Liya didn’t dwell on the slip of the tongue that had revealed a small flaw.
Her heart tightened slightly, like a thin thread pulling for a moment, but on the surface, she maintained that carefree, unconcerned demeanor.
Communication was always an art full of misunderstandings.
Even if that damn elf had suspicions, they could only remain as suspicions.
If she panicked and lost her composure over a few probing questions, that would truly be laughable.
“Because Lily is a genius! You’re an idiot, so you wouldn’t understand!”
The petite pink-haired girl planted her hands on her hips and lifted her chin with righteous indignation.
Her face wore that “no arguments accepted” tsundere expression, like a kitten that had just conquered the top of a cat tower.
“Tch~”
Ailita curled her lips in disdain.
Being called an idiot by a Pupu? She wasn’t angry, just found it absurd.
Even if this Pupu really was Demon King Lia, so what? In the eyes of a High Elf, these degenerate post-elf era beings, no matter how much they struggled, were nothing more than scuffling in a mud pit.
Elves had lost the material world, but they had never lost the dignity of an elder.
That was a self-identity carved into their bones, a belief in being the paragon of all living things.
Ailita stared at Liya with a smile, her emerald eyes like two bottomless pools of poison.
The more she looked, the clearer the crazy conjecture in her mind became.
“Alright, alright, you’re a genius.”
She waved her hand dismissively, then vanished like smoke, turning invisible and leaving.
Liya breathed a sigh of relief, but she still felt a chill creeping up her back.
She didn’t know that without Joen’s keen perception to shield her, the “Elf Speech” had already stuck to the corners like spider silk, monitoring her every move.
Unease washed over her like rising tidewater, lapping at her ankles.
But Liya didn’t have much energy to deal with that long-eared elf now.
She had more important things to do.
Using the identity of the Gang Boss “Xiao Lage,” two letters flew out of the stronghold in the night.
The first letter was sent to the solemn and sacred church in the Old City District.
In the letter, she bragged and flaunted extravagantly, boasting about finding a new way to make money, claiming that this was probably her last deal and she wanted a perfect finish, so she needed to procure two more “high-quality goods” from Bishop Icot.
The second letter was sent to the most extravagant money pit in the Empire Capital.
The No. 0 Succubus Club, the first succubus shop carefully established by Demon King Lia, the model and example for all succubus shops in the empire, and the dream paradise for every man—at least it had been a few weeks ago.
Liya was going to hold a banquet for the highest-ranking succubus in the Empire Capital.
That was also a familiar face.
Just thinking about the past made her both embarrassed and annoyed, and she wished she could transform into Baki Hanma and give them a little tough guy shock.
The next night.
The moon shone dreamlike, and withered leaves drifted sporadically.
Inside the banquet hall of the Brotherhood Headquarters, the lamplight was dim yellow, and singing was soft and decadent.
Sandalwood crackled in the fireplace, coating the stained-glass windows with a lingering warmth of hedonism.
Icot kept his appointment as expected.
He had shed his bishop’s robe, symbol of sacred status, and changed into a low-key yet refined velvet casual suit, wearing a silver mask that half-covered his face.
His accompanying trusted knights were also in plain clothes with hidden blades, their eyes vigilant.
Of course, he had also brought along the stubborn hardhead he wanted to “corrupt”—Joen.
And as the host of the banquet, “Lage” sat upright in the main seat.
In the eyes of Icot and the others, he was a refined, short-statured gang leader wearing a mink coat.
But in Joen’s eyes, it was a completely different sight.
Liya hadn’t transformed back into that delicate, adorable little hand-puppet form.
Instead, she had switched back to her “Demon King Lia” form after a long time.
Silver hair cascaded like waterfalls, red eyes gleamed like blood.
She wore a well-tailored black tuxedo with a dark red bow tie at the collar.
Her long legs were crossed, and in her hand, she swirled half a glass of Nightberry Wine as red as blood, making the deep scarlet in her eyes even more profound.
That innate elegance, nobility, and laziness seeped from her bones, clashing with the surrounding smoky gang environment but strangely capturing everyone’s gaze.
“Yo, rare guest, welcome.”
Liya raised her glass, pretending to be a gang leader, her voice calm and hearty.
But in Joen’s ears, it was still that cool, charming girl’s voice.
“Mm.”
Icot was a man of few words.
He swept his gaze across the banquet hall, confirmed everything was normal, then instructed his knights to scatter.
Liya warmly welcomed the arriving guests, laughing and chatting with them.
She moved effortlessly among these humans, each harboring their own schemes, occasionally sneaking a seductive wink at Joen.
The guests and host enjoyed themselves thoroughly, sometimes bursting into hearty laughter, sometimes whispering secret plans.
Every look, every movement of Liya’s was perfectly timed, flawlessly playing the role of an underworld emperor who ruled both the bright and dark paths.
Joen sat in a corner, silently watching.
Even knowing it was Liya, his Lily.
But at that moment, for some reason, a strong sense of unfamiliarity crept over his increasingly weary heart like vines.
Too similar.
Not just like a demon king, but more like a true ruler who thrived in lies and sin.
The light in her eyes was so confident, so… mysterious.
Joen’s hand gripping the wine glass tightened slightly.
After witnessing the ugly face beneath Icot’s kind mask, despite his extreme aversion and reluctance, a seed named “doubt” inevitably began to sprout deep in his heart.
—Could Lily be deceiving me too?
Were all of Lily’s emotions, all of her expressions, all of her dependence and coquettishness, completely genuine?
Would Lily put on a show for me?
How ridiculous.
The last person one should doubt and hurt is the one closest to them.
But when a passionate heart becomes clouded, the first person one doubts and hurts is often that very person.
The air in the room grew stuffy, or perhaps his heart was too troubled.
Joen set down his wine glass and walked toward the balcony, hoping the cold wind would blow away the haze in his heart.
In the distance, the moon was dreamlike, stars dotted among the clouds.
The cold wind howled, mixed with fine ice particles that stung the face.
Suddenly, a commotion from the right side of the balcony, at the main entrance below, caught Joen’s attention.
Under the dim yellow Magic Guide Lamp, a pair of young men and women wearing slightly ill-fitting imitation noble attire were being stopped by the guards.
It was the siblings who had been collecting donations on the street.
They hadn’t been seen in days, and their clothes were even dirtier now.
The once shiny silk was stained with mud and grease, and the creases wrote two words:
Downfall.
“Move! We want to see Lord Lage! We’re here to talk about a big deal!”
Brother Liam craned his neck, his face flushed red, clutching tightly the Contract of the God of Justice they had signed back then.
“Just you two?”
The guard sneered, contempt thick in his eyes.
“Beggars like you, stealing a fake skin and thinking you’re real lords? Get the hell out of here. Don’t dirty our eyes.”
“You—”
His pride felt like it had been slapped by a cactus—swollen first, then pierced.
Liam roared and tried to rush inside.
“Get lost!”
The guard didn’t hesitate, lifting his foot and kicking Liam hard in the stomach.
Liam flew back like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily into a puddle, splashing mud everywhere.
He lay on the ground pathetically, unable to get up for a long time.
The so-called “noble attire” was completely soaked through with filthy water.
“Brother!”
The younger sister Tess, who had been cowering behind, screamed and rushed over to help her brother up, pleading with a tearful voice:
“Brother, let’s go. Don’t try anymore, please…”
Liam pushed away his sister’s hand, clenched his fist, and dug his fingernails into the mud.
He lowered his head, his expression hidden from view.
Can’t get in…
Can’t back out either.
That silhouette exuded a stubborn, obsessive determination, as if fighting against something.
Joen stood above, watching this scene, his heart inexplicably stirred.
Compassion ultimately won out.
Whether or not they were truly helping the disaster victims, at least this refusal to turn back even when hitting a wall was more than the church could say.
“Let them in.”
Joen’s voice cut through the autumn rain, steady and strong.
“They are my friends.”
The guard froze, looked up, and saw it was a distinguished guest personally welcomed by Lord Lage.
He immediately changed his attitude to a gentle one.
“Yes, sir! Since they are friends of a distinguished guest, naturally we should let them through according to protocol.”
Liam crawled up from the puddle, looking up dazedly.
He wasn’t overjoyed at being saved; instead, he seemed awkward and stunned.
Liam stopped in his tracks, looking up at the balcony.
As his eyes met Joen’s calm brown eyes shining from above, his lips trembled for a long time before he squeezed out a resentful and self-deprecating sentence through gritted teeth:
“A thousand thanks… thank you, Lord…”
Soon after, when they met in the banquet hall, that sentence repeated in Joen’s ears again.
Liam’s voice trembled violently, like a withered leaf shivering in the cold wind.
“Don’t call me ‘Lord.'”
Joen sighed and said.
“Remember me? That day on the street, I donated five gold coins to you.”
Liam’s head shot up, shock flashing in his eyes.
First, there was a moment of embarrassment and awkwardness, then he suddenly froze, as if something clicked in his mind.
A brilliant light burst forth from his pupils.
He remembered!
Of course he remembered!
That sucker… oh no, that great benefactor!