Chapter Text
Weise stirs along with the rest of the continent, a shift in the public’s consciousness which spreads like a rolling boil.
Glimpses of what is to come arrives first with merchants and adventurers:
The Elder Sage of Corruption has been sealed.
Böse the Immortal was defeated.
They found the heroes who will defeat the demon king.
-
Amid rumors of a new era, ribbons fly and ruddy faces gaze adoringly into the future: Peace is a word on everyone’s tongue.
“They say the Hero Party will end the war,” Glück remarks over afternoon tea.
Macht hums lightly, reaching out to shuffle the documents from another meeting that had more barbed words exchanged than actual trade agreements.
Glück continues, “Do you think they can?”
Macht glances over his shoulder; a slight tilt of his brow the only sign of his true feelings on the matter, “They can try, like all the others.”
The chair creaks as Glück leans back with a thoughtful expression; never a good sign. The man’s look is as piercing as any weapon, and one never quite knows where Glück will strike. This time is no different.
“You demons have no such thing as hope, do you?”
Macht follows the spindly threads of intent and prying statements to the source, though this time he forgoes the dance against the silver-tongued human and goes straight to the point, “If you mean by humanity’s continuous attempts at defeating the demon king, then no, I do not understand such attempts.”
“Hope breeds change, partner-in-crime,” Glück smirks, in that diplomatic way of his when he finds a loophole in a written agreement, “Generations of people believing in the impossible are what generates the momentum to take concrete steps toward the future.”
“It’s more convenient to act on certainties,” Macht states, “Anyone repeating the same actions and expecting different results would be fools.”
Having said that, he lowers the stack of paper onto the table. A convoluted web of influences and relationship that builds Weise from the ground up: It is not too far of a stretch to call this the manifestation of Glück’s hope. How far would he have made it if not for Macht? Not far, Macht immediately concludes. Glück has quite the awful luck and a non-existent survival instinct.
“I suppose,” he turns to Glück with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “This must be one of those follies of men you speak of. Altruism, was it?”
Glück stands up, letting the chair leg drag against the floor, “If that is what you truly think, would you like to partake in a bet with me?”
“I’ll refrain.”
Glück sighs, “You’re no fun,” and gestures for him to light him a new cigarette.
“I’m not,” Macht agrees as he approaches leisurely, a lone flame at the beck and call of this human man whose clever mind is stuck in a flesh body that is as easy to crush as a bug, “I’d much rather be useful.”
-
Despite Weise standing strong, signs of ruin dig into its foundations like rot, impossible to rid of completely when suffering is abound where Glück's – and by association, Macht’s – protection does not reach. Refugees constantly flow into Weise as its outer walls stretch upward, a reminder to its people it remains a safe haven. Some have been emboldened to return home after shaking off their initial disaster, though many choose to stay, wary of seeing only rubbles of their old life amongst destroyed villages.
In the background, nature proceeds its due course. Seasons change and with it, hope distorts like the height of the sun. When the harvest season passes with no further word of meritorious battles or catastrophic losses, even though Macht has no basis for his conclusion, he knows it shakes Glück’s confidence.
It is only when the snow arrives early and sends frozen fingers and rattling coughs to be shuttled into a make-shift infirmary outside the manor, does he finally remember that humans are fragile creatures.
There is a tightness to Glück’s own demeanor as he writes invitations for more doctors and priests. The usual ones from the Imperial Capital always arrived in time for the first snow, when young Lekture would inevitably fall sick.
This year, they are late, and judging from the thick scent of herbs coming from her wing of the manor, the illness is already flaring up.
Glück’s missive will have to be delivered by riders willing to brave the weather. But they are human, after all. How far and how fast can they possibly go in this?
And for the Hero Party - this year’s early frost nips their likelihood of victory: If they can survive at all, through the treacherous landscape of the far north.
Glück is a man whose mind is predisposed to worries and troubles. He says nothing of it of course, letting the tea cool on his desk as he peruses through maps unrelated to running Weise, then wandering to the balcony where he takes unseasonable breaks and angling himself towards the northern side of the territory.
A view that is fully obscured by blizzards.
How careless. Macht doesn’t say as he brings out Glück’s coat and gracefully puts it on around its owner's shoulder. The snow whips at them, sending strands of Macht’s hair flying about his face, though it seems to have no effect on the human.
