TBR CH77

For the first time in his life, Adelaide successfully summoned temporal magic, but he hoped things wouldn’t spiral too far out of control…

—

A

Tal glanced out the window again, the night of the capital seeping through the thin curtains. At this hour, Edwin should have pushed open the door, shedding his cold-soaked heavy cloak, his pale gray eyes softening like delicate goose down as he approached. They’d kept a habit of embracing after work.

But today, it was a bit too late. The familiar sound of footsteps still hadn’t come.

Steaming tea hissed with milky white vapor in the kettle, filling the room with a warmth that made one reluctant to move. With the Archbishop’s current strength, hardly anything could threaten him. Still, the demon reached up to touch his hair, his fingers brushing the smooth, translucent ruby hairpin, and resolved to check the church to see what work had delayed Edwin.

Edwin was always an exceptionally efficient leader.

His first self-imposed rule was never to keep his god waiting. For the Archbishop, Tal was the top priority above all work. As the Dark God’s Archbishop, his foremost duty was to serve his deity. Leveraging this authority, the garnet-eyed god had set a slew of rules for him.

For instance, no late-night work, at least six months of vacation each year, and no politeness with troublesome visitors—just send them packing…

Earlier, Tal and Edwin had made an “informal visit” to the elf clan, mainly because Tal heard that the golden leaves of the elf mother tree in late autumn turned to gold upon falling—a sight to behold. Edwin, meanwhile, thought it sounded profitable. After about two months, they returned to the capital to spend the winter.

Winter at home felt wonderful.

Tal pushed open the door, and the capital’s biting cold greeted him unreservedly. His hands, warmed moments ago by the kettle, were now dusted with thin frost. The god brushed off the delicate ice crystals and stepped into the pure white world outside. He hadn’t realized he’d grown so attached to home—now, he only wanted to fetch Edwin quickly and return to watch the snowflakes drift outside together.

Under the night sky, countless homes glowed with hazy light.

The Dark Church stood at the heart of the kingdom, its lights brighter than elsewhere. Even at this hour, visitors came and went. At the entrance, an elderly woman with a kind face greeted them. She raised her blurry, presbyopic eyes, smiling warmly at the black-haired, crimson-eyed demon, a touch surprised as she asked, “You’re here?”

Realizing she might have misspoken, she corrected herself. “I mean, Archbishop Edwin left an hour ago.”

Few knew Tal’s true identity, but this brown-eyed elder was perhaps one of the closest to the truth. She served as the church’s gatekeeper, and people assumed it was because her husband or son worked there—until they saw her slit an intruder’s throat with a knife. When speaking to Tal, she always lowered her voice, sometimes with a hint of reverence. She knew he came only for Archbishop Edwin.

Tal raised his eyes in slight surprise, pausing his steps toward the interior.

Edwin wasn’t at the church, nor had he returned home—an unusual sign. The god grew uncharacteristically serious, his soul’s senses humming softly under his command. At least he confirmed Edwin was entirely safe and not far from here. But upon closer inspection, his soul felt oddly peculiar at this moment.

Tal headed toward the direction of the sensation.

The crowd thinned as he walked, people brushing past hurriedly, eager to return to their bright, warm homes. The demon trod lightly on the thin snow, the surroundings growing so quiet he could hear the faint rustle of snowflakes grazing moonlight as they fell. He stopped, though nothing was yet in sight.

Ahead was the corner of a dark alley.

A breath came from behind the brick wall blocking his view. Its owner, sensing footsteps, stifled their breathing and retreated silently, praying not to be noticed. Their movements were light, subtler than a small animal’s, but they couldn’t escape Tal’s ears. The god could almost picture the scene beyond the wall.

“Edwin?”

Tal clearly sensed a familiar presence and called out the Archbishop’s name tentatively, but no reply came. So he rounded the corner. In that moment, his pupils contracted slightly in surprise, making the reflection of the figure before him even clearer.

A child of about seven stood there.

He had pale gray eyes.

