The journey through the heart of the city went on, monotonous and cruel, paced by the steady steps of the beast dragging me forward. The rope creaked with every movement, rubbing against my raw waist, and the polished ground kept tearing off strips of skin with each jolt. And yet, I think I was starting to get used to it. The body always adapts, even to pain, when the mind has nothing left to cling to. So I let my thoughts drift—like a castaway telling himself stories just to stay afloat.

Seventh Demon King.

That name had been spinning in my head ever since I heard it from the broadcast. Seventh? Which meant there were at least six others. Maybe more. Maybe fewer, if the number was only an honorary title or an illusion of hierarchy. But if a seventh existed, then... where were the six before him? Was it a council? A dynasty? A line of crowned monsters, each ruling a different corner of this world I thought I still understood? And most of all... were they all enemies of humanity, or only the one Oratius served?

The meaning of that title—"Demon King"—echoed like divine mockery. What did it truly mean? Was it a birthright, a cursed lineage? Or a title earned through strength, conquest, the ascension to an invisible throne? Was it political, spiritual, symbolic? A curse or a reward?

I didn't know. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had never even asked myself the question. Too busy surviving, protecting, predicting the next trap… Yet since I'd seen that shining city in the distance, I could feel the truth slipping further away from me.

Why did that city breathe technology, while other kingdoms still clung to magic? Why did those towers of glass and metal float in the sky while, elsewhere, people still fought with swords and hand-forged armor? And above all... why did their travelers—those pink-skinned, merchant-like wanderers—look so primitive in comparison? The contrast unsettled me. It was like a world that hadn't evolved logically, as if several civilizations had been layered atop one another, each unaware of the others' existence.

And that language...

I couldn't stop thinking about it. Everyone spoke the same one—or almost. Mothers, children, travelers, even the guards of this impossible city: all of them understood my words, or I understood theirs. It was absurd. How could such a fragmented world share a common tongue? A "living" universal language, born from a source older than the peoples themselves? Was it a miracle of mana? Or something else—something larger, older than races and wars alike?

The more I let my mind wander, the more a creeping certainty formed in my chest: this world was hiding something. Something colossal, buried, organized. Maybe all these civilizations, all these myths, all these demon kings were just pieces of the same chessboard—one no one could see entirely.

A brief laugh shook my throat, almost involuntarily.

The sound came out hoarse, strangled, like a bark lost in the hot wind.

— "Guess I'll end up uncovering all the mysteries of this world just by being dragged around," I muttered through clenched teeth.

The pain in my back flared up again, burning, but I kept laughing softly. Because in a way, there was something ironically soothing about that road. No stones to rip my flesh, no chaos around me, no screams or battles. Just that smooth floor scraping my skin, reminding me I was still alive.

It was almost a luxury now.

A painful one, sure—but a luxury nonetheless.

So I gave in to my musings, lulled by the beast's steady steps, the pull of the rope, and the green, unreal landscape stretching endlessly around me. Even half-dead, caked in dust and blood, there was still a part of me that refused to die—the part that observed, that doubted, that tried to understand.

After a few more minutes of turning in the same circle of thoughts, I gave up. There was no point twisting my mind over questions with no answers. Better to let time hand me whatever it wanted to give—it had always been more stubborn than I was anyway. So, as often when I could no longer act, my thoughts turned to what I'd left behind. The Academy. The girls. Those still fighting back there.

Garrum had been thrown into a portal with me. In his state, I doubted he could threaten anyone anymore. I could cross him off the list—for now. The rest, though… that was another story.

The ancient dragon Oratius had awakened was probably still fighting the princess and the headmistress. From what I'd felt before being swallowed by the portal, they were holding their ground. The battle seemed balanced—two against one, yes, but not against just anyone.

The students were probably evacuating or holding the lines against lesser dragons. Reina had likely already taken command of the Pact—she was born for that—and Ayame would be anticipating every move, as always. I could almost see Hikari in the infirmary, trembling hands healing anything that moved, while Sylvara screamed orders through the smoke, her wings covered in ash. And Miyu? She'd probably just be killing anything that crossed her path…

I could almost see them. And the more I thought about it, the colder that knot in my chest became. Because apart from thinking, there was nothing I could do.

I hated that. Being powerless.

Oratius's killers, the ones he'd sent to wipe us out, were probably still lurking. Not all of them had revealed themselves. Some would be waiting, hidden in the shadows, watching for the perfect moment to strike—when everyone else thought the fight was over. The kind of orders only a monster like him could give: wait, watch, then kill when they believe they've won. Just the thought sent a chill through me.

