A faint wisp of steam curled into the air, dissipating into nothingness. The tea within Alex’s cup remained untouched, its surface unbroken—a stark contrast to the storm brewing within him. Across from him, Jabreil sat in perfect stillness, her golden eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight.

  "Jabreil, how much do you know?"

  His voice was calm, yet it carried a gravity that demanded absolute honesty. There was no room for hesitation, no tolerance for false reassurances.

  Jabreil’s expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then, with an almost imperceptible sigh, she averted her gaze.

  "Not much, my lord," she admitted, the weight of her own uselessness pressing down upon her. "I wish I could be of more help."

  Regret clung to her words, but she would not dwell on it. She straightened her posture, leaning forward ever so slightly—a silent declaration that what she was about to say carried immense importance.

  "But I do know this—the civil war is inevitable."

  The words were delivered without embellishment, yet they struck like a blade.

  Alex remained silent. His fingers tightened around the fragile porcelain of his cup, but he did not drink.

  "With your power stripped away, ruling through sheer force is no longer possible."

  "Those who once knelt in submission now see an opportunity."

  "The nobles and lords you subdued through fear, the commanders who once pledged unwavering loyalty—one by one, they begin to abandon their oaths."

  "Some seek to reclaim their lost titles and lands."

  "Others—our own commanders—have succumbed to greed, hungry for the throne itself."

  A kingdom built upon absolute rule had now fractured.

  The void left in Alex’s wake had given birth to war.

  "Factions have already formed, small kingdoms within the kingdom itself. Their armies stir, their ambitions fester. And when the time comes, they will not hesitate."

  The candlelight cast shifting shadows across the walls, distorting the features of those seated at the table. Neither spoke.

  Then, finally, Jabreil shattered the silence.

  "In two days, when you stand before them to give your victory speech over the Holy Empire..."

  She met his gaze without wavering.

  A quiet breath.

  A declaration of inevitability.

  "They will make their move."

  The tea in Alex’s hands had long since gone cold.

  After a long pause, he exhaled and placed the cup onto the table with deliberate care. His gaze, heavy with contemplation, lingered for a moment before he finally spoke.

  "There might be a way to solve our problem… if that person agrees to help me."

  Jabreil’s golden eyes flickered with curiosity.

  "Who? Who could possibly aid us in a situation this dire, my lord?" she asked, amusement laced in her voice. To her, the idea that anyone could turn the tides in such a hopeless predicament was almost laughable.

  But Alex did not share in her amusement.

  "You will have to go alone," he added, his tone unwavering. "Because of this curse, I have acquired a trait—one that ensures my presence alone would ruin any chance of success."

  A shadow fell over his expression as he continued.

  "This trait makes everyone hate me. No matter who they are, no matter their past loyalties… the moment they see me, they will be consumed by hostility."

  His voice carried no emotion, yet its weight bore down on the air between them.

  Jabreil stiffened.

  "What…? My lord, what are you saying?" Her voice wavered as she looked at him with wary eyes. "My loyalty to you has not changed, has it?"

  For the first time, doubt seeped into her words.

  Alex halted for a brief moment before answering.

  "Perhaps it does not affect you because you are an angel hybrid."****"

  With that, he rose from his seat and strode toward the door, his steps steady, his mind already set on the course ahead.

  "We need that person’s help."

  His hand pressed against the door, the faint creak of the hinges filling the air as he pushed it open. Without turning back, he spoke once more.

  "Because she is the only one who can help us now."

  There was no hesitation in his voice. No room for doubt.

  Jabreil, understanding his unspoken command, followed without question.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  "Ugh, this is too much work…"

  A tired groan reverberated through the dimly lit chamber, accompanied by the rustling of parchment as yet another document was unceremoniously tossed aside. Piles of paperwork loomed over the desk like an oppressive fortress, each stack a silent testament to the weight of responsibility bearing down upon its occupant.

  The woman at the desk—Medeusa—pressed her fingers against her temples, as if she could physically ward off the encroaching migraine clawing at her mind. With an exasperated sigh, she slammed her palm against the wooden surface, sending a few sheets fluttering to the ground. Her long emerald hair cascaded over her shoulders as she slumped forward, the very image of resignation.