“Many have fallen in this war,” Glück finally says, tilting his head up towards the starless skies as the winds howl around them, “Being sent to die like that is surely malice.”
“Perhaps,” Macht says, wondering if that will be the fastest way to have him return to the office where they will be out of the elements and most importantly, warm.
“What will you do once this is all over?” Glück asks, half-turning to him. The coat slides with the motion, and Macht is fast enough to grab the lapel before it drops fully to the ground.
Slowly, against convention, he quietly notches the first clasp in place. “I stand with Weise against its enemies.”
Glück’s eyes track every motion as Macht as he continues buttoning up the rest of the coat, gloved hands as orderly and fast as any of his previous attendants.
“…Even if the Demon King wins?”
The last clasp is completed as Macht flashes a thin smile, even if it’s too dark for Glück to see. Truly understanding the man who is willing to enrich his whims is a far superior use of time than being ordered around as a playing piece in the Demon King’s Army.
“I am yours to command,” Macht says with a bow. In the distance is the core of demonkind’s power and where the bloodshed originally began. It has nothing to do with him anymore.
-
The entire city holds its breath as spring arrives and the news begins flowing once more.
It starts as a plain and uneventful day, until it's not.
News comes via messenger pigeons first, then riders, in full regalia.
The demon lord is defeated.
Humans have won the war.
-
Macht is granted the status of being a personal mage to the Glück family. Coexistence does not begin when war ends, but he is finally on the front stage for Glück to begin his machinations.
His first act of public service comes in a timely fashion. Fractured pieces of the demon lord’s army are reported marching across the land. No leader means unguided slaughter: Another ledger to the age-long conflict.
-
“Nobles from the South are urgently requesting an audience with you, Lord Glück,” the page boy looks vaguely ill as he relays the message.
The scratching of the pen on parchment does not stop as Glück asks,“Why have they not gone through the proper channels?”
The page boy’s gulps audibly, “They said they rode through the night, with urgent news from the southern front. A contingent of the demon king’s army has broken away from the main battle and are heading towards Weise. T-they,” his eyes flickering to Macht, “They think the demon king’s direct subordinates are amongst them.”
Macht huffs, quietly enough that only Glück notices. A poor lie. The only reason they had gathered last time against the Hero of the South was because of the troublesome plan organized by Schlacht. With that one gone, there was no one to rally together the other Sages of Destruction to do something asinine as grouping together to flee or take vengeance.
The ink is not dry on the page yet before Glück puts his pen down and says, “We will hear them out.” Then directly to the boy, “Bring them to the drawing room. I will meet with them there.”
-
The trim of Glück’s coat is colored gold, a detail that would’ve been interesting enough to warrant a conversation if not for the urgency of the upcoming meeting. It irks him that Glück would give audience to obvious liars so he helpfully points out, “This is a waste of time.”
“Are you not curious how they will spin it?” Glück asks, letting Macht pat the ashes out from the edges of his coat.
“No.”
“Indulge me then,” he says to Macht, “And perhaps this could be a good lesson in fear. It is not hard inflicting that emotion in humans, even when we do not resort to violence.”
-
Macht ensures Glück's cup never sits empty on the table, always with a full pot of his preferred blend at the ready. Their guests have no say in what they get. After all, they are here to ask Weise's lord a favor.
Glück uses that word like an assassin playing with their favored knife, and Macht cooperates accordingly, wearing his most attentive smile amidst Glück's little schemes. Peace is as hard to understand as malice, he thinks to himself as the men sit with their heads meekly lowered, shoulders flinching when Macht sets their cups in front of them.
These men with their reedy voices provide information of questionable quality. It boils down to this: There is a regiment of the demon king’s army marching not far from their provinces, and they wish to join under the banner of Weise because barring any difficulties, the demons will ultimately end up on Weise’s doorstep in a month.
Oily hands press together as they pledge resources towards a happy cooperation. They ingrate themselves, fully willing to become magistrates under Glück, or in whatever capacity he sees fit to use them. Of course, their words are as empty as their pockets.
Yet Glück does not kick them out to the streets to be laughed at. Nor does he order their demise.
The last man steps out the door.
Macht stops waiting for the order Glück refuses to give.
Glück leans back in a chair and puts an unlit cigarette between his teeth, the silence balancing in between them stretching longer than it usually goes.
