Above the sky, beneath the Abyss.

The endless yellow sand had been stripped away. A deep red now swallowed the entire firmament. Where that red met the spatial rift sealing the Abyss, it looked like a vast, vicious wound—rolling, stretching, tearing at everything in its path.

And if some existence strong enough were here to watch closely, they would notice another color buried within that deep red—something impossible to describe. It seemed to have fused into the scarlet, or perhaps the depth itself existed because of it.

All things trembled in silence. A dreadful collision was taking place inside that wound. Space itself split open, then healed. From the pitch-black fissure in space, a violent gale burst outward—only to be snuffed out in an instant by an even more terrifying force.

This kind of clash had occurred again and again over the past half month. It lay outside the battlefield, yet its intensity was in no way inferior to the bloody slaughter on the walls.

Because it was a battle at the level of the Crowned Ones.

Boom!

The deep-red wound ruptured. Nine concentric rings tore free of the scarlet, lightning bursting around them as they hung suspended in midair. Then the lightning faded. An old man—bare-chested, his lean bronze body fully revealed—pressed his palms together and looked calmly toward the very center of that color.

Blood dripped from the seams of his muscles. Every drop carried the weight of a mountain—yet in the final instant before it hit the ground, the lingering force within it shattered it into a drifting blood mist.

"Grand Duke Bengjue. The reputation is deserved."

King Yintuo spoke, rare admiration in his expression. "The power that shatters all things is truly fearsome. In the end, I was still a step short."

"That’s too modest. It’s been about a hundred years since a human managed to injure me."

A figure slowly walked out from the heart of the deep red.

He, too, was an old man—solemn, unsmiling. Mottled white hair marked his age, but the oppressive presence he carried was enough to make anyone feel genuine dread from the bottom of their heart.

Only—on the side of his neck, a massive tumor bulged, grown along his flesh and fused with half his chest. Even his entire left arm had been affected by it, shriveled and /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ unnaturally thin.

The tumor pulsed like a second heart. Most of it was hidden under coarse burlap, but where it showed, there was an eye—drowsy, half-lidded, half-open—eerily wrong.

A demonfolk Grand Duke.

Bengjue.

Few would ever know that the demonfolk’s rumored second-strongest—ancient, second only to Shenyi the Grand Duke—was in fact this warped, uncanny old man.

"Injuring you isn’t something to be proud of. If we keep fighting like this, I’ll lose for certain."

No matter how grotesque and misshapen he looked, King Yintuo understood all too well how terrifying Grand Duke Bengjue truly was.

In Belrand, he had once defeated three Crowned Ones of the same realm by himself—one of them the demonfolk’s Ghostblood Grand Duchess.

But in these past two weeks of brutal battle, he had been at an absolute disadvantage the entire time.

Bengjue was strong—stronger than him, stronger than the Lion King. And his power was practically a natural siege weapon. If he simply slapped that Dolonsrei Fortress once, that hundred-meter-tall wall would collapse into useless rubble in an instant.

That was why King Yintuo had to keep him pinned here.

"Still..." King Yintuo let out an unexpected sigh. "I didn’t think that someone as powerful as you would also be affected by that... inexplicable influence."

They were fighting high in the sky, but King Yintuo could still sense the abnormality below. Those dense masses of corpses floated beneath his feet—if he lowered his gaze even slightly, he could see tens of thousands of bodies rising and falling, like some predator had drained them of their essence and tossed the husks aside at random.

And at this very moment, King Yintuo could also sense it: an eerie madness brewing in Bengjue’s scarlet, clouded pupils.

The same as the demonfolk slaughtering one another.

"What’s so surprising about it?"

Grand Duke Bengjue gave a calm, soft laugh—utterly at odds with the madness in his eyes.

As the second-ranked Grand Duke of the demonfolk, he had always been taciturn, rigid, and cold. Outside rumors claimed he was the only one unafraid of Shenyi—someone who could even oppose him. But right now, behind that calm lay a helplessness that could not shake fate.

"I cannot defy Shenyi the Grand Duke. The demonfolk cannot defy Shenyi the Grand Duke. The entire demonfolk cannot defy Shenyi the Grand Duke’s will. For Shenyi, who has obtained the authority left behind by that one... we, the bound ones, are nothing more than slaves to be driven as he pleases."

Grand Duke Bengjue looked down toward some point below.

A massive volcano was collapsing. An angry roar surged into the sky with a billowing storm of ash and smoke. Within that smoke, half of a black robe fluttered—then finally turned to ash.

"It’s just that after so many incomplete cycles, most people have forgotten this."

"You won’t resist?" King Yintuo stared into Bengjue’s eyes.

It was hard to imagine a monster of this caliber allowing his soul to be drowned by that madness.

"Resist? There’s no need, and it won’t succeed."

"You won’t even try?"

"Someone once had the same thought as you. He failed. I won’t do it, because I know that so-called resistance is destined to be meaningless."

Grand Duke Bengjue tilted his head, stroking the tumor on the side of his neck. That eye slowly opened, as if gazing into the distance—but it wasn’t toward the towered Gutongs Castle. It was toward the cramped, crowded place even farther below.

It was as if he saw something. Pain and struggle filled his murky gaze—and then blood streamed out.

"We... are all guilty. We deserve a thousand years of torment for our souls. We deserve to be imprisoned for a thousand years, then fall into hell and turn to ash... This is our retribution."

"Retribution?"

King Yintuo fell into brief thought. "You sound like ascetics."

"Heh... If asceticism could buy even a moment of salvation, I’d gladly throw my soul into a burning cauldron. But unfortunately... for us, there has never been any salvation. That much was proven a thousand years ago."

