The Tyrant’s Treasury

The pair scaled a steep slope, returning to the Demon Queen’s palace, a place still reeling from the devastation of “Annihilation.”

The air, thick with the scent of sulfur mixed with fresh blood, carried the distant sounds of clashing metal and dying roars. The palace was no longer a unified kingdom but a chaotic arena where the strong devoured the weak, each vying to ascend the path to the throne.

Wawalde gripped the giant axe he had commandeered, its blade still coated with slime.

Sovenia followed close behind, her clear instructions guiding their way.

They navigated through collapsed corridors, carefully stepping around the tangled corpses of demons. Within the palace’s bewildering labyrinth, Sovenia always found a path, skillfully avoiding the battlefields.

After half an hour, they reached a relatively intact section. A colossal obsidian door stood at the end of a hallway, its surface carved with intricate, glowing runes.

Before the door, a motley crew of demons had gathered.

They stood atop a dozen freshly slain bodies, their claws soaked in blood.

A demon covered in bloated green pustules pressed its palm against the door. A sizzling, corrosive sound filled the air, yet the obsidian remained unscathed.

Beside it, another demon—skin crimson, muscles knotted, and horns sprouting from its head—savagely battered the door with a massive warhammer. Each strike echoed with a deafening thud, but the door refused to budge.

Sovenia peeked out from around the corner.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you hit it enough? Or did you run out of strength?”

“Jimi’s treasury is in there. Who wouldn’t want it?” the Blood God Warrior panted, lowering his warhammer. “But this door… it’s tougher than the Demon Queen’s temper. It just won’t open!”

A demon with a head full of blue feathers spoke in a sharp, shrill voice. “Fool. This is an alteration-type sealing spell. Brute force is useless. It requires finesse.”

As he spoke, he violently plucked a feather from his head and began chanting an incantation at the door. The feather drifted forward, only to turn to ash the moment it touched the runes.

“Looks like your method didn’t work either!” the Corrosive Demon mocked. “They all say the hero lopped off Lady Jimi’s head, but for all we know, she’s still alive in there, having a good laugh at us.”

The jest hung in the air, casting a sudden chill over the group.

“Impossible!” the Blood God Warrior immediately countered, pausing his efforts. “The Demon Queen herself vanished in that explosion in the throne room. No matter how strong Lady Jimi was, she’s dead for sure. I heard the hero sliced her head clean off—sent it flying a long way!”

‘If this keeps up, my moniker is going to become Jimi the Flying Head,’ Sovenia thought. ‘These idiots.’

‘I sealed this door completely when I left. It’s not a door anymore, it’s a wall. A wall fused with my own bedchamber that just happens to look like a door.’

Just then, a much larger head appeared above her own. It was Wawalde. His face, smeared with sticky soot, drew close to hers. When he spoke, the movement of air stirred her silver hair.

“It seems we won’t be resting in Jimi the Cruel’s chambers today,” Wawalde whispered. “How about we find a more secluded spot? I know a place that’s reasonably safe.”

Sovenia glanced up at him. Wawalde’s height forced her to crane her neck, a fact that deeply annoyed her.

‘Once I get my head back and return to my full two-meter height,’ she fumed inwardly, ‘the very first thing I’ll do is hammer your head into your chest cavity. We’ll see how you look down on people then.’

With that thought, she pulled back into the shadows of the corner, putting distance between them so she wouldn’t have to look up. “Who said we were using the main door? Follow me. I know a shortcut.”

She led Wawalde away, quietly retreating from the demons and their futile efforts. They crept along the base of the wall until they reached a section of stone that appeared utterly unremarkable.

Sovenia extended her slender fingers and pressed a sequence of bricks on the wall. Her movements were precise and practiced, without a hint of hesitation.

At the final press, a hidden door, just wide enough for one person, slid silently inward, revealing a pitch-black passage behind it.

She stooped down and beckoned for Wawalde to enter.

Wawalde peered into the darkness, then glanced back toward the sounds of fighting down the corridor.

“Are you sure there isn’t a bigger slime hidden in there? Or one of Jimi’s pets?”

