Three days had passed since the night he spoke with Soleila. While waiting for his guide to the Azure Abyss, Zelfallion did not sit idle with folded hands. Information was lacking. Even if he had decided to move with the Azure Moon Society, lending his aid without understanding the organization's true nature was like walking with his eyes closed. Three hundred fifty people lurked beneath the royal capital. But how far did their surveillance network extend? How thoroughly had their eyes been cast across the boundary between the Outer Ring Market and Ash Wall Street? He needed to know. So he ventured out in the dead of night. The Outer Ring Market—"Galna's Crossing"—that sprawled beyond the Second Ring Wall of the royal capital Verdia had fallen silent as though the daytime clamor were a lie. The forge fires had died. The merchants' voices had ceased. All that remained was the sound of his own footsteps on the stone pavement and the scent of the Miros River drifting from afar. Mixed with that came the stench of half-rotted food and the smell of rain-dampened timber, assaulting his nostrils. Zelfallion pulled his hood deep and drew his cloak closed, advancing through the shadows of the alleyways. His purpose was not combat. Building layouts. The presence or absence of sentries. Escape routes. That was all. He had no intention of scattering unnecessary sparks with his unstable magical power. He entered the district lined with abandoned warehouses sometime after midnight. Old wooden structures stood shoulder to shoulder, and between them ran narrow alleys like a spider's web. Moonlight did not reach here. The ground beneath his feet was covered in black mud. Zelfallion proceeded deeper, confirming each building as he went. Then his neck hairs stood on end. There was no sound. Barely any presence. Yet something was there. In the shadow of the abandoned warehouse to his left. And—in the depths of the alley to his right as well. The moment he stopped, the door of the warehouse ahead opened silently. "[cold]Stop." A voice, low and restrained. A man's voice. The figure that emerged from the gap in the door was unmistakable even in the thin moonlight—pale blue scales glimmered across his cheeks and neck. A Scaled One. Thirty-something, perhaps. Medium build, but his movements held no wasted motion. Two short swords hung at his waist, and his right hand held nothing. That made it worse. A presence approached from behind. "We received word that a suspicious intruder had been spotted." This time, a woman's voice. When Zelfallion turned only his head without shifting his body, he caught the edge of a white horn in his peripheral vision. A Horned One. A slender horn extending straight from her forehead. Small in stature, but her footwork bore the mark of Azure Moon Society training. She moved with certainty toward vital points. —A scout of the Azure Moon Society. Zelfallion cursed inwardly. He had not noticed the tail. No—he had been surrounded before he could notice. That was the first humiliation. "State your business. Otherwise—" The Scaled One took a step forward. In sync with his movement, the woman's presence behind drew closer. The distance between them narrowed. This was not practiced movement. This was coordination honed in real combat. Zelfallion quickly assessed the situation. Even if he fought, his magical power was unstable. He was not in a state to unleash his full strength. Besides, avoiding combat had been his original purpose. But the escape routes were already sealed. A Scaled One ahead, a Horned One behind. Buildings pressed in at both ends of the alley; charging straight would only lead to a dead end. "Just passing through." He answered, keeping his voice steady. Not the truth, but not a lie either. "Passersby do not walk these alleys at this hour." The Scaled One remained unmoved. He raised his right hand lightly—that was the signal. Mist-like water poured from within the warehouse. At first it was a faint haze. In moments it thickened, filling the entire alley with white fog. Water-flow magic. The high magical aptitude unique to the other races, precisely controlled water particles that stole sight. Zelfallion's vision turned white. The outlines one meter ahead vanished. In that instant, impact came from behind. A sharp kick to the ribs. Heavy enough to reach bone. Immediately after the fog obscured his vision, a precise strike at a vital point from a blind spot. Zelfallion twisted his body reflexively, but could not avoid it completely. He was sent flying sideways, his shoulder slamming against the warehouse wall. A dull thud. Numbness radiated from his shoulder. (Fast—) His reflexes, barely clinging to what they once were, had just managed to prevent a fatal wound. That was all. Where had the small-framed Horned One been hiding? She was now preparing her next move, concealed in the fog. No footsteps. Not even the sound of breathing. The fruit of thorough training. "[serious]I ask again. What is your purpose?" The Scaled One's voice echoed from within the fog. Zelfallion pressed his back against the wall and reset his stance. His ribs ached. With each breath, a dull pain shot through him. This was bad. He was being pushed back. He turned his awareness inward, trying to draw out his magical power. But the force did not come readily. The aftereffects of the seal left his magic unstable, not in a state where he could summon it at will. A throbbing sensation. He could feel the power stirring in the depths. But drawing it out took time. Time he did not have now. The next attack came. From within the fog, the Horned One slashed horizontally. Zelfallion sensed the blade cutting through air by sound alone. He tried to leap back to create distance, but the wall was there. No options. He slid his body along the wall, deflecting the blade off his shoulder. Cloth tore. A thin, sharp pain ran across his right shoulder. Blood was flowing. Zelfallion gritted his