77: Book of Michael (3)

“No—!!!”

That panicked voice of course wasn’t mine. I was too stunned to react at all. I only saw Sidis rush forward like a moth to a flame, throwing himself in front of Lucifer, frantically shaking his arm. “Don’t! Don’t kill him!”

In that moment, the red glow in Lucifer’s eyes dimmed slightly, though the magic still hovered ominously in his hand. He frowned and looked at Sidis. “Why?”

“Because… because…” Sidis stammered, “Because he’s the Archangel. The highest-ranking angel in Heaven. Even if he’s the enemy, he’s still a hero of legend. His fate should be sealed on the battlefield, not here. You can’t kill him like this.”

Lucifer replied coldly, “Only the divine race would worry about things like that.”

“But… he’s been your rival for so many years. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Killing him like this would be an insult to him.”

“He is the Demon Realm’s enemy first, and my rival second. A true Sovereign puts his people before personal sentiment. As long as he lives, our kind will never know peace. If he returns, more of our kin will die.” He raised a hand to brush Sidis aside. “Step aside.”

But Sidis clung to him tightly, refusing to budge. “No, no—you can’t kill him.”

“Why not?” Lucifer’s eyes flared with anger.

Sidis turned to look at me. I was on the ground, limbs trembling, holding myself up like a broken reptile. My red hair, soaked in blood, fanned across the stone. Sweat dripped from Sidis’s brow, and tears welled in his eyes. Looking at me as if I were a stray beast abandoned by its master, he turned his face away in pity and said, voice trembling, “He talked to me before you arrived. A lot. And I just… I think if you kill him, you’ll regret it.”

“Why?”

“Do you really need me to say it?” he looked at Lucifer helplessly.

“If you don’t, I will for sure kill him.”

“I… I really think…” Sidis looked back at me, and our eyes met. I stared at him blankly, without expression—but suddenly, his tears fell in great, heavy drops. “Because… I just feel like he really likes you.”

Lucifer and I both froze.

I… like him? What the hell is he going on about?

I hadn’t said a single word about my feelings. I had already resolved to cut this man out of my life completely. Sidis, is this your way of humiliating me? But I couldn’t speak and only stared. Sidis turned away from my gaze, burying his head into Lucifer’s chest.

“I can’t take it anymore. I can’t even look at him. The way he looks at you… it makes me feel like I’ve done something terribly wrong. If you kill him, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Only then did I belatedly look at Lucifer again. He seemed to be watching me, but his eyes were blood-red. I couldn’t read him. His jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his face strained, his temples taut. After what felt like an eternity, he finally muttered, “Killing him has nothing to do with you.”

He raised his hand again, magic surging—

“I won’t allow it!” Sidis screamed, utterly unhinged. “If you kill him—I’ll leave you! Forever! Because I won’t know if, one day, when we’re no longer together, you’ll do the same thing to me—”

Lucifer’s raised hand froze mid-air. He looked at Sidis, then at me. The red in his eyes vanished. He quickly dispelled the magic, cupped Sidis’s tear-streaked face in his hands, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Sidis. I didn’t consider how you felt. I would never, ever do that to you.”

Then he pulled Sidis into his arms, holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

It was laughable.

I’d already accepted that Lucifer no longer loved me. That much was fine. But this scene—this ridiculous farce—was just too much. Just moments ago, Sidis had faced me with such smug arrogance, like the world’s most difficult opponent. And now he was sobbing in Lucifer’s embrace like a delicate flower in the rain, so fragile, so pitiful. And what’s worse, the reason for his tears… was because he pitied me.

I leaned on my sword, forcing myself to stand. Watching the two of them locked in their tender little moment, I could no longer suppress my fury. “Sidis, there’s nothing between Lucifer and me anymore! What the fuck is wrong with you—are you just some lovesick girl who thinks everyone’s in love with your man?! Lucifer wants to kill me not because we were lovers but because I’m the Vice Regent of Heaven, Michael! Don’t you dare beg for my life! If he wants to kill me—let him!”

