The Demon King is a weirdo

“Rosetta, Rosetta.” Syldra gently tapped the back of Rosetta’s hand. “You go back to the room first. I want to go up to the rooftop and take a look.”

“Hmm? Alright, Miss.” Rosetta didn’t question her, agreeing naturally—but then added with concern, “But it’s so cold outside… are you sure you’ll be alright? Shouldn’t you go back and change first?”

With no good reason to refuse, Syldra agreed to return with Rosetta to their fourth-floor suite. As they left the tenth floor, she glanced upward one last time.

Samael was still there.

From afar, he stood with his head tilted toward the sky, facing the wind, black hair fluttering in the night breeze, crimson eyes fixed on the distant heavens.

——Right now, the most influential figures in the entire guesthouse were gathered in the banquet hall on the tenth floor.

During the entire event, the spotlight had been on Lentiya-Syldra—the soon-to-be-famous Camille-Samael would follow.

The perfect moment to approach him… was now.

Back in her room, Syldra changed into a hooded cloak and long robe. After giving Rosetta a few instructions, she hurried upstairs toward the thirteenth floor.

The noise was all concentrated in the banquet hall below. Other floors were either murmuring with hushed gossip or completely silent.

On the tenth floor: powerful nobles eyeing each other warily.

Nearby: minor aristocrats straining to catch whispers from above.

Elsewhere: lesser figures gathering quietly while the elite were preoccupied.

Undercurrents swirled everywhere—but none of it mattered to her. These were their petty struggles, not hers.

Walking through the quiet corridor, Syldra took a deep breath.

…… The man who, fifteen years later, would conquer the world—Demon King Samael.

What kind of person was he now?

Her mind replayed the scene from earlier—being caught by Samael at the bottom of the stairs.

His hands had been cold. His posture rigid. His gaze distant.

Was he someone hiding ruthless ambition beneath a calm exterior?

Or an aloof man with a secretly warm heart?

…… And what about him and Lakazet?

Why would this man eventually destroy the world?

If I had a sharp dagger hidden under my cloak, and I just went up and killed him in his room—given my status as a Lentiya representative, if I claimed I only discovered the body, could they even convict me?

No. That might trigger war between Camille and Wylding. Who knew how many sons the Duke of Camille had? If the rise of the Demon King was tied to Camille’s fall, another might emerge—and the end result would be the same.

Lost in thought, step by step, she approached her destination. In moments, she reached the thirteenth-floor corridor.

Samael wasn’t outside. But light spilled from around the corner at the end.

That was the VIP suite. He must have returned.

Syldra crept forward cautiously, her footsteps echoing in the silent, cool hallway.

Then, she stopped right before the door.

……What do I say?! I only thought about seeing him—no excuse, no plan.

She froze outside.

Moonlight bathed the empty corridor. Warm light seeped from under the door. Yet she heard nothing but her own breathing.

Nothing but her heartbeat. Coldness enveloped her like the icy plains of Skandia in northern Aetelarma.

For a moment, she wondered—was the room even occupied?

Could it be that the Demon King was born a monster, feared from the very beginning—

“Is someone outside?”

Just as fear began to bloom, a calm male voice came from within.

“If you’re here for Camille-Samael, please come in.”

A simple greeting. It sounded perfectly normal!

Syldra relaxed instantly.

Composing herself, she knocked once and gently pushed the door open.

Inside, the black-haired, crimson-eyed young man sat by the window, propping his cheek with one palm, gazing serenely at the night sky.

Syldra noticed with surprise that he wore the same clothes as before—the black-and-crimson long coat, black shirt, white trousers, even the gloves remained on.

“Ah. It’s you, my elegant Red Kite.” Samael turned his gaze toward her, speaking with the disinterested tone of someone noticing a mundane vase. “And what do you see, Lady of Lentiya? Based on your answer, I shall make my initial assessment of your aesthetic sensibility.”

…… Huh?

He felt completely different from the man downstairs.

“Well… Lord Camille-Samael, good e—”

“Regrettably, you fail.”

Before she could finish greeting him, Samael’s quiet words froze her in place.

“My elegant Red Kite, given your status and refinement, what you should see is a ‘melancholy beauty alone beneath the cold night, gazing upon moon and stars.’”

He rose gracefully, his blood-red eyes calmly observing her stunned expression.

…… Cold night. Melancholy beauty. Gazing upon moon and stars.

Pfft.

“—” Syldra couldn’t suppress it. A laugh bubbled up—she bit down hard on her molars to keep it from escaping.

“What’s so amusing?” Samael blinked, clearly not expecting laughter. Then, as if realizing something, he let out a soft chuckle.

“No need to become overwhelmed at being alone with such a man,” he said, easing her with surprising gentleness. “Given your station, Lady Lentiya, you’ll surely meet excellent men like me again—at least once during the banquet in two days.”

What in the world is this weirdo talking about?! Syldra raged inwardly.

Samael pulled over the chair he’d been sitting on and gestured for her to sit.

But as Syldra stepped forward, he spoke without changing expression:

“Please don’t hesitate. It’s just an ordinary hotel chair—worth nothing. Don’t refrain from sitting because I’ve used it.”

“……”

Syldra sat in silence, staring at Samael with the look one gives a patient suffering from advanced brain disease.

This man is ill!

Samael frowned slightly.

“What troubles you, Lady Lentiya? Is the cheap seat uncomfortable? But I must apologize—even for you, sitting on my bed would be far too inappropriate.”

“Lord Camille-Samael.”

Syldra cut him off.

Samael looked mildly surprised—clearly not expecting interruption.

Syldra forced a smile and lifted her face. “I came specifically to thank you! For helping me today—it was a truly noble and gallant act.”

Samael smiled—beautifully. “I see. You came all this way just for that? For a man as exceptional as myself, kindness is simply expected. There’s no need for gratitude.”

Which eye did you see me showing gratitude with?!

“You—” Frustrated by his endless self-praise, Syldra glared at the smug Samael, a sudden surge of anger rising.

—This is the Demon King?! This narcissistic, incoherent man—is supposed to become the merciless Samael who throws entire rebel tribes into the Oluvache Abyss without blinking?!

Are you telling me this is the one who destroys the world?! How childish! How absurd!

How dare the world be ruined by someone like this?!

Syldra had steeled herself for the future Demon King—but never imagined his polished, courteous facade was just a grand disguise for sheer delusion.

…… There were many kinds of nobles: schemers who abandoned morality for power, those who used their status to do good, and those who simply basked in privilege.

Syldra despised the last type most.

In her eyes, they were fools blind to their own ignorance.

And this was the man who destroyed the world—

THE HELL IS THIS MAN EVEN DOING GETTING ENGAGED TO LAKAZET?!

“She must be desperate to settle for you—” She muttered, thoughts slipping out before she could stop them.

The next second, Samael’s expression shifted—his face became serious, cold.

Then, his voice cut through the air, clear and sharp.

“Lady Lentiya. I don’t know where you heard this, but…”

“—I have not agreed to the engagement with Lakazet, daughter of the Duke of Wylding.”