyone is looking up at the sky."
"Yes! He calls it 'Operation: Big Boom'!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Gods, he is an idiot."
I dispelled the ice magic. The Imp slumped to the ground, gasping for warmth.
"Get out of here," I ordered. "Go back to the Demon Realm. If you return to Volcan, tell him nothing. If I see you in this town again, I will turn you into a snow cone."
The Imp didn't need to be told twice. It scrambled away, turned into a rat, and scurried into the sewers.
I stood up and brushed the dust off my knees.
Now I had confirmation.
Tomorrow night. The fireworks display.
The problem was, Zania had invited me to watch the fireworks with her.
"Ren!"
Speak of the devil. Or rather, the Hero.
I stepped out of the alley and saw Zania waving at me from across the street. She was wearing a festive dress—something simple and yellow—instead of her armor. The red ribbon I gave her was tied neatly in her hair.
"There you are!" she jogged over. "Uncle Hans said you had a stomach ache. Are you okay?"
"I am recovering," I lied smoothly. "Fresh air helps."
"Good," Zania grinned. "Because you promised to carry the picnic basket tomorrow. I made sandwiches! Well, I bought the bread from your place and put ham in it. But I assembled them!"
"I look forward to it," I said.
I looked at her smiling face. She had no idea that tomorrow night, the sky would tear open and rain hellfire.
And I had to stop it. Without her noticing. While sitting next to her on a picnic blanket.
Operation: Big Boom, I thought. Let's see who explodes first.