Lucifer glanced at me, but still spoke only to Sidis. “In that case, I won’t kill him. But I can’t let him go back either.”

He raised his hand again, violet magic vines twisting in his palm.

Truly, if Lucifer had just taken my weapon and struck off my head right then, it would’ve been less humiliating. There is no fate more degrading than being spared and left alive for Sidis to guard me.

I took a step back, shaking my head. “I will never be your prisoner. You’d better kill me now. Because if you drag me back to the Demon Realm, you’ll only see my corpse.”

At the word corpse, Lucifer’s eyes flew wide open. The magic in his hand flickered in and out of existence, reacting to emotional shifts.

Lucifer, what are you so worked up about? You burned off my wings, wasn’t that so I couldn’t escape? You cast Devourer of the Void on me, wasn’t that so you could kill me? And now you’re making that look of conflicted mercy—like what, you’re reminiscing about that long-buried past?

Hah. I’d be a fool to fall for it again. I just look too much like that person. Even wounded.

So we held our ground against each other, neither willing to yield, for nearly ten minutes. Sidis kept pleading with pitiful desperation, while Lucifer remained just as unfathomable and expressionless as ever.

Just as he seemed about to relent under Sidis’s pleas, Metatron rushed in and, without missing a beat, cast a barrier and pulled me out.

Lucifer seemed like he wanted to go after us, but Sidis clung to his neck and held him back.

In my vision, everything trembled—the crimson flames, the darkness of Hell, the tears at the corner of Sidis’s eyes, that man’s tall, hard figure… all of it blurred my thoughts.

And now, I finally understood—the person I understand the least in this world isn’t Lucifer. It isn’t even Father God. It’s myself.

After all this, I thought I would be furious, that I would hate Lucifer so much I’d want to eat his flesh and drink his blood, fight him to the death, destroy the entire universe in the process and not care at all… But no. Aside from the pain of my wings being torn apart, all I felt was an ache in the heart, million times worse than the burning destruction of my wings. For the first time in my long life, I felt deeply and unmistakably certain that when the heart breaks enough, it devours even rage, hatred, and jealousy.

Let me tell a story.

A long, long time ago, an orphan secretly loved someone of high status for many years, but was constantly rejected. One day, during a lonely phase in the highborn’s life, he was moved and they shared a brief two-year passion. Afterward, the sad little bug also rose to power. Years passed, and they shared another fleeting spark. If I heard this story as someone else’s, I’d laugh at how pathetic and foolishly obsessed they were. But because it happened to me, I had called it “undying love”. It took thousands of Berduth years before I finally understood what I really meant to him. And before that—what was I even doing?

All my life, I was taught to live by the principle of kindness. Both Father and the Lord warned us: no matter how much darkness we touch, no matter how desperate the situation, we must remain simple and good. But after thousands of Berduth and countless brushes with death, this is the first time I’ve truly felt the difference between being simple and being naïve. A child’s innocence is endearing. But at my age, “innocence” is terrifying.

I’ve been dreaming one very, very long dream…

“Dueling Sidis? Don’t you think it’s beneath you?” Rain fell softly on Jerusalem, wind howling through the gray city, rattling the windows. Metatron’s voice sounded as though it came through a closed door.

I hadn’t noticed when he started lecturing me, but once I regained a bit of hearing, all I could catch was his nagging like an old nanny: “Sidis is the illegitimate child of Beelzebub’s sister and some random Power—his abilities, negligible, and even among demons, his circle often looks down on him. A person like that shouldn’t even get a chance to speak to you, let alone fight you. And you – you chased him down like it was serious, then got your wings torched by Lucifer. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

I stayed silent, not paying any attention to the angels behind me treating my newly regenerated wings. Metatron barked orders at them while forcing a sheepish grin. “Little Michael, if you weren’t a seraph, you’d be stuck crawling your way up again, from the Power camp that worships you.”

“…Yeah.”

