If she hadn’t had that strange dream today, Flora wouldn’t have thought so deeply about any of this.
She wiggled her fingers.
At her will, a black sphere of demonic energy gathered in her palm. It shifted into different shapes—a cone, then a small square, then a star—morphing fluidly in response to her thoughts.
“The source of the power seems the same as ever.”
When she closed her eyes and focused inward, she could sense the vessel she had formed inside herself the first time she encountered demonic energy.
The vessel holding my mana isn’t getting any bigger. If it did, I’d be able to absorb more.
She still had her original power, but it was far weaker than in her past life.
I guess it’s because I’m still too young.
Flora figured her underdeveloped body simply wasn’t capable of holding much yet. She had planned to slowly regain her strength as she grew, and this time, she would carry out Beshart’s will. To bring the world to ruin.
And now you’re telling me I’m a descendant of the so-called Hero, Lucifer?
Ha.
A hollow laugh escaped her lips, followed by a familiar sigh.
Sigh.
“That’s it. No more thinking. Not like I’m going with him anyway.”
From what she’d observed so far, Atanas definitely had the makings of a good father.
His temperament, his demeanor, even the kindness he carried—he was ideal in every way.
But he was a Lucifer.
How could she live under the roof of the very enemy who killed her?
Yes. That should’ve been the end of it.
〈A little kid like you is the Archdemon?! That’s abuse!〉
So why did Etar’s voice echo in her head, the words he said the first time he saw her?
All sorts of thoughts she didn’t want to deal with were cluttering her mind.
Flora let out another long sigh and lifted her head.
Through the dense trees, a clear blue sky peeked through.
Okay. I’m really not thinking about anything anymore.
She decided she’d read quietly until sunset, then head back.
She leaned against a tree, about to open her book—
“Ugh…”
Only to hear a voice nearby.
Flora slowly turned her head toward the sound.
She waited.
She needed to figure out if it was just her imagination or if someone was really there.
Then she heard it again.
“Ugh!”
A groan of pain.
Flora hesitated.
She had helped Rosaria in a similar situation—and look how that turned out.
She’d also helped Atanas when he was in a bind, only to end up entangled in a connection she never wanted.
What if this one’s another descendant of my enemies?
Flora had no desire to form new ties with anyone aside from Miss Fini, Rian, and the other kids at the orphanage.
She didn’t want to get attached again. She didn’t think she could.
Forget it.
She picked up her book again, intent on ignoring whoever it was.
Yeah, that was the plan—
“Haa… haa…”
The voice was strained, barely able to breathe through the pain. And it sounded distinctly young.
“So annoying. S’ annoying…” (So annoying. So annoying…)
Her rational mind screamed don’t move.
But her body didn’t listen. It moved toward the voice on its own.
“Jus’ gonna check. Just a widdle check ‘n then I’m going back.” (Just gonna check. Just a little check and then I’m going back.)
Rustle, rustle.
She stepped softly along the leafy path, following the sound.
Eventually, she arrived at a thicket of dense brush, where a boy was lying collapsed.
Damn it.
He looked about the same age as the older kids at the orphanage.
Blood had pooled beneath him, trickling from beneath his short black hair. Torn clothes revealed battered skin, and one leg was swollen grotesquely.
A sticky, death-scented aura of demonic energy clung to his leg. Judging by the claw marks, it must’ve been a monster attack.
If Flora hadn’t come, he likely would’ve died out here without anyone ever finding him.
“This is just so no one starts scary rumors about bodies turning up in the woods.”
Flora tried to justify her actions as she raised her hand and summoned her power.
Her own demonic energy, purer and stronger than the monster’s, forced the foul aura out.
People called it a dark and cursed power.
Its black, coiled nature made that an easy assumption—but in truth, this energy was the origin of the world, a fragment of the immense power bestowed by Beshart.
At the very least, it could heal wounds inflicted by other demonic forces.
And the source of its power came from her desire.
“Heal him.”
A small black orb pulsed with energy and sank into the boy’s leg.
“Aughh!”
If bones were broken, they were fusing back together. If blood vessels were torn, they were reattaching. No wonder he groaned even in unconsciousness—it must have hurt like hell.
Flora moved her hand over his head.
“Jus’ gonna do wight hewe… stop da bweedin’.” (Just gonna do right here… stop the bleeding.)
Another black orb floated above his wounds, spinning gently.
Like magic, the torn flesh began to knit itself back together.
“Phew, dat was hawd.” (Phew, that was hard.)
This was harder than Rosaria’s case but she pulled it off.
Ugh. Did something unnecessary again…
Her inner reservoir of mana was completely drained.
She should’ve felt proud, but instead, the familiar weight of gloom settled on her.
At least he wouldn’t die now.
Normally, she’d wait for him to wake up, get a thank you, and smile but not today.
“That’s it. I’m leavin’.” (That’s it. I’m leaving.)
Maybe she’d go cry a little in Miss Fini’s arms.
But just as Flora tried to stand—
Tap.
Her hand was grabbed.
I should’ve left sooner.
She’d offered a little kindness, thinking of the orphanage kids and now it was coming back to bite her.
“Who are you?”
“……”
“I asked who you are.”
With that arrogant tone… he must be a noble.
Not that he looks like one. His clothes are all worn out…
If not for the sword at his waist, she might’ve mistaken him for a beggar.
When she looked down, her eyes met his clear green ones.
They were a warm color, but right now, they flickered with confusion and anger. And sharp, too. He didn’t seem like the easygoing type.
Though, honestly, he looked like a wreck.
Instead of sighing, Flora shook off his arm.
“I’m your savior.”
“Savior?”
“You were gonna die, I saved ya. So how ‘bout not lookin’ at me like dat?” (You were going to die, I saved you. So how about not looking at me like that?)
“……”
The boy blinked, then slowly lowered his gaze and checked his own body—his expression turning into one of complete shock.
“M-My wounds…”
“Gone, right? I heawed ya aww up.” (Gone, right? I healed you all up.)
“How?”
“……”
How was she supposed to answer that?
Say she used demonic power and risk getting dragged to the Inquisitors?
Flora stayed silent, and the boy seemed to figure it out on his own.
“You must be from the temple.”
Nope.
That was not the case but she didn’t bother to correct him.
The boy wiped his confused expression away and sat up straight.
“The wound on my head… the injury on my leg… they’re all gone.”
