Refugees from Ashlands

The night deepened until the sun rose the next day, finally ending this long evening.

At breakfast, Aria and Lucia stared at Lucia beside them, exchanging bewildered glances.

“Um, Demon Lord, who is this?”

Aria swallowed, asking Vivian cautiously, her face screaming “blink if you’ve been kidnapped.”

“Ahem, let me introduce. This is my… friend, a mutated harpy named Lucia.”

“Hi, nice to meet you~”

Vivian coughed lightly, briefly introducing Lucia to everyone—yes, her current identity was a 【mutated, glowing harpy】.

Lucia smiled warmly, greeting the two.

“…”

Lucia and Aria exchanged looks, pondered a moment, then nodded.

Though the “Lucia”-named harpy felt off—and that name matching the Hero of Light was suspicious—plus the faint white glow resembling Holy Light, they felt no discomfort. So they accepted Vivian’s explanation, treating her as a mutated, luminous harpy.

“Ahem, Demon Lord, refugees from the Ashen Territory have arrived.”

“Hm, arrange accommodation as before. I’ll check it out.”

Vivian nodded, standing up. She left the tent with Lucia, Aria, and Lucia, leaving the little succubus Luna to care for Luna.

The weather was decent today. Morning light filtered softly, draping the recovering Evernight City in a thin golden veil.

Yet this serene dawn was soon shattered by approaching clamor—mingled exhaustion, fear, and faint hope.

Vivian led the group to a high vantage. Beyond the city, a winding column of two to three thousand slowly approached.

Like previous groups, they were ragged, weary, dust-covered from long journeys, scarred.

Many elderly, women, children supported each other, eyes blending confusion about the future with relief at finding refuge.

These were demon refugees fleeing the scorched 【Ashen Territory】.

Witnessing this, complex emotions flickered in Vivian’s crimson demonic eyes.

Once, defeated by Lucia, her Demon Lord castle crumbled. News of her “fall” scattered her demons into displacement.

Now, roles reversed—she received refugees from another Demon Lord’s domain.

This shift stirred a sense of impermanence, plus heavy responsibility.

Under Vivian’s reforms, reconstruction progressed swiftly. But Evernight City remained in ruins, resources strained. Accepting refugees meant greater burden—yet they brought vital labor… and the faint hope demons needed to cluster for survival in harsh times.

Fortunately, Evernight Crystal mining ensured short-term food security.

Subconsciously, Vivian cast a meaningful glance at Lucia—quietly standing beside her, gazing at the refugees.

This former Hero of Light, now “mutated harpy,” was a direct cause of the Ashen Territory’s fall and these demons’ homelessness.

Though controlled then, the karma was real.

Lucia sensed Vivian’s gaze. She turned, meeting it. Confusion reflected clearly in her eyes.

“Why are you looking at me?”

Lucia blinked innocently.

“Don’t remember?”

Vivian tilted her head, asking.

“R-remember what?”

Lucia instinctively stepped back, sensing something, feeling guilty.

“These are demon refugees from the 【Ashen Territory】. Died by your hand a week ago.”

Vivian said faintly, voice reaching only Lucia’s ears. Lucia and Aria heard nothing.

“Eh?”

After a pause, Lucia cautiously replied.

“…My ‘summoner’s’ little experiment?”

“Exactly. I seized you back from them.”

Vivian nodded. “Seems they’re with those who influenced you before. They wanted your power. Sometimes… the dead are more useful than the living.”

Lucia smacked her lips, clearly uneasy.

She watched gaunt mothers with young, scarred warriors with numb eyes. Her lips moved as if to speak, but she fell silent. Her gentle glow dimmed slightly.

Vivian noted her reaction.

Even with her own ‘light,’ Lucia’s innate Hero compassion and justice remained.

Knowing she was unconscious, “innocent”—yet as a summoned executioner, seeing these refugees stirred inevitable guilt.

Interesting.

“Demon Lord.”

Lucia stepped forward, reporting softly, interrupting Vivian’s thoughts.

“Preliminary count: 2,273 refugees. About forty percent able-bodied labor; rest elderly, women, children. Minimal supplies, poor condition—per their elder, more stragglers may arrive sporadically.”

Vivian nodded.

“Hm, handle as before—register, assign by family and skills, maintain order, basic health checks and purification to expel diseases or low-tier parasites. Designate temporary zones, prioritize food and water. Injured to demon healers.”

“Yes, Demon Lord!”

Aria and Lucia chorused, turning to execute.

They were proficient; several refugee and returnee waves had arrived recently.

Vivian stood, calmly scanning the entering crowd. Refugees sensed their Demon Lord, casting glances.