“That was quite the preposterous proposal, my lord,” Macht says as he steps forward, a tiny flick of mana lighting one end.
“The cat must’ve really got out of the bag this time,” Glück says and takes a deep breath. He dabs the end of his cigarette into the tray with more force than normal. Macht isn't aware there was anything to go wrong with those insignificant lords, but Glück's mind is a complex one. His political maneuvering and strategies are numerous and it's not the first time that underneath such petty quarrels, lies a deeper concept that flies over Macht's head.
Nonetheless, it's very rare for Glück’s plans to go awry, and Macht leans forward to catalogue the expression on his face. Would it be a frown? Glück has many shades of frowns, the only expression that gives this semblance of authority any real backing.
Glück takes one look at Macht before snorting, “Don’t get so excited. It’s just about our partnership, is all. Otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered coming to us with such reckless words and an obvious trap.”
Based on the vague descriptions of demons, the ones approaching have worked closely with Grausam – most likely a close subordinate who also specializes in mental magic or maybe the Grausam himself. It is truly a distasteful, well-researched plan: Those types were indeed his worst match up.
Macht breaks into a smile as he points out, “This feels like a situation where malice has been applied, no?”
Glück rubs his brows, “Not exactly the situation I want to see you using that correctly, but yes. It’s quite malicious on their part to shake Weise’s foundations by targeting you specifically.”
Macht, ever curious, ever testing the Glück's appetite for risk, sees an interesting route he can take in their partnership, poses a question: “Shall I pretend to leave Weise?”
“And leave the city open as a free target?” Glück drums his fingers on his desk without pause, “No.”
Macht tilts his head. “Are you not afraid of your settlement being squashed by forces who find you a threat with a Greater Demon at your disposal? It would be beneficial for you if I go.”
Glück says nothing and turns towards the window facing the courtyard below. Macht follows his gaze; outside, the three men busy themselves rubbing shoulders and conniving together in the way both humans and demons do when hunting prey larger than themselves.
They are easy to kill. Why Glück doesn’t ask him to do just that… How utterly foolish.
“They will keep blocking your way,” Macht states. The extent of their probe is to test Glück's control over Macht, a wild beast or natural disaster in their eyes, but the men are the greedy sort. Once they see him contained and collared, naturally they would put their focus elsewhere. In the years Macht has been observing, he has seen first hand the many ways to both fiscally and reputationally unravel a city.
If Macht makes a show of leaving – as a pretense or not is to be determined – the trick would work: Humans have little faith in one another. No doubt they would consider his departure a full and permanent treason.
As for the authenticity of Grausum’s subordinate, it matters not. Let that demon wreck havoc as it wishes. Macht finds no joys in the laborious affair of cleaning up someone else’s mess.
Glück picks up a pen and begins to draft something. Halfway through, he asks Macht, “Against that demon. How confident are you to win?”
“Very,” Macht replies, “As long as it’s not Grausam, I am quite certain what the outcome will be.”
“And if by chance, it is?”
“I’d still win,” Macht shrugs, “The aftermath is undesirable and you’d want to move Weise out of the Northern Plateau, but I do not see myself losing."
“A risk I’m willing to take,” Glück says and completes the document with a flourish. The stamp of his family crest seals it shut. He hands it over to Macht, eyes cold as the stormy mountains beyond the plateau, “Since they’ve so kindly delivered themselves to me, I will make sure they get their dues too. Ensure it’s timely delivery.”
It’s not a death sentence but good enough. Macht’s hand wraps around it but Glück doesn’t let go immediately.
“You are my accomplice, and I, yours. You should see this through to the end,” Glück says, a touch slower than normal, and if Macht hadn’t known better, could’ve labeled that as sentimentality.
Unabashedly, as if he's never considered leaving his experiment halfway, Macht replies without hesitation, “As you command, my lord.”
-
Macht returns within the week, steadfast in his overwhelming might: A trail of glory behind him with no signs of other Sages.
Glück looks up with none of the surprise befitting his words: “That was fast.”
“It was an easy battle,” Macht says, taking his place by Glück’s side.
The barest shadow of a smile appears on Glück’s face as he half-turns to him, “Demons often lie, but you rarely do. You were sincere about your desire to coexist weren’t you?”
