Queen Xilang entered the grand family library, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. The faint scent of old parchment and candle wax lingered in the air.
She had just come from the council chamber a few hours after warning Dante about an assassination attempt on his life on a holographic message to his place in the woods — and now, her mind was half weighed with concern, half softened by the sight before her.
Across the vast library, her daughter, Princess Zhurong, sat gracefully by the long oak table, her eyes buried deep within tomes of ancient combat arts, forbidden magics, and the chronicpast dynasties.
The glow of the chandeliers reflected in her fiery amber eyes as she flipped another page, her focus unbroken even as her mother entered.
"Zhurong, there is someone who has handed me a gift for you," Xilang said sweetly and calmly, her voice smooth as silk. She leaned against a nearby pillar, watching her daughter's poised but intense demeanour.
Zhurong sighed, brushing a strand of crimson hair behind her ear. "Sigh, another one of Cifer Silvane's womanizing gifts? Throw it out, Mother. It's becoming a headache during my time of focus."
She didn't bother to look up, her quill still scribbling notes along the page, until Xilang chuckled softly — a melodic, teasing sound that made the room feel warmer.
"Oh boohoo," the queen said with a playful smirk. "Then I suppose I should keep this necklace pendant that Dante has gifted to you."
Zhurong froze mid-motion. Her quill stopped. Her eyes widened slightly. Then, in a swift motion, she turned her head so fast that a few loose strands of hair whipped across her face.
"Dante?!"
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping faintly against the floor, her tone filled with surprise and something deeper — concern. "Is he all right? Was he harmed? Did he—"
Her words stumbled as her hands instinctively reached forward, as if expecting to see him walk through the doors at any moment.
Queen Xilang smiled warmly and approached, her long robes gliding soundlessly across the carpet.
"Here, child. Dante made this pendant for you himself. If you're ever in trouble, just crush it, and he will come to you. Though I don't know how he plans to do it since he is on the family trial for the heir of the family seat." she added with a chuckle.
With gentle hands, Xilang clasped the pendant around Zhurong's neck. The young princess looked down, tracing her fingers across the small crystal centrepiece.
It shimmered faintly, pulsating with a soft golden glow — alive with Dante's essence.
"Dante will know how," Zhurong said quietly, her voice soft but firm. "He always does. But I will not need his help, even if it's life-threatening. I need to stand on my own two feet, knowing that I can be his equal."
Her mother let out a melodic laugh, brushing Zhurong's hair aside affectionately. "Ara-ara, my daughter truly loves her boyfriend, hmm?" she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Before Zhurong could react, a thunderous voice roared from the doorway.
"WHO DARES LOOK AT MY SWEET LITTLE GIRL?!"
King Giang burst into the library like a storm, his royal cape flaring behind him as the double doors slammed against the walls. The guards outside flinched at the sheer volume.
"Oh hush, darling," Xilang said, smiling mischievously. "I was merely mentioning Dante to our sweet little Zhurong."
"Dante?!" Giang's tone shifted instantly from rage to worry. He approached quickly, his heavy boots echoing in the vast room. "Did he send any letters? Perhaps some treats? Or maybe—" He paused, his expression caught between suspicion and genuine fatherly concern.
Xilang placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No worries, dear," she said calmly. "Dante just gifted a pendant to Zhurong as a reminder that he still thinks of her."
Zhurong looked down again, fingers brushing the pendant once more. Her eyes softened — but then, her voice trembled slightly as she asked, "Mom… why didn't Dante come to the funeral last year?"
The air grew heavy.
The warmth that once filled the library vanished in an instant. Both Xilang and Giang fell silent, their faces darkening with the memory of that painful time — the academy invasion, the chaos that took so many lives.
Zhurong's gaze lingered on the pendant, its faint glow flickering like a heartbeat.
And for a moment, the only sound that filled the room was the quiet flutter of turning pages, as if the library itself dared not speak.
"Zhurong," said Xilang softly as she brushed a loose strand of her daughter's hair aside. The queen's eyes glimmered with a faint sadness, her touch both comforting and deliberate.
"It's a political matter you're not fully aware of," she continued, her tone calm but weighed with meaning. "Dante didn't come to the funeral that day because your friend Lytharis's mother was there."
King Giang, standing beside one of the tall library shelves, nodded slowly in agreement. He stroked his thick beard with a grave expression before speaking.
"Indeed, my daughter," said Giang in a stoic, deep voice. "Dante refrained from attending the funeral out of respect— or perhaps fear— of Lytharis's mother, Queen Milan, the ruler of the elf clan."
Zhurong blinked, her brows furrowing as she tried to understand the deeper implication. "Was it because Dante possessed the Infinity Mana Foundation?" she asked quietly, her hands tightening around the edge of her skirt.
Both her parents nodded solemnly.
"Yes, Zhurong," Xilang said, her voice lowering as she absently twirled a strand of her red hair between her fingers — a gesture she often did when memories became too heavy to bear.
"Both you and Dante's friend, Lytharis..., well Lytharis has the mana Infinity Mana Foundation. Before Lytharis died, she… ripped open her own chest and took out her mana core. She implanted it into Dante's body. Now, both Lytharis and Dante's mana foundations exist as one."
Zhurong's breath hitched. Her eyes widened, then softened with sorrow. She looked down at the pendant hanging from her neck, its soft glow trembling faintly, as if reacting to her emotions.
Her voice came out small, almost a whisper. "So… that's why."
