The Serpent’s Path

The secret passage was steeped in gloom.

The only sounds breaking the silence were the synchronized breaths of the two figures moving one after another.

Sovenia, her black leather backpack resting against her back, trailed behind Wawalde.

Her mind, however, was adrift from the encroaching darkness, instead consumed by the recent nightmare.

She vividly recalled the ‘Incineration’ blast that had ripped through the Demon Queen’s palace.

It was a cunning maneuver, exploiting a loophole by using that imbecilic dog as a conduit to inflict indirect harm upon the Demon Queen.

Yet, the brunt of the damage had undeniably fallen upon the Demon Queen herself.

Yet, the damned Demon Queen had reacted with far greater speed than Sovenia had ever anticipated.

The nightmare, a relentless tormentor, whipped at her even in her waking hours.

It was a chilling reminder of the furious Demon Queen’s boundless cruelty towards traitors.

A shiver of dread ran down Sovenia’s spine at the mere thought of the ‘Goblin Ultimate Humiliation Convention’.

She harbored no desire to become goblin excrement, much less to endure a ‘life connection ceremony’ initiated by goblins wielding knives.

She would sooner embrace death than fall into the Demon Queen’s clutches; even a prolonged demise would not spare her from the Demon Queen’s exquisite tortures.

The Demon Queen, moreover, possessed a notoriously short temper; once she pinpointed a general area, she would initiate a brutal, no-holds-barred sweep.

Very little time remained for Sovenia.

Within three days, she had to recover her head and revert to her male form.

To achieve this critical objective, the imbecilic dog before her represented her sole means, a mere implement destined for destruction in three days’ time.

The instant she reclaimed her head, she would sever all ties with Wawalde.

She understood with chilling clarity that the moment her power returned, and she reverted to Jimi the Cruel, Wawalde would raise his battle-axe against her without a moment’s hesitation.

Therefore, before that pivotal moment, she had to drain him of every last drop of usefulness, then dispatch him to seize his gold cards and treasures.

Leveraging her intimate knowledge of the Demon Queen’s palace, she would guide them along the most perilous routes.

Only through relentless combat could the imbecilic dog’s stamina and energy be utterly depleted, thereby creating the perfect opening for her ultimate betrayal.

Furthermore, only amidst incessant slaughter would he ‘yield’ a greater bounty of powerful cards.

Indeed, she would allow him to draw the enemy’s ire, to absorb the relentless blows, while she would lurk in the shadows, patiently awaiting the opportune moment to reap enemy lives and accumulate cards to enhance her own power.

And then there was the poison.

Sovenia’s hand subconsciously drifted backward, her fingers brushing against the leather of her backpack, as if she could feel the packet of powder nestled within.

It was a wondrous concoction nestled among her provisions, a potent venom extracted from a scorpion’s stinger, capable of inducing muscle paralysis and cardiac arrest in a minotaur within three seconds.

Before their inevitable rupture, she would leverage her culinary authority to subtly introduce it into Wawalde’s unsuspecting stomach.

By then, the decisive advantage in their impending confrontation would undoubtedly rest with her.

No sooner had Sovenia finalized her sinister plan than Wawalde, walking ahead, abruptly halted.

Sovenia narrowly avoided colliding with his back, and for a fleeting moment, an absurd thought flickered through her mind: could Wawalde possibly hear her innermost thoughts?

Wawalde, without turning his head, spoke, his voice reverberating through the constricted secret passage.

“Regarding last night,” he began, “I am truly sorry.”

“About the bird claw, I should not have so roughly snatched it from your grasp and destroyed it, even if it was a sinister artifact…”

“Yet, I believe that sinister artifact embodied Miss Sovenia’s hope of escaping the Demon Queen’s palace, did it not?”

Sovenia momentarily froze, taken aback.

‘An apology?’

The very notion struck her as utterly alien and preposterous.

Why would the strong ever offer apologies to the weak?

Why would a victor express remorse for the vanquished’s losses?

He had seized and obliterated the item through his own might; it was his spoils of war, to be dealt with as he saw fit.

The strong, after all, were entitled to mercilessly humiliate the weak.

Sovenia could only manage a terse, “Oh.”

“Therefore, I believe what you truly need is reassurance,” he stated, his voice imbued with an astonishing sincerity, as if he were reciting a knight’s sacred oath.

“I swear I will lead you out of the Demon Queen’s palace and return you to the human realm.”

‘Is this imbecilic dog truly serious?’

‘What in the world is this human thinking?’

Sovenia’s curiosity surged, prompting her to instinctively raise a hand, seeking out Wawalde’s sole exposed skin—the segment of his burnt neck—and her slender fingers gently settled upon it.