“I have no reason to lie,” Macht replies, meeting his gaze evenly. His sight slides to Glück’s desk, where in the time he was not present, the paperwork has spilled onto the surface as a quagmire of half-finished piles, notes and missives sticking out only due to their unique coloring. He raises a brow at the mess, “You’ve fallen behind.”
“Some projects are taking up more time than expected,” Glück waves him off.
Macht takes a closer look at Glück; his skin was pale, but not overly so. The scent of medicine does not stick to him as it does his sickly daughter. It does not seem the ailment of ‘laziness’ has found him either.
If he were to make a guess, the answer must be in the paperwork.
A glance is enough for him to identify the problem: “This should be simple enough to solve,” Macht points at the largest pile.
Glück’s handwriting in ink, still wet, is a sad attempt at rallying the other nobles to add funds to Weise’s refugee and resettlement program; a most futile ask for the career politicians who Gluck has never described as the generous kind. “The remnants can be wiped out before they become a problem.”
Even Macht has heard passing odes to The Hero Party who slayed the demon king and beat a handful of the Seven Sages of Destruction. That group is strong, and far more skilled than any of the passing charlatan Weise received to boost morale.
The remaining demons can be handled regardless if that party was in the lead or not. How strange that Glück is insisting on prioritizing this. Stranger is his guess of more refugees and unrest which does not reflect reality.
“Perhaps you underestimate your former allies," says Glück, cutting off his thoughts.
A prickle of annoyance.
“They lost as soon as humanity reached the throat of the demon king. The others are –”
“Weaker?” Glück guesses. A flash of what might be a wry grin fades as the man looks down again at one of the many scrolls spread out across his desk. “Have you ever had to run for your life, Macht?”
“I have not,” the demon replies flatly.
Glück’s pen dips lightly into the inkwell. “Is that so?”
Macht frowns. “I don’t see how that is related to this,” he gestures to the calculations on the table.
“You don’t have any personal experience with your entire existence being threatened, so you don’t understand how unreasonable someone can be when they are forced to the edge,” Glück says, not looking up as he adds more numbers on a separate page.
“They keep fighting. Cause more damage. It’s nothing new,” Macht says.
“As long as the fighting continues, we need to make sure there’s enough allocated for refugees,” comes Glück's reply, patient as ever.
Nothing is out of the ordinary; the slope of Glück's shoulder slighting favoring his right as he toils over such senseless worries is the same angle as all the days before. But something scratches at the edge of Macht’s mind, a certainty the man is not explaining the full picture.
The rest of the afternoon continues with terse interactions and an unending sound of writing. It does not stop even when Macht passes by and pauses at a recently-installed shelf and flips through the books used for population tracking.
Sunlight catches gold.
Glück's shadow bleeds into Macht’s when the demon stops in front of the city lord’s desk, book in hand and voice steady, “You’ve accounted for more refugees than what would be expected of a region this size. Why would there be refugees from outside of the Northern Plateau?"
Demons are a simple existence, but Glück has been teaching him malice, of human desires and the shortcomings of men. He takes those lessons and applies them to his previous conclusion: “You think the fighting isn’t going to be against just demons.”
Glück puts down his pen with a sigh.
“The war against demons is over. There is no need to account for refugees in the amounts you are thinking about,” Macht continues his deduction, though his attention is on Glück’s every breath and action as he quietly sits there and follows Macht through the motions of sounding out one’s thought process.
His eyes sweep across the map on Glück's desk, unearthed from where it is usually laid amidst administrative forms. “Unless there is a new war.”
The air stills –
“It’s hard to hide anything from you,” Glück reveals a faint smile, “With humanity’s main threat of existence removed, all we have to fear now is ourselves.”
It’s an off-putting expression to see, and Macht’s satisfaction of successfully catching Glück off-guard withers at such an unprompted thought.
“It seems your lessons all these years have not gone to waste,” Macht offers, trying and failing to scry something other than the veneer of amusement on Glück.
“You are going through the motions perfectly,” Glück replies languidly, “But I doubt you truly understand yet.”
He pulls out a pack of cigarettes, and Macht obligingly steps forward without a word.
“I don’t,” Macht agrees, his gaze lowering as he draws close. How many years has he been by this man’s side, and how far has he advanced his understanding? They go through the motions of teaching and being taught, yet if his understanding of humans was a scale, it has shifted very little, if at all.
His gloved hand cupping around the flame is close enough to touch the skin of Glück's cheek, but his lord’s steady heartbeat is as calm as his face.
Glück takes a deep breath and releases a plume of smoke upward. The smoke diffuses the sunlight behind him, deepening the lines around his eyes.
He leans back, removing himself out of the radius of Macht’s immediate reach and returns to the new budget, “There’s no rush. I’m sure you will be given more examples soon.”
Macht makes a sound of agreement, an empty note echoing his cavernous curiosity. Truth brings no comfort just like lies brings no joy. His teeth feel achingly sharp, and his mouth suspiciously empty.
A soft knock on the door: Both their attention turns to it, and the feeling dissipates.
-
Glück begins traveling that summer to the Empire where trade deals are finalized and information brokered.
The empire’s defensive barrier blocks effective use of mana; Macht does not know if they have something else that specifically targets demons, but he is not interested in finding out. The road is safe enough, and with Glück's entourage of newly trained knights serving as guards, it leaves Macht to care for Weise in the city lord’s absence.
He roams the manor, not unlike the last time Glück went out and got himself poisoned.
It is just as easy to cross paths with Lektüre again, so either Glück still does not know of their previous interactions or he does not care. Macht is inclined to believe the latter, as it would be unlike a man as neurotic as Glück to miss such things.
Lektüre is by herself again, in one of the manor’s many courtyards, a long lavender dress spread around her in the afternoon sun.
Recovered from her earlier bout with her illness, it seems, or else they will have words to say with her caretaker.
Her head swivels to the side when spots him. She never harbors any fear when facing him. It’s no different this time as she smiles and waves him over.
As he approaches, he gives a cursory glance at the pile of books hidden behind her. It invokes an old memory. An unanswered question that he had let go in favor of their game.
He sits in the chair that she conveniently leaves empty. Lektüre's hands expertly weave together flower stems and she hums a song softly, fitting in with the other girls her age who have nary a thought in their empty minds.
It’s natural enough to deceive her minders, but not him.
“Do you think devils feel guilt?” Macht asks her, eyes not missing the way her fingers freeze as if snared by a thorn.
She looks up from the half-finished flower crown. “What an odd question,” she says. Her eyes flicker over him apprehensively, “Is this your reminder that I still haven't used my second guess yet?”
He shakes his head, “Purely academic. That book you lent me, it never clarified."
“That old thing?!” she gasps. Then in a quieter groan, “I can’t believe you still have it.”
It is not that long since she gave him that book, though in retrospect perhaps humans have a poorer sense of tracking time.
She takes another flower and begins a new strand on the crown. Her voice is light as she attempts to change the topic, “You’ve been kept busy I hear. When did you have time for reading?”
“Just the mundane motions of cleaning up after Lord Glück,” Macht smiles. “It’s not good etiquette to avoid direct questions, Miss Lektüre.”
She sighs, muttering under her breath something that sounds like, both of you are such workaholics, which he ignores in favor of her actual answer: “Devils are evil. They punish evil-doers. Why would they need to know anything about guilt?”
“So they don’t have guilt?”
She shrugs. “Why are you so stuck on guilt? Why can’t you focus on something more positive?” She looks down at her flower crown, then back at Macht.
“Macht,” she says slowly, “How do you feel about my dad?”
He blinks at the sudden turn of the conversation. “He's a good partner,” he parrots. Glück would appreciate him leaving out the crime portion.
Lektüre gives him a rather constipated glare.
Buds scatter from her lap as she stands up. The semi-finished flower crown is dropped onto Macht’s head where it hangs limply, his horns keeping it elevated and too high to actually touch his head.
Lektüre makes a sound through her teeth.
It displeases her, but Macht doesn't know if the cause is his reply or the failed putting-on of her project.
“The world will be more peaceful now that the demon king has been defeated,” she says, brows furrowed. “Macht, you should…” she trails off. Her hands carefully pick off a wayward petal that dropped out of the wreath, from his hair.
“Prioritize your energy into something productive,” she settles.
He looks away, disinterested in the future she is deluding herself into. The flower crown tilts with the motion, though it stays on his horns. “My duty is to protect Weise and its inhabitants. That’s an honorable job.” He says, though its gravitas is lost on Lektüre.
