The Rendezvous

Vivian and her two companions quickly found a quiet inn at the edge of town where the crowds were sparse.

…

Once inside the room, Sylvester retreated straight into a shadowed corner, his face pale as death.

“…Too many people. I want to kill them all.”

He muttered, scratching his head.

“Glrk—grrk.”

Molly, on the other hand, lay sprawled on the bed, looking utterly drained.

“We should start adapting to this environment while we can,” Vivian said as she glanced at her two weary comrades. “Sylvester and I are heavily restrained here. When the time comes to strike at Saint Charles, it’ll be up to you.”

“Grk-grrk.”

Molly responded weakly while Sylvester simply fell silent, sinking deeper into the corner shadows.

Vivian sighed quietly, then sat down on the opposite bed, closing her eyes to steady her breath and mana.

She had fully memorized Morgus’s plan.

The three Demon Lords were to assassinate Saint Charles under the guidance of an inside contact—but the rest of the plan could only proceed once that contact was found.

“The scheduled rendezvous is tomorrow morning.”

“Since we still have the night, we’ll rest.”

Vivian exhaled, thinking quietly.

There was no denying it—this environment was lethal for demons.

Even with the endurance of three Demon Lords, they could at best remain here for a week before succumbing to debilitating conditions.

And this was just the outer district.

Once they entered the Radiant Court proper, where the density of Holy Light thrummed like a storm, they’d have only half a day of mobility at most.

Still, Vivian couldn’t help wondering what kind of insider could survive here for so long.

She closed her eyes and waited calmly for dawn.

The following morning, Vivian left Sylvester and Molly behind to rest and went out alone to meet their contact.

To be fair, the division of roles within this Demon Lord trio was quite clear:

Vivian led and strategized.

Sylvester handled infiltration and retreat.

And Molly, whose power was least impeded by Holy Light, would deliver the killing blow.

Blending into the tide of pilgrims, Vivian made her way down the narrow streets toward the rendezvous point Morgus had described from his memories.

Before long, she arrived before an old tavern—its sign faded, its doors shut, the building long out of business.

She looked both ways carefully.

Nothing suspicious, no watchers.

“…Alright.”

Inhaling slowly, she pushed against the heavy wooden door, its hinges groaning as she stepped into a space of darkness and dust.

Sunlight was blocked by thick curtains; only slender strands of light pierced through the cracks, shimmering faintly in the motes of dust floating through stagnant air.

The tables and chairs were piled neatly in a corner, the counter covered by a thin layer of ash-gray dust.

The whole place smelled faintly of sour liquor and rotting wood.

It had clearly been abandoned for some time.

She took a few cautious steps forward—

Then, suddenly, a calm voice emerged from the darkness.

“Welcome, friend from the Demon Clan.”

It was composed, even gentle.

Vivian, as the Demon Lord of Evernight, immediately saw through the shadows to the speaker’s form—a clergyman of the Rhine Holy Church.

Refined features.

Tranquil eyes.

An aura of quiet scholarship, perfectly still, as though he were part of the darkness itself.

Judging by the insignia on his robes, he was likely a bishop-level figure.

A trap?! Had Morgus’s plan been exposed?!

Vivian’s instincts flared; she nearly reached for her weapon before stopping herself just in time.

She was still under disguise—she could not afford to reveal her demonic identity.

“…Your Excellency the Bishop? Why are you here, and what are you talking about? I’m just looking for a friend.”

Her tone and demeanor were flawless, the polite confusion of an ordinary woman.

“Heh, there’s no need for pretense, friend of the Demon Clan,” the man said, stepping from the shadows with a mild smile.

“You and I both understand that we share a common goal—to make Saint Charles relinquish the power that was never his to claim.”

He neither displayed hostility nor righteous fury.

His tone was cordial, even deferential—hardly the behavior one expected of a Rhine clergyman speaking to a demon.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, bowing slightly. “My name is Morandi, an unremarkable deputy bishop serving within the Radiant Court.”

Despite his gentility, there was something too smooth about him.

Vivian couldn’t help thinking the word—schemer.

“It seems my demonic friend doubts me,” Morandi said, smiling faintly. “That’s only natural.”

Then he spoke softly: “Demon Heart.”

Vivian froze for a heartbeat.

“Demon Blade.”

He had spoken the code from Morgus’s plan.

After a moment’s hesitation, Vivian answered with the proper reply, still wary.

Her senses expanded to their fullest, confirming there were no hidden presences nearby.

Any anomaly and she would kill him on the spot.

“Truly beyond my expectations,” Vivian murmured, adjusting the brim of her mage hat to mask her eyes. “I didn’t imagine the contact would turn out to be a deputy bishop of the Rhine Holy Church.”

“There’s a saying I rather like,” Morandi replied lightly. “There are no eternal enemies—only eternal interests.”

“Charles… that once-obscure saint candidate of yours has gotten a little too bold, hasn’t he?”

“What’s wrong? Isn’t he supposed to be your Church’s greatest weapon against the Demon Clan?”

“Heh. My dear guest from the Demon Clan,” Morandi chuckled softly. “Sometimes heresy is far more detestable than monstrosity.”

Though his tone remained gentle, a blade of killing intent glimmered faintly in his voice.