Vergil remained silent for a few moments.
His gaze was fixed on the woman before him, but his mind worked like a spinning blade.
This wasn't just another powerful being. He had faced kings, demonic generals, even entities that proclaimed themselves immortal. But the presence before him carried another weight. It wasn't simply strength or aura—it was a concept. An idea made flesh.
He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the cloying scent wafting from the teacup. Finally, he spoke:
"Where… exactly am I?"
The woman smiled, as if she had expected this question. Steam rose from her cup, reflecting the red light of the lake, and she answered with a calm so absolute it seemed mocking.
"You are… where I want you to be, Demon King."
Vergil narrowed his eyes.
She continued:
