The dawn in the Hall of Condemnation is always quiet. The low rumble of lava flowing down the walls. Nothing else. The rain from last night had already stopped. Only the hole in the ceiling remained as it was——a gaping black mouth, swallowing the sunrise of Morg Zalen. Diabolos picked up a stone fragment in his hand. He lit a small curse-flame at his fingertip. Black-purple fire flickered and wavered. Not full power like last night. Delicate. He melted the surface of the stone and joined it with the adjacent one. Adhesion. The world's strongest demon king, fixing his own castle ceiling. (……If I could ask someone else, I wouldn't have to do this.) He'd asked Zephador yesterday to hold up a pillar. The result: Zephador held it down so hard in his zeal that the pillar snapped with a creaking sound. He'd asked Dolkias to pick up the fallen stones. The result: Dolkias stumbled while collecting them and headfirst into another wall, adding three more cracks. Asking subordinates = damage spreads. The moment this equation carved itself into the demon king's mind, Diabolos decided not to call anyone. "……Fill this in." He applied the flame gently. Stone began to blend with stone. Good——the moment he thought it, a small crack ran from the adjacent wall. A sharp snap, and a new fissure spread from the spot he'd just fixed. "…………" He chased it with flame. Another spot cracked. Like trying to plug a water leak with a finger. Every time he fixed one place, something else broke. After half a day of work, one corner of the wall was slightly better. That was all. (Two hundred forty years. Is this my limit?) That bitterness spread slowly through the morning silence. A demon king aiming to unify all continents, diligently fixing his own castle ceiling alone. Me, who survived the Abyss Trial——the ritual where I fused directly with the root vein, betting life and death. Using the power I gained from surviving those two days of hell as an adhesive. He lifted the stone. Carefully, carefully, so it wouldn't crumble, so the cracks wouldn't spread—— "……My lord." A voice. Diabolos' hand stopped, still holding the stone. He turned. A figure stood before the door, documents tucked under one arm. Silver long straight hair gleamed as if melting in the morning light. Large pale blue eyes slowly surveyed the devastated state of the conference room. A pair of small horns on her head, feathered ornaments swaying faintly in the morning light. Her expression didn't move. Only her eyebrows rose——just barely. Truly barely. Yuki. The Demon King's Vice-Official (Lecta Umbra), Diabolos' right hand. A former human who had risen to the highest ranks of the demon tribe——an unprecedented anomaly even in the history of the Black Fang Round Table. The circumstances remained mysterious, but at this moment, Yuki simply watched the stone in Diabolos' hand quietly. "……You're repairing it yourself?" "As you can see." Diabolos said it. He regretted it a little after. There was no point in saying something obvious. Yuki looked around the room for just one second. The cracks in the walls. Fragments on the floor. The hole in the ceiling. And the section Diabolos had spent half the day fixing——the row of stones with weak adhesion, subtly warped. "……One moment, please." With just those words, Yuki set the documents on the windowsill. She pulled off her white gloves, slowly. Diabolos started to say "Wait, I'll——" but. White threads of light spread out. From Yuki's fingertips, finely interwoven threads of light——a root vein technique. Yuki controlled the root vein (Corvena), the source of magical power that circled the entire continent, in her hands. The threads of light enveloped the entire room. The walls. The floor. The edges of the ceiling hole. And the section Diabolos had spent half the day fixing. The cracks sealed without a sound. Suuu. As if the stone were dreaming and arranging itself, the cracks vanished, fragments returned, holes closed. The ceiling hole sealed smoothly. The lava's light returned to the room. Four minutes. Total repair time: approximately four minutes. Yuki fitted her gloves back on. She picked up the documents from the windowsill. As if nothing had happened. Diabolos still held the stone in his hand. "……" "The stone you're holding——" "……Never mind. I'll discard it." Diabolos set it gently on the floor nearby. The stone's purpose was gone. No longer needed. "The sections the lord repaired," Yuki said quietly, "I confirmed them carefully as I proceeded, so it took a little time." Diabolos listened to that for three seconds. Was it a follow-up? Or not. Was it one? "……If there were ten of you, world conquest would be finished by now." It slipped out. Really slipped out. He'd meant it as a muttering, but Yuki heard it. Yuki's cheek——just barely, colored. Her expression didn't change. Her voice remained calm. Only the color of her cheek took on a faint peach tint. "……Flattery interferes with my duties." The fingers holding the report turned slightly white. Diabolos didn't notice. 　 