He wore the thinnest of priestly robes, snowflakes clinging to his exposed skin, melting into icy water from his body’s warmth, nearly seeping bone-chilling cold into his marrow. He watched the newcomer warily, his pale gray eyes—identical to those of his older self—concealing fear and cold beneath a misty veil, refusing to show weakness to anyone.

But he was, after all, a young child. When Tal called his name, little Edwin raised his eyes to the stranger with striking garnet eyes, momentarily stunned.

“You know my name,” Edwin said, pressing his lips together, trying to seem like an adult worth engaging. “Perhaps you know others in the church. After falling asleep last night, I woke up here. I can’t find my way back to the monastery. It wouldn’t trouble you too much if you’d help inform them…”

Tal gently interrupted, “Do you want to go back, Edwin?”

The demon quickly pieced together the situation. Without a doubt, this was a young Edwin. His soul bore traces of temporal magic, but not the chaotic currents of time. The only one left in this world capable of manipulating time was that fool of a black dragon. Recalling how Adelaide had recently written excitedly about progress in his magic…

Well, dealing with that trouble could wait.

The child’s face betrayed unease. He stepped back slightly, raising one arm defensively—not just out of confusion or caution, but as a visceral reaction to Tal’s words. His hand nearly touched the cross at his chest, but some deeper, more secretive suspicion halted him.

In an instant, his tense guard seemed like an illusion. Edwin tried to make himself appear harmless from head to toe, forcing a faint, false smile. “Of course.”

But he hadn’t yet mastered the stoic composure of his future self, and his voice sounded dry. “I want to go back because I believe in the Light God wholeheartedly and am willing to dedicate my life to the church’s cause. Please don’t doubt my loyalty. If this is another test from the diocese bishop to examine my faith… where else could I go but the church?”

This wasn’t the first time.

It wasn’t the first time the diocese bishop had set obstacles because of his tainted blood, testing his loyalty—so much so that the seven-year-old felt a weary absurdity by the end. He regretted his final words, which sounded less than willing. But it hardly mattered—no matter how he pleaded, no one would truly believe a half-blood could be good.

He waited for the stranger who’d called his name to judge his answer, to pronounce his fate, and for him to return to the monastery’s unchanging life.

But Tal took a soft breath and reached out toward little Edwin. “What I mean is…”

The stranger leaned forward slightly, his raven-black hair falling like the silk from the East described in books. The man with crimson eyes looked at Edwin earnestly.

“Would you like to come home with me, Edwin?”

—

B.

This was a nameless tavern—some places were better off without names, as if a name might hinder their freedom. Regulars called it “that old place,” while those trading money or lives here preferred its nickname, “Twin Masts,” because the first thing you saw upon entering was a large sail emblazoned with a skull plastered on the wall.

The tavern was thick with smoke, obscuring faces just a few meters away, which suited the drinking patrons just fine—including the young demon who’d just slipped away from a pack of the church’s hounds.

Tal celebrated his victory with a glass of fresh mead.

He licked the liquor from his lips, the golden liquid crystallizing into glistening sugar grains. Drinking among drunkards or schemers was the perfect setting for thinking, and the demon tapped the wooden table lightly, letting his mind wander aimlessly—from legends of the elf mother tree to his recent visit to Dragonspine Ridge, and to the church’s relentless pursuit. He had to keep devising new ways to escape.

To the church, Tal was an unpredictable nuisance.

In this world, surviving as a demon whose name topped the church’s internal wanted list required staying unpredictable. A trick used once couldn’t be reused for a long time. He had to be cautious, cunning, and clever—most importantly, he had to steer clear of dangerous figures.

Suddenly, the ship’s bell hanging by the tavern door clanged loudly.

The first thing to do wasn’t to look up but to melt into the shadows. Tal pulled his cloak tighter, concealing his striking garnet eyes. Only then did he cautiously peer through the gap, his gaze joining the wary, suspicious stares of countless other patrons fixated on the stranger entering the tavern.

