Kaelmor did not rush.

That was the first thing that separated him from lesser rulers, the restraint. Anyone could react. Anyone could rage. But to wait… to sit with a thought, to turn it slowly like a blade between the fingers, feeling its edges, testing its weight…

That was power.

He remained on the balcony for a long moment after the guard left, crimson wine untouched now, his gaze still locked on the distant silhouette of the Greed Tower. Nexus Prime stood exactly as it always did, perfect lines, immaculate structure, not a single hint of disorder.

Annoyingly consistent.

"You're either very clean," Kaelmor murmured under his breath, "or very good at hiding the mess."

His lips curved faintly.

Lux Vaelthorn.

Clubs. Music. Bodies. Indulgence.

A demon of Greed and Lust behaving exactly like one should.

Too exact.

That was the problem.

Kaelmor tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if he could peel the layers off the mortal realm from this distance alone. His senses brushed outward again, spies, whispers, threads of awareness. Mortals laughing. Lights flashing. Contracts being signed. Drinks poured. Music pulsing.

And somewhere inside that noise…

Lux.

Moving.

Acting.

Performing.

"…Or," Kaelmor added softly, almost amused, "you're not involved at all."

That possibility lingered longer than the others.

Because it was the most inconvenient one.

His fingers tapped once against the armrest, then stilled.

"No," he decided quietly. "That would be… too simple."

Still.

He disliked uncertainty.

So he stood.

The movement was smooth, unhurried, but the air around him shifted instantly, as if Hell itself adjusted its posture in response. Power coiled subtly around his form, not flaring, not announcing, just… present.

A quiet inevitability.

"Let's have a look," Kaelmor said, almost pleasantly.

The space in front of him folded.

Not violently. Not dramatically.

Just… opened.

A tear in reality, clean and precise.

Kaelmor stepped through.

The air was colder here, in the dragon mountain.

Sharp. Thin. Carrying the faint scent of ancient magic and something older, residue left behind by beings that did not belong neatly to any system.

His boots touched the stone with a quiet sound.

He paused.

Looked around.

And immediately, his gaze dropped.

Bodies.

Varus.

And his team.

Six elite enforcers.

Now… debris.

Kaelmor walked forward slowly, hands behind his back, posture relaxed as if he were inspecting a mildly disappointing report rather than a massacre.

"Messy," he commented.

He crouched slightly beside one of them, studying the damage. Not rushed. Not careless. His eyes traced the wounds, the residual energy, the faint distortions in the surrounding mana.

Controlled.

Violent.

Efficient.

Not random.

Not chaotic.

Kaelmor's lips thinned just a fraction.

"Not the work of something mindless," he murmured.

He stood again, gaze shifting outward, scanning the chamber.

"And where," he added softly, "is the dragon?"

Nothing.

No body.

No lingering presence of Yue Xianlong.

Only absence.

That, more than anything, made his eyes darken.

Because absence meant one thing.

Consumption.

A faint ripple passed through the air.

Subtle.

But noticeable.

Kaelmor didn't turn immediately.

He simply straightened, head tilting slightly as if acknowledging a presence that had already been expected.

"…Ah," he said lightly. "There you are."

Three shapes emerged.

Not fully.

Never fully.

They hovered, distorted silhouettes of shadow and depth, their forms flickering between presence and absence, as if reality itself wasn't entirely convinced they belonged here.

Ancient.

Old.

Watching.

One of them shifted closer, its outline sharpening just enough to suggest something like a face.

"Oh," it said, voice layered and uneven, "the King of Hell himself."

Another let out a low, amused hum.

"So it was true… the dragon bound to him."

A third voice, softer but sharper, cut through.

"How curious. A king who builds his throne by taking what isn't his."

Kaelmor turned his head slightly, finally looking at them.

Calm.

Unbothered.

Interested.

"Do go on," he said, almost politely.

The first one drifted closer, circling lazily.

"They said you chained her," it mused. "A dragon of that lineage. Bound. Controlled. Used."

The second voice laughed quietly.

"And now she's gone."

A pause.

Then, almost gleefully…

"The one who killed her… already devoured her."

The third leaned in closer, presence pressing faintly against the space around Kaelmor.

"Took everything. Power. Blood. Essence."

Another chuckle.

"Quite efficient, really."

The first voice tilted, almost mockingly.

"And here you are."

The second added, sharper now.

"The mighty King of Hell… losing his assets."

The third finished, almost pitying.

"Pathetic."

For a moment…

Silence.

Then Kaelmor smiled.

Slowly.

Softly.

Not offended.

Not enraged.

Just… pleased.

"Oh," he said gently, "you've misunderstood."

The air shifted.

Not violently.

But decisively.

"I don't lose things."

The pressure dropped.

Suddenly.

Completely.

As if the world itself had been forced to kneel.

The shadows reacted instantly.

Too late.

Kaelmor moved.

There was no dramatic wind-up. No visible surge of power.

He simply stepped forward… and one of them disappeared.

Not shattered.

Not dispersed.

Erased.

As if a hand had reached into existence and removed it.

The remaining two recoiled, their forms destabilizing, shadows flaring violently as they tried to pull back.

"Ah," Kaelmor said lightly, watching them, "you can move quickly."

One of them lashed out, shadow distorting into something sharp, violent, attempting to pierce through space itself.

Kaelmor didn't dodge.

He tilted his head.

The attack stopped.

Mid-motion.

Frozen.

Then… folded inward.

Crushed into nothing.

The second entity surged backward, splitting its form, scattering fragments of itself across multiple points in space.

A clever trick.

It bought time.

Kaelmor's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Half-presence constructs," he observed.

Then he raised his hand.

Space tightened.

Not around the entire entity…

Just enough.

One fragment.

Caught.

Compressed.

Destroyed.

The remaining presence shrieked, not in pain, but in disruption, before collapsing backward into the void, dragging the last of itself away.

Gone.

Kaelmor lowered his hand slowly.

Silence returned.

Complete.

He stood there for a moment, looking at the empty space where they had been.

Then he exhaled softly.

"Inconclusive," he murmured.

Because that was the truth.

They had confirmed something.

But not enough.