She felt their gazes—mingled awe, gratitude, unease. Lucia beside her was a glaring anomaly. Her holy glow clashed with demon surroundings, drawing sneaky looks from refugees and residents alike—faces full of shock and fear.

But Vivian’s presence or Lucia’s non-aggressive light prevented chaos.

“How does it feel?”

Vivian asked softly without looking, gaze forward. “Seeing demons displaced indirectly by your deaths—what do you think?”

Lucia paused, voice light and troubled.

“War and destruction bring suffering to all sides—I thought decapitating Demon Lords minimized casualties. But now… it seems the opposite.”

“Too late for that now.”

Vivian’s tone stayed even, no blame—just fact. “The demon world is cruel. Demon Lord falls, territory collapses, subjects flee. Surviving to find new shelter is already luck.”

She paused, finally turning to Lucia’s complicated profile, lips curving sarcastically: “Speaking of which, is this… laying down the butcher’s knife to achieve instant enlightenment? Though you wielded it fiercely back then.”

Lucia looked embarrassed.

She opened her mouth to explain her lack of control, but it became a soft sigh. She smiled bitterly at Vivian: “…Stop teasing me.”

“Good that you know.”

Vivian huffed, dropping the topic. Seeing orderly resettlement, she said: “Let’s go. Leave it to them. Back to the tent—Luna should be awake. I have other matters.”

The two walked back under awed or curious stares to the central Demon Lord tent.

Upon entering, cradle coos greeted them. Little Luna was awake, playing happily. Luna fumbled dressing her in a cute outfit.

Seeing Vivian and Lucia, Luna sighed in relief: “Demon Lord, you’re back! Little Luna just woke—full of energy!”

Vivian smiled unconsciously, striding over to take her daughter from Luna. The little one reached for a hug upon seeing mom, amethyst eyes sparkling.

Lucia followed, standing aside. Watching Vivian expertly play with their daughter, her face brimmed with tenderness—pure, heartfelt gentleness unlike any Hero or angel expression.

Vivian cooed at Luna while glancing at Lucia from the corner of her eye.

She noticed: whenever Luna appeared, Lucia radiated clumsy, eager-yet-hesitant “maternal” instinct—or “paternal”? Whatever.

It amused Vivian.

“Here, want to hold her?”

On a whim, Vivian extended Luna toward Lucia.

“Ah?”

Lucia jumped, stepping back half a pace, hands clasping nervously. Her pure white wings folded slightly.

“You barely held her properly last night. But you’ve learned—time to try.”

“…Can I?”

“Of course. You’re her… um, ‘other mother.’”

Vivian drew out the words, finding Lucia’s flushing cheeks entertaining. “But careful—she’s tougher than demon generals. Cries at the drop of a hat.”

Under Vivian’s teasing encouragement and Luna’s curious gaze, Lucia inhaled deeply. She extended hands carefully, gently taking Luna from Vivian.

Her movements were rigid, like handling fragile art. Muscles tensed, wings frozen mid-air, fearing any harm.

Luna found the “shiny” new embrace novel. She tilted her face, big eyes staring curiously at Lucia. No crying—instead, she reached for the glowing silver strands.

“She’s not crying…”

Lucia relaxed slightly, gazing at her daughter with utmost softness. Her glow warmed further.

“Seems she likes your ‘new look.’”

Vivian commented, arms crossed.

But good times were short. Perhaps uncomfortable posture or hunger—soon Luna’s mouth downturned, brows furrowed, on the verge of “ear-piercing magic.”

“!”

Lucia panicked, looking helplessly at Vivian. “Sh-she… what’s wrong? Did I hold her wrong?”

Vivian sighed, stepping forward.

She adjusted Lucia’s stiff arms while explaining: “Relax—I taught you last night. This hold discomforts her—yes, hand under back and head… hm, rock gently… She’s probably hungry or needs a change.”

Under guidance, Lucia fumbled like a clumsy student, trying to soothe.

Seeing her grave yet patient, loving demeanor, Vivian thought making the former Hero taste parenting “hardship” was a fine idea.

Just before Luna’s cries peaked, Vivian took over, expertly calming and preparing breakfast.

The little one quieted instantly, eating contentedly.

Lucia watched, expression relieved yet lingering—complex.

She flexed her arms softly, murmuring: “…Caring for a child really drains the spirit.”

“Now you know?”

Vivian rolled her eyes. “So drop the ‘former Hero’ airs before me. In this tent, you’re first a novice ‘mom’ who can’t even change a diaper properly.”

“…I don’t think I was putting on airs?”

Lucia opened her mouth to retort.

Vivian ignored it, but inwardly, she felt a spark of joy.

Who’d have thought—she’d have a day to slightly bully Lucia. Truly, the wheel of fortune turns.