"You are..."
Her title was the [Saint of the End], but the demon who bore it — a girl of slight, brown-skinned frame — carried not even a trace of the [Destruction] one might expect from such a name.
In fact, at first glance, she came across as... a little dim.
Though not in the same way as Aura when she was being oblivious. This one felt different — more like an innocence that had simply never encountered the world at all.
Fíliya spent a brief moment sizing up this demon. Then, without bothering to exchange a single word with Tot, she flickered across the space and appeared at the girl's side — and simply grabbed her by the back of her collar, hoisting her into the air.
"Let's go."
Fíliya said it quietly, though it was unclear whether she was talking to Tot or to Solitär. Either way, in the next instant, they arrived somewhere else: a vast, open hall, clearly long past its prime.
The hall was ringed by crumbling walls. Every surface — cracked, scarred with old battle wounds — had long since been claimed by moss.
"So this is the Demon King's Castle. Even more ruined than I imagined."
Fíliya swept her gaze across the room, then carelessly set Tot down. She raised her hand and cast a spell, sweeping the hall clean of rubble and overgrowth, then spent a moment patching the fractured walls and sealing a large hole that gaped open in the ceiling.
When that was done, she gathered the cleared debris and, with an almost idle indifference, shaped it into something vaguely resembling a throne.
That'll do for now.
Satisfied enough, she turned her gaze back to Tot.
"How much longer until your virus spreads to cover the entire world?"
Fíliya asked.
"...At least five more years."
Tot sorted out her situation with a quick, quiet assessment — and then cooperated, answering Fíliya's question without resistance.
After all, deferring to the strong, and submitting to a more powerful member of one's own kind, was a habit carved into the very soul of the Demon Race.
Though that submission was hardly absolute. Weaker demons were quite willing to grovel for survival under a stronger one — but how much genuine loyalty one could expect from them was another matter entirely.
"I see. You don't seem to have any interest in fighting or destroying the world — so why are you doing any of this?"
The impression this [Saint of the End] gave Fíliya was of someone who simply didn't care about anything — a shut-in, completely detached from the world around her.
It made a certain kind of sense. This was a demon who had buried herself underground for who-knew-how-many years, hiding from everything.
That was precisely why Fíliya was curious: why had someone with a personality like this become the Demon Race's final trump card?
"Because it is my mission."
Tot delivered the answer with a vacant, uncomprehending look — and her expression made it clear that she herself didn't understand why such a mission had been placed on her shoulders.
"Do you hate humans? Do you hate the world?"
Fíliya pressed further.
But Tot simply shook her head, slowly.
"I don't care... I don't care about humans. I don't care about the Demon Race. It doesn't matter to me what the world becomes."
"All I need is... something to eat every day, and somewhere to sleep."
As she said it, Tot curled herself up on the spot — right in front of everyone — drawing her knees to her chest. A drowsy glint passed through her eyes, as though she might genuinely drift off to sleep in the next second.
"Is that so. In that case — call back all of your virus. There's no need to keep doing this. From now on, you live with us. The only thing I can promise you is that it will be far happier than spending your days alone in an underground burrow."
Fíliya moved at a measured pace and lowered herself onto the rough stone throne she had just shaped, then looked down at Tot with the calm authority of someone who had never questioned their right to look down.
For a moment, Tot fell into brief, quiet thought upon hearing Fíliya's words.
"Are you the new Demon King?"
Tot asked with mild curiosity.
"The Demon King... [King] is not a title one bestows upon oneself. To truly be the Demon King, you need the acknowledgment of the vast majority of the Demon Race — so no, I'm not one yet."
"Not yet..."
Tot lowered her head, quietly turning that phrase over in her mind.
"Then... is this an order?"
She tilted her head slightly and asked.
"Yes. This is an order."
At that, Tot seemed to deflate a little. She dropped onto the floor, wrapping both arms around her knees and resting her chin on top of them, her gaze drifting with faint bewilderment.
"...There's nothing to be done, then. Most things in this world are meaningless — but having the work I've kept at for nearly a hundred years suddenly declared meaningless too is... still a little painful."
There was a note of complaint in her voice — but even so, Tot slipped into the work without further delay.
Unseen currents of mana came flooding in from all directions, pouring into Tot's body from every side.
Fíliya understood exactly what this was: Tot interrupting and recalling the vast network of dormant, as-yet-unactivated virus she had scattered across the entire continent.
The process lasted roughly an hour. When Tot finally finished, exhaustion had settled visibly across her face.
"It took nearly a hundred years to spread it, but only an hour to take it all back. How strange."
Fíliya's tone was playfully dry — but her thoughts ran deeper. She knew full well what this meant.
[The more restrictions a magic carries, and the more difficult it is to invoke, the more powerful its effects tend to be.]
That was the theorem left behind by the great mage Flamme.
Which meant that Tot's curse — one that required a hundred years to bloom — would have been, had it been allowed to fully activate, an absolute catastrophe for humankind.
And the first thing Fíliya, this newly born Demon King, had done was help humanity quietly remove one of its most profound hidden threats.
Fíliya descended from the throne at a leisurely pace. As she continued to tease Tot with light words, she pressed a gentle current of mana into the girl's body — just enough to ease the hollow, drained feeling that had settled over her.
Tot stared at what Fíliya was doing, visibly puzzled.
"The previous Demon King never did anything like this for his subordinates. He only ever issued orders and went on his way."
So Tot said.
"Is that so. No wonder none of the great demons had any loyalty to speak of — and not a single one showed up to help when the Demon King was surrounded and killed."
Fíliya remarked with a joking lilt, throwing a light jab at her predecessor.
"Can I rest now...? Being woken up so suddenly has made me tired. And I'm... very hungry. I want to eat a lot. A lot of things."
Tot's eyelids were already staging a valiant struggle to stay open, as though sleep might claim her at any second.
Food... anything involving food would have to be left to Solitär.
With that thought, Fíliya turned to look at her.
"Solitär — Tot is in your care for now."
Miss Solitär, upon hearing this, was naturally less than pleased.
What is this girl going on about? She sleeps for ages, wakes up, and immediately starts making demands... And I really don't like that tone. You can't even bring yourself to call me 'big sister'!
"And if I say no?"
Solitär couldn't help herself.
"?"
This genuinely puzzled Fíliya. In her memory, Solitär had almost never refused her anything.
"Is that so... that's a bit of a problem, then. Tot — can you eat raw meat?"
Fíliya turned back to Tot and asked.
The question meant she was already prepared to go out and hunt a few monsters for the girl to eat.
"If possible... I'd prefer cooked meat. Something with flavor would be nice."
Tot had already closed her eyes — though she hadn't quite fallen asleep yet.
Watching the two of them go back and forth like this, Solitär felt the last of her composure rapidly approaching its limit.
She stepped forward and grabbed Fíliya by the collar.
The garment — one she had taken such care to cut and sew herself — crumpled instantly under her grip.
"You..."
And yet, even with Fíliya's collar firmly in hand, Solitär found herself unable to get a single word of accusation out. The grievance was there, swelling in her chest — but if she couldn't release it, what was she supposed to do with it?
____
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