  "How are we even supposed to manage all this? It’s falling apart at the seams."

  Her voice, filled with frustration, carried through the chamber like a lament.

  "Lady Medeusa, you should not burden yourself so."

  The gentle yet composed voice of an attendant—no, a maid—broke through the oppressive atmosphere. The woman who spoke, clad in an immaculate black-and-white uniform, stood gracefully beside the desk. A delicate porcelain mask obscured her features, an eerie, ever-present smile etched upon it. Long golden hair cascaded down her back, swaying slightly as she adjusted the silver tray in her hands.

  "The tea will grow cold if you do not drink it," Suzui continued, her voice calm, measured. "And regardless of how much work remains, rest is not a weakness, my lady."

  Medeusa exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples in slow, circular motions.

  "As if rest will stop a civil war."

  "Yes… I suppose we are doomed either way," Suzui admitted with a tilt of her head.

  Even so, Medeusa reached for the teacup, her fingers curling around the delicate porcelain. She took a slow sip, the warmth soothing her throat, and nibbled on a biscuit as her expression hardened with determination.

  "But even so, I must do what I can, Suzui."

  The maid remained still, her masked gaze unreadable, yet the subtle dip of her shoulders betrayed a quiet concern.

  "My lady…"

  A second voice emerged from within the depths of parchment and ink. This one was tired, yet steady—a quiet, methodical presence amidst the chaos. From behind an imposing wall of documents, the faint scratching of a quill continued unabated.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "Why haven’t you chosen a side yet?"

  The speaker, another maid, had barely been visible beneath the weight of paperwork before finally stirring from her imposed exile.

  Medeusa did not answer immediately. Instead, she carefully placed the teacup down, her fingers lingering on the rim. Then, with a measured breath, she spoke.

  "Because we don’t yet know who to trust."

  Her emerald eyes flickered with something cold, calculating.

  "Right now, everyone is hungry for power. And in times like these, one does not pick a side without first knowing the true nature of those involved."

  A pause. A shift in the air, subtle yet unmistakable.

  "So… we lack information, my lady?!"

  A new voice—brimming with youthful energy—cut through the somber atmosphere.

  A maid with curly brown hair suddenly emerged from the background, practically bouncing toward Medeusa with wide, eager eyes. In stark contrast to the discussion at hand, her expression radiated an almost comical enthusiasm.

  "Flora."

  Medeusa’s exasperation was palpable. Without hesitation, she reached out and pinched the young girl’s cheeks, eliciting a high-pitched whine.

  "That’s why I sent Sen and Zen to gather intelligence," Medeusa continued, her tone scolding yet oddly affectionate. "And I told you to stop fooling around and finish the paperwork."

  "Because of you, we still haven’t completed the war expenditure reports," Suzui added, shaking her head in disapproval.

  For a fleeting moment, the heavy atmosphere seemed to lift, the young maid’s boundless energy injecting a brief respite from the crushing weight of war.

  But such moments never lasted.

  Knock. Knock.

  A sharp rapping at the door shattered the momentary peace.

  "Lady Medeusa, it’s Sen. Would you like to meet Lord Lucifer?"

  "…Huh?"

  Medeusa straightened, her expression quickly shifting to one of cold composure. With a small wave of her hand, she signaled for Flora to return to her seat.

  "Let him in."

  The door creaked open, revealing two identical maids flanking a single imposing figure.

  Sen and Zen. Twin maids of silver hair and unsettling symmetry. Their expressions were impassive, their postures perfectly poised. The only distinction between them lay in their eyes—one a deep, piercing crimson, the other an icy blue. Each bore the inverted cross upon their foreheads, a silent insignia of allegiance to something beyond mortal comprehension.

  Between them stood a man.

  The man between them strode forward, his physique formidable, a body sculpted by war. Twin horns crowned his head, his silver hair matching that of the maids beside him. But it was his eyes—cold, predatory, and catlike—that seemed to pierce through the very soul.

  "Hello, Medeusa. Long time no see."

