After two full days of relentless effort, Mira finally managed to ta the swarm of insects. It wasn’t neat or pretty—she was pale, her voice hoarse, and her eyes carried the wild strain of soone who had been forced to wrestle with thousands of tiny, hungry wills all at once.
But the results spoke for themselves.
The farrs watched in awe as the insects, once a gnashing tide of destruction, now moved in loose formations under Mira’s silent command.
At Lucius’s direction, she guided them out of the precious crop fields, across the trenches, and toward the fodder adows set aside on the far edge of the settlent.
There, the pests sward over grass and leaves ant for animal feed, devouring without threatening the village’s lifeblood.
Lucius nodded in approval, his sharp eyes asuring both Mira’s exhaustion and her control.
"Good. They’re yours now. Keep them in check. They’ll answer to you."
Mira whipped her head around, her face a mixture of outrage and dread.
"Wait—you’re giving them to ? I spent two days barely staying sane, and now you want to babysit a hive of nightmare beetles for the rest of forever?"
Lucius didn’t flinch.
"Yes. Because you’re the only one who can. And because control once gained is easier to hold than to rebuild. If they break loose again, it won’t just be crops lost—it’ll be lives."
Mira groaned and stomped her foot like a sulking child, but even as she pouted, she didn’t release her tether on the swarm.
"This is so unfair. Fine. But if they crawl into my room, I’m throwing them straight at you."
She muttered, cheeks puffed. Still, she straightened, shoulders set.
"Noted."
Lucius said dryly, though the faintest edge of a smile touched his lips.
With the pests managed and the harvest safe, Lucius finally had breathing room to think. The signs of sumr were beginning to creep into the air: the mornings held less frost, and the soil thawed earlier each day.
Soon, the oppressive weight of winter would lift entirely. But sumr in this realm wasn’t gentle.
It was a brutal, scorching thing that could wither plants as swiftly as winter froze them.
He gathered his notes and began sketching out plans for the next phase of the settlent’s survival.
The buildings needed reinforcent—stone foundations to resist heat, shaded extensions to protect stores, and clever ventilation channels to trap cool air underground.
Irrigation ditches had to be redrawn to capture ltwater before the sun stole it. There was also the long-delayed prospect of animal husbandry.
Now that fodder fields were secured and pests diverted, they could finally rear at animals to supplent their diet, giving them strength for what lay ahead.
His quill scratched furiously against parchnt, the system flickering faint notes in the corner of his vision as calculations aligned.
That was when Belphegor appeared, as casually as if he had simply strolled in from a garden instead of drifting through shadow.
The demon king leaned against the window fra, watching Lucius scribble.
"You’re buried in work again. But perhaps you’ll want to hear this. The war-song of the upper demons has begun."
Belphegor drawled.
Lucius’s hand paused, ink blotting the margin. He looked up sharply.
"War-song?"
Belphegor’s eyes glead with a strange mix of amusent and warning.
"Yes. A great clash above the clouds. Their blood, their power—it stirs the skies. That is why the winter canopy weakens. The barrier of clouds is lting. The way upward is opening."
Lucius narrowed his eyes. He could almost feel it now—the faint tremors in the air, the loosening of the shroud that had sealed the lower world for what felt like eternity.
"If you want the upper world. Now would be the best ti."
Belphegor continued.
"You’d slip through without the guardians noticing, maybe even walk unnoticed in the chaos. It won’t last long. Chances like this rarely co again."
Lucius didn’t answer imdiately. He pulled up his system interface, waiting for the familiar flicker of a mission prompt. But none ca. The screen remained stubbornly blank.
That told him enough.
"No. It isn’t ti. There’s too much left undone here. If I go now, I’d only be pulled back into the sa chains of fate I’m trying to break."
Lucius said finally, shaking his head.
Belphegor arched a brow, his expression mocking yet curious.
"Chains of fate? Tsk, so you are considering this as well? I would have thought that most mortals would have taken this chance to get out of this lower world."
Lucius’s gaze was steady, steel behind his eyes.
"Most mortals aren’t . If I climb too soon, my path ends before it begins. I’ll stay until it’s the right ti to climb."
The demon king chuckled softly, a sound both amused and pitying.
"Always so cautious. Very well. Your choice. But don’t co whining when the path closes forever."
Lucius leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
"If the path closes, I’ll carve another."
For the first ti in their exchange, Belphegor’s smirk faltered, replaced by sothing faintly contemplative. Then he pushed off the window, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.
"Bold words. Dangerous words. I like them. I’ll return to my domain for now. But rember—you can always call on . I might even answer."
His tone shifted, more businesslike.
With a lazy wave of his hand, the demon king slipped into shadow and was gone.
Lucius stared at the empty space for a mont, then at the mountain of plans before him.
The village humd outside—farrs tending fields, children chasing in thawing mud, Mira scolding insects under her breath.
Sumr was coming. With it, more trials. But Lucius had no intention of abandoning this world to chance or fate. Not yet. Not until everything was in place.
He dipped his qull again, steady hand resuming its work.
The ga was only beginning.
For now, survival was secured, but the horizon promised storms. Lucius knew one truth above all: victory today only ant preparing twice as hard for tomorrow’s war.
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