Hearing me speak, he lit up, relieved I didn’t turn mute after all, but still couldn’t help snarking, “You and Lucifer—two people both way too damn strong. You’re too rigid, too uptight, too stubborn. And he’s too arrogant. A man who’d betray even God for freedom—how strong-willed must he be? Conquering a man like that doesn’t take force—it takes being weak like Sidis. Next time, don’t mess with what he wants to protect. That stirs him up more than opposing him ever could.”

“Sounds about right.” I said calmly, gazing out the window.

“Huh? What’s up with you today? You’re not even arguing. Your brain didn’t get fried too, did it?”

“You’re right,” I said flatly, my voice too emotionless to even sound like my own. “Sidis and I are not the same. He’s just one of Lucifer’s many lovers. But I am Michael. The one and only Michael of Heaven. He’ll never be my equal.”

“That’s more like it.” Metatron still gave me a worried look. “…You really okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Father—tell me, didn’t I forget him already.

“But your eyes are like sapphires soaked in a pool of water, glistening wet and seducing me.”

“I’m severely wounded right now, unfit for battle. Do you really expect me to get worked up emotionally?”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning ease. “Sorry, my bad.”

Lucifer was that kind of man. He would lift you up to Heaven, only to hurl you back down into Hell. And when you lay shattered in the mud of Hell, struggling with whether to forget every ounce of tenderness he once showed, he would again do something that broke your defenses completely.

Two weeks later, I still couldn’t let it go. I wanted to know what Sidis had done that could make Lucifer listen to him. I wanted to know—did Lucifer truly no longer love even God, and instead love this demon beauty who combined allure and vulnerability?

I traveled to the Demon Realm in disguise. When I passed by Snowmoon Forest, however, all I saw was a barren, lifeless mountain. Not a single tree or branch remained—not even the snow. The whole forest looked like an elder in decay, all his hair fallen, only age spots left. Only the moon still hung high over the mountains, the same lonely, cold glow it had always cast since those thousand years ago.

I asked a passerby casually. The answer I got was, “All the trees in Snowmoon Forest were cut down. That was His Majesty Lucifer’s order.”

Lucifer cut down Snowmoon Forest.

Was that really necessary? Was it?!! My eyes burned with scalding tears, my old wounds flaring with pain, even tugging at my scalp. In that moment, I lost all rational thought. I stormed into Rhodheoga, determined to confront Lucifer—to interrogate him, then burn him down with me.

I never want to reminisce about your tenderness again, your memories, your love, your hatred—I don’t want any of it. You’re the Destroyer Who Betrayed the World, I’m the discarded Original Sin of God. We never should have existed to begin with. So be it—I’ll kill you, then kill myself!

At the gates of Kade Palace in Pandemonium, mages came and went in droves. Judging by their attire, they were royal physicians. I didn’t think too hard about why they were hovering around. I just knocked one out, disguised myself as him, and slipped into Kade Palace. In the Demon Realm, divine powers are already weakened, and within Lucifer’s own domain, I was even weaker than an average angel. This act was reckless to say the least, but who cares.

Sure enough, outside Lucifer’s bedchamber, I saw Sidis. He still had that infuriatingly delicate and worried look. But I wasn’t going to kill him. As Metatron said, someone like him shouldn’t even have the right to speak to, let alone confront me. He carried a bowl of pitch-black medicine from one of the physicians and gently blew on it, whispering into the chamber, “Your Majesty Lucifer, the medicine is ready.”

Medicine. I frowned and took another glance at the bowl.

Something felt wrong. That was medicine for internal illness, not for external injuries.

But Lucifer was the Sovereign of Demons. No one could make him sick but himself. Why would he need medicine?

I followed the line a little closer and peeked in—and was stunned by what I saw:

Upon the black velvet bed, draped in silk and tassels, lay the Sovereign of Demons himself, partly obscured.

Lucifer’s hair had turned half white.

His lips cracked pale, brows furrowed as he rested.

Sidis was just about to bring a spoon to his lips and he was already knocking away.

“I said fuck off—all of you!”

The medicine splashed all over Sidis. He knelt, flustered, cleaning up in silence.

Lucifer didn’t spare him a trace of sympathy.

“My poor Lord Lucifer…” I was too stunned to even remember why I came here, until I heard a doctor beside me whisper, “He really can’t afford any more anger or speech. His fractured jaw still hasn’t healed…”

In the end, I gave up my moment of madness.

Whatever the reason for Lucifer’s condition, one thing became painfully clear: in this game of feelings between us, I would always be the loser.

And besides, there was no way I could win if I try to drag him down with me. But through politics and war, I had Heaven’s backing. I could challenge him openly, in broad daylight.

Back in Saint Faylia, I rested for a day. On the second day, I returned to the Sanctum as usual to complete my audience with Father. Outside the temple, columns stood in rows, their shadows and light casting interlaced patterns across the stone plaza. The shadows of angels flitted across them as the sound of falling water cleansed the Heavens. Metatron stood with his head lowered against one of the towering columns, fourteen meters in diameter, looking as small and insignificant as all creation before Father.

I approached him and asked what had happened. He still raised his head spiritedly to greet me. But we had known each other too long—I could tell when the jokes he cracked were colder than usual, a sure sign his heart was elsewhere. And there was only one person who could leave him staring into space like that.

I got straight to the point. “You saw Raphael, didn’t you?”

Metatron’s smile froze on his face, lingering in awkwardness for several seconds before it collapsed again. “His child has grown up.”

“And now you regret it.”

“Why should I regret it? No matter who he married, no matter who he had children with, he always ended up being the one I abused and tormented.” Metatron shrugged. “He’s only ever able to act strong in front of women and children.”

“True. All you ever wanted was the thrill of toying with him. The most precious thing, marriage, you never gave to each other. I guess that makes it fair.”

As I spoke, I observed his expression carefully. I saw it falter again. I patted his shoulder. “Metatron, admit it. You’re not as cynical as you pretend to be. And Raphael isn’t as unimportant to you as you claim.”

Through his glasses, Metatron looked at me. The rims of his eyes turned red, but he still raised his brows slightly. “As long as he’s happy.”

I think no matter how many years pass, I will never forget that noon.

There was golden light illuminating the shifting blue and white of the sky. There stood the greatest architecture of Heaven, built over tens of thousands of Berduths. There were the brilliant memories each of us seraphim left behind. There were Metatron’s reddened eyes. And there was my heart, long since dead because of Lucifer.

On this day, everything felt so real. I could feel the cool wetness of water droplets striking my face, smell the fragrance of golden roses carried on the wind, see the glorious capital of Heaven unfold before me like a grand oil painting…

And yet, this day—everything about it—was also utterly unreal. They were the silhouettes of time, pieced together fragments that could never return to what they were.

This was the last day before I officially declared war on Lucifer.

One month later, the winds carried thick fog and black sand filled the skies. On the eve of battle, even the air reeked of blood and rot. A vulture circled overhead, casting its shadow over the Houses of the Zodiac, the Angelic Order of Punishment, and the Order of Vengeance. The angels, small as ants, held their weapons in a tight forest of steel like a sea of needles. I descended from high above. The edges of the Demon Realm gradually came into view. Shards of black roses lay scattered on the ground. Eerie black mists twisted through the air like the tangled hair of a demoness.

I landed at the front of the formation and said loudly:

“Every angel here knows that the Demon Realm still allows the trafficking of slaves. A mid-ranked demon known as the ‘Enslaver’ commands lesser demons to this day. What does that mean? It means the demons only appear free and peaceful—when in truth, they’ve always been shackled and controlled. Lucifer clamors for equality, yet keeps this system intact. What does that tell you? That this war of the demons is not to defend their homeland—but simply because their Sovereign demands it! And an army like this… will collapse in no time!”

One by one, the warriors straightened their backs.

“But we are not slaves! We are the free divine race!”

The angels beat their wings as one. Their shout shook the heavens.

“When the wicked ask why you fight so bravely, you will shout back: ‘We fight for the freedom and glory of Heaven! The Lord is with us! God is with us!!’”

A greater roar responded in unison. The clash of weapons shook the firmament.

“Randekiel, take the left! Metatron, the right! Gabriel, hold the rear! We’ll break through their central passage!”

This assault was but a taste of vengeance.

We smashed through the largest gate and flew over a river of magma. Crimson light illuminated white wings; the searing air nearly suffocated us. The road gave way, and a vast plain opened before us. The First Hell had already received word of our assault. Along the distant horizon, rows of dark shadows rose like a curtain of rain.

We raised our swords high with every ounce of strength, the warhorses and legions loosed like arrows from the bowstring, boundless and unstoppable.

Angels surged into the sky. The demon ranks before us lifted wave upon wave. Everything flew past at the speed of lightning and flame. The earth’s crust cracked beneath our advance.

At the rear of the formation, a single staff pointed toward the sky. Instantly, countless bows were raised—so uniform it looked like one person performing the action. The staff traced a circle in the air. In a breath, a storm of black arrows rained down on us.

Just as they were about to strike, a vast white net unfurled across the heavens. Ice spirits wove a wall of crystal; a flood like flying dragons and beasts surged forth, devouring the latticework of black arrows in an instant.

“Well done, Gabriel!” Metatron shouted over his shoulder.

The demon army was right before our eyes. The angels surged forward in waves. Just as we were about to reach the enemy line, the demons lowered their upward-tilted weapons, pointing them straight at us. But it was too late to stop. One by one, angelic heads and chests were pierced through, their bodies tossed aside. Once the charge broke formation, the battle devolved into chaotic hand-to-hand slaughter. Black and white blurred together with splashes of crimson mist, clashing and spinning in a frenzied storm.

At the rear of the lines, gryphons spread their wings and soared over the angelic ranks, swooping down to seize demons by the neck and hurl them into the air. The falling bodies were impaled on raised weapons—flesh pierced through, blood spraying in all directions. Black horses lost their iron-shod hooves to blades, throwing riders to the ground. Flames burst from above, roaring as they consumed the battlefield. The horses wailed as they burned, hooves stamping in agony.

Smoke hung over the battleground, cloaking the blood and pulped flesh in haze. The stench of gunpowder blurred our vision. Skulls cracked like fruit, brain matter bursting out. Mages, once surrounded, were stabbed through the chest with daggers that drew trails of glowing blood. They fell like startled birds struck from the sky. Severed limbs, gleaming arrows—everything flew. Warriors scrambled in all directions, their faces bloodied.

Then, darkness emerged from the void. The power of the dead and the will of lost souls hovered over blackened earth and drifted beneath the blood-red sky. Everyone knew of a satan’s power—if this great spell succeeded, the war would become far more difficult. But the warriors were deep in bloodlust. No one noticed the change in the world around us.

The earth and sky lurched. I raised my sword and forced my way through the crowd, charging straight toward the enemy commander. My breath came ragged. My mind spun, choked with dizziness. In one final gambit, I hurled Radiance from my hand. The Sword of the Holy Spirit glowed silver, drawing out the last of my strength. Azazel tried to dodge—but too late. Radiance drove into his abdomen. His eyes widened in disbelief. He clutched the blade, then fell heavily into the sea of clashing soldiers.

Silence dropped over the battlefield. I hovered mid-air, gasping for breath, wings beating hard.

I’d always told myself, no matter what happened, I had to rely on my own strength to overcome. But now, what else could I do? What could I reclaim, besides battle?

With their commander lost, the demons began to retreat. The barren plains were littered with corpses. Severed limbs scattered across the earth like discarded twigs. Thousands dwindled to hundreds, hundreds to dozens, dozens to one. In the end, only a single figure remained standing on the vast field.

Draped in a black cloak, standing utterly alone.

He was dozens of meters away, but I recognized him instantly. I flew forward, trying to close the distance. But the moment I saw his face clearly, I couldn’t go any further.

Belial was looking at me. With hatred.