Bengjue gathered away that sorrow. Deep red tore across heaven and earth once more.

"Even if it truly is for the demonfolk... come. There’s still some time. Come and fight me... one last time."

...

...

Flames burned through junk. Cracked pots and earthenware shattered under the shadows of frenzy. This crude market, never prosperous to begin with, had long since become a wreck. Everyone had started to go mad—high-ranking demonfolk and low-ranking demonfolk alike, even demonfolk just born, biting through their umbilical cords and tearing into the “mother” who had birthed them.

In the shadow of the fire, an elderly ratman hurriedly gathered up his goods. They were his collection from these many years—some precious antiques, some worthless bone chips. Before the end arrived, he’d thought he should at least leave something behind.

But when flame and chaos came together, whether antiques or bone chips, they became wreckage in the roaring fire. Demonfolk who had lost their minds trampled straight over the flames, and in the blink of an eye, nothing remained.

The ratman stood frozen, staring at the empty space before him.

After a long while, he removed the hood that had hidden his face.

That ugly rat face seemed to be thinking about something. Firelight reflected in his black pupils—but it wasn’t the firelight of the present. It was as if it were the flames from centuries ago, when the entire ratfolk race had turned to ash.

Then the images shifted, becoming something even older, even more dreadful.

A more terrifying shadow roared. Countless madness and chaos destroyed all order. Towers fell. The sun vanished. The sky dimmed into lightless gloom. All things wailed. A horrifying existence descended from the heavens and smashed what they had believed in for so long into dust.

It wasn’t only these pitiful souls that were cycling.

Even the disaster itself was repeating.

"So it’s come to this again? Shenyi... have you really forgotten the most important things?"

The elderly ratman slowly sank to his knees, trembling as he whispered,

"Who else can stop you? Who else..."

...

...

Upon the original obsidian throne, that skeleton draped in feathered robes was already seated.

Countless chaotic lines gathered and coiled above “her” head, weaving at last into a complete circle. Innumerable blood-red chains connected to that circle, as if it were forged from rules themselves, interlacing into a crown of thorns.

Deep within the earth, the high platform—the one that had consumed the demonfolk’s blood and sweat for a thousand years—was finally complete. Profound runes lit with dazzling radiance. The demonfolk knelt on the ground, tears streaming as they praised the miracle about to be born.

With demonfolk souls as fuel, and ancient magic preserved to this day as the foundation—flesh, soul, throne, crown... A thousand years of plotting and waiting. Everything, absolutely everything, was ready.

When the cycle that turned through endless ages restarted once more—flesh resurrected, souls returned, life and death reversed—even if abandoned by the gods, they could still shape a miracle equal to a god itself!

"Look! What overwhelming might! The entire demonfolk are cheering our king’s return!"

Shenyi’s face was feverish with devotion, his eyes seeming to burn. After a thousand years—time so long it drowned all measure—he could finally bring her back into the world, make her appear again, and let her become his... and the entire demonfolk’s leader once more.

A thousand years ago, she had been kind, unwilling to become king—so the malice of this world had killed her in misery. And now, today, a thousand years later, she would become the true Demon King, carrying rage and hatred, returning every ounce of suffering she had endured!

Yes. He understood. This rage that had been compressed for a thousand years—because it burned in his own chest, too, blazing, blazing.

"Do you understand, Miss An...? I suppose this will be the last time I call you that."

In the next instant Shenyi calmed again. He looked at the figure on the throne who was still struggling, still trying to break free.

"Give it up. I know you aren’t willing to abandon the identity you have now, but you’ll be happy soon enough. The joy of rebirth—since you’re a part of her, you’ll feel it as well. Truly."

"Shut up, I—"

"You still think that Muen Campbell can save you? Don’t be naive. Now that you’ve seen all this, you should understand... This level is something a brat like Muen Campbell can’t even touch."

"..."

An’s furious expression stiffened. A trace of confusion flickered in her eyes.

Yes. Even if she trusted her young master without condition, she had seen the demonfolk’s transformation. She had seen the slaughter on the demonfolk front lines. She had seen the platform carved with ancient runes. She had seen countless chains stretching out, bringing in souls beyond counting.

Shenyi had started that war—shaking the entire Empire, even the entire continent’s balance—only to gather enough souls in a short time.

And if she thought about it rationally, even without any of that... Shenyi the Grand Duke before her was a mountain her young master could never climb right now.

She believed her young master would one day surpass this old monster.

But not now.

Maybe... it would’ve been better if her young master never came back.

Struggling on the brink of death—she could do that alone. She couldn’t drag her young master down with her.

"Seems you’ve thought it through."

Shenyi smiled. "Now that the hypocritical Church of Life has backed off, and those ridiculous rats are all hiding in fear, in this Abyss, who else can stop me? Heh. The answer is that of course there is already no one at a—"

"Shenyi. You’ve crossed the line."

Under the dead gaze of the statues, the candle flames wavering on the walls suddenly flickered.

The atmosphere sank into an eerie silence.

And a chill swept in from that corridor full of dreadful shadows—so cold that Shenyi, who had not felt the meaning of the word “cold” in a full thousand years, actually trembled slightly.

Slowly, heavily, he turned his head, looking toward the other side of this space—one that should have been impossible for anyone to break into.

There, a pink strawberry pajama set drifted as if it weighed nothing, lightly swaying in midair.

"Ah. It’s you."

After a long daze, Shenyi finally murmured in a low voice, as if waking from a dream.

"You still came."

"You?"

The ageless, white-haired, red-eyed little monster tilted her head and snorted with laughter.

"Nearly a thousand years apart, and you’ve already thrown away the respect you were supposed to have? You little brat, Shenyi."