“It might not be completely safe,” Sovenia replied, her voice echoing slightly in the narrow entrance, “but it’s better than being found by that lot outside. Besides, there’s food inside.”

The word “food” clearly had an effect.

“I hope Jimi the Cruel’s taste in food isn’t too… demonic,” Wawalde said.

Hefting the giant axe, he ducked into the secret passage. As he entered, he glanced back at Sovenia. She reached into a small crevice in the wall, pulled a thin cord, and the secret door slid shut.

“Seriously, Miss Sovenia,” he said, half-joking, “you’re so skilled at this, it’s as if you own the place.”

Sovenia’s movements faltered. Her heart skipped a beat.

‘He knows? It’s possible. The stupid mutt is sharp enough to have found a flaw in my otherwise perfect performance. I suppose I should expect as much from the hero who cut my head off. I have to lie. Now.’

Her mind raced, desperately trying to conjure a plausible excuse, but nothing came to her.

She defaulted to her habits: silence and a blank expression.

The air between them grew thick, the only sound in the secret passage the whisper of their breathing.

The atmosphere turned frigid.

A green fire lit up in the passage, its glow falling on Sovenia’s cold, emotionless face.

The playful tone in Wawalde’s heart vanished instantly.

What he saw was the hollow-eyed look of a victim. Cruel rumors of how Jimi the Cruel treated her slaves flooded his mind.

A wave of shame washed over him.

‘I’m such a bastard,’ he thought. ‘I actually used a joke to reopen her wounds.’

Guilt consumed him. He wanted to apologize, but any words he could think of felt pale and inadequate. So, he too fell silent.

They walked the rest of the way through the passage in silence.

When they emerged from the wall at the other end, the space opened up before them. They had arrived in the private bedchamber of Jimi the Cruel, First Heavenly King.

The chamber was small, one might even call it spartan.

A stone bed with black sheets rested against one wall. Across from it was a half-burnt desk, littered with charred papers.

A doorway in the corner led to a bathroom. In stark contrast to the bedroom’s simplicity, an open door on the other side revealed a massive training hall.

Wawalde estimated the space was large enough for two knights to hold a proper joust.

Inside, weapon racks lined the walls, a humanoid training dummy was covered in sword marks, and intricate summoning circles were etched into the floor. The faint smell of sulfur and steel still lingered in the air.

Yet, the most arresting sight was the body lying next to the burnt desk.

It was an elderly maid in a grey servant’s uniform. Her body was twisted on the floor in an unnatural position, her neck wrenched a full one hundred and eighty degrees. Her wrinkled face was turned toward her own back, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Sovenia’s gaze swept the room, finally settling on the corpse. ‘Haelana VII,’ she silently recited the name, feeling no emotion.

Sovenia remembered the crisp, clean snap as she had broken her neck.

“I thought the First Heavenly King’s room would be filled with gold and bones,” Wawalde’s voice broke the silence as he took in the surroundings. “I never expected… him… to be so spartan. Except for that training hall. Looks like he spent most of his time in there.”

‘Yes, I did spend a long time here.’

Sovenia felt a pang of nostalgia for a place and a person that no longer existed.

This was the origin of her power, her only private space. She had dreamed of killing the Demon Queen, taking the highest throne, and then returning here to live out her days in a simple, cozy routine of training and killing.

The pleasant thought brought a jolt of anxiety. The Demon Queen wasn’t dead. Sovenia was certain of it. That woman would not die so easily.

It was entirely possible she would return to the palace, perhaps even to this very room. In her current state, if Sovenia ran into her here…

And to top it all off, a hero who could expose her identity at any moment was standing right beside her.

‘No, I have to act. And quickly.’

“I’ll go find some food,” she said, her voice betraying no emotion. “You’re tired. Rest here for a while.”

She started across the room, her long legs carrying her quickly. Sovenia walked past the body of Haelana VII, her eyes lingering for only a fraction of a second on the old woman’s backward-facing face.

Without hesitation, she pushed open an inconspicuous little door in the corner of the bedchamber.

Behind it was the kitchen.