“Well, I have to admit, for a moment there I thought it was all over… But look at that! There really was an undiscovered delicacy waiting for us!”
While the others were still tense from the mysterious monster’s sudden attack, Lulune, utterly unbothered by the danger, had followed her appetite and kicked the creature halfway across the field. After endless days of trudging through wasteland without so much as a bird in sight, the first living thing she’d seen in a while had sent her excitement through the roof.
Origa pressed a hand to her forehead, exhaling softly. “Glutton, I have to ask… Does that really look like food to you?”
“What else could it be?” Lulune shot back, arms folded, looking proud of herself.
“Wrong question,” Origa said flatly. “Are you planning to eat it?”
“Of course I am!”
“Are you sane?”
“Perfectly sane.”
“No… definitely insane.”
“I said I’m sane!”
Lulune’s indignation was almost childlike, but Origa ignored it and continued, her tone as calm and cold as ever.
“Glutton. This monster… it’s unknown. You understand that much, yes?”
“Hm? Well, sure, I’ve never seen one like it before.”
“Then you realize how dangerous it is to charge headlong into a creature you don’t understand?”
Lulune waved her hand dismissively, as if brushing away the warning. “You say that, but I saw plenty of things like this back where I used to live.”
“What?” Origa blinked, genuinely startled.
Her shock was mirrored by Routier and even Zora, who had spent years surviving inside a dungeon. None of them had ever heard anything like that.
Unfazed by their confusion, Lulune went on as if discussing the weather. “Hmph. Before my master bought me, I lived in a so-called monster shop. Beasts like this were brought in all the time. The shopkeeper nearly died every single time, but it wasn’t that rare.”
The three of them stared at her, speechless.
Monster shop? What kind of place sells things like this?
They didn’t even know why Lulune would have lived there in the first place. After all, they still had no idea she was, technically, a donkey.
Ignoring their collective disbelief, Lulune turned back to the fallen monster, eyes sparkling once again.
“Well then… Back when I was still at that monster shop, the shopkeeper always got in my way before I could take a bite. But this one… What kind of flavor does it have, I wonder?”
Drool ran freely from Lulune’s lips, her golden eyes gleaming with unrestrained hunger. Origa, Routier, and Zora could only stare, frozen somewhere between horror and disbelief.
And then, another voice joined the scene.
“Well, well… what kind of sloppy face is that supposed to be?”
“—?!”
The four of them reacted instantly, leaping back in unison. None of them had sensed anything: no killing intent, no presence, not even the faintest disturbance in the air. Yet suddenly, a man stood where no one had been a heartbeat before.
His skin was bronzed, his black hair fell in uneven strands around his sharp features, and his golden eyes glimmered like those of a predatory cat. With a wry smirk tugging at his mouth, the man—Vitor, the Resonant—regarded them lazily.
Origa’s pulse spiked. She could barely steady her breathing as she asked, voice low and measured, “Who are you?”
“Who, me?” He tilted his head, almost amused, then let his expression twist into something cruel. “I’m Vitor, ‘the Resonant.’”
“Resonant?” Origa echoed the name, but before she could finish, his figure flickered and vanished.
What?!
“Where did he—?”
“Right here.”
“Ugh!”
“O-Origa!” Routier cried, but by the time she turned, it was already over.
Vitor’s voice sounded right behind her, smooth and mocking. Origa spun instinctively, crossing her forearms to guard, just as an impact like a battering ram exploded against them.
The world blurred.
A shockwave rippled through the barren ground as Origa’s small frame was hurled backward, sliding across the cracked soil. When she forced her eyes open, she caught sight of Vitor standing exactly where she had been, one leg still raised and the afterimage of his kick lingering in the dust.
He had moved behind her, struck, and returned to his stance, all in the span of a blink.
Too fast!
Origa hit the ground hard but, with a grunt, managed to stabilize herself in midair and land on both feet. Her arm throbbed, yet she kept her balance; the dust still tingled on her tongue when Zora and Routier reached her, concern evident in their expressions.
“Ar-Are you all right?!” Zora panted, reaching for Origa.
“Mm. I’ll manage,” Origa said, forcing a smile though her arm burned where it had taken the strike.
“Let me see your arm. Demon King’s Light,” Routier said, and before Origa could answer, she felt the warmth of Routier’s palm. A soft, black light—strangely gentle—spilled from Routier’s hand and pooled over the swollen knot on Origa’s forearm. The pain faded as the light worked; the bruise smoothed, redness retreating until the skin looked almost as it had a moment before.
It doesn’t hurt anymore…
Origa breathed, surprised. “Routier… thank you,” she added quietly.
“Don’t mention it,” Routier replied, pulling her hand back as if the spell’s comfort were still a fragile thing. Her gaze flicked to Vitor, sharpened with suspicion. “But why did you strike without warning, then hold back while I healed? What’s your purpose here?”
“W-What is he?” Zora demanded, scowling at the bronzed man who had appeared like a shadow and struck like a gust of wind.
Vitor yawned, large and lazy as if they were merely an annoyance tugging at his sleep. “Purpose? I came for fun.”
“For fun?” Routier repeated, incredulous. Her hand tightened on her sword hilt.
Vitor’s grin soured into something like disappointment. “Ah, too bad. You lot are hopeless.” He shook his head, genuine boredom creasing his face. “Why didn’t you attack while I was off-guard? Why wait while she healed? Wanting even a little amusement—that’s the entire reason I hadn’t finished you off.”
His tone left no doubt that he’d expected a show. He looked them over with casual contempt: at Routier, the Demon King’s daughter; at the strange woman with a serpent’s air; at the black-furred catkin who watched from the shadows; at the others clustered with wary expressions. Vitor’s voice softened with a sneer. “You came all the way out here, and you think you can keep your motives secret? You’ve made your purpose clear just by being here. That’s enough. You’ll die for it. That’ll be the end.”
He spoke as though the outcome were already decided, as though their lives were a minor amusement whose result had been foretold from the moment he blinked awake.
“Enough out of you!”
Routier’s fury broke like a flame, and with a sweep of her arm, she called forth her power. “Demon King’s Hands!”
The ground split under the surge of magic. As before in Zora’s dungeon, vast hands of black fire erupted upward, but now there were two. Her recent growth had doubled the spell’s form and strength.
The twin hands crashed down with blistering heat, claws of flame tearing the air apart as they descended upon Vitor.
He didn’t even flinch. His golden eyes remained half-lidded, his expression bored. With a lazy flick of his arm, he easily brushed off the attack.
The black fire vanished like mist. A violent wind burst from the backlash, slamming into Routier’s group.