A robust pulse throbbed beneath her fingertips, and his innermost thoughts surged into her mind:

‘She must be suffering immensely… perhaps that was her sole remaining hope.’

‘I must have been utterly mad to be so crude towards a princess who has just endured such hardship.’

‘I shall protect her at all costs; it is my sacred duty as a hero.’

A peculiar sensation, akin to a faint electric current, coursed from her fingertips, spreading through Sovenia’s entire being.

It was an emotion entirely unfamiliar to her, one she had never encountered in her century-long demonic existence—neither revulsion, nor calculation, nor even murderous intent…

What was this feeling?

It was… so warm.

‘Can this imbecilic dog genuinely be feeling remorse over such a trivial matter?’

Her fingers involuntarily curled, then she abruptly snatched her hand back, as though scalded.

‘Excellent.’

As Sovenia mused, her hand instinctively reached behind her once more, making contact with the poison nestled within her bag.

The deeper his guilt, the greater his trust, and the more seamlessly her poisoning scheme would unfold.

Thus, when the moment arrived to extract every last ounce of his worth, he would, utterly defenseless, willingly consume the hot soup and rice she had so carefully prepared.

“Why did you suddenly touch my neck?”

“Let’s go,” Sovenia replied.

“Your words truly gladden me.”

‘With such trust, the poisoning will be far smoother.’

Wawalde nodded, a simple, “Alright,” escaping his lips.

****

Emerging from the secret passage, they found themselves once more beneath the wall where they had entered the day before, now standing at the familiar corner.

As before, one tall and one short head cautiously peered around the bend.

Sovenia’s gaze drifted towards the entrance of her bedchamber.

The horde of demons that had blockaded her bedchamber entrance yesterday had vanished—or rather, they no longer stood upright.

They lay instead as a gruesome tableau of fragmented corpses, the air thick with the cloying stench of blood and scorched flesh.

The previous demons guarding the entrance had been ‘neutralized’ by a fresh contingent of their kind.

Several towering ogres, simultaneously engaged in ‘energy recycling,’ encircled the colossal obsidian door, assaulting it with primitive force—battering and hacking—as if imploring the wall, already fashioned into the semblance of a door, to grant them passage.

Wawalde murmured, “This is a prime opportunity; I’ll initiate a surprise attack.”

“Be cautious.”

‘It was indeed an excellent opportunity, but this path was far too safe.’

‘Few “demon compatriots” had been encountered along the way, minimizing Wawalde’s combat expenditure, and consequently, limiting her own acquisition of valuable cards.’

‘Absolutely not.’

Sovenia immediately grasped his arm, lowering her voice to a deceptive whisper.

“Don’t go,” she urged.

“A battle here will only draw more enemies; Jimi the Cruel’s bedchamber is undoubtedly swarming with demons.”

“I know another path.”

She gestured towards the opposite end of the corridor.

That particular route wound deeper into the darkness, leading directly into the more intricate sections of the Demon Queen’s palace, and, conveniently, lay adjacent to the barracks, teeming with countless demon compatriots.

Wawalde nodded, his trust in Sovenia unwavering.

****

They continued their advance, following the path Sovenia had selected.

The Demon Queen’s palace boasted an intricate and labyrinthine internal structure, where endless corridors interconnected a myriad of functionally diverse chambers, forming a colossal underground maze.

Following the cataclysmic battle in the throne room, the Demon Queen’s palace had undergone subtle yet significant alterations, all due to Sovenia’s ‘Incineration’.

The fiery blast had nearly incinerated the entire palace, transforming it into a gruesome gladiatorial arena.

The cacophony of slaughter echoed from every direction, at times distant, at times alarmingly close, a dreadful symphony composed of monstrous roars, the clang of colliding weapons, and the desperate screams of the dying.

As they traversed this chaotic soundscape, Sovenia found herself involuntarily recalling the time she had once advised the Demon Queen to reconstruct the palace’s internal layout.

She had felt, at the time, that the palace’s internal architecture bore an uncanny resemblance to the labyrinths found in video games from her previous life—the sort where a protagonist’s party would simply clear a dungeon, thereby resolving issues of equipment, wealth, and even matters of the heart.

Yet, as it now appeared, reality remained stubbornly distinct from such fantasies.

This imbecilic dog, this human hero, had resolved neither his equipment woes nor his emotional quandaries; instead, he was riddled with injuries, half his face scorched.

Moreover, in the days to come, he was destined to die a virgin, yielding precious gold cards and treasures for her.

‘Truly, a magnificent script.’