Diabolos accepted the document file Yuki withdrew from her pocket. It was heavy. Solid weight. He turned the pages. ——The Silver Holy Pilgrimage (Turba Ferroalba). An armed knight order formed in Seriola four years ago, currently led by Orvan Drexia. Total forces: six thousand two hundred, of which eighteen hundred are regular knights. Funding sources: mining profits from southern Seriola and donations from multiple major merchant houses. Headquarters: the triple-walled fortress city of Caldnas——the inner wall is mixed with holy-blessed silver alloy, designed so that demons lose power merely by approaching. Orvan Drexia's history as a former mercenary. Combat tactics. Weaknesses in supply line management—— "Regarding the holy-blessed silver," Yuki said, "I recommend confirming once more, just in case." "……I know. When a demon touches holy-blessed silver, the connection to the root vein is temporarily severed." "Yes. Since the lord's curse-flame activates through direct fusion with the root vein——" "If that connection is cut, my power stops. Fatal." Diabolos said it without expression. It was fact. In the Abyss Trial, I fused directly with the root vein. That's why curse-flame requires no incantation and activates with just a thought. That's why having that connection severed becomes my greatest weakness. The Holy Pilgrimage's tactics strike precisely there. The design of Caldnas' inner wall made that clear. "The supply line weakness?" "Since Drexia is former mercenary, resource procurement is short-term intensive. In prolonged conflict, he'd rely on supply ships through the Cleft Sea——the strait between Seriola and Morg Zalen——but the maritime management is rough." "Specifically?" "Two options: the southern route from Permalis Port, or the land route over the Iron Spine Mountains. Both have difficulties sustaining long-term." Diabolos sighed inwardly as he turned the pages. (……Why can't my strategists produce this?) Then. Knock, knock, knock!!!! Three loud knocks echoed from the hallway. The door swung open. "My lord———!!" Dolkias Melve appeared. Short in stature, lanky build. One sleeve of his wrinkled formal wear was rolled up. His eyes behind his glasses were bloodshot——clearly an all-nighter. Dark circles under his eyes. But his face was satisfied, and in his hand he held a thick stack of documents raised high. "Last night, I worked through the night to create emergency documents for Holy Pilgrimage countermeasures!!!" Diabolos' eyebrow twitched slightly. Rare. Truly rare. Dolkias brought documents in advance. And he'd stayed up all night for it. "……I see." Diabolos accepted the documents. They were heavy. Many pages. The cover read "Emergency! Holy Pilgrimage Countermeasure Documents (Classified)"——the handwriting was neat. One of Dolkias' few strengths. He opened the first page. Page 1: Completely blank. Page 2: Completely blank. Page 3. Page 4. Page 5. Page 6——all blank. Diabolos slowly looked up. "……This is?" Yuki glanced at the documents from the side, expressionless. "A strategy written in invisible ink?" A beat. "Innovative." Subzero. Her tone was subzero. Whether she was praising or criticizing was indeterminate, but that quietness was terrifying. Dolkias let out a small "Ah." "……I forgot to put ink in the pen I was writing with." "All night," Yuki repeated quietly. "…………" "All night, with an inkless pen, every page." "……I didn't notice!! It was dark at night!!" "Do you have lighting in your room?" "……I do, but……I thought turning off the fire would help me concentrate……" Dolkias' eyes began to water. Tears welled up in his bloodshot eyes. "I'll rewrite it……" He shuffled out. A sound of collision in the hallway. A thud, then another "Ah." Then fading away. Diabolos set the blank documents on the desk. Yuki's thick report lay beside it. What could be said about this gap? Words wouldn't come. They shouldn't. 　 When noon passed, a voice came from the hallway. "Yuki……could I have a moment?" A hesitant voice. Hesitant but loud. Zephador Grintz appeared. A large man bearing the title of Hell Duke. His black formal wear was as wrinkle-free as always, and his red eyes held their usual confidence——but today, something lay beneath that confidence. Something like apology, like discomfort. "I have a report……" "Go ahead," Yuki said. "Yesterday, when I disciplined a soldier who was acting suspiciously……" "Disciplined." "Disciplined. And as a result, the entire company was placed in the brig as collective punishment……" "……And?" "The hallway guards……disappeared." Yuki stopped her pen. "How many?" "Well, there were forty guards assigned to this floor in total——" "All forty?" "Yes." "Thirty percent of the soldiers had deserted by yesterday." "I tightened discipline, so desertions decreased——" Yuki spoke quietly. "……The rest all disappeared." "They all disappeared! But desertions are now zero! Isn't zero desertions an achievement!?" Diabolos looked up from his desk. "So there are currently no guards in the hallways of this castle?" "That's the situation, but! Only my room's entrance is safe because soldiers are too afraid of punishment to approach it! It's effectively guarded!" Zephador puffed out his chest proudly. Diabolos slowly placed his forehead on the desk. Thunk. A small sound. The demon king's forehead struck the desk. "……Zephador, leave." "But my lord, the report isn't finished yet——" "Leave." "……Yes." Zephador departed. This time there was no thud. With no soldiers in the hallway, there was nothing to collide with. Silence for a while. "My lord." "…………I understand. There are no commanders capable of acting in the field." Diabolos spoke with his forehead still on the desk. His voice was muffled, but the words were clear. "Your report is flawless. The Holy Pilgrimage's weaknesses are clear. Strategy can be devised. But——" "……There is no personnel to execute it in the field." "Exactly." Yuki set down her pen. "I have one proposal." Diabolos lifted his forehead from the desk. He looked at Yuki. "I'm listening." "……I'll report it properly later. Tonight." "……Understood." 　 Night fell. In the office adjacent to the Hall of Condemnation——the room with the most documents piled in Volnagrad——Diabolos and Yuki faced each other. A map was spread across the desk. A map of the Morg Zalen continent, with the northern volcanic belt and areas of high root vein concentration marked in red. The location of Goltvale, the sea routes of the Cleft Sea, the distance to Caldnas. All marked in detail. The lava lamp flickered. The light from the lava flowing down the wall cast red shadows, wavering gently through the room. "The terrain around Volnagrad is suited for guerrilla warfare," Yuki said, pointing to one corner of the map. "The northern volcanic belt——the area around Gromud Caldera has the highest roo