two figures appeared before Wildfire
in the blink of an eye.
The air trembled.
The flames recoiled.
The demon froze.
Young Wolf and Noelle had arrived at the final battlefield.
"Well, well… the fourth target finally shows up.
The water mage—"
Wildfire never finished the sentence.
Andras stepped forward
and plunged his right arm
straight into the massive Fire Demon's flame‑body.
Wildfire fell silent.
The grin vanished from his face.
His flames shuddered.
At that same instant,
Noelle swept up the unconscious Andrea
and vanished with Water‑Step.
A heartbeat later she reappeared beside Captain John.
"Is she badly hurt?" John asked, his voice trembling.
"Not too bad," Noelle replied.
"She's been in worse shape before."
Hope flickered back into Eris's eyes.
She looked toward Andras—
and then she saw it:
Young Wolf's right arm was still inside Wildfire's flame‑body.
And the flames…
were going out.
The Illusion Burns Away
The massive Fire Demon's body collapsed like an empty puppet.
The flames vanished—
and in their place remained a tiny, pitiful Fire Demon,
dangling from Young Wolf's grip
as if he were holding up a chicken by the neck.
"So this is the mighty Fire Demon, Wildfire…"
Andras said calmly.
"Just an illusion from the very beginning.
No wonder no one could injure you.
They were striking empty flames.
Your real body was hiding inside the illusion,
and all your power came from this cursed necklace."
The little demon thrashed helplessly in his hand.
"H‑How did you figure it out?!" he screeched.
Andras smiled.
"You might fool knights with a cheap trick like this…
but you'll never fool a mage."
(His thoughts echoed quietly within him:
"With my magical eyes, I saw clearly that the giant flame‑body was only an illusion.
My eyes showed no data about it.
But your tiny body moving inside the flames—
and that cursed necklace—
those were perfectly visible.")
Eris stared at them in shock.
"What?!
Wildfire's enormous power was just an illusion?!
Then where did all that firepower come from?!"
"This cursed necklace," Andras replied,
lifting the tiny demon higher so everyone could see.
"It's made from the heart of an Evil Fire Dragon.
That's what lent this miserable creature such strength."
The battlefield fell silent.
The flames were gone.
The demon trembled.
And everyone understood:
The endgame was only now truly beginning.
Wildfire's True Form
Wildfire's true body was finally visible:
a stunted, twisted Fire Demon,
a defective runt even among his own kind.
Fire Demons usually stood at least two meters tall—
but he was barely larger than an imp,
and even weaker than one.
One of his horns had grown only halfway,
his body was thin, almost skin and bone.
His crimson skin was veined with black lines,
especially across his face,
where they formed a dense, web‑like pattern.
The sight was both pitiful and unsettling.
Andras tore the necklace from the demon's neck,
then tossed the creature aside
as if discarding a worthless rag.
"Hmm… this is an interesting necklace.
I'll keep it."
"Give it back!" Wildfire screeched.
"It's mine! Without it… without it I…!"
The little demon's eyes widened,
and for a moment
his entire life seemed to flash before him.
Wildfire's Past — The Nameless Reject
The Demon Isles were a merciless place
where strength was the only law.
The strong did whatever they pleased.
The weak had whatever done to them
the strong felt like doing.
To be born the weakest in such a world
was the greatest curse.
Wildfire had been a nameless demon.
He was never given a name—
because he never earned one.
He was born too weak.
A Fire Demon who, even among his own kind,
was the smallest, the weakest,
the most pathetic.
His body was stunted,
his half‑formed horn never grew properly.
Even imp‑spawn were stronger than him.
His own mother hated him.
Despised him.
Beat him.
Abandoned him.
Denied she had ever given birth to him.
Among demons, he was the lowest of the low.
The one everyone could kick.
The one everyone could spit on.
The one everyone could insult—
without him ever doing anything
to deserve such treatment.
But he survived.
Because someone had to be the weakest.
Someone had to be the one
on whom demons unleashed their cruelty.
Someone had to be the one
who always lost.
The nameless, miserable demon learned
that if he wanted to eat,
if he wanted to live,
he had to endure.
Endure the kicks.
Endure the mockery.
Endure the pain.
Endure being a nobody.
Demon Isles — 80 Years Ago
Between the jagged rocks, in a hidden, shadowy corner,
three Fire Demons were kicking a small, miserable demon lying on the ground.
These demons weren't among the strongest either—
but there was someone even more pathetic than them.
And they took out all their frustration on him.
When they finally grew bored,
one of them tossed a gnawed‑clean bone at him,
with barely a scrap of meat left on it.
"Here, eat the leftovers," one of them sneered.
"Be grateful! If we didn't give you this, you'd starve to death.
You can't even hunt, you worthless reject! Hahaha!"
The wretched little demon grabbed the bone with trembling hands
and devoured the scraps as if it were the finest meat on the island.
His mouth was bloody from the kicks,
but no tears came anymore.
He had run out of those long ago.
When the three demons finally left,
a larger Fire Demon wandered into the area.
Salamander, age 60
The wretched Fire Demon, age 19
The towering demon stopped in front of him
and looked down with contempt.
"So you're the pathetic thing everyone plays with?" he asked mockingly.
"You act like a mangy dog who's happy just to get a bone."
The little demon looked up at him,
his eyes completely devoid of light.
"You… you're not going to kick me?"
Salamander laughed.
"What fun would that be?
One kick from me and you'd die.
I'm strong.
And you… you're nothing."
"Then… please…"
the little demon's voice trembled,
"I beg you… kill me."
Salamander grinned.
"I am going to kill someone today,
but not a nobody like you.
My name is Salamander.
Just Salamander.
I have no clan name anymore—
I was exiled because I had a little fun with the clan leader's woman.
He didn't dare duel me, of course.
He knew I was stronger."
His eyes burned with pride as he spoke.
"But it's time to show those losers
who the true ruler of this island is!
I'll kill every man in my old clan,
and every woman will be mine! Hahaha!
I'll prove once and for all
that I am a chosen demon warrior
worthy of the Demon King!"
The little demon whispered:
"The Demon King, huh…
I wonder what he would think of me
if he saw me."
Salamander paused for a moment,
then shrugged.
"You know what?
I'm in a good mood today.
I got myself a power‑necklace to become even stronger.
Turns out I'm too strong already—
the necklace can't make me any stronger."
He tossed the necklace in front of the little demon.
"Here.
It's yours."
The miserable demon reached for it with shaking hands.
His fate changed that day.
Not because he became stronger.
But because, for the first time in his life,
he had been given something.
And that something—
a necklace made from the heart of an Evil Fire Dragon—
would one day set an entire forest ablaze.
The Gift That Should Never Have Been Given
"You're giving me something this valuable?"