I tried to appear calm, serene. “Belial, if you’re unhappy in the Demon Realm, come back with me to Heaven. I never raised you—but even when you were an infant, I…”

“Why are you still alive?”

I was stunned.

“You cursed me with the blood of the vilest race. You gave me the ugliest wings.” His eyes rimmed red, his teeth clenched. “Every time I remember that half of my blood is divine, I want to die.”

I’d heard worse. I always laughed it off. But this time, before Belial could finish, I was no longer able to smile.

“…I’m sorry.” I turned away, wiped my eyes, streaking blood across my face in place of tears. “I’m sorry, Belial.”

I remember a long time ago, I once pondered a question. If one day, Lucifer asked me: Which child do you love most? I would answer—Belial.

That conceited Sovereign would surely guess that I loved Belial because he suffered the most, and I owed him the most. I would have denied it. I would have told him: I love Belial… because of you.

Back then, just thinking that made me smile without even realizing it.

When Belial was within my body, whether I was in pain or joy, I always thought of Lucifer.

Lucifer, I love Belial because of that past. Because when he was still inside me, I felt you within every moment of my life.

But now, all of that is just memory.

This battle—we won. Heaven claimed victory. To prevent the enemy from retaking lost ground, we stationed ourselves at Ibuhaz Village, treating the wounded as well.

I wandered among the injured. All around me were dying groans, low moans. Metatron had changed into fresh robes and came up to clap me on the shoulder. “Stop looking. You’re badly drained. Go rest a bit.”

I watched a few angels carry off a stretcher—on it, an angel cleaved cleanly in two.

“Courage overcomes fear. Overcomes death. Isn’t that right?”

The air reeked of blood. Metatron sighed and placed something into my hand. “It shows you what you want most. Once you’ve chosen your path, stick to it—your ideal is no longer far away.”

It was the Mirror of Fire.

I nodded and gripped it tightly.

An angel lay in a pool of blood. One leg and half his shoulder had been severed. His heart was exposed, pulsing in the open air. He clutched his long spear tightly, stretching his neck as much as he could, struggling to breathe. He looked at me, the liquid in his eyes—blood or tears, I could not tell—trembled as he choked out, “Lord Michael.” He spasmed as he tried to lift his head, his voice thick with sobs.

I paused, then knelt before him. “Tell me your name.”

“Be… sith.”

“Besith, where do you live?”

“Jerusalem.” His tears diluted the blood, carving a narrow path down his cheek. The wound at his neck gaped grotesquely, blood pouring from it.

“Jerusalem—that’s my hometown too.” I lifted him gently, resting him against me.

“Tell me your ideal.”

He sobbed so hard he could hardly speak. “To become the bravest warrior angel… to win glory for Heaven.”

“Besith, you are the bravest warrior angel.” I patted his shoulder, drew a short sword from my belt with my other hand. “Think of your ideal. Think of home, that you’ve already returned. Think of your parents’ faces. The place where you grew up.”

“Your… Your Highness…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, coughing lightly, trembling as he cried. I clenched my jaw and drove the blade into his heart. His eyes slowly closed, and his head tilted back in my arms.

Rain fell steadily, washing away all the flesh and ruin. I had no strength left to change clothes. I simply stood there on the plain, letting the downpour cleanse the blood from my body.

Everyone was fighting for Heaven’s prosperity, for their beloved. At the center of Ibuhaz Village stood the Pillar That Holds Up the Sky, its roots deep in Rhodheoga. Different goals. Different faiths. In the end, we were always destined to become strangers.

On the Mirror of Fire, a red serpent coiled around the frame, glaring and jarring against the storm. The image in the mirror was the central square of Jerusalem. On the streets, angels of every rank mingled with demons of every kind.

Beneath the massive statue, Hanniah, Belial, and Mammon sat talking. Beside them was a black-haired young man whose back faced me (TLN 1).

But the most striking figure was the one walking slowly at the front.

