The morning mist had yet to disperse, hanging heavily over the shattered wasteland with the distinct post-war scent of scorched earth and dust.
Ryan Marces sat tall atop the back of a Golden-Erosion Hou.
His wine-red hair drifted in the wind, the tips shimmering with the dark gold luster unique to his bloodline.
He possessed the face of a youth—his skin was so pale it was nearly transparent, and his features were as delicate as carved ancient porcelain—but those crimson pupils betrayed the secrets of his age.
They were eyes inherited from the progeny of ancient vampires, capable of perceiving emotional fluctuations and traces of magic.
At that moment, he was surveying the battlefield through a translucent crystal monocle, the chain hanging against his collarbone and swaying gently with his breath.
Ryan was a half-blood of human and vampire descent, the Lord of the Seventh Ring’s “Amber Corridor.”
Due to his heritage, the Demon Realm’s Central Council viewed him as a laughingstock; even the patrols from the neighboring territory of Asmodeus dared to act out on the edges of his jurisdiction.
Yet he never argued, choosing instead to transform the abandoned refineries in his territory into a manor teahouse.
There, he brewed tea by day and feigned sleep by night, as if the chaos of the world had nothing to do with him.
Until today.
The Golden-Erosion Hou beneath him let out a low growl.
Its panther-like body rippled with liquid gold flames, and when its four claws struck the ground, the scorched earth actually began to melt slightly—this was a living construct beast forged from furnace gold, controllable only by those of a specific bloodline.
Behind him, twenty Horned Demon heavy cavalry pulled their reins in unison.
Their scale armor was covered in scratches, yet none dared to come within three paces of the Hou.
Ryan narrowed his eyes, his crimson pupils constricting slightly.
What lay before him was not just a battlefield, but a meat grinder that had only just ground to a halt.
The scorched earth stretched for 100 paces, the ground cracked like a spiderweb, and three deep pits still billowed with gray smoke.
Orc limbs were strewn about, thick arms torn away by some immense force with bone shards exposed.
Horned Demon heavy armor had been reduced to iron scraps, heads rolled in the mud, and curved horns were snapped.
Most horrific of all was the corpse in the center—Scarface Gruk.
This Orc King, a being with a three-spine fusion, had died a wretched death.
A vulture about to peck at his spine suddenly froze, flapping its wings in terror as it flew away.
Right beside the body, stepped upon by a heavy boot, was a crystal cross that was cracked but not shattered.
The micro-light source crystal embedded within it was still flickering faintly.
“A skirmish of this scale, here on the border of the Seventh Ring?” a Horned Demon captain growled.
“Has a Human Realm legion crossed the border?”
Ryan had already sensed two traces of mana that should not have been there.
He let out a soft laugh, his voice sounding lazy.
“No wonder there was such a commotion.”
Several days ago, news had already spread through the rings of the Demon Realm: Arya Therne, a sister from the Human Realm’s border stronghold of Moon-glow Fortress, had defected under suspicion of colluding with magical girls.
The Church was furious and had placed a bounty on her for a live capture.
The Royal Court, the Church, and the Council had issued a joint wanted poster, initiating a total blockade.
“My Lord!” another Horned Demon pointed into the distance.
“There are tracks! Three of them retreated toward the swamp, wounded!”
Ryan stepped forward slowly and picked up the cross.
The moment his fingertip touched the crack, his right eye flared with a brilliant crimson light as his emotion perception activated.
Arya’s lingering convictions flooded into Ryan’s mind like a tide:
The despair when the Holy Light was extinguished…
The determination while casting a protection prayer for her companions…
The questioning of “God’s love for all,” yet still choosing to protect them…
His gaze shifted slightly as his finger rubbed the crack.
“She is no ordinary Sister,” he whispered.
“She saw through the Church’s lies, yet she didn’t give up on faith itself. Rare.”
Behind him, the twenty Horned Demon heavy cavalry stood as still as iron towers.
All of them hailed from the Seventh Ring’s border army; their scale armor was dull but covered in the scars of actual combat, with battle-axes strapped to their backs.
“Should we report this to the Center?” the captain’s voice was tense.
“A Sister entering our borders could involve espionage. This is a major matter!”
Ryan looked in the direction the three had fled.
There were the lingering remnants of a High Elf’s life force, but the clearest thing was the faint glimmer of faith left behind by the Sister.
He had zero interest in High Elves.
Silver hair, pointed ears, a silver halo under the moonlight—to him, they were nothing more than living specimens that the Royal Court and the Council fought over.
They were beautiful, yes, but like items in a display case.
As a half-blood, he had long since seen through the vanity of lineage in the Demon Realm.
He did not seek status; he only sought someone with whom he could share a sincere heart.
But this Sister was different.
She did not kneel when humiliated, she did not go mad in despair, and even after being betrayed by her faith, she still bestowed blessings upon others.
That was the closest thing to a “true heart” he had seen in all these years.
“There is no need to report,” he said, tucking the cross into the inner pocket of his pocket watch case with gentle movements.
“I will handle this personally.”
“But the swamp is Asmodeus’s territory!” the captain said urgently.
“Then we must be faster.”
Ryan flipped himself onto the Hou’s back, his wine-red hair whipping in the wind.
“Before Asmodeus’s hounds can catch her scent.”
The Golden-Erosion Hou roared toward the sky, the gold flames on its back surging.
The group galloped away.
No one noticed the reflection deep within Ryan’s crimson eyes—it was not that of a silver-haired elf, but of a slender yet upright silhouette with blonde hair flowing like the morning light.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as a realization dawned on him.
‘So, if I want to see her, I have to go fetch her myself.’