Falushiel watched her silently, neither urging nor interrupting.
She gave her enough time to let it all out.
Only after a dam completely collapses does its internal structure become fully exposed.
Finally, Minai’s sobs faded, leaving only intermittent, suppressed hiccups.
She slowly raised her head, her tear-stained face looking especially fragile and helpless under the golden lamplight.
Her gaze toward Falushiel was filled with complex emotions—fear, regret, and a despair that seemed resigned to fate.
“Besides you,”
Falushiel’s voice broke the silence.
Her tone was steady and calm, each word striking precisely at Minai’s most sensitive nerves.
“Are there any other spies for Zeheriel in the royal city?”
Minai’s body stiffened violently.
Her eyes, washed by tears, suddenly shrank, and deep within her pupils appeared a terror that came from the depths of her soul.
Her lips moved slightly, as if wanting to say something, but it was as if an invisible hand had gripped her throat, preventing any sound from escaping.
Falushiel keenly caught this change.
She noticed Minai’s complexion growing paler at a visibly accelerating rate.
…As if her life force was being drawn out of her in the form of energy.
“Is it the power of the contract?!”
Falushiel’s brows furrowed sharply.
She quickly stood up and grabbed Minai’s wrist.
“Will answering my question kill you?”
Minai did not answer yes or no.
She only slowly and painfully tugged at the corner of her mouth, revealing a smile uglier than crying.
That smile was filled with self-mockery, sorrow, and a kind of release that bordered on cruelty.
“Dead…?”
She repeated the word with a breath as weak as drifting smoke, as if savoring a joke that had nothing to do with her.
“Lady Divine Chosen… Do you think beings like us… are truly alive?”
As she spoke, the light in her eyes rapidly dimmed, like a candle flame flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.
Her hands resting on the table began to turn translucent, and even the blue veins beneath the skin could be vaguely seen, slowly ceasing their pulse.
Vitality was fading away.
Falushiel’s heart sank heavily.
She realized a crucial issue she had overlooked.
Summoned beings were not independent life forms; their existence depended entirely on their summoner.
Their life, power, even their will, all came from the master who had made the contract with them.
Then, if a summoned being tried to betray its master…
“It’s useless…”
Minai’s breathing grew weaker, but in the final moments of her life, her eyes shone with a strange clarity, mixed with mockery and pity.
She looked at Falushiel as if gazing at another pitiful piece trapped on the chessboard like herself.
“We… cannot… stray far from our summoner…”
She spoke intermittently, as if each word consumed the last remnants of her life force.
“The farther the distance… the more unstable our existence becomes…”
“Bzzz——!”
Minai’s words exploded in Falushiel’s mind like a thunderclap!
In that instant, all the noise, light, and scent of the Golden Iris Hotel receded from her.
The entire world seemed to slow to a crawl, becoming unbearably sluggish and silent.
The harpist’s fingers froze on the strings, a noblewoman’s gesture of raising her glass halted in mid-air, the professional smile on a waiter’s face stiffened into a mask.
Yet within this absolute silence, Falushiel’s thoughts raced faster than ever before.
Yes, a summoned being cannot stray too far from its summoner…
And Minai, this summoned creature disguised as [Is Bunny Cute Enough To Eat], had been active in the heart of Arslan’s royal city for months.
She visited every gourmet shop, attended the Celebration of the Star Tower, and could freely enter and exit the heavily guarded Magical Girl encampment… All of this was built upon one absolute premise.
That is, her summoner, Zeheriel, the Seventh Apostle of the Demon King, was always nearby.
Falushiel’s pupils contracted to pinpoints.
A chill colder than any ice magic she could command shot up from her tailbone to the crown of her head, making all the hair on her body stand on end.
This meant… Zeheriel was not deep in the distant Demon Domain’s Forbidden Marsh.
He was here.
Close by!
He was in this very Golden Iris Hotel, resplendent and bustling with people!
Or, just a wall away, somewhere, using his malicious eyes to watch their every move with interest, as if watching a stage play!
Falushiel abruptly raised her head, her gaze as sharp as ice, sweeping across the entire hall.
Every noble engaged in lively conversation, every servant polishing glasses, every drunken merchant, even the corpulent Minister Bartow raising his glass in the upstairs private box corridor…
In this moment, every face became blurred and suspicious in her eyes, each possibly a human skin mask worn by Zeheriel!
The plate of grilled meat she had given to Minai, this whole attempt to turn Minai to her side, everything she thought she was controlling…
It had all been played out right under the enemy’s nose from beginning to end!
This was a vast trap, with the entire hotel as its cage and all the innocents as shields, designed solely to ensnare her!
“Go… run…”
Using the last of her strength, Minai squeezed out two words from her throat.
Her head drooped powerlessly, the light in her eyes extinguished, and her body slumped over the table, silent.
Her master had reclaimed everything granted to her.
—
Falushiel staggered out of the Golden Iris Hotel.
The cold night wind flooded her lungs, scraping her insides like a brush made of ice shards.
The sound of her high-heeled boots striking the stone pavement echoed endlessly in her ears, mingling with her frenzied heartbeat into a terrifying drumbeat.
The world became a malicious, shifting oil painting before her eyes.
On the brightly lit street, every passerby’s face was blurred, and in every fleeting expression, Zeheriel’s pale and mocking visage seemed to lurk.
That luxuriously dressed merchant—was his glance a watchful one?
The girl nestled in her lover’s arms—was the curve of her lips mocking?
The beggar curled in the shadows at the street corner—did his cloudy eyes also reflect her wretched form?
Panic wrapped around her from all sides like a vast, damp spider web.
Every breath of air felt thick, every inhale like drawing in deadly poison.
She felt as if she stood naked on a giant stage, the spotlight scorching her skin.
And in the darkest corner, the audience named Zeheriel sat, savoring her helplessness and disgrace.
The feeling of being utterly exposed was more painful than any blade piercing flesh.
She forced herself into a narrow, dim alley, pressing her back hard against the rough, cold brick wall, gasping for air.
The stench of stagnant water and food scraps stabbed into her nose, yet this filthy, forgotten corner granted her a fleeting, false sense of safety.
She buried her face in her hands, fingertips ice-cold, her palms slick with cold sweat.
What should I do?