Chapter 6 – Flamme's Killing Intent
Under Flamme's tense, focused gaze, Elias gave a faint, almost casual smile—his tone light, as if he were merely chatting about the weather.
"From the very moment you realized I was a demon," he said, "your killing intent has burned like wildfire."
"No matter how refined your magic may be, it can't hide that deep hatred you bear for my kind—especially for me, your so-called 'demon lord mentor.'"
"Whether you disguise yourself as an eight-year-old child or an eighty-year-old grandmother… even when you turned into a cat—every glance, every motion, screamed your desire to kill me."
——
For a long time, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint chirring of insects beneath the shroud of night.
Flamme almost collapsed onto the bed. For the first time in her life, she felt the bitter sting of true defeat.
She had never hidden her hatred of demons. Yet now, that very hatred had become her weakness.
"So it was my killing intent…" she muttered through clenched teeth. "Such a foolish mistake. It seems I still have a long way to go."
With a cold smile, she straightened up and flicked her wrist. A faint glow enveloped her body as she restored her usual elegant white gown.
Then, meeting Elias's gaze, she declared with quiet determination:
"Great demon, from this day forward, I will live here in this village. Partly to keep watch over your every move—and partly to train myself to control the hatred I feel for your kind."
Elias blinked, momentarily speechless.
Should he admire her honesty—or laugh at her stubbornness?
A mage, especially one who held the Emblem of the Holy Wand Court, was trained under Serie's merciless discipline. Upon identifying a demon, they were conditioned to attack without hesitation.
That instinct—the killing urge of a mage toward a demon—was no different from a demon's primal urge to hunt humans.
Both were born from survival, vengeance, and ancient instinct.
For either side to completely suppress that urge…
It was as impossible as love between demons and humans.
Even Elias himself, when his eyes lingered on the graceful curve of Flamme's neck, sometimes found his thoughts clouded with dangerous hunger.
He wasn't as honest as she was—but deep down, he was curious.
Just how far could this stubborn, flame-haired woman push herself?
"…Suit yourself," he said finally, shrugging. "The inn doesn't belong to me anyway."
He turned to leave, and the moment he disappeared through the doorway, Flamme let out a long, shaky breath.
Her body went limp. She sank back onto the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Even though he had kept his mana restrained, the oppressive force he exuded had been overwhelming. The moment her disguise fell apart, her nerves had been wound so tight she thought she might snap.
And after a month of observing him in secret, her mind was tangled with confusion.
He didn't harm children.
He didn't prey on the weak.
He didn't touch women—or even let an injured cat suffer.
He healed the sick, protected travelers, even wiped out pests for the villagers.
Was this truly the great demon of the Mythic Age?
The magic to turn demons into humans, the memories of a previous life—what was the truth behind those claims?
Or perhaps… that ancient demon named Elias truly did wish to live as a human?
—Smack!
Flamme slapped her own cheeks, forcing her thoughts back into order.
"Get a grip, Flamme," she muttered to herself. "He's a demon. A demon!"
"You've heard this kind of lie a hundred times before."
"Focus. The villagers could still be in danger."
——
The next morning, duty burning in her chest, Flamme rose at dawn and stormed straight toward Elias's warehouse.
She stood before the door, pressing an ear against the wood—only to hear a lazy, amused voice from within.
"Come in, Mei-Mei. I can feel your killing intent through the door."
—Bang!
The door flew open with a kick, slamming against the wall.
"Don't call me Mei-Mei!" Flamme shouted, her face flushed with fury.
Elias looked up from his desk, grinning.
"Well, you told me not to use your real name. I had to improvise. Don't you like it?"
"…Hmph."
"Wait," he added with mock seriousness. "Since you like turning into cats so much, how about I call you Hakimi instead?"
"…Ha—what Kimi?"
"I think it went something like this…"
Elias narrowed his eyes, humming faintly as if recalling some long-forgotten tune from the distant past.
"♫ Hakimi nanbe rido~ ashiga haya kunaru~ manbo manbo… ♫"
Flamme: (≖_≖)
Unbelievable. After three thousand years, he still remembered that ridiculous old chant!
"Fine! Fine, I give up!" she snapped, grinding her teeth. "Just call me Flamme from now on!"
Having succeeded in teasing her, Elias smiled contentedly and stepped closer.
"Well then, Miss Flamme," he said lightly, "what business brings you to me so early in the morning?"
Flamme lifted her chin, crossing her arms proudly, and spat out a single word:
"Surveillance."
"Oh?" Elias raised a brow. "You came this early—have you had breakfast yet?"
"That's none of your concern."
Flamme turned her face away with haughty defiance.
But a moment later—
Grrruu~ gurrrgle~~~
Her stomach betrayed her.
Elias sighed and rubbed his temple, smiling wryly.
"How about a sandwich? I just traded with the villagers for some fresh bread, eggs, and vegetables…"
He walked over to the small window-side stove, conjured a faint flame spell, and cracked three eggs into a pan. The air filled with the rich scent of sizzling yolk as he gently stirred the contents. With a flick of his fingers, he cast a light airflow charm to waft the smoke out the window.
Flamme could only stare, dumbfounded.
She watched his every motion—the practiced wrist flick, the effortless pan flip, the tidy precision of a seasoned cook—and felt a chill run through her heart.
Could demons really imitate humans this perfectly?
The way he cooked… it wasn't just mimicry. It was mastery.
His movements were more fluid than most royal chefs she had seen in the Holy City.
If she hadn't already known who he was, she might have thought—
No. Impossible.
No matter how well he imitated humans, a demon was still a demon.
When the sandwich—golden eggs nestled between soft bread—was set before her, Flamme still looked shaken.
"Eat," Elias said casually. "It's been a long time since anyone's tasted my cooking."
She stared at it for a long moment.
It looked perfect. The eggs glistened, the bread crisped just so, the scent buttery and warm.
"I… I don't need it," she said stiffly. "I won't eat anything made by a demon."
But as the smell reached her nose, her resolve wavered. Her stomach rumbled again. She swallowed hard, trying to look indifferent as drool threatened to betray her composure.
Elias looked at her face—half pride, half hunger—and for a fleeting instant, his gaze softened.
His mind drifted back three thousand years, to a campfire under the stars.
"Hey," he had said back then, smiling. "You're really not going to eat? Your great chef here is offering a rare treat."
Serie had crossed her arms and huffed, turning away.
"Hmph. I'm not eating food made by a demon."
Beside her, Aivis was devouring his sandwich like a starving man.
"Serie, you have to try this! Elias's cooking is divine! The eggs inside this sandwich—they taste like the goddess's blessing!"
Serie rolled her eyes. "If that's what you call a goddess's blessing, then the heavens have truly fallen."
Elias chuckled. "Suit yourself. Aivis and I are going fishing. Try not to die of pride while we're gone."
"Fishing," she muttered. "Only fools with too much free time would enjoy that."
But the moment they were gone, her gaze drifted…
back to the sandwich resting by the fire, its layers glistening with a faint golden crust.
«(´-ι_-｀)»
«(´-ι_-｀)»
«(￢￢)»
«(´-ι-｀)»
"…They've gone far enough, right?"
——
Of course, she never knew—
That the greedy little way she'd eaten that sandwich, every bite of it—
Had been seen, in perfect detail, through the Thousand-Mile Vision Spell of a certain smug, black-hearted demon.