  Seated behind a fortress of parchment and scrolls, Medeusa barely deigned to look at him. The soft glow of candlelight flickered against her emerald eyes, which, for a brief moment, regarded him with cold scrutiny before returning to her work.

  "Yeah? And what brings you all the way here, Lord of Demons?"

  Her tone was devoid of warmth, laced instead with the unmistakable edge of irritation. It was clear from her demeanor that she had little patience for his antics, nor did she particularly care for his presence.

  Lucifer let out a theatrical sigh, placing a hand over his chest as if wounded.

  "You are quite rude, Lady Medeusa. Even an ant could sense the hostility radiating from you," he lamented in an exaggeratedly pained tone. "I'm truly heartbroken that you would treat an old friend like this."

  "Is this what you came here for?" Medeusa snapped, her irritation now tangible. The air in the room grew heavier, her bloodlust creeping into the space between them like an unseen predator. It was no wonder she despised this man—forever a sly fox, never speaking plainly, always weaving his words in circles.

  "Hmm… no."

  The humor in Lucifer’s expression faded slightly as he took a step closer, his previous playfulness replaced with something more deliberate. Without waiting for permission, he strode forward, seating himself before her with unshaken confidence. His voice dropped to a lower register, carrying an undercurrent of significance.

  "For what I have come to say… we need to be alone."

  Medeusa narrowed her eyes, suspicion flickering across her face. Yet, after a brief moment of consideration, she gave a curt nod.

  "You may leave us," she commanded.

  The maids bowed silently, their movements disciplined and precise as they exited one by one. As the final door clicked shut, Medeusa leaned back slightly, arms crossing as she fixed Lucifer with a piercing stare.

  "Now, what do you want from me?"

  "I want you to—"

  Before he could finish, Medeusa cut him off with a sharp voice.

  "I'm not going to join your side in this civil war."

  A pause. Her emerald eyes burned with unwavering determination as she met his gaze head-on.

  "In fact, I’m not joining any side in this war," she declared.

  "I have no intention of wasting the lives of my people."

  Lucifer blinked. Then—

  "Hahahaha… Oh, dear. Hahahaha!"

  He suddenly burst into laughter, his voice echoing through the chamber. The sheer absurdity of her words—how fast she had rejected him without even hearing his request—was enough to make him double over in amusement.

  Still chuckling, he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye before continuing, his tone dripping with mockery.

  "I didn’t come here for that at all… hahaha. But you, Medeusa, you truly haven’t changed. Even after all these years."

  Medeusa’s face turned crimson, the realization of her own blunder fueling her fury.

  "YOU MORON!"

  Without hesitation, she smacked him across the head with a resounding thud.

  "Ow!" Lucifer recoiled, rubbing the sore spot with a dramatic pout. "Why do you always hit me? That actually hurt!"

  "It’s your own fault! Why else would you come here if not to ask for my help?" she snapped, her voice tinged with both frustration and embarrassment.

  Lucifer groaned, still massaging his head. "How is it my fault? I was going to tell you, but you just jumped to conclusions! That tiny brain of yours is always overthinking things."

  Rolling his shoulders, he exhaled, his playful demeanor fading as he returned to the matter at hand.

  "Anyway, I need your help finding the rat among us."

  Medeusa’s expression darkened slightly. "The rat?"

  Lucifer leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes gleaming with something far less playful now.

  "We’ve discovered that someone within our ranks is working for the Holy Empire. Someone is feeding fuel to the flames of this war," he stated plainly.

  Medeusa’s green eyes flickered with doubt. "And why come to me?"

  Lucifer smirked. "Because you have the best intelligence network in the world."

  Medeusa scoffed, unimpressed. "I know you, Lucifer. That’s not the only reason you came to me."

  She leveled him with an annoyed stare, her sharp instincts reading him like an open book.

  Lucifer was silent for a moment before offering a small, knowing smile.

  "You catch on quickly."

  His voice softened ever so slightly.

  "I came because I know who you intend to support."

  The room fell into silence. A heavy, weighted silence filled with unspoken truths.

  "As your old friend, I’d advise against it," Lucifer finally said, his tone unreadable.