“Yes, yes, you’re a great protector of Weise,” she grumbles. She rubs her furrowed brow, but a wide smile spreads on her face as a glint of something he cannot identify appears in her eyes. “I got it!” She grabs his arm by tugging at the fringes, a most audacious action as a young lady of the house. “You should be our family’s magic instructor!”
“Lord Glück does not need me to teach.”
She waves off that statement, sleeves riding down to reveal delicate wrists that are a touch too thin, “I’m sure father has other people he can send off to fight. Didn’t he just announce the special battalion of knights recently?”
“He did,” Macht confirms. “But even so, my magic transcends intellect and reason. It is not something that humans can learn– ”
“You know other spells don’t you? Like the one that makes the fire for father’s cigarettes! Don’t bother teaching people your pride and joy, just the basics will do.” She grins so big, it leaves him off-kilter.
Your pride and joy.
He’s never heard of a human describing his magic like that, though it isn’t entirely untrue.
“Father has been trying to expand the mage corp. Surely you can help,” she continues, as if the force of her excitement can sway his will. (It can’t, but it might for Glück.)
“Why would I?”
That’s not information she should know. He does not say it in such words, though the innocent smirk she gives him is clear she is comfortably playing this game.
“Because it’d be less fighting for you, and it’ll be more interesting.”
“Oh?” He makes no sound as he stands up. In full height, he is an imposing figure most humans would tremble and shake at. Lektüre, perhaps on virtue of being Glück's daughter, or the brashness that has been ever-present since the day they met, does not.
“You can’t be a mage,” Macht says.
A flash of what can only be an annoyance crosses her face.
It is gone just as fast.
Quite skilled for a child her age, he assesses, as she ignores his provocation to keep on prying, “But you love learning don’t you? You always ask so many questions. Why not see how other people learn – and what better way to do that by teaching?”
Her demands are met with his stoney silence.
It has all the hallmarks of Glück setting a verbal trap and waiting for his opponent to step into it, though Macht is in the position of power here. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth when she ignores his presence and goes back to making her new wreath.
The annoying humming starts again.
Finally, he asks, “You would have me train human mages?”
Lektüre turns back to him, eyes twinkling. “Is that a yes?”
He does not say he already knows how humans learn: Humans learn the way they did everything else — desperately, inefficiently, as though the lesson might expire before they reach it. He supposed that was the “tragedy” of it. No time. No patience. He had both in quantities they couldn't fathom, and yet here he was, crouching down to their level, learning their clumsy, nonsensical rules. That, more than anything, was what puzzled him.
He finds himself agreeing, informally amongst nonsense and flowers, “I suppose I can try something new.”
-
Glück takes in the news as expected, which is with very little reaction. He gives Macht a cursorary look and the bare minimum questions. Below them, the city continues its celebrations.
If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he got tag-teamed by the father/daughter duo.
-
His student is a mere child. It would have been insulting, if not for Glück’s gravitas during their initial introduction.
Glück goes, alone, into the incensed church that makes Macht’s nose twitch. It’s not until Glück kneels down on one knee before the praying boy that Macht realizes this is his future pupil.
Glück gestures toward Macht, who is silently waiting at the open doorway.
“He will be your magic instructor in the future,” he says. The hand clasping over the boy’s shoulder is brief but firm.
Dark eyes dart between Macht and Glück. Mutely, the boy nods, his fist tightly clenched at his sides.
Satisfied, Glück returns to Macht with an inscrutable look, officially putting his new charge under the tutelage of a demon. Issues a command, even.
“Of course, my lord,” Macht bows. He feels the boy’s mana brush up against his own, a small spark against his hailstorm.
Glück's orphan is a small, weak thing, somehow even skinnier than Lektüre.
But even his small stature can't suppress the zealous rage hiding within. His intent is clear when his eyes immediately fixate upon Macht, or rather, his horns. The boy does not, or perhaps cannot, hide his intent to fight.
“Can I become strong enough to kill you?”
What a feisty stray Glück picks up this time.
He answers something agreeable, pleasant to hear.
Being a protector is different than a collaborator is different than a teacher. Humans with their hierarchies and social rules have always treated teachers in especially high regard. Denken is a new puzzle, whetting his appetite with how far a human can adapt to magic taught by a demon.
It’s another unique opportunity: And now that he thinks about it, he’s had quite a lot of that, ever since joining Glück’s service.