Her hands clenched into fists. A flash of memory crossed her mind — the battlefield, the blood, the sound of Dante's screams as he faced three demon generals alone while she stood helpless.
Her shoulders trembled. "I wasn't strong enough," she said under her breath, guilt tightening her chest. "I couldn't help him… not even once."
Queen Xilang reached out, pulling her daughter gently into a hug. "You will, my child," she said softly against Zhurong's hair. "But strength takes time. Even Dante didn't become who he was overnight."
King Giang placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder, his voice deep and reassuring. "Your time will come, Zhurong. Until then, hold your resolve — and never let guilt define your path."
The young princess nodded slowly, her eyes glistening as she held the pendant close to her chest, its faint warmth reminding her that Dante was still out there — carrying both his own soul and the remnants of another's.
Meanwhile, back in the Demon Realm…
Ingrid Von Balmung returned from her long expedition — a journey she took to observe how the current world had evolved after her thousand years of rest and recent resurrection.
Her crimson cloak fluttered behind her as she walked down the busy streets of a demon town, her golden eyes scanning the bustling crowd.
As she passed by an art studio, the faint scent of ink and paint caught her attention. She paused, then entered. Inside, the soft scratching of brushes against parchment filled the air.
To her surprise, she saw the young Demon King, Malric, standing by a table, instructing one of the artists to sketch a familiar face.
Her expression hardened. "Why are you here instead of studying, boy?" she asked sharply, her tone heavy with authority.
Malric froze for a moment before turning to her with a sheepish grin. "I needed a little break… and to sketch out Dante Ruthwilfer," he said as he placed the final stroke on the parchment.
"There! Here, Lady Ingrid — this is how Dante looks." Malric smiled proudly, though his wording fumbled. "Even though we're both sixteen, I can tell… this is him."
Ingrid stepped closer. The moment her eyes landed on the sketch, the entire studio began to tremble faintly — a reflection of her rising fury.
Her crimson pupils dilated. She clenched her fists tightly, her aura bursting in waves of dark energy.
"Dante...!!!"
Her voice echoed through the studio walls. The air grew tense as she looked down, noticing a small pack of food still clutched in her hands — leftovers she had brought from her earlier visit.
Then, realization struck.
"Gyaahhh!!!"
Her scream of rage echoed across the street. Several demons outside peeked in, startled by the sudden outburst.
"I can't believe this!!! I got tricked!!!" she shouted, her face flushing with humiliation.
Malric blinked in confusion. "What do you mean, Lady Ingrid?"
"FOOL!!!" she roared, slamming her fist into the wall, cracking it. "I was just there — where he was sheltering! I even entered his home, ate his cooking, and—!"
Her eyes widened suddenly. Memories flooded her mind. Dante's calm expression. His quiet hospitality. The onsen. The steam. Her teasing smirk—
"Kyaaaa!!!" she screamed, her face burning red. "I let him see my naked body!!!"
Malric stood frozen, his jaw dropping comically. "Eh…?"
The entire studio fell silent.
Back in the Ruthwilfer Mansion
The towering castle stood beneath the evening sky, the banners of the Ruthwilfer family fluttering high in the cold wind.
Inside, Will Ruthwilfer walked calmly down the corridor, the sound of clashing steel echoing from the grand courtyard.
There, his sister Avabel Ruthwilfer was sparring fiercely. Her movements were sharp, her blade cutting through the air like lightning.
One by one, the family's generals fell before her. Though she defeated a hundred men, her breathing remained heavy — a reminder of her own frustration.
She still remembered how easily she had been defeated during the academy invasion last year.
"You should take a break, sister," called Evan Ruthwilfer from afar, his tone casual but laced with concern.
"Fuck off, Evan. I do what I want," Avabel snapped, wiping sweat from her brow with a small towel.
Evan folded his arms, leaning against a pillar. "Knowing who's the current patriarch and head of the Ruthwilfer Family, I don't think he'll like that attitude. Honestly… I wish you were the family head, Avabel."
Avabel paused, turning to look at him. "What makes you say that? I told you last time, I have no interest in politics," she replied flatly.
"Look around you, sister," Evan said, gesturing to the fallen generals around them. "They're soft. Weak. Under Will Ruthwilfer's leadership, our first brother has gone soft."
Avabel narrowed her eyes, but Evan continued, his voice gaining a dark edge.
"If you were to become head, our family name would soar higher than the heavens—"
"Save it, Evan," Avabel interrupted sharply. She slung her sword over her shoulder and began walking toward the stables.
"The reason I didn't become matriarch and head of the family," she said coldly, "is because of my outstanding crimes — my war crimes."
Evan frowned as she mounted her horse, her cloak fluttering behind her.
"True, I may be fit," she continued, tightening the reins. "But if Aunt Diana were to ever… pass away, I wouldn't hesitate. If you really want me to be the next head of the family, you must first eliminate the biggest threat using your pawns, Evan."
And with that, she rode off from the castle gates, leaving the echo of hooves fading into the distance.
"Tch… bitch," Evan muttered under his breath, glaring after her. "I gave you a chance. But she's right, though."
He smirked darkly, his tone lowering. "Aunt Diana is the biggest threat. Her word is absolute — even after stepping down as elder. Her will still rules over this family."
He turned to leave — unaware that beneath the apple tree just behind him, Fina, Lady Diana's loyal bodyguard, had been listening the entire time.
Her expression hardened as she whispered quietly to herself, "Lord Evan… you've just made a dangerous mistake."
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Chapter 37 — End.