The man at the door froze mid-step, his grin faltering as the demons’ words sank into the silence.
"...Who are you?"
His frown deepened, putting shadows on the brightness of his handso face. Slowly, his lips moved, his tone low, almost to himself.
"Have they all... forgotten ?"
The words carried disbelief, tinged with sothing older, heavier.
His red eyes flickered like embers in a dying fire as he muttered, "Impossible. My face—etched into history itself. My na—once spoken with dread, reverence, and awe alike. And yet..."
He chuckled, hollow and sharp. "You stand there, blinking at like frightened children in the dark."
His head tilted, strands of wild white hair falling over his cheek.
Then, with a sudden clarity, his gaze snapped back to the demons, narrowing, amused, and cold at once.
A dry laugh rattled from his throat. "Ahhh... clever little things. Almost fooled , you did. Pretending not to know , to lower my guard. Hah! No matter how genuine your act looks, I will not believe it. I’ve seen too much. This old man..."
He slipped his hands into his ragged pockets, posture unnervingly relaxed as he stepped forward, each footfall echoing like a tolling bell. "...has seen more than any demon ever could."
The air pressed heavier with every word, like unseen chains winding around the chamber.
Moriz flinched.
His claws twitched, fighting the instinct to stay motionless, yet so fool’s spark of courage drove him to lift his trembling hand. Just slightly. Just enough.
The man stopped mid-step, one white brow arching. His lips curled into a playful smile. "...Go on, then."
Moriz hesitated, his throat bobbing. "P-Pardon my manners—"
The man scoffed, laughter cutting him short like a knife. "Manners? Since when do demons care about manners?"
Moriz froze, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head. "...Fair point."
A low groan rumbled from Vaelthar, silver eyes narrowing, but he said nothing.
Behind them, the wounded warlord had collapsed fully, twitching against the stone floor, the re weight of the intruder’s presence crushing the air from his lungs.
He was already injured as he was, but now, he was dying.
Worse yet, no one seed to care about him.
The man’s smile, on the other hand, widened as he kept his focus on Moriz. "Well? Out with it. Whatever that was you wanted to say."
Moriz swallowed hard, his yellow eyes darting nervously. "...I—I an no offense, but... calling yourself an old man when you look so... handso... isn’t very convincing. Many out there... might not accept that."
For a mont, silence.
Then—
The chamber blurred.
In less than a blink, Moriz’s back slamd against the wall, stone cracking under the force.
He dangled a foot above the floor, the man’s hand clamped like iron around his throat.
Red eyes burned into him, unblinking. The intruder’s voice dropped into a growl, each syllable dripping with nace. "...Are you implying... that old n can’t be handso?"
The grip tightened. Moriz wheezed, claws scrabbling weakly against the man’s wrist.
Vaelthar’s eyes, on the other hand, were wide, his composure shattering as he stood rooted in his spot.
The weight of what had occurred was so much that even turning around seed impossible for him.
He hadn’t even seen the movent.
One instant, the man was standing casually, and the next, Moriz was pinned like a rag doll.
’A level ten general... and I couldn’t even blink.’
That cold realization coiled in Vaelthar’s chest like poison.
After all, he, who prided himself on being one of the strongest demon generals, couldn’t even move a muscle as the intruder whooshed past him.
The man, on the other hand, frowned, watching Moriz struggle. His head tilted, almost curious. "Oh? Gestures? Still trying to speak?"
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper sharp enough to cut. "Do you have sothing to say in your defense?"
Moriz bobbed his head desperately.
"Then speak."
But the demon’s lips curled into a deadpan glare despite his pale, airless face.
Then, with what little strength remained, he jabbed a claw at his own throat—at the crushing grip strangling his words.
The man blinked.
Then, with a sheepish, almost comical pause, he muttered, "...Ah."
His hand loosened.
Moriz fell like dead weight, crashing to the floor, gasping raggedly for breath, chest heaving like a broken bellows.
For a heartbeat, the chamber stilled.
That heartbeat was all Vaelthar needed.
The Portal General’s claws flexed.
Space itself scread, warping into jagged cracks of shimring void as he struck, aiming to erase the intruder in one instant.
"Die—!"
The space roared forward, collapsing reality itself toward the man’s chest—
Except nothing happened.
His breath hitched. His arm didn’t move. His chest didn’t rise. His very pulse hung still.
’I... can’t move?’
His silver eyes widened, trembling in sockets that refused to obey.