The bell only rang for troublesome arrivals. The din abruptly stopped, leaving only the occasional eerie cry from a drunkard. Some hands were already on their weapons.

The newcomer was utterly out of place in the tavern’s atmosphere.

That was precisely what made him dangerous. He wore a deep black robe adorned with minimal silver-white embroidery, its rare and costly fabric obvious to all, knowledgeable or not. His black boots made little sound as he walked. His hands seemed poised to deliver a lethal strike at any moment.

Most crucially, he had pale gray eyes.

The gray was merely a veil for concealment, and anyone could sense the immense threat lurking beneath it.

He didn’t belong in this ramshackle tavern. His strength was likely terrifying, probably more than everyone in the room combined could handle. He carried an air of superiority, both arrogant and enigmatic.

Why was someone like him here?

Tal observed him silently, shielded by the gazes of others. The demon soon exhaled in relief—the man wasn’t from the Light Church. Tal knew enough about the church’s powerholders to be certain this figure wasn’t among them. Besides, his aura was entirely unlike the Light’s. So, this uninvited guest likely posed no threat to him—

His fingers, hidden beneath the table, froze for a moment.

The visitor with pale gray eyes met his gaze. In those eyes, Tal’s translucent ruby irises flickered briefly. Tal tried to convince himself it was a coincidence, but he knew they’d locked eyes unmistakably, their gazes colliding through the smoky air, almost sparking with a sizzle.

Then, the dangerous stranger began walking toward him, unhurried.

Tal averted his eyes, but he could feel the man still watching him, unwavering.

Trouble.

The other end of the tavern suddenly sprang back to life, as if someone had hit play, the clamor resuming. People rarely cared about others’ fates. Tal blinked—a small tic to ease his nerves. Outwardly, the demon seemed oblivious to the approaching danger. Instead of tensing further, he loosened his cloak deliberately, revealing his striking eyes and soft black hair.

He appeared docile and harmless, like a small animal unaware of looming peril, casually gripping his glass and sipping sweet mead in the tense atmosphere.

The footsteps paused briefly for some reason but didn’t stop.

Tal didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the golden liquid in his glass and the hazy shadow reflected in it. The demon counted cautiously in his mind, precise and careful—he couldn’t afford a mistake; he’d already lost too much time. One second was two syllables flicked across his tongue: tick, tock, tick, tock…

By now, everyone knew this dangerous figure’s target was the demon in the corner. The other patrons exhaled in relief, casting pitying glances at the demon with the pretty eyes. No doubt, he was a low-tier demon, too dulled by absolute power to sense danger, showing no intent to resist, foolishly sipping his drink.

Tick, tock.

The footsteps were about to stop before him in the next second, yet Tal still hadn’t lifted his gaze from the liquid. The gray-eyed visitor finally stood before him, opening his mouth to say something, when amber smoke exploded in his face.

Amber smoke—and far less harmless than it smelled.

The visitor’s reflexes were superhuman, instinctively halting his final step forward. The demon before him had turned his glass, mead and all, into fine, sharp shards in the air, the golden hue masking the glass’s deadly assault. It wasn’t a high-power move but required precise mastery of force.

Even so, the deft attack didn’t leave a single drop or shard on the visitor’s clothes—he’d dodged the demon’s sudden strike in a near-negligible moment.

But when he looked up again, the demon was gone without a trace.

That was Tal’s true skill. He hadn’t evaded the church’s pursuit for decades on luck alone. His escape artistry was impeccable, almost unbelievable. The slightest lapse in an enemy’s focus, and Tal could vanish like a droplet into the sea, using his agile frame and seasoned stealth.

He was just that cunning and clever.

Edwin lowered his eyes. The amber smoke had settled into dampness on the floor, and he’d lost his target at arm’s reach. But, unlike what others might imagine, the gray-eyed visitor slowly curved his lips into a smile as light as the smoke, utterly sincere.

He murmured something to the empty seat, but no one could hear.

If anyone had, they’d have doubted their ears. The dangerous visitor said softly, hoarsely:

“I’ll find you, my dear… god.”

