The royal palace of Hanumayer.

King Selvaro sat at his desk, blankly staring ahead with unfocused eyes.

‘Selimia...’

His younger sister—and his only family.

He had lived his life believing that. But all those years of belief were denied by her in an instant.

— Disgusting.

— I’ve played along with your little family fantasy long enough, haven’t I?

— I’m independent now. I don’t need to pretend to be the good girl anymore. So just back off already.

Throb.

As those words replayed in his mind, Selvaro could only bury his face in his large hands.

‘I did find it strange.’

Selvaro, who had faced countless enemies threatening Hanumayer, possessed a certain instinct—a sixth sense for recognizing those who weren't human, or more precisely, those with impure intentions.

That instinct had pointed to Selimia before. But every time, Selvaro had chosen to deny it. The thought of sensing something off from his own sister—he chalked it up to losing his edge.

‘I was... such a fool.’

It was karma.

Karma for turning his eyes away from the truth.

Even so, Selvaro couldn’t bring himself to treat Selimia as if she’d never existed.

Even if it had been an act, she had lived as his sister for a long time. In a kingdom like Hanumayer, where the king depended on no one, she had become his only family.

He couldn’t possibly deny that now. Selvaro rose from his seat.

“I’ll bring her back.”

That was the conclusion he reached after much thought.

In this time of rapidly shifting continental affairs, venturing into the Demon King’s stronghold, where a storm was brewing, was no different from embracing countless sacrifices. And yet, he made his choice.

A choice for himself.

Clack!

It happened just then.

Someone opened the door to his study.

“Y-Your Majesty! Forgive my intrusion! But at the border—!”

In that moment, Selvaro felt chills run through his entire body. It wasn’t the servant’s breach of decorum, but something far greater that made his heart race.

“The Witch of the Snowfields has appeared!”

The instant he heard those words, Selvaro rushed out. Before the retainers could stop him, he mounted his Ice Steed in the stables.

The horse made of ice galloped across the snowfields. A journey that would’ve taken days on an ordinary horse was shortened to a day as the steed slid effortlessly across the frost.

Thus, under the night that made the snowfields even colder, Selvaro arrived at the border wall. He climbed to the top—and saw it with his own eyes.

“Ah.”

There stood the person he could never bring himself to let go.

“Selimia.”

The Witch of the Snowfields.

Once treated by all as his sister, now seen only as a monster—she looked up at him.

“Selvaro.”

But it wasn’t the cold, cutting voice she had used to cast him off.

“I’ve come back.”

That alone was enough to make Selvaro try to leap down and run to her. Soldiers around him quickly held him back.

“Your Majesty!”

“She’s not your sister anymore!”

“She’s surely come to deceive you!”

Indeed, from any reasonable standpoint, her actions could only be seen as deception. Selimia had insulted him and left.

But—

“Maybe she had her reasons.”

If there was a reason she couldn’t speak of... then the only one who could save her was none other than him.

“I have to go.”

“Your Majesty!”

“I have to go!”

Selvaro’s frostbitten gaze turned to the soldiers holding him back.

“She is my sister.”

Even if it was a lie, he was willing to be deceived. His life wasn’t one of much significance anyway.

He had lived only to rid the north of its monsters.

Caring for his sister had been the only thing that gave his life meaning.

Screeech!

So now that this meaning had returned to him of its own accord, there was no reason for him to reject it. Selvaro pushed open the noisy gate with both hands and strode toward Selimia.

“Selimia.”

“...”

“Are you all right?”

Selimia’s expression was stiff. She stood with her lips tightly shut, as if she had been forced to come. Then, finally, she spoke.

“I’m not your sister.”

“...I see.”

“Still, there’s only one reason I came here.”

To the dumbfounded Selvaro, Selimia laid bare a bitter truth.

“Lord Clay wanted this.”

The Demon King—Clay—had given the command.

“He told me to return and treat you like family. No—exactly like real family.”

She met Selvaro’s gaze directly.

“And he said you would know exactly how to repay that debt.”

It was horrifying coercion.

Selvaro let out a faint, bitter laugh.

“If I don’t take you back in, what then? Why bother coming here again?”

“Maybe not for me, but for you, I’m still your only family.”

“I could welcome you back, and might drive a sword into your back.”

“I don’t intend to die, but everyone knows you wouldn’t do that.”

Selimia pointed at Selvaro’s hand.

“Not with your hand like that.”

Selvaro’s hand—no, his arm—was trembling violently, as if convulsing. He couldn’t even grip his sword properly.

“So he really has become the Demon King.”

Using a method that in his days as a Hero, would never have chosen—Clay was now trying to control him.

“You won’t do it?”

Selimia spoke in a low voice.

“It’s getting tiresome. If there’s no reason, then I don’t have to treat you like family anymore.”

“...”

“Decide.”

She was pressuring him to make an unbearable decision in an instant.

“What will you do?”

Selvaro opened his mouth to answer—then closed it again.

Selimia had clearly already sworn allegiance to the Demon King. She had come here as his agent.

‘How unfair.’

Selvaro had always been known as the unshakable Sword Saint of the North, unmoved by any threat. He had no obsession with wealth or fame.

He never wasted his strength or indulged in luxury. Everyone said there was nothing that could shake such a man.

However, no one had ever known—

That for all his strength, Selvaro might surrender his kingdom far too easily.

“Selimia.”

He opened his trembling lips.

“I…”

His decision came quietly, buried beneath the falling snow.

“Yes.”

Upon hearing his answer, Selimia sighed softly. She then brought her hands neatly together and stepped closer to him.

Eyes void of all emotion looked up at Selvaro’s face.

“Brother.”

Selimia said the word with a faint smile.

♧

“It went just as the Demon King said.”

Cardin, upon his return, immediately came to Clay and reported.

“There were people who came to erase Elhaen’s Mark. We repelled them in front of the local residents.”

“I see. Well done.”

“Thank you.”

Cardin bowed his head.

Clay silently observed him for a moment before speaking again.

“Was Tia there?”

“Pardon?”

“I mean the Empress of Ezer.”

“Ah!”

Cardin quickly answered.

“The Empress of Ezer was not present. Judging by the circumstances, it appeared to be only the Royal Guard of Ezer.”

“I see.” Clay turned his gaze away from Cardin, “You’ve done well. I’ll give you further orders if needed, but for now, get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once Cardin had vanished, Clay sat down at his desk and pressed his fingers to the corner of his eyes.

‘Should I call it a relief…?’

There had been a chance that Tia might personally move to secure Elhaen’s Mark—if she had insisted on establishing contact with Elhaen no matter what.

‘I suppose she wasn’t that desperate.’

Perhaps she wanted to minimize the risk of exposing herself. Still...

‘She won’t get many chances to contact Elhaen.’

If Marks could be carved freely, Elhaen would’ve shown up with multiple at once.

But the fact that she had etched only one, and in such an imperfect location, meant that even for Elhaen, that was her limit.

“Demon King.” Syltanaro, now in humanoid form, asked beside him, “You don’t look well. Even though the Mark was removed, does something still trouble you?”

“It’s nothing,” Clay said with a soft sigh, “I’m only bothered by the fact that I still can’t clearly read what Tia is thinking.”

“Demon King.” Syltanaro cautiously spoke again, “May I ask you something about Tia de Mezelef? If it troubles you, I’ll drop the subject.”

“Is there something you’re curious about?”

“Yes. I’m a little curious. Actually, I’m very curious.”

Clay turned his gaze toward Syltanaro.

“I didn’t realize you were that interested. Go on, it’s fine.”

“Was she… very close to you, Demon King?”

It was a vague question—yet also a deeply profound one.

“Well…”

Clay’s eyes were partially hidden beneath his lowered eyelids.

“I thought we were close.”

Tia had become a friend to him despite the difference in their status. That, in itself, had been far from ordinary. The two of them had wandered the palace gardens together, shared meals, sprawled across grassy fields.

There were countless fragments of time embedded in those memories. Not one specific moment, but a continuous painting that had started in the past—what could only be called a bond had undeniably existed between them.

At least, Clay had thought so.

“But to Tia, it seems that wasn’t quite the case.”

Even if they called each other friends, the weight of that word could differ vastly between hearts. That was why, in the end, Clay had suffered such unbearable pain.

“Was she, to you…”

Syltanaro started to ask something but cut herself off.

“No, never mind.”

“…Syltanaro.”

Clay watched as she swallowed hard.

“If you ever do run into her, it might be best if you don’t confront her directly.”

“Are you worried about me?”

“Yes.”

Syltanaro closed her eyes tightly for a moment, as if bracing for the offense her words might bring.

“When I asked about her name earlier, I could tell from the expression you made.”

“Tia was my childhood friend, Syltanaro.” Clay spoke in a low tone, “That means the brightest part of my past is tied to her.”

Memories couldn’t be erased, and habits ingrained in the body were sometimes impossible to control.

“If I don’t sever that tie myself, I may never break free of it.”

And that would be yet another hell for him.

“So don’t worry too much. If I must, I’ll fight against it—break the leash with my own hands. I know better than anyone that I have to.”

With those words clearing his thoughts, Clay stood from his seat.

“There will be many conversations between us from now on. If there’s anything else you want to know, make good use of the time ahead.”

He had work to do.

“If that’s all, let’s get moving.”

Taking Syltanaro with him as she bowed, Clay stepped out. They walked the wide corridor and eventually arrived at a vast chamber.

“The Demon King enters!”

At the announcement, those seated at the large table inside stood.

Beatrice, Athanasia, Geshkafor, and other key figures looked on as Clay took the seat at the head of the table.

“Now, I will speak of our next plan.”

At his signal, everyone took their seats and turned their eyes to him as he began.

(End of Chapter)

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