"Sweetheart, you really heard him speak?" Sophie asked again, her suspicion growing as she began to question Agatha's origins.
"Yes!" Agatha replied softly, her small hand once again pressing against her chest, where the heat was becoming unbearable.
"Mommy, I don't feel good..." Her brow furrowed as she continued staring at the demon.
Noticing Agatha's distress, Sophie realized her daughter's body was burning up. Without hesitation, she carried Agatha back the way they came, with Charles and Milta following anxiously behind.
Serei, after ordering the guards to return the demon to his cell, quickly caught up. Before leaving, he instructed someone to fetch a healing mage—both to ensure the prisoner didn't die unexpectedly and to uncover the truth behind Agatha's strange reaction. Though he couldn't voice his suspicions openly, he was certain: Agatha had some connection to the demons. Otherwise, how could she hear words no one else could?
---
While Sophie and the others hurried back, a fierce competition was brewing in a distant dimension.
Today marked the Demon Bloody Vanguard selection, held atop the towering **Bloodthirst Arena** in the demon capital, **Yasathuranchi**. The arena, suspended dozens of meters in the air with no railings, functioned much like the gladiatorial coliseums of ancient Rome—except with far deadlier stakes. One misstep, and any non-flying combatant would plummet to their doom.
The city was packed to the brim, not just on the ground but in the skies as well, where winged demons—**Avians**—crowded every available space. If demonkind had shoddy construction, half the rooftops would have collapsed under the weight.
A thunderous cheer erupted across Yasathuranchi as **Queen Brigitte** appeared on the **Stargazer Platform**, waving to her subjects. The Bloodthirst Arena faced her directly, signaling the official start of the competition.
Two eager generals were the first to claim their spots via the suspended access ropes—flying was rare among high-ranking demons, as most warriors were valued for brute strength rather than aerial agility.
After bowing to their queen, the two generals squared off under the watchful eyes of the crowd.
**Klara**, a newly promoted general from the **Eastern Demon Territories**, was a powerhouse. His family's secret sword techniques had earned him fame across the demon realms. Confident and battle-hardened, he was certain he could claim the title of **Bloody Vanguard**.
Opposing him was **Sincia** from the **Western Demon Territories**, a seasoned veteran who despised all Eastern generals—especially this upstart. The rivalry between East and West ran deep, its origins long forgotten but its bitterness undiminished. Where the East went, the West followed, always ready to humble them.
"Klara," Sincia sneered, his voice magically amplified for all to hear, "if I were you, I'd crawl back down that rope while you still can. Your opponent is *me*."
The Western crowd roared in approval.
Klara smirked. "What's wrong, Sincia? Scared? Or just blabbering to hide the fact that you're too old for this? Maybe you should retire and play with your grandkids—*if* you have any."
Sincia's face darkened. The insult struck deep—his inability to sire children after a past battle wound was common knowledge. The implication that his wife might have been unfaithful was unforgivable.
With a furious roar, Sincia charged, his arms transforming into **adamantine blades**—his ultimate offense and defense. On the battlefield, these claws had shredded countless foes. Today, they would tear Klara apart.
Klara welcomed the reckless assault, using his sword's reach to strike at Sincia's unprotected spots.
Feigning an opening, Sincia lunged, taking a slash to the shoulder in exchange for a chance to rip out Klara's throat.
Klara barely dodged, but Sincia's claws still tore a chunk of flesh from his face. Blood sprayed as Klara staggered back, hastily casting a **frost seal** to stem the bleeding.
The duel intensified, both warriors ignoring the crowd's cheers and jeers, each searching for the killing blow.
Using a **Phantom Mirage** technique, Klara tricked Sincia's eyes for a split second—just long enough to drive his sword into Sincia's chest.
But the blade chipped against Sincia's hardened flesh. Klara gritted his teeth, pushing deeper—until a cloaked figure materialized between them.
"Enough." The shadowed hand resting on Klara's sword radