Chapter Text
—“Mmmmm! Mmmmm!”
The muffled cries of a gagged young woman were swallowed by the cold wind of Mount Elpirian, barely audible over the quiet scrape of boots against stone. The warrior carrying her over his shoulder did not slow down. His figure moved swiftly along the winding mountain paths, slipping between shadows, jutting rocks, and treacherous drops with an almost inhuman ease.
The green-haired young man seemed entirely unaffected by the weight of his burden. The girl struggled from time to time, kicking her legs and trying in vain to free the hands bound behind her back, but he only shifted his posture slightly to counter her movements. His pace remained light, precise, and silent; the gait of someone accustomed to crossing terrain where others would not dare place even a single foot.
The mountain closed in around them like a jaw of stone. The path narrowed into an uneven ledge, and then, all at once, ended before a smooth wall of gray rock. There was no way forward. Only bare stone, cold and vertical.
But the warrior did not stop.
Without hesitation, he brought his right hand to his mouth and sank one of his sharp teeth into his skin. Blood welled up in dark drops and slid down his fingers. Then he stretched out his wounded palm and pressed it against the wall.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the surface of the rock trembled softly, as though it had ceased to be stone and had become water beneath the moonlight. Silent ripples spread outward from the place where the blood had touched it.
The young man stepped forward.
And, without his stride being halted, he passed through the stone wall with the captive girl over his shoulder, disappearing inside as if the mountain itself had swallowed him.
The young woman felt a chill crawl down her spine the moment they passed through the wall. The sensation was cold, damp, and unnatural, as if her body had stopped being solid for a single instant. Fear tore a louder cry from her throat against the gag, but it was already too late.
There was no mountain path on the other side of the wall.
There was another world.
The air was heavier, thick with a pressure that squeezed her chest. The rocks seemed darker, the sky lower, and even the silence felt hostile. This was a place where humans were not welcome. A land where mercy had no roots, and where only the strongest could rise above all others.
The green-haired young man, now walking at a calmer pace, headed toward a stone monolith standing only a few steps from where they had emerged. The girl continued to struggle over his shoulder, but her movements were growing weaker. He paid her no attention.
Once he stood before the monolith, he bit into his wounded hand again. Fresh blood mingled with the old, dark and thick between his fingers. This time, instead of merely pressing his palm against the stone, he traced a different pattern across its surface, a design of curved lines and sharp angles that seemed to belong to no human language.
The monolith answered.
A faint light began to seep from the marks of blood, weak at first, then brighter, until the entire stone hummed with a reddish glow. Beneath their feet, a magic circle formed, its symbols igniting one by one around them.
The young woman barely had time to widen her eyes in terror before the world vanished.
When she drew breath again, she was no longer on the mountain.
Before her rose an enormous castle, built of black stone, its towers piercing the sky like spears. Its windows were tall and majestic, adorned with delicate designs that, under different circumstances, she might have found beautiful. There was symmetry, elegance, and solemn grandeur in its architecture, exactly as her beloved books had described it and as her dear personal artist had drawn it so many times.
But now she could not admire it.
Not with her wrists bound. Not with the gag pressing against her mouth. Not with the warrior who had kidnapped her still holding her as though she weighed nothing at all.
If the stone had been white, if the windows had shone with warm light, if she had not arrived there as a prisoner, perhaps she would have thought it a palace worthy of an ancient tale.
But that building was not beautiful.
It was imposing. Dark. Terrible.
And there was only one name for such a place.
The Demon King’s castle.
That suspicion was confirmed the moment they reached the castle.
The young man’s appearance changed slightly, as though the veil that had covered him in the human world had finally faded away. His skin took on a grayish hue, cold and unlike any human complexion. A reddish ring appeared around each of his irises, making his gaze seem sharper, older. But the most striking change was the pair of horns emerging from either side of his head, dark and curved, impossible to hide beneath his green hair.
The young woman went still for a second.
There was no deceiving herself anymore. The man who had carried her all the way here was not human.
The warrior ignored her fear, or perhaps he did not even notice it. Without altering his pace, he continued toward the castle entrance with the calm of someone returning home after a routine task. The girl, still slung over his shoulder, could only stare wide-eyed as the enormous doors of black stone drew closer and closer.
No one stood in his way.
It was not due to indifference. Even less so from any lack of affection. In fact, the young man was well liked among those who lived in the castle. Many would have gladly greeted him, others would have tried to ask about his mission, and more than one would have wanted to approach out of curiosity about the human he had brought back with him.
But the castle was silent.
Far too silent for a fortress of such size.
Though few beyond its walls knew it, the current Demon King did not keep a large number of servants. At first glance, one might assume he was not loved by his people, that he ruled over an empty castle out of fear, rejection, or solitude. However, nothing could have been further from the truth.
The Demon King did not trust easily.
For that reason, he only allowed the best of the best to work directly at his side. Those who had proven not only their skill, but also their loyalty, discretion, and a will strong enough to withstand the pressure of his presence. Those who served within the castle were not there by chance. Each one had been chosen with care.
The rest of his subjects lived in the Land of Fire, under the command of his only aub, the most loyal of all the Demon King’s vassals.
But among the most loyal was one man who never missed anything.
Not even the silent footsteps of the young warrior in the middle of the night.
Especially not when those footsteps were heading toward his king’s private chambers.
The man who appeared in the corridor had gray hair and a presence so ordinary that, at first glance, he was easy to forget. His face held no particularly striking features, his eyes looked tired, and his small horns, the same color as his hair, barely stood out among the messy strands falling over his forehead.
That was precisely what made him dangerous.
No one who looked at him only once would ever imagine how much he could see.
—“Eckhart.”
His voice was low, calm, almost casual.
The green-haired young man stopped.
—“Justus.”
The two looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Nothing more needed to be said. Between them, silence had the weight of an entire conversation. A question. An answer. An assessment. A warning.
The young woman, still gagged over Eckhart’s shoulder, felt the air tighten around her.
At last, Eckhart was the first to look away. A look of satisfaction spread across his face, so open it bordered on unsettling.
—“Finally, the humans will learn to respect our lord.”
Justus lowered his gaze to the captive girl. His tired eyes sharpened ever so slightly.
Eckhart straightened his back with pride, as though he were carrying a war trophy rather than a terrified young woman.
—“Before him, I'll present Rozemyne of Ehrenfest, first princess of Aub Ehrenfest, Sylvester.”
—“Shh, Eckhart! Our lord has finally managed to fall asleep!” the gray-haired attendant scolded in a low voice, though his expression showed no real anger. “Although I do understand your enthusiasm. This is going to be extremely entertaining.”
Justus cast a quick glance at the gagged young woman, then looked back at Eckhart.
For a moment, his smile remained perfectly intact.
Then, deep within his tired eyes, something began working at tremendous speed.
—“Now, we are going to leave our guest in her new room. And you had better return to your quarters quickly, or your wife will make good on her threats and tear out my fingernails for keeping you here.”
Eckhart did not appear particularly concerned by the possibility of Justus losing his fingernails. Even so, he obeyed.
The two men, along with the unfortunate young woman still being carried over Eckhart’s shoulder, headed toward the eastern wing of the castle. They walked down a long corridor of black stone, lit by lamps of faint reddish light that cast soft shadows across the walls. Despite the castle’s grim exterior, the inside was neither crude nor neglected. Every arch, every column, and every window seemed to have been designed with elegant, if cold, precision.
As they walked, Justus maintained his usual calm.
Internally, however, he was already building a list of possible explanations, excuses, convenient omissions, and carefully ambiguous phrases that might, with enough luck, prevent their lord from reducing them to ashes before breakfast.
No. “It was done out of loyalty” was not going to work.
Neither was “Eckhart acted with enthusiasm.”
And he definitely should not begin with, “In our defense, the human appears to be alive.”
At last, they arrived before a pair of double doors decorated with beautiful reliefs of nature. Interwoven stems, delicate leaves, and above all, blooming flowers covered the dark wooden surface. The design was so fine it seemed to have been carved by someone who knew every petal by heart.
Justus opened the doors.
The room beyond was clean, orderly, and simple by the standards of the castle. Even so, it was undeniably beautiful.
Unlike the dark corridors, this chamber had lighter colors and delicate details that softened the severity of the black stone. It had clearly been prepared with a noblewoman in mind. A large circular bed stood at the center of the room, covered with immaculate sheets and light curtains. To one side was a broad desk, accompanied by shelves filled with carefully arranged books. Near the fireplace sat a small sitting area with several sofas and a low table.
There were three more doors.
One led to the bathroom. Another opened into a spacious dressing room. The last led to a small balcony overlooking the immense lake that surrounded the castle, its dark waters reflecting the moonlight like a fractured mirror.
Eckhart approached one of the sofas and unloaded the young woman onto it without much ceremony.
It was not a brutal drop, but there was no gentleness in it either. To him, Rozemyne was little more than an important piece in a strategy that, in his mind, would benefit his lord. A burden to be delivered. A human problem that was no longer his to solve.
The girl fell sideways onto the cushions with a muffled sound, still bound and gagged.
Eckhart stepped back, satisfied with a duty fulfilled, and positioned himself by the door to stand guard.
Justus glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
Yes. He was definitely going to need an excellent explanation.
With a barely audible sigh, he approached the young woman and crouched in front of her. His expression was kind, but his eyes were still calculating escape routes, possible culprits, and the exact order in which the facts should be presented to minimize the disaster.
First, the human.
Then, the excuses.
With practiced movements, Justus untied the gag, then the bindings around her wrists. The young woman immediately brought her hands to her mouth and drew in a deep breath, finally free from that awful cloth.
Justus opened his mouth, prepared to say something useful. Perhaps a warning. Perhaps an apology. Perhaps a version of events that would not make the situation worse than necessary.
But before he could utter a single word, the young woman slowly turned her head toward the shelves.
Her eyes began to sparkle.
—“May I read all those beautiful books?”
Justus stared at her in surprise.
Eckhart remained by the door, rigid and watchful, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened that night.
Rozemyne, on the other hand, wore an expression so full of hope it was almost painful to look at. Her golden eyes were fixed on the shelves, shining as if the terror, the kidnapping, the dark castle, and the horned demons had all been reduced to minor details before the true wonder of the room.
Books.
There were books.
Justus blinked once. Then twice.
At last, he smiled.
—“Yes, of course. You may read all the books in this room. If you have any other interests, I could also bring you more books from the library, though I would need to submit a written request to my lord first.”
Rozemyne’s head snapped toward him with alarming speed.
—“Library!?”
Justus opened his mouth, perhaps to clarify that she should not get too excited, that there were protocols, restrictions, permissions, and a long list of procedures that would surely make any other person lose interest.
Rozemyne heard none of it.
In less than a breath, she was already standing before the shelves, running her fingers over the spines of the books with almost religious reverence. Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from excitement. She chose the first volume with care, opened it, and was immediately absorbed into its pages as if the rest of the world had been erased.
Justus tried calling her.
Once.
Then again.
Then a third time, using a slightly firmer tone.
Nothing.
Rozemyne of Ehrenfest had entered the realm of books, and not even an interdimensional kidnapping seemed to possess enough authority to drag her out of it.
Eckhart watched the scene without fully understanding it, while Justus let out a quiet laugh, equal parts amused and mildly concerned.
—“Well,” he murmured to himself, “at least it seems she will not try to escape tonight.”
That, of course, solved none of his other problems.
After several failed attempts to regain the young woman’s attention, Justus decided to withdraw. He locked the door behind him, more out of protocol than any true confidence that it would be enough to contain someone capable of forgetting her own kidnapping in front of a well-stocked bookshelf.
Eckhart followed shortly after, still satisfied with the success of his mission.
Both men retired for
the night.
Tomorrow would be a new day.
And with it, a new era would begin for the greatest and most feared Demon King.
King Ferdinand.
Although, if Justus was right, the true disaster would not begin until his lord woke up.