Chapter 7 – The Uninvited Guest
"Suit yourself," Elias said, repeating the same words he had spoken three thousand years ago.
"I've got something to take care of. You eat."
And just like that, he turned and walked away.
As his footsteps faded into the distance, Flamme found herself—against every instinct—slowly turning her gaze back toward the neatly stacked, perfectly golden sandwich still sitting on the table.
(´-ι_-｀)
(´-ι_-｀)
(￢￢)
(´-ι-｀)
...
（╯‵□′）╯︵┴─┴
"Who wants to eat a demon's food, anyway?!"
Outside the village, Elias observed everything through his Thousand-Mile Vision Spell. After a moment of stunned silence, he couldn't help but smile faintly.
"What a remarkable woman."
Even her teacher hadn't been able to resist that particular temptation—yet after just a brief struggle, Flamme had resolutely turned it down.
"…Still the same problem," Elias murmured. "That killing intent of hers."
"Flamme… what does hatred toward demons really feel like to you?"
He lowered his gaze. "Heh… even hatred. I've forgotten what that feels like."
——
"The demon should be gone by now…"
Once she was sure Elias's presence had completely vanished, Flamme straightened, eyes sharp with renewed purpose.
If she could just uncover proof—some trace of evil intent—then she could expose his true nature.
She refused to believe, had never believed, that a demon could harbor any genuine kindness toward humanity.
——
Following a faint trail of magic, Elias soon reached the highest mountain on the outskirts of the Holy City.
Dark clouds blanketed the sky. The cold wind howled through the forest, carrying with it a quiet, foreboding chill.
"Come out," Elias said calmly. "The moment you tried to summon killing magic, you gave yourself away."
——
"Hehe… as expected of the great Demon Lord's mentor."
From the shadows, a slender figure stepped out from between the trees.
The wind swept through her sea-green hair, but could not disturb the gentle smile on her face.
Twin horns jutted proudly from her head—a declaration of her demonic lineage.
Her pale green eyes shimmered faintly, smiling with that strange mix of innocence and deceit.
"Lord Elias," she said softly, "it's an honor to meet you. My name is Solithiel."
Elias's expression didn't change. It was as if he had known this meeting was inevitable.
"So, that boy sent you," he said evenly. "But if I recall correctly, there's no such name among the so-called Seven Sages."
"I'm just a nameless demon," Solithiel replied with a demure smile, fingertips brushing the red gem pendant at her chest. Her tone was soft—almost humble.
"Ah, of course," Elias mused. "The Holy City lies under the Goddess's protection—and in Serie's sphere of influence. If one of the Seven Sages appeared here, they'd draw every eye. But you…"
He stared at her for a long moment. Her gentle smile might have fooled any human—but Elias could see it: beneath that carved serenity lurked the faint stench of old blood.
"So tell me," he said at last. "You risked being hunted by Serie herself to find me. What is it you want?"
"The Demon Lord," Solithiel replied, bowing her head slightly, "wishes to invite you back to Ende, to offer your… guidance."
"Guidance?" Elias's tone grew faintly mocking. "That boy…"
His mind drifted—back to that fateful night fifteen centuries ago, when he had driven his sword through the chest of a young demon.
The child hadn't fought back.
He'd simply looked up at him, eyes calm, blood spilling from his lips.
"Even with those horns on your head," he'd whispered, "you're human, aren't you?"
"Kid," Elias had asked then, "how did you know?"
"Maybe it's… what humans call intuition."
That night, Elias hadn't known the small demon he'd spared would grow into the greatest catastrophe in the history of the continent.
Even now, when he thought back, he could still taste destiny's cruel laughter.
"What I had to teach him," Elias said quietly, "I taught him a thousand years ago. As for his new 'idea,' I—"
"It's coexistence," Solithiel interrupted, her smile curving wider, almost mocking.
"Coexistence between demons and humans. Through total war."
——
For a moment, the wind itself seemed to hold its breath.
Then Elias lowered his head, a dry chuckle slipping from his lips.
"So that's the path he's chosen…"
"Is it fate's irony," he murmured, "or simply my punishment—for teaching him what it means to be human?"
