Yet, despite wearing it on her wrist, she still lived.
And finally—
The one who terrified me most.
The first one I had sensed before even climbing this hill.
The one who looked at me not with the eyes of a man—
But the eyes of a predator sizing up his prey.
His presence was suffocating.
The Master of these Principalities.
Which meant—
He was... a Supreme Lord, of sorts.
Casually dressed, as if this were nothing but a mundane outing.
A white shirt, loosely worn.
A waistcoat, lazily buttoned.
Black pants.
No shoes.
But, trust me, relying on such appearances would be the height of foolishness.
His crimson eyes—
They held the essence of death and darkness itself.
GULP.
I swallowed involuntarily.
His presence and Aura appeared to warp reality itself.
The very fabric of existence trembled around him, distorting into several dark eyes that flickered in and out of sight, watching. Waiting.
Danger.
Only one being had ever made me feel this level of primordial dread in my thousands of years as a devil.
Lord Sarvest.
Yet now—this man invoked that same fear.
I doubted they would immediately attack, but caution was paramount.
"Good day, Strong Ones," I greeted, my tone respectful but steady. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
I inclined my head slightly while still seated atop Chronikus.
Perhaps that irritated him, perhaps it was something else entirely.
Because without hesitation—
The Supreme Lord languidly flicked his hand, and a black streak of fluid shot toward my head at a speed beyond comprehension.
I had no time to react properly, the black water was just inches from my face.
Barely—just barely—I erected a magical barrier around my face.
But the impact—
It blasted me off Chronikus, sending me hurtling backward over a great distance.
I slammed into the ground, my barrier in tatters.
That casual flick of liquid—carrying thousands of curses and status effects…
It could have pierced through massive chunks of steel.
And yet, he had thrown it at me like it was a mere afterthought.
I saw it now.
The way his crimson eyes gleamed with interest.
I was not being seen as a powerful Devil.
I was being seen as a plaything.
A toy for his amusement.
If I didn't use my wits, I would be destroyed. And not because they needed to—only because it entertained him.
Recognizing my peril, I released my own magic, letting its dark energy swirl around me.
My palms opened, fingers flexed. Prepared to counter.
But the moment I find an opening... I WILL flee.
For if I died here, I would lose my physical body.
Regaining one would take centuries.
Worse, my rank would plummet.
And the trauma of being dead for any length of time...
Unacceptable.
Chronikus? Doomed.
It's either me or him… and despite our centuries of companionship, I chose myself.
I made my decision to flee—
Until I realized Chronikus was surrounded.
The Specters—those large wolves—were nearly his size.
But size meant nothing here.
Each of them was at lower-tier Principality level.
One hundred and ninety-three of them? Chronikus wouldn't last.
It was only a matter of time.
And he never had a good temper, too.
The moment they encircled him—
He swelled.
His body doubled in size, reaching 60 feet long and nearly 10 feet thick.
But would it be enough?
His eyes turned scarlet, his tail sprouted thorns, and his fangs grew so long they pierced his own mouth.
Even his six eyes expanded to eight, with two appearing on his head.
Would this form give him a better chance?
I was about to hope—
Then the Supreme Lord spoke.
"Oh? He grew."
His voice was smooth, almost velvety.
Too soft, too calm.
A voice too sweet for the words that followed.
"That's better. I have 204 mouths to feed, after all."
...Eh?
Mouths to feed?
Were we being hunted… as food?!
I stiffened, my mind racing.
Now that I think of it, my head was that of a bird, and human meat was apparently edible, I'd heard.
A Devil Marquis like myself... reduced to prey?
Harsh reality.
I was the hunter, always the hunter.
I had no intention of being eaten.
When I stole this form, I had sympathized with the original monster owl and even cared for its young out of fleeting pity.
But I hadn't taken this body to be food.
And more than that—
I had Lord Sarvest's orders.
I could not afford to fail.
I had no choice.
From the very beginning, I would have to go all out.
But…
How would I taste, I wonder?
The Supreme Lord didn't move. But his magic converged.
Something wicked was coming.
I could sense it.
Something meant to erase me.
I braced myself, waiting for whatever he had to bring.
I had no intention of facing him directly.
I wasn't foolish.
I was a Devil.
Like most devils, my strength was magic, not raw power.
If he got close enough, he could crush my skull like a fragile egg.
Meanwhile, my mount fought desperately for his life.
His tail lashed, his jaws snapped, tearing into the wolves that surrounded him.
But with 193 Principalities swarming him…
He would surely perish.
Hopeless. That was the only word for this slaughter.
Chronikus had already crushed over sixty of the wolves, yet somehow, their numbers never seemed to shrink.
And he was bleeding.
Their relentless fangs and claws had started tearing into his concrete tough body.
But I had my own cross to carry.
Chronikus was on his own.
Before I could even process more, the air crackled.
A streak of black lightning formed in the sky, then it came screaming for me.
Black Lightning?!
I flinched.
That was no ordinary magic.
A Divine combination of darkness and light?
Only the most adept beings could seamlessly meld such opposite forces.
And yet, this Supreme Lord wielded it like it was an extension of himself. Like it was another attribute of his.
I barely managed to raise a man-sized barrier, a curved arc of glowing runes and ancient symbols.
But—