The attack froze mid-ignition, space energy suspended like fractured glass in the air.
All of that made him realize what was happening.
’Ti elent...’
Yes, it was ti magic.
He was frozen in his place by ti magic, and yet the man before him didn’t even glance back. He wasn’t looking at him at all.
The intruder’s gaze remained fixed on Moriz, who was still gasping for air like a half-drowned fish.
The man sighed, voice almost conversational, as though they weren’t standing in a chamber steeped with death.
"There are always people like that, you know. The kind who lunge forward, clawing, biting, and striking... despite knowing they’re already dead."
His words hung heavy in the air, pressing down like lead weights.
His head tilted toward Moriz, red eyes gleaming with a strange amusent.
"Tell , little demon... do you know what I do with people like that?"
Moriz stiffened. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts.
He didn’t want to answer that question, but looking into the man’s eyes, he knew that he had to.
So, slowly, hesitantly, he shook his head.
The man smiled. Cold. Patient. Almost fond.
"I kill them."
There was a pause.
Then his hand moved.
He didn’t even turn. With a lazy backhand, as though swatting at a fly, his arm sliced through the air.
Shhhnk.
Vaelthar’s vision tilted. The chamber spun sideways. He felt warmth spilling down his chest, then nothing at all.
The last thing to cross his mind before the darkness took him was bitter clarity.
’It was my mistake... not knowing my limits.’
That was his final thought before his body crumpled to the floor, head rolling separately, blood spreading in thick pools across the stone.
At last, the man turned his gaze toward the fallen general. His lips curled downward in annoyance.
"Tch. Hated the way he kept glaring at . Always the eyes, never the manners."
He stepped closer, as if to confirm that the demon was dead, as demons tend to act, but as he did, his expression shifted.
The crimson sheen of blood mirrored faintly on the floor, and in it, his reflection stared back.
Not the weathered, weary face of an old man.
But that of a young stranger.
For a second, he rely stared at that reflection.
Then, he blinked. He rubbed his eyes. Then he looked again.
The sa reflection greeted him—sharp jaw, wild hair, and unlined skin.
His voice slipped out, confused, almost indignant.
"...The hell? Why do I look so young?"
From the floor, Moriz coughed, finally filling his lungs. His words ca out hoarse but steady enough.
"I—I was trying to say the sa thing earlier!"
The man’s red eyes snapped to him.
"...Handso and young are the sa thing to you?"
Moriz froze. His yellow eyes darted nervously. "...I—I was being polite! Didn’t know if calling you young would... offend you sohow..."
For a long mont, the man just stared at him. Then, slowly, he squinted—before shrugging with a lopsided grin.
"Fair point."
Moriz swallowed, nerves rattling like broken glass. "Th-Then... who exactly are you?"
The man straightened. His form flickered, blurred—and then unraveled like smoke.
Wrinkles etched across his skin, his hair grew wild and unkempt, and his aura twisted into sothing eccentric, untad, and maddeningly ancient.
The smile he gave was crooked, too wide, and far too alive.
"I’m Crisaius."
Moriz’s eyes widened in a flash of recognition. His lips moved before he could stop himself.
"...Crisaius Von Vaise."
The na hissed through the chamber like a forbidden prayer.
The demon’s breath hitched. "W-Weren’t you... in seclusion? Trying to break past the tenth level—?"
But Crisaius only grinned wider, teeth flashing with the brilliance of lunacy.
Moriz’s eyes went round as plates. The realization struck. "...You didn’t break through, did you—"
A flick of Crisaius’s hand cut him off.
Bzzt—CRACK!
A jagged bolt of black lightning speared through Moriz’s chest.
His scream barely left his throat before it burned into silence, his body twitching, then stilling in a smoking heap.
Crisaius dusted his palms, muttering like he’d just finished cleaning a table.
"My bad, little demon. I wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore."
Without another glance, he strode toward the door, his steps calm, almost casual.
Halfway through, he paused, scratching his head. "...Huh. Feels like I’m forgetting sothing."
He stood there, frowning at the empty air for a heartbeat. Then shrugged. "Eh. Probably not important."
Without glancing back, he walked out, whistling a strange, tuneless lody.
The chamber, on the other hand, fell silent once more.
In that silence, the body of the forgotten warlord twitched one last ti. From the corner of his dead eye, a single tear slipped free, cutting a clean trail through the gri and blood on his face.
In his death, he learned one hard truth.
He had never mattered at all.
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