But Reina must have guessed the same thing. With her composure—and Ayame's instincts—they'd make it. I had to trust them.

I had to.

Just thinking that calmed me halfway. The other half still burned—the one that refused to accept that Oratius was still one step ahead.

Because the truth was, everything now depended on one battle. The battle. The one that would decide everything. Reinhardt and the three other figures of his level were fighting the Primordial Oratius had brought forth. Even from here, through the faint memory of their auras, I could feel the scale of it. Among them, one of the four carried a power that had frozen me to the bone—an aura like the dragon princess's, but older, sovereign, greater. My instincts didn't lie: it had to be the king himself. The father.

I caught myself smiling despite everything.

— "Nice deduction, Sherlock…" I murmured, chuckling faintly.

But the laughter died quickly, replaced by an unpleasant certainty forming drop by drop in my head.What if this was all a trap?

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The Academy—its walls, its location, its "neutral" role between races—was the perfect place for an ambush. All the heroes gathered in one place, at the same time, under the supervision of the princess and the headmistress. Reinhardt conveniently away due to "diplomatic meetings." What a coincidence. And those endless meetings he'd mentioned with the racial delegates… they had always sounded suspiciously vague. What if it had all been a cover—a political smoke screen allowing each race to plan in secret without raising suspicion?

It made sense.

Damn, it made too much sense.

Gather the heroes, push them to improve, forge them through a "school war" to disguise a real military plan. Then wait for Oratius to take the bait. Brilliant. A colossal risk—but the best possible strategy against an entity like him. And if they managed to eliminate even one Primordial… for once, humanity and the united races might win a war before it even began.

Well... if everything went right.

Because one "if" was enough to make it all collapse.

What if the Primordial was stronger than they thought?What if the ancient dragon tipped the scales?What if Oratius had anticipated the trap from the start?What if—worse—he'd sent several Primordials in response?

What if...

I shook my head, grumbling to myself.

— "For fuck's sake, stop with the what-ifs, Kaito…"

But ifs always died hard.

So I took a long breath, trying to cool the fire in my chest.In the end, it didn't matter. Trap or not, this was the best chance we'd ever get. The only one. Everything now rested on those who stayed behind. Reina, Ayame, Sylvara, Hikari, Miyu, all the others...

I gave a weary smile.

— "Come on, girls... show them what a real miracle looks like."

And just like that, without realizing it, I slipped out of my thoughts. The thread of reflection snapped, and reality hit me all at once—sharp, brutal.

In front of me stood several figures. Men—or something close—clad in armor of dark metal veined with light, halfway between organic and mechanical. Their gazes, hidden behind opaque visors, glimmered cold and indifferent. It took me a few seconds to understand where I was: a bare room, lit by a green glow filtering through translucent walls. And me... I was tied to a chair, wrists bound, ankles locked in some kind of glass ring that vibrated faintly each time I moved.

Charming.

I wish I could say I was surprised. But no. Deep down, I think part of me expected it. I'd pushed the thought away—like a nightmare too obvious to believe—but here it was. Reality, always hitting when you least expect it.

I lifted my head, a tired smile tugging at my lips.

— "Aah... ahahaha... hey there?"

The response was immediate.

— "Shut the fuck up, you little shit!"

The punch landed before the sentence was even finished. A clean, precise blow that split my lip and snapped my head to the side. The taste of iron filled my mouth. A drop of blood hit the glass floor. Then another. And another.

A small laugh escaped me, jaw throbbing.

— "You know," I muttered, "I know a woman half your size… who hits ten times harder."

Blood stuck to my teeth; my words tangled with saliva. I slowly lifted my eyes to him—vision blurry, but the smile still there. I couldn't help it. I had to keep talking. Because as long as I spoke, I stayed alive.

BAM.

Another hit.

My head snapped the other way, another red splash on the floor. I barely caught my breath before a third blow struck, heavier, surer.

BAM.

Then another.

BAM.

And another.

Each impact echoed in my skull like a war drum. My mind wavered between clarity and void, each breath a torture, each heartbeat a detonation in my temples. Yet despite it all, I kept smiling.

Not out of bravado. Not even courage. Simply because, at that moment, it was all I had left.

I felt the blood run down my chin, drop by drop, splattering onto my thighs, tracing red lines over my filthy skin. The pain had a familiar taste. It took me back—to other battles, other torments. Stones, once, had hurt much worse.

Yeah… stones definitely hurt more.

That thought drew a faint, strangled laugh from me—almost tender. As if pain, after all, was just an old friend come back to say hello.

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