—

A.

Edwin sank into the room’s cozy sofa, far too small for it.

The fireplace blazed warmly, the carpet thick and soft. A large teapot sat on the table, beside a penholder with a vibrant bouquet of roses. Winter had arrived—where had the roses come from?

Every corner of the room felt warm and inviting, almost like the sweetest fairy tale. The young boy took a deep breath, his pale gray eyes unconsciously following the figure with his back to him.

Even Edwin couldn’t explain why he’d agreed to go with this mysterious stranger.

Perhaps because, between “freezing and starving to death” and “returning to the monastery,” he’d been offered a third choice for the first time, presented earnestly; perhaps because the stranger’s eyes gazed at him so gently, the sincere care in them overwhelming his emotions; perhaps because when the man lightly touched his shoulder, and he flinched instinctively, that hand felt scalding to a boy nearly frozen into an ice sculpture.

“You…” The stranger seemed to forget his earlier question, frowning instead. Edwin was sure he hadn’t even blinked, yet a thick, soft down coat appeared in his hands.

“I almost forgot, Edwin—you must be cold.”

Before the boy could react, the warm, rose-scented coat was wrapped snugly around him. As it was draped over him, the man leaned so close it was almost an embrace. Like magic, warmth surged sweetly through his veins, his whole body cozy.

“There, much better.”

Tal surveyed the gray-eyed child with a hint of satisfaction, like a wary little beast who, after being bundled in warm clothes, stood frozen, too stunned to even say thanks—stiffer than when he was half-frozen.

Was Edwin this adorable as a child?

Far too cute—Tal’s heart couldn’t help but melt at the thought, but the boy seemed to finally make up his mind. Edwin bit his lip, the sound clear between his teeth:

“…I want to go with you.”

It might be a terrible trick, a trap coated in sugar, and he knew his disappearance would go unlamented. But… he tugged at the soft, warm coat, suddenly feeling that even if he were deceived and left with nothing, he didn’t want to wake from this dream just yet.

So here he was, in this utterly unfamiliar place, with Tal—the name the man had just shared. Edwin repeated it in his mind until it soured slightly. He pondered what value he could possibly have for such elaborate effort. If he were to be sold, would it be to an auction house, a gladiator pit, or ground into bones for an apothecary?

A steaming cup of tea was pressed into his arms.

Tal stood before him, winking. “Not sure if it’s to your taste?” It was, in fact, dangerously perfect—he’d never tasted anything so delicious in his life. Edwin quietly voiced his opinion, glad his praise made the man’s eyes sparkle.

“You’re too thin,” Tal said, pulling a chair to sit before the boy, conjuring an array of pastries and meats from nowhere, all miraculously his favorites.

This felt even more like a premeditated trap.

But the young boy suddenly understood why the foolish people in church tales abandoned holy causes for the devil’s temptations. He hesitated, glancing at Tal’s eyes, finding a steady anchor in the reflection of his own pale, gaunt face in those beautiful irises.

He was hungry, after a few hours of wandering.

Edwin lowered his head, staring at his shoe tips, and softly said, “Thank you.”

He wanted to ask, Why are you so kind to me? but he stifled the untimely urge. Deep down, he feared a misstep would make all this warmth and beauty vanish. His thoughts were pessimistic—he didn’t believe he could gain anything without a price. Whatever the cost, please let the deception last a little longer…

The delicious food and warm hearth made the room too toasty for the heavy coat, so the boy hesitated, then unbuttoned it, watching Tal cautiously. The man didn’t seem angered by his actions.

So he took off the coat.

A.

Tal studied the boy, who hadn’t yet filled his stomach. Edwin, even as a child, was adept at managing his emotions, but to the seasoned Tal, his cautiousness and disbelief were transparent. The boy thought he hid his furtive glances well, but Tal saw through them clearly.

Tal wasn’t yet sure what mess Adelaide had caused, but a dragon just learning temporal magic wouldn’t sustain its spell for long.

For the first time, the demon felt his heart soften and ache at the sight of someone. This boy hadn’t yet become the Edwin who’d carved a bloody path through thorns to stand by his side—he was still tender, sensitive. When treated kindly, his first instinct was to pessimistically assess his own worth.

Tal didn’t want to explain the past or future in this fleeting time or burden the boy with their bloodstained journey, the church’s upheaval, or their love—it was too soon, too frivolous.

Right now, he just wanted to be as kind to him as possible.

As a guest, Edwin set down his knife and fork when he felt nearly full, not wanting to seem greedy or leave a poor impression. But Tal tilted his head, his silken hair falling warmly in the lamplight, and began personally serving him more food. So Edwin ate a bit more.

Good children shouldn’t trouble others. Edwin already felt ashamed during the meal, so after insisting he’d had enough, he reached for the teapot himself, sparing Tal the task of pouring.

The teapot was heavy and hotter than he’d expected. Edwin bit his lip, steadying it carefully, but it landed on the table with a dull thud, spilling a bit of tea.

What a mess. Couldn’t he even do this right?

Edwin instinctively berated himself, and that self-reproach swelled into overwhelming anxiety and fear. He hurriedly reached to wipe the faint tea stain on the tablecloth, but his hand was suddenly caught. Tal looked at him sternly, his earlier ease and smile gone in an instant, his garnet eyes darkening.

“I’m sorry,” Edwin blurted, his voice trembling with panic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’ll clean it up. If you need compensation, I’ll do anything.”

It was over. The fragile beauty before him had finally torn apart at an insignificant seam.

Though he’d expected this, Edwin found he couldn’t accept it. He’d made a mistake, and in the stranger’s indulgence, he’d cautiously dared to hope this wasn’t all a lie. He realized he, too, was impractical—captivated by warmth and firelight, he’d begun to dream of forever.

Tal’s expression remained unyielding. Yet moments ago, he’d looked at him so gently, so sincerely. The boy blinked his pale gray eyes, still feeling the soft touch of Tal’s fingertips when he’d passed him pastries. A sudden grievance welled up, threatening tears. Even when punished by priests, cut by blades, or called “bastard” with contempt in the church, he’d never felt this close to crying.

He’d thought…

But what followed defied his expectations.

Tal held his hand, his expression grim but his touch gentle and careful. He rolled up the boy’s sleeve just a little, revealing a long, ghastly scar that had been briefly exposed when Edwin reached for the teapot.

The scar snaked up his arm, positioned in a deadly spot. Untreated properly, it lay exposed, as if it could tear open at any moment, spilling blood from a major artery.

“You’re hurt,” Tal stated plainly.

“I…” Edwin hadn’t expected this to be the reason for Tal’s shift in demeanor. Instinctively, he found the scar too ugly, clashing with the room’s beauty. He tried to pull his sleeve down, but Tal’s grip on his wrist prevented it. Worse, Tal clearly wanted to check for other wounds.

“It doesn’t matter,” Edwin said quickly. “I’m used to it. It doesn’t hurt.”

Being used to it was true, but painless was a lie. Edwin instinctively wanted to hide. It wasn’t just his right arm—the priests had used him as a bloodletting experiment, caring little for his survival. Only his exposed skin was intact, for the church’s sake of appearances. Beneath his robes, new wounds layered over old, aching slowly and torturously every moment.

“It hurts,” Tal said, shattering his facade with a few simple words. Realizing his reaction to the scar had been too harsh, Tal softened his expression and released Edwin’s hand but didn’t look away. “It must hurt a lot. I’m so foolish, Edwin—I should’ve noticed sooner. This isn’t your fault, not at all. I’m sorry.”

Tal’s voice was like magic. Edwin exhaled, like a drowning man grasping the shore at the last second, his nose tingling at the man’s gentle, coaxing tone.

As Tal eased his grip, Edwin suddenly abandoned all resistance, not pulling his hand back.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a sob. “I thought…”

“Can I help you?”

Edwin nodded, unsure what it meant.

A gentle touch spread across his arm as Tal traced the jagged scar. The wound began to itch faintly, then the flesh knitted together, broken veins mending perfectly. When Tal withdrew his hand, Edwin’s entire arm was smooth and unmarred, free of pain despite its thinness from malnutrition.

Even the most skilled diocese bishop in the monastery could only muster a fraction of this miracle.

Stunned, Edwin held his breath. The healing didn’t stop at his arm—a steady, powerful force flowed through his body, mending what was broken, restoring what was torn, purging what was dead.

For the first time he could remember, he felt light. Edwin marveled at his whole body, free from the torment of nightly agony and lingering pain. So this was how he could live, unburdened by suffering. Such power existed, capable of restoring a scarred body in an instant, and it stirred a longing in him.

He so desperately wanted to seize control of that cruel word—fate. He had to strive relentlessly, always ahead, and what he needed was power.

Who was Tal, really?

Tal withdrew his fingers, satisfied with the fully healed boy. Young Edwin looked a bit lost until his pale gray eyes instinctively found Tal in the room.

“C-could I…” The boy struggled to voice his request, feeling it was a hope he shouldn’t dare hold, but he couldn’t resist trying. “Could I stay with you? I’d give everything in exchange and never act against your wishes. Since you’ve invested so much in me, selling me wouldn’t yield the return you deserve.”

“Oh,” the man with crimson eyes finally smiled again. “Have you guessed my identity?”

__

B.

Tal’s escape lasted a full half-hour. He was accustomed to doubling back to the scene of a chase after a short while—after all, the most dangerous place was often the safest. But this time, things didn’t go as planned.

As he sat stirring ice cubes in his orange juice with a brass spoon—ever the fugitive, Tal was cautious with alcohol and wouldn’t drink when danger loomed—orange juice was fine enough. The ice gleamed in the bright liquid, like tiny suns.

A chill ran through him. In the hazy reflection of the ice, he suddenly saw a pair of gray eyes.

“Found you.”

The man sighed with satisfaction, speaking softly.

Tal froze, the spoon clattering against the glass. He immediately scanned for escape routes, but it was no use—too close. The man sat right beside him. He must never have left the tavern, cleverly hiding himself with disguise magic, which was why Tal hadn’t noticed upon re-entering.

Edwin turned his head, watching the demon feign calm.

Despite being in a dire situation, this seasoned traveler only faltered for a moment before expertly masking his vulnerability. Edwin knew he hadn’t given up—those crimson eyes, edged with a bright golden glow from the tavern’s warm light, darted subtly, searching for any lapse to exploit for escape.

At the same time, Tal was surely plotting how to negotiate.

“Hey,” the young demon shrank back into his chair. “Have I offended you? If I’d met you before, I’d remember. Would you mind sharing your name?”

The dangerous stranger obliged. “Edwin.”

“Alright, Edwin,” Tal said smoothly, as if addressing an old friend. “Honestly, I’m at a loss. Why don’t you just tell me—is the church suddenly employing someone I don’t know, or are you from the Abyss, another place after my head?”

Edwin shook his head.

His pale gray eyes met Tal’s, and the demon suddenly sensed a softness in them—perhaps a trick of the light, or perhaps a misjudgment. But if he trusted the instinct that had saved him countless times, this seemingly unfathomable stranger inexplicably eased his guard.

“Neither,” Edwin said. “Please believe me, I mean you no harm.”

Tal nearly laughed. If he believed everyone who said that, he’d have been burned at the church’s stake long ago. Still, it meant Edwin wasn’t planning to attack outright, which was good—the man exuded a dangerous aura unlike any opponent Tal had ever faced.

He feigned lowering his guard. “I believe you.”

The words worked wonders. The man’s gray eyes looked at him with a mix of exasperation and warmth. Edwin thought, How could there be a demon so adept at deception? Tal played innocent, his raven hair spilling messily over the chairback, unbound; his eyes, prettier than any gem, held a mix of half-truths and subtle cunning. He said he believed him—anyone could tell it was a lie—but Edwin couldn’t resist him, already wanting to give him everything.

“Actually,” the Archbishop hesitated, deciding to be honest, “I sought you out because in the future—”

Tal suddenly pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him warily.

Edwin fell silent. The tavern’s clamor hadn’t paused for a second—people ignored the quiet exchange in this corner as long as it didn’t affect them. The clink of glasses, the sizzle of food on iron griddles, the lively chatter and laughter of feasting… But Edwin also heard what had made Tal pause to listen.

Hoofbeats.

Not just one—heavy and numerous, they belonged to strong, robust horses. Wanderers didn’t ride such horses; they used lean ones that traveled far on little fodder, moving silently. Edwin could tell the hoofbeats approached aggressively, with ill intent, and from a sizable group.

Tal knew more—these were the holy knights he’d evaded earlier that day. Now reinforced, fully armed, and advancing toward the tavern in strict order, they were determined to crush a mere low-tier demon.

Why was he so unlucky today?

The man calling himself Edwin’s lips moved silently, as if to say something. But Tal had no time to care. With a swift, graceful flip over the table—without even spilling the orange juice—he moved toward the back door, only for his clothes to be firmly grabbed.

At the same moment, the tavern’s ship bell trembled frantically. The weathered wooden door was flung open, and the air from outside—laden with killing intent and snow—surged in. Knights in gleaming silver armor, wielding blessed, radiant holy swords, filed in with disciplined precision, locking onto their target with ease.

“Edwin,” Tal said through gritted teeth, urgency in his voice, “if you don’t want to die here with me, stop holding me back from escaping.”

Indeed, Edwin’s power was unfathomable, his presence undeniably dangerous. But everyone knew the mightiest force on this continent was the Light Church, unrivaled. If Edwin were sent by the demon lord of the Abyss, there might be a chance to resist, but he’d already said he wasn’t.

Tal flicked his right hand downward, a silver dagger glinting in his palm. Without hesitation, he sliced his sleeve free and darted toward a gap in the crowd, moving like a silver fish about to leap from water.

The demon didn’t look back, so he didn’t see Edwin clutch the torn sleeve fragment, his gaze enigmatic as he watched Tal’s fleeing figure.

This was a near-impossible escape. Screams of fear erupted throughout the tavern. A holy knight’s sword nearly cleaved a drunkard’s head, and amidst flashing blades, Tal moved with astonishing speed, kicking over chairs and hurling smoke bombs to create chaos, slipping toward a hidden door. Taverns like this, built for illicit dealings, always had secret passages for desperate fugitives, known only to seasoned veterans.

He placed his hand on the doorknob, about to exhale in relief, when something felt wrong.

The knob sank slowly—not by his strength.

Tal stared at the hidden door, stepping back deliberately. His timing was perfect—had he stayed put, a blade would’ve pierced his chest. The door was forced open from outside with immense strength, revealing a roaring skeletal warhorse. Tal recognized the rider—a slaughterer under the demon lord’s command, gazing down arrogantly and cruelly at the weak low-tier demon, like an ant unaware of its place.

Under absolute power, Tal resisted the urge to glance at the holy knights closing in behind him, though he didn’t need eyes to know countless glinting sword tips were aimed at his slender back. This wasn’t a situation his tricks could handle. The demon before him extended a hand wreathed in black flames, clearly intent on claiming his life before the knights could.

This was bad.

Despair crept into Tal’s mind, yet he raised his dagger. Though its strength was laughably insignificant to his foes, he’d never surrender, even in a hopeless situation. The dagger’s silver gleam reflected his ruby-like eyes.

A gray light, moving as if in slow motion.

Tal blinked sluggishly, only then realizing that a gray thread-like force had pierced every enemy before him. The skeletal warhorse shattered into a pile of white bones, and the holy knights behind didn’t fall one by one but collapsed in a row, like reeds toppled by the wind. Their eyes brimmed with disbelief, unaware even in death of what power had struck them.

The armored warriors lay in disarray, and Tal was too stunned to speak.

“No way…” he muttered. A figure emerged from behind the crowd, holding a staff. Tal had never seen such a weapon—he’d thought only priests used staffs, but this man clearly wasn’t one.

Edwin rested the staff lightly on the ground. The gray-eyed man exuded a quiet presence, like embers still burning beneath ash, commanding attention. Noticing Tal’s gaze, he offered a smile—sharp and divine, as if he wielded slaughter itself.

Tal was still reeling from the blood-soaked smile when a searing blast of heat grazed his cheek, rolling to the ground as black demonic fire.

A demon general, a lord-level fiend, wasn’t so easily felled. Flames burned in his eyes and palms as he extricated himself from the bone pile of his shattered mount, glaring at Edwin with fury tinged with wariness. His hands unleashed venom-laced flames, but Edwin merely flicked a finger, and the fire inexplicably veered off, fizzling out on the ground.

“You’d better not meddle,” the demon general rasped, tasked by the demon lord to kill this low-tier demon before the church could. “My investigation shows my target didn’t know someone like you before. For him, you’ve already crossed the church. Do you also want to cross the Abyss’s black demon lord?”

Tal’s eyes flickered, locked on this man he’d known for barely a night, unsure of his own thoughts. He was the only one alive hunted by both sides of this black-and-white world. Edwin might covet something he possessed, but Tal doubted his worth outweighed the risk of defying the demon lord.

In his endless wanderings, Tal had met many people. His good looks and charm made him likable. But no one would sacrifice everything for a rootless friend. Faced with absolute power, he’d been abandoned, left with their useless guilt. It was routine.

Tal thought such relationships were normal, so he learned to keep his distance.

Earlier, friends of his had faced church interrogations. Once, he’d chatted over drinks with a traveler in a tavern, only for the man to be used as bait by holy knights the next day to trap him. Tal hadn’t fallen for it—he’d smelled blood at the door. The man was already dead, leaving only a cold, ruthless scheme.

No one would risk saving him.

Being abandoned felt awful. Tal lowered his eyes, knowing now—while the two faced off—was his best chance to flee. Yet his feet felt rooted to the ground. Do you need to hear despairing words firsthand? he asked himself. How lonely must you be to pin all your hopes on someone you barely know?

Perhaps…

Tal thought, if he fled now, the blame for letting him escape would fall squarely on Edwin. The demon lord would be enraged, and this gray-eyed man would end up in the same hunted predicament as him. Edwin had helped him—that was why Tal couldn’t leave with a clear conscience.

Edwin spared no glance for the demon general. His eyes remained fixed on Tal, even as the demon deliberately avoided his gaze after the general’s words, standing rigid as if awaiting judgment.

The Archbishop couldn’t help but walk toward him.

His footsteps sounded softly, unmistakably declaring his choice. Edwin’s stride was firm and steady, as if nothing could stop him from reaching Tal. The demon looked up in shock, hearing Edwin say with a hint of wry amusement:

“I know you can’t trust me now, but this is enough. Tal, for whatever reason, I won’t stop walking toward you. I’m not afraid. If you’re willing to listen—”

Negotiations collapsed. The demon general’s flames quivered and died beneath Edwin’s steps. He fell with a bovine stare of disbelief, joining his shattered mount, bones piercing his flesh.

“I don’t care about some demon lord.”

Tal inhaled sharply at the audacious words, but he suddenly felt lighter than ever. He stood rooted, and the man simply walked to him. Tal had thought Edwin’s pace was always unhurried, but the gray-eyed man curved his lips and quickened his final steps.

He extended a hand to Tal, his gray eyes reflecting only him, saying softly with intent:

“The only one I care about is my god, and I swear absolute loyalty, unchanging even until the end of my life.”

Tal was still dazed but instinctively reached out.

Edwin’s hand was cool, but warmth soon spread from their touch. Hesitant and cautious, the demon asked:

“…Who are you, really?”