The image zoomed forward. He suddenly turned around and looked at me with tenderness. That gaze—so achingly familiar—nearly stopped my breath. My hand trembled, and I almost dropped the mirror. What was Metatron thinking, giving me something like this? But… it had been too long since we’d met. Maybe it was good to see him now, to avoid faltering when I saw him again.

He was so close. His eyes, dark with a trace of crimson, gleamed bright enough to reflect my image. In them, I was smiling. Eyes curved, clear and bright. The hustle and splendor of Jerusalem vanished from the mirror.

I stared at the Mirror, fixated on him, trying to wipe away the rain. But the downpour was too heavy, pelting the glass in dense sheets. Water dripped from his cheek, as if he were smiling through tears.

I stopped wiping. Instead, I gently, softly stroked the Mirror, as if, through this thin pane of glass, I were touching his cheek. As if, across light-years of distance, I had finally reached a lover I could never reach.

After spending a night in the First Hell, I lifted the curtain of the tent. The boundless plains were crowded with angels. Some still flew, scattered in the sky. Some had fallen into disgraceful sloppiness, leaning against each other to massage their aching wings. Golden, blue, and white feathers floated everywhere; severe environmental pollution.

We had originally planned to retreat after taking the First Hell, but this war had gone more smoothly than expected—maybe we could do more.

But reports came from below: many soldiers, though exhausted, had risen early due to the unfamiliar terrain. One by one, they were showing signs of fatigue. Continuing combat might not be feasible. The climate in the Demon Realm was absurd as each Hell’s was different. The Second Hell, in particular, was a freezing cellar. Normal angels might endure it, but those who had spent too long in the Sixth or Seventh Heavens would probably be turned into ice sculptures if they tried to pass through. We couldn’t fight now, but we couldn’t simply declare the battle over either. I ordered black coffee brewed and gathered with Metatron, Gabriel, and Randekiel in the main tent to discuss our next move.

“No battle? Why not battle?” Randekiel, his face a mess of hives from grassland allergies, growled, “At the very least we can take the Second Hell, right? Once we take that, over a fifth of the Demon Realm becomes ours. Let’s see if their people stay loyal then.”

Gabriel smacked his hand away from scratching his face. “Don’t rush. Let Lord Michael speak first.”

“No, speak your thoughts,” I said. I almost added I have no plan yet—but saying that might kill their morale.

“You really don’t have a plan, do you?” Randekiel saw right through me.

To admit it would be shameful; to deny it would be a lie. I deflected: “Though we’re still far from Rhodheoga, don’t forget the Demon Realm isn’t like Heaven—it’s a network system. Every move must be made with caution. We must strategize as much as possible and not rush.”

“But it’s necessary to remove their military threat. This campaign must remain aggressive. We should focus on targeting their strongest forces.” Randekiel spread out a folded map of the Demon Realm. “How about a pincer movement? Split our army in two at the River of Oath,”—he pointed to both ends—“then advance simultaneously toward the center,”—he tapped Phantom City—“and gather forces here to seize their capital.”

Gabriel folded her arms. “Lord Randekiel, Phantom City.”

“Oh.” Randekiel paused, realizing his mistake. Phantom City had two parts—the mirrored city in the water and the outer city. They might look identical, but they were separate domains. For non-demons, crossing the River of the Dead was almost impossible.

“Metatron, what do you think?” I turned to him, leaning silently on his chair, only smiling.

“Me?” Metatron raised a brow. “I think… no fighting would be best. I propose we negotiate a treaty.”

“A treaty?” I nearly leapt to my feet. “What a brilliant idea! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”

“But the question is, how?”

I paused. “Randekiel, do you have recent stats on the Demon Realm’s development?”

“Yes.” He pulled out a thick stack of charts. “These show the past ten years of development across military, politics, tech, culture, finance, education, construction, agriculture, mining, medicine, industry, and transit. Same for Heaven.”

I randomly unfolded one. The dense numbers gave me a headache.

“Let me.” Metatron stood, pointing at the stack. The sheets ignited and burst into red starlight. The lights swirled around him. Randekiel unrolled a grid chart, and as Metatron pointed to it, the starlight rushed in and formed towering red bars like buildings.