Solithiel tilted her head, watching him closely, fascinated by the flicker of emotion in his eyes.
"Disappointing, isn't it?" she said. "The Demon Lord's dream."
"'Coexistence'—a fool's fantasy."
"In my eyes, it's not just foolish. It's dangerous."
Elias studied her. Though she looked like a child, there was something ancient behind her smile—something cold and unfathomable.
"If you think it's so meaningless," he asked, "then why deliver his message?"
"Because of you, Lord Elias."
Solithiel stepped closer, each footfall soft but deliberate. With every step, a strange light flickered in her eyes.
"The Demon Lord says… that though you are a demon, your understanding of humans is unmatched."
"And I," she whispered, smiling faintly, "am one of the few demons who wishes to understand humans as deeply as you do."
"To me, war is meaningless. Dialogue, experimentation, experience—those are far more interesting."
She walked to the edge of the cliff, the wind pulling at her hair, her gaze turning toward the distant valley below.
"That village," she murmured. "That's where you've been living, isn't it?"
"I wonder what it's like… to live among humans."
"Tell me, Lord Elias—what does your heart feel?"
Her words barely faded before—
—BOOM!
Elias's hand came down like a thunderclap, the sound of raw power cracking through the air.
——
Ten minutes earlier—
After searching every corner of the house and finding nothing suspicious, Flamme's gaze drifted toward the bookshelf lined with dusty, ancient grimoires.
She began to read the titles aloud, her brow twitching.
[The Magic to Prevent Someone from Patting Your Head]
[Magic that Forbid Others from Calling You Short]
"…What in the world are these?"
"This ridiculous, pointless style… it almost feels like—wait a second!"
Her eyes stopped on a third title.
[Magic to Freely Adjust the Size of One's Bust]
Flamme: (≖_≖)
"…Well, well. He's been hiding this kind of filth all along."
"What kind of perverted magic is this supposed to be?"
She hesitated. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper.
"…Still… I wonder if it actually works…"
"…Should I… try it? Just once?"
——
Knock knock knock!
"Excuse me! Is Lord Elias home?"
The sudden knock startled Flamme so badly that she dropped the book. It hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Before she could react, the door creaked open and the village chief stepped inside.
There he saw her—frozen stiff, wide-eyed, standing over the fallen book like a guilty child caught in the act.
The old man's face lit up.
"Oh! You must be Lord Elias's… wife?"
"Wh—what?! No! Absolutely not!"
Flamme flailed her hands in panic.
"You've misunderstood! I'm, um… more like his… super–visor!"
"Oh, I see!" the old man said, nodding sagely. "So you're his mother, then. Please, have a seat."
Flamme: (≖_≖)
"…No. I'm Flamme. A mage. His colleague, technically."
"By the Goddess!" the chief exclaimed, eyes shining. "Another mage! What a blessing!"
He grabbed her hands enthusiastically.
"Lord Elias is away, and now another great mage arrives! Wonderful timing! I have a request!"
——
Moments later, Flamme stood before the familiar, weathered statue in the village square while the chief explained his plea.
"These three heroes," he said reverently, "saved our ancestors a thousand years ago. Sadly, time has worn their likenesses. I was hoping you might use your Restoration Magic to bring them back to glory!"
Flamme's face remained expressionless.
Heroes, huh.
She glanced at the statues again—and almost winced.
Did this ugly bunch really deserve restoration?
The bearded bald man looked like a brawler awkwardly dressed in a sage's robe, clutching a grimoire like he didn't know what to do with it.
The long-eared dwarf beside him had a face so sour it was almost familiar—especially that "disdain for the world" expression.
And then there was the tall woman with flowing hair and a chest larger than Flamme's—dressed as a mage, with an oddly lifelike face…
"…Wait."
Her eyes narrowed.
"…This face… I've seen this before."
She leaned closer, frowning, then froze—eyes widening in disbelief.
"Ha?!?!"
Whipping around, she glanced back toward the warehouse.
And there, lying open on the floor where she'd dropped it, was the fallen grimoire—
[Magic to Freely Adjust the Size of One's Bust].
Flamme's expression darkened.
"…Don't tell me… that perverted old story was real…"