teeth. Bruising on his ribs. A laceration on his right shoulder. Neither was deep, but his body was wearing down. The fog still had not cleared. The Scaled One maintained the mist while tightening the encirclement. The Horned One—he did not know where she was. (Is this... the true strength of an Azure Moon Society scout?) Something cold spread through his chest. Not anger—recognition. Two scouts, mere foot soldiers of the organization, and he could not land a hand or foot against them. The Demon King who once ruled all the otherworldly realms, cornered in an alley by just two people. The word "humiliation" fit perfectly. "It is over." The Scaled One's voice drew nearer. Shadows bled through the fog. Two shadows closing in from both sides. No escape. With his back to the wall, Zelfallion was driven into the corner of the warehouse. In that moment, something—snapped. Not reason. Something that had slumbered in the depths of his body reacted to the instinct of being cornered. His magical power—erupted. Before he could control it, force spilled outward. A thick, scalding sensation welling up from his core. It spread through his entire body, flowing to his fingertips. A jet-black aura burst from Zelfallion's entire form for a single instant. Crack—fissures spider-webbed across the stone wall of the warehouse. The fog was scattered in an instant. The white haze that had filled the alley was swept away and consumed by that black wave. Silence fell. And—the Horned One's movement stopped. She stood frozen, short sword still raised, about a meter away. Her eyes were wide open. In her pupils, Zelfallion's image was reflected. No—that was not what she was seeing. What she perceived was not Zelfallion himself, but the quality of the aura pouring from his body. "...This magical power's essence..." The woman's voice was hoarse. "[surprised]Could it be...?" That moment of hesitation was an opening. Zelfallion gathered the remaining force throughout his body into both arms and thrust outward. He could not control it precisely. It did not fly as intended. But that was enough now. A black shockwave slammed into the alley, sending both scouts flying simultaneously. The Scaled One crashed against the wall with a dull sound. The Horned One tumbled across the ground. Both fell, but rose again quickly. Their training was real. Zelfallion braced himself against the wall. His legs were trembling. The price of forcing out his magical power was already upon him. His vision wavered. A sensation like heavy lead being pressed into the back of his skull. The Scaled One looked at the Horned One. She rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving Zelfallion. What floated in those eyes was a complex mixture—certainty and confusion intertwined. "We withdraw." The Scaled One spoke quietly. "[serious]But a report is necessary." The woman responded in a low voice. Fragments of her words reached Zelfallion's ears. "[whispers]Yes. That magical power's essence... we must inform those above." The two shadows dissolved into the darkness of the alley. Without footsteps, without leaving any trace of presence. The Azure Moon Society's training was evident even in retreat. Within seconds, their location became unknowable. —Zelfallion sank to his knees. Silently, slowly. At the edge of the warehouse wall, he placed one knee to the ground and bowed his head. Blood from his right shoulder wound seeped through the fabric of his cloak. With each breath, a dull ache came to his ribs. The backlash of his magical power left his entire body heavy. As though wearing a suit of lead, he could not move. For a long time, he remained like that. The night air was cold against his skin. The Miros River flowed low in the distance. No other sound existed. The alley was quiet, as though the combat moments before had been a lie. Zelfallion raised his face. No stars filled the sky. Clouds hung thick, and only the moon's outline was faintly visible through them. The spires of White Fang Castle floated distantly in the haze. There, Filiena was. The daughter of the one who had taken everything from him, dwelling within those walls. (I cannot reach there... not as I am now.) His thoughts were cold and clear. Not anger, not despair. Simply reality. He could barely repel two scouts, and the backlash had brought him to his knees. Those two were mere scouts, foot soldiers at the periphery of the Azure Moon Society. Among three hundred fifty members, they were nothing. The Zelfallion of old would never have taken wounds in such a skirmish. Now he knelt in an alley, bleeding. Thirty-four years had hollowed out the Demon King's power entirely. The price of the seal had eaten far deeper than he had imagined. There was another problem as well. The Horned One's eyes—that moment of hesitation. In that instant, she had sensed something. She had read something from the quality of the jet-black aura. "Could it be." "We must inform those above." His identity was being grasped. Before information reached the Azure Abyss, he would need to move. Zelfallion gripped the wall and slowly rose to his feet. His legs trembled. His knees shook. Yet he stood. Three days hence. Havri had said he would guide him to the Azure Abyss. He might need to move sooner than planned. Or perhaps—moving forward as scheduled, stepping in to face them directly, might be the wiser strategy. He had moved alone. Gathered information, assessed the situation, made decisions by himself. But tonight, he had learned the limits of that path with brutal clarity. Vengeance without power was merely a pointless death. He had always known that. But knowing and having it carved into bone were different things. Tonight, it had been etched into his very marrow. Zelfallion pressed his right shoulder with his cloak and began walking through the alley. His footing was unsteady, but he moved carefully, one step at a time, so as not to fall. From the direction of Ash Wall Stre