"I'm heading out for a bit."
The words came right after lunch — barely a moment after everyone had finished the perfect meal Solitär had prepared. Fíliya addressed the group at the table in the Demon King's Castle without preamble or ceremony.
"Where are you going?" Solitär asked, her brow furrowed.
"To go drag someone useful back here. You don't need to come with me — it might take a while, and there are still several mouths here that need looking after."
Fíliya had read the look on Solitär's face the moment it appeared and moved to head it off before it could become a request.
Solitär turned with a resigned sigh and looked at the demons seated before her — the ones who gave her nothing but headaches.
Linie, at least, was a good child. As for the other two...
Ugh. Pure dead weight.
Solitär had always harbored an inexplicable, bone-deep hostility toward Aura. And ever since the pale-skinned, white-haired Tot had arrived, that hostility had — quite naturally — been split to include her as well.
Not that Tot seemed capable of registering hostility at all. If anything, she appeared to genuinely like Solitär — which was perhaps inevitable, given that Solitär was the one who fed her.
"More, please."
Tot's flat, toneless voice landed in Solitär's ear once again.
Solitär looked at the girl — all wide, innocent eyes, plate held out for another helping — and could only let out a slow, quiet exhale.
How does she out-eat even Aura...
"Solitär. You never told me you could cook this well."
Tot received her second helping and turned to look at Solitär with a smile that spread all the way across her face.
"Tot. You never told me you could eat this much," Solitär replied, her tone several degrees cooler.
Not that the two of them were strangers, exactly — they went back over eighty years, to that battle surrounding the Hero's party, when they had fought in the same unit. But now that Solitär thought about it... even back then, Tot had been the one hanging furthest back, doing the least, while Solitär herself had been providing support from the flanks.
...So she was always like this. Even then, she had every sign of becoming a complete layabout. Solitär let the thought unravel quietly in her mind.
Watching the exchange play out before her, the corner of Fíliya's mouth curved upward without her quite meaning it to.
Her emotional range was nowhere near as broad as it used to be — but this, somehow, was still enough. A warmth that qualified, in its small way, as happiness.
"Then I'll be off," Fíliya murmured — and vanished from the spot.
The Demon King's Castle did have a front gate. Fíliya had simply never used it once.
In the next instant, she was standing in a vast, sprawling forest.
She took a quick look around to get her bearings — then locked onto her target without hesitation.
The one she was looking for was asleep in a cave not far away.
Demon habitation, she had observed, followed one of two patterns: a natural cave they had claimed for themselves, or a burrow they had dug with their own hands. No exceptions.
What a way to live — like something that belongs in a ditch. Or... is it simply that the Demon Race has no capacity for construction whatsoever?
The thought took hold of her, and the more she turned it over, the more it seemed to hold water. After all, even Solitär — a demon who had mastered no fewer than a hundred human crafts — had only ever taken an existing, abandoned shipyard and renovated it. That little lakeside cabin had been built entirely by Fíliya's own hands. And when Fíliya had mentioned wanting to properly furnish the Demon King's Castle, Solitär's face had gone through a very particular kind of difficulty.
Yes. The conclusion is obvious. The Demon Race simply had no architectural ability whatsoever. Even Solitär couldn't build a house.
The revelation was genuinely surprising — though Fíliya recovered quickly and remembered what she had actually come here to do.
She moved forward, closing the distance to the cave in steady, unhurried steps.
When she drew close enough, the figure inside gave no sign of waking. No flicker of awareness. No shift in posture.
Fíliya's expression shifted immediately into something flat and contemptuous.
"Don't play dead. I know you're awake."
At those words, the massive figure — nearly two meters tall — finally stirred. Slowly, languidly, Rivale opened his eyes.
"Hm? I didn't expect to receive a visitor in a place like this... and such a distinguished one, at that."
Rivale rose to a sitting position, his voice carrying that characteristic mix of easy indolence and genuine curiosity as he regarded her.
"I wouldn't have imagined that in the short time since we last met, Lady Fíliya would already have become one of our own... How exactly did you manage that? To my knowledge, no such magic exists in this world. Even the previous Demon King was never capable of anything of the sort."
"Which is precisely why the one who can do it is the right person to be the next Demon King, wouldn't you say?"
Fíliya answered with the easy arrogance of someone who considered the point self-evident — then shifted immediately to an accusing tone.
"You received my directive, didn't you? Then why are you still lounging in a cave without having moved an inch?"
"Hm?"
Rivale tilted his head at that, a look of genuine puzzlement crossing his face.
"Does Lady Fíliya truly believe that getting the Demon Race to follow an order is as simple as saying the words? I don't think you're that naive. Never mind me — even the most ordinary, low-ranking demon wouldn't take your command seriously. They'd write it off as a strange noise inside their head."
"Is that so. Then this works out perfectly — I need your help with something. Someone needs to deliver consequences to the ones who feel they can ignore the Demon King's orders."
"Mm... I see. But you have the ability to locate any demon at will now, don't you? Wouldn't it be more effective — and more efficient — for you to personally make an example of them?"
Rivale maintained his unhurried posture and unhurried tone throughout, as though this were the most casual of conversations.
"Hah."
Fíliya's response was a single cold laugh.
"You're suggesting that the King should personally track down and discipline every last one of them? I have better things to do with my time."
"Mm. That's fair — a King should conserve their energy for what truly matters."
Rivale, for once, offered no pushback. He simply nodded, with the air of someone who found the point entirely reasonable.
"So then — swear your loyalty to me. I'll keep you busy enough to satisfy you, and I can promise you all the battles you could ever want."
Seeing her opening, Fíliya made her offer directly.
"Hm. Scrapping it out with small fry doesn't qualify as acceptable compensation."
Rivale smiled and declined.
"Oh? And if I told you I could arrange the one fight you've been dreaming of — a duel to the death?"
Fíliya pressed on.
This time, something finally moved in Rivale's expression. He didn't nod — but neither did he look away. Instead, he gave a light, quiet laugh.
"Ah... now I begin to understand why Solitär chose you. You do have a rare gift for dealing with our kind... But I'm afraid I'm rather different from other demons, Lady Fíliya. Words alone cannot sway me. If you want my loyalty — you'll have to earn it the way a warrior earns things."
...So after all that back-and-forth, it still comes down to a fight.
Fíliya clicked her tongue inwardly — but didn't waste breath on protest. She simply reached to her side and drew the golden one-handed sword she had prepared for exactly this.
____
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