  Medeusa remained still, her face an unreadable mask. But her voice, when she finally spoke, carried the faintest trace of emotion.

  "It's none of your business who I support or not."

  "I'm simply fulfilling my duty—repaying what I owe," she murmured, as if saying it aloud would justify her own resolve.

  Lucifer exhaled slowly. "I know what you're thinking, but…" He studied her expression carefully before speaking again, this time in a tone devoid of mockery.

  "We both know that the person who saved the five of us is no longer the same man he once was."

  His words hung in the air like a dagger poised above her heart.

  "It's not going to work out, Medeusa."

  A moment passed. And then—

  "Choose wisely," Lucifer continued, his voice firm. "Your people? Or your king?"

  The weight of his words settled upon Medeusa’s shoulders like an iron shackle.

  Not because it was a difficult choice—no, she had already made her decision.

  But because she and Lucifer both understood the painful truth behind it.

  One of them had already abandoned the king they once followed.

  The other was still trapped between duty and morality.

  "I… don’t know," Medeusa finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as she lowered her gaze.

  Lucifer studied her for a long moment before offering a bittersweet smile.

  "Then we may meet again—not as friends, but as enemies."

  He rose from his seat, his movements slow, deliberate.

  "Would you be able to fight me, Medeusa?"

  Her breath hitched slightly. She knew what he meant. They were no longer children who could spar and then laugh it off. If they crossed blades now, it would be to the death.

  "If that time ever comes… I will not back down," she answered, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

  Lucifer chuckled softly. "I see…"

  He turned toward the door, his back now to her.

  "Then… until that day comes."

  With that, he stepped forward, the distance between them growing wider with each passing second.

  But just before exiting, he suddenly paused, glancing over his shoulder with a teasing smirk.

  "Oh, and don't forget the favor I asked for, okay, my lady?"

  Medeusa’s eye twitched.

  "UGHHH! GET OUT, NOW!"

  Lucifer merely laughed, disappearing beyond the door as her frustrated yell echoed through the chamber.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  **"STEP."**

  **"STEP."**

  **"STEP."**

  The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the empty palace. A lone figure, cloaked from head to toe, moved through the silent corridors. He descended a staircase, his path illuminated only by the flickering flame of a torch.

  The further he walked, the clearer the truth became—this was no ordinary chamber. It was a prison designed not just to confine, but to torment. The air was thick with the stench of dried blood and agony, the walls soaked in the suffering of those who had met their end here. The echoes of past screams still seemed to linger, haunting the darkness.

  Yet the cloaked man pressed forward, undeterred. Step by step, he traversed the abyss until he reached an enormous gate.

  **"Creeeaaak."**

  The heavy door groaned open, revealing the wretched sight within.

  A woman lay in chains, bound like a wild beast. Her body bore the evidence of relentless torture—bruises, open wounds, and dried blood staining her once-golden hair. Though barely clinging to life, her presence was anything but broken.

  The man in the cloak regarded her cautiously, as if she might lunge at him the moment she found an opportunity. Though restrained, she carried the spirit of a warrior—unyielding, unbroken. A hero of the Holy Empire. The empire may have fallen, but her pride as its champion had not shattered. If anything, the fire of vengeance burned brighter within her than ever before.

  **"Why have you come here?"** Her voice, hoarse yet defiant, broke the silence.

  She didn’t even bother looking at him.

  **"Are you here to give me that same offer again?"** she scoffed, mockery laced in her tone.

  Silence.

  The unexpected quiet made her uneasy. She finally lifted her gaze, her golden eyes—clouded with exhaustion yet sharp as ever—studying the mysterious figure before her.

  **"Who are you?"** she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

  The cloaked man stood still for a moment before slowly extending his hand toward her.

  **"Me?"** His voice carried a chilling resonance, blending with the abyss that surrounded them. **"I am your salvation."**

  Axsilia’s eyes widened, caught between curiosity and doubt. Who was this person standing before her, claiming to be her salvation? And more importantly—what would he demand in return?

  But for her, revenge ran deeper than anything. Even if the devil himself stood before her, offering his hand in exchange for her soul, she would take it without hesitation.

  If it meant she could destroy the one man she hated most.

  ---