Once a sheet was complete, he handed it to me and began the next. After ten sheets, I could hardly find a flaw. The Demon Realm’s recent growth had been steady every year, especially in military, politics, and mining, where it exceeded normal bounds.

“Should we restrict their army or divide their mines?” Randekiel asked.

“Maybe. Let’s keep looking.” I compared Heaven’s data, but something felt off.

At first I suspected Metatron’s magic, except the numbers didn’t lie: the Demon Realm’s military might was two or three times stronger than ours. I looked at all the data together and suddenly felt a jolt.

“Revenue. Their silver reserves are in critical deficit. They’ve been funding their military entirely with this.”

“Their money circulation has always been insane. Even Uriel wanted to copy it recently. But Heaven is Heaven. The Demon Realm is the Demon Realm. Lucifer designed this for them. We can’t just copy it.” Gabriel paused. “Still, no one ever really looked at their budget shortfalls.”

“You mean… reparations?” Randekiel asked.

“Yes.”

“You think Lucifer would agree?”

“If not, we’ll use the lives of the demons in the First Hell to pressure him.”

“Little Michael, you’re getting more ruthless by the day,” said Metatron, mournfully.

“You’re late in realizing that.”

Gabriel added, “But Lucifer’s pretty cold-blooded…”

“To the people, a tyrant is worse than a weakling. If he doesn’t buy their loyalty in times like this, he’ll be overthrown. I doubt he’s that confident.”

Randekiel laughed. “You forget though. Confidence is what Lucifer does best.”

“If all else fails, we’ll kill. The angels he’s slaughtered are far more than we’ve counted.”

“Little Michael, you’re getting crueler by the day.”

“You’re still late in realizing that.” I studied the Demon Realm map and cast a golden hue over the First Hell. “Either way, this land is ours now!”

Honestly, standing outside Pandemonium—I was afraid. But I forced myself not to show it. Heaven’s legions held hostages in the First Hell. I guarded the gates of Pandemonium with a third of the army. And now I would face someone with whom neither trust nor reliance could be discussed.

The palace gates aligned with the distant horizon, beyond fountains and black rose gardens. The grand hall doors opened. A fallen angel flew toward us, past lines of demon lords and guards. I could see a crowded throng within the main hall. Even with only a third of our army, it must have looked endless from their side.

One splash of red among a sea of white. How bright. I instinctively straightened my back, lifted my chin, and gripped Radiance at my waist. I kept my eyes on the grand hall’s end, not noticing someone approaching.

“Lord Michael. His Majesty requests your presence.” It was Samyasa.

“Understood. Lead the way. Thank you.” I smiled, took a step forward, and behind me came the synchronized rustle of angel wings.

“Your troops may need to wait outside.”

I raised my arm beside me, bent at the elbow, and extended it outward.

The angels drifted back.

I then closed my fingers, palm down, and slashed it across my waist. The angels landed and tucked their wings.

I raised my left hand to hold my right elbow, then brought my right hand to my brow, forming a fist.

Standard military signals of Heaven.

The angels stood with feet together. The sound of their synchronized footsteps made nearby trees shake. They raised their weapons, spear tips tapping the ground with a metallic clang.

The atmosphere was eerily silent. A few leaves fluttered to the ground. Samyasa stood stunned until I stepped forward. He quickly moved aside. “This way, Your Highness.”

Together we flew to the grand hall entrance. He gestured for me to enter first.

The moment I saw the hall, I knew it had been expanded again. All eyes turned to me, eerie and silent. I walked in. Aside from the clink of my sword hilt against my medal chains, I could hear only my breathing.

All the satans, demon lords, nobles, and officials were present. None of them had a single expression.

And there, at the very top, sat the Sovereign of Demons.

His body had recovered. His hair had returned to black.

Seeing him like this, I internally exhaled in relief.

“It’s my great honor to meet with His Majesty. But where’s my seat?”

Translator’s notes: