TDSWM Chapter 18

Chapter  18

His real name was Luralisa!

Curtis, who ran middleman trade, was in fact a demon infiltrator from the demon realm into the human world, carrying a peculiar mission of his own.

But how did he end up here, in the human realm?

For those slothful demons to come all the way to the human world, surely there must have been an enormous reason behind it, don’t you think?

Yes—

“Bellatrix.”

The sudden appearance of “Bellatrix” had forced together the Three Saints of the Demon Realm, who under no circumstances would otherwise ever gather.

Normally, demons never formed groups, intoxicated as they were by their own pride and vanity. But even among them, there were those considered the very embodiment of demonic dignity: the so-called Three Saints of the Demon Realm.

Let me introduce them.

First, the First Saint, Turian, who lived by the creed, “Evil for evil, evil even against good.”
According to his logic, in a profit-driven world, one could only reign as a strong being by answering everything with evil. His followers were derisively called “thugs” among demons. They didn’t care what others said—true to their demonic nature, they lived only for themselves.

Second, the Second Saint, Gorebaniac, whose motto was “Evil has existed since time immemorial.”
To him, life in the demon realm itself was already hell, so instead of restraining himself, he gave free rein to his nature. He was the kind of evil everyone feared—unpredictable, laughing one moment and destroying everything the next when displeased.

And lastly, the Third Saint, Luralisa, whose principle was “Return to evil.”
According to her, the demon’s heart harbors three evils above all: jealousy, self-torment, and obsession.
If another demon excelled, one must be jealous; when jealous, one must fall into self-torment; from there, one must cling obsessively until holy evil is achieved.

Thus, demons who followed her honed their magic with relentless rigor, earning the nickname “specialists” in their world.

So here they were: the Thugs, the Fickle, and the Specialists—all gathered together before Bellatrix, the mighty ice wall said to be the salvation of the demon realm.

But of course, things never went smoothly. The sealed figure of Jean Dia von Quet, with his fierce face, was also rising near the glacier, disturbing their gathering for the first time in tens of thousands of years.

Jean Dia von Quet was a laughingstock to demons. If he liked the human world so much, he should have lived quietly there—but instead he got his fellow demons killed while playing hero, and in the end, he himself was sealed. To them, he was a weakling, an utter disgrace.

For demons who prided themselves on never banding together, Jean’s very existence was humiliation incarnate—his face a symbol of shame.

“If only I never had to see that bastard’s mug again.”

So, rolling their eyes in irritation, the three of them shoved the crimson-glowing figure back into the glacier during the dead of night.

The appearance of Bellatrix, however, was a sign—whether in the demon realm or the human realm—that great change was on the horizon.

And so they resolved to search for the prophesied “Savior of the Demon Realm,” who was said to appear whenever Bellatrix arose.

They scoured the realm high and low, but with little result. No one aligned with them.

With their all-seeing clairvoyance, they swept a glance over the demon realm, then over the human realm.

But nothing.

Turian, the thug who hated effort unless it yielded immediate profit, scoffed that Bellatrix must be collapsing because of that raving fool Jean.

Angered, Gorebaniac accused Turian of being the very reason the demon realm never progressed, and began pounding him so hard he drew a nosebleed—only to get counter-attacked until he himself was bleeding from both nostrils. Sulking, he disappeared.

In the end, only Luralisa remained. If the savior isn’t in the demon realm, then perhaps I must search the human realm…

Clairvoyance had its limits. And her obsessive nature drove her to roam the human world.

If I run into the current emperor, Herais, I’ll just wipe him out in one blow, she thought casually.

But after wandering endlessly with no results, she grew tired and lay down. Then someone woke her—Sinclair.

He suddenly began chopping wood, showing off martial skills she had never seen before.

What is this?

Annoyed at having her peace disturbed, she tried to turn him into a frog—but her magic didn’t work.

She hurled lightning, fire, even cursed flies that could drive a person mad into his ear—

None of it worked.

It was astonishing.

But who was Luralisa?

She was the one who sought the pinnacle of evil through jealousy, self-torment, and obsession.

So she grew jealous of Sinclair’s power, and to test her own ability, she issued a challenge.

Curtis shrugged off his jacket into the bushes.

“Then let’s begin.”

He set his stance. His right fist shot toward my left cheek.

I ducked low and darted into his unguarded right side.

Smack!

His face twisted as blood spattered from his split mouth.

Direct hit, success!

Staggering backward, his wide, owl-like eyes showed his surprise.

I smirked, shifting on my feet into a guarded stance.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Narrowing his eyes, he grinned.

Then, with dazzling footwork, he tried to slam my waist.

I bent my knee, swept his supporting leg with my right foot, and spun.

“Whoa!”

But he didn’t fall. Using the momentum of my spin, I switched to my left leg and drove my right into his torso—

Thwack!

He flew through the air and crashed to the ground with a thud.

“Wow, that was satisfying!”

I strode over. Sure enough, his right cheek was swelling red.

“You alright?”

“Not at all,” he grumbled, eyes narrowed, lips pouting.

I offered him a hand. He took it and stood. I patted his back—

And immediately slipped into a back control hold.

From behind, it wasn’t crushing, but enough to weigh him down. Held long enough, five minutes would be enough to exhaust him into unconsciousness.

Squeezing his neck and face, I whispered low in his ear:

“Who are you?”

“….”

Flustered, he struggled to break free.

Not happening.

I remembered what I had once read:

【When Theodore turned into a demon, there were magicians who fought alongside Alfred to stop him. They liked to lounge in trees by rivers, punishing any who disturbed them. A cinnamon scent unique to demons clung to them. They loved fighting; at every first meeting they challenged their opponent. If defeated, they submitted and pledged loyalty, establishing hierarchy by combat.】

So this fool, reeking of cinnamon, had been irritated by my interruption and picked a fight—but he lost. By their custom, he owed me submission. But judging me weak, he probably meant to just walk away.

I wasn’t about to waste this golden chance.

The demon realm—

According to that book, it held many things I needed.

So, in keeping with their creed of “Evil for evil, evil even against good,” I tightened my back control—the move deadly enough to be called the “technique of death” in martial arts.

“I want to run away.”

Though the sparring had lifted my spirits, the closer I drew to Schlesen Castle, the heavier my steps grew.

If it was revealed I was a witch, what would Gerald do?

Would he try to kill me?

Sooner or later, the Marquis’ family and even the Emperor would surely pressure him to eliminate Theodore.

A dead end. Could I really keep walking such a perilous tightrope?

When I had first entered Schlesen Castle, I had brimmed with hope. But now, all those hopes hung deflated like a burst balloon.

“Did I really undo Gerald’s barrier?”

I looked down at Sinclair’s hand. Still, I felt nothing.

Even in the fragments of memory that surfaced, there was no sign I had used magic.

Don’t waver, Kang Juhui. Do your best first. Then leave the rest to heaven.

As always—do what I can, where I stand, without regret.

If I could break Theodore’s curse, I could save Alfred—and myself.

My goal and Gerald’s were aligned. Surely one day he would understand my true intent.

Sincere hearts always reach through.

Resolute once more, I pushed my weary legs onward toward Schlesen Castle.

But there, knights in pure white uniforms, both women and men, stood armed with swords and bows, searching grimly for someone.

“Could they be after me?”

The gentle spring sunlight splintered white on their blades, making them gleam threateningly.

Fear gripped me. Instinctively, I slipped into a side path.

I couldn’t let myself be caught off guard again, like with Gerald in the library.

I needed to gauge the situation first, to ready myself.

As I took the side path, I could believe more clearly that Schlesen Castle was built over the demon realm.

The forest was thick, its canopy blotting out the sun, vines tangling like a witch’s woods in a fairytale.

I worried about losing my way, so I tied the vines every two meters—little markers to guide me back.

The shaded forest air was colder than outside, a chill wrapping my body. I crossed my arms, rubbing them for warmth.

“Damn you! Die! I said die!”

It was Theodore’s voice.

So rough, so furious—something I had never heard from him before.

At first I thought I must have misheard.

But the closer I came to the sound, the more certain I grew. Through the vines, I glimpsed black hair and the white clothes often worn by noble sons—the unmistakable marks of him.

I quickened my steps.

“Who is he shouting to die?”

Had those gentle, innocent eyes and soft five-year-old’s voice all been a lie?

Through the vines and across a thicket, I finally saw his back.

And then—green feathers scattered on the ground, drifting toward my feet in the breeze.

Following the trail of feathers, my eyes widened in horror.

Theodore’s small hands, drenched in blood, were gripping the neck of a bird larger than himself, shaking it violently.

Like a wildcat tearing into its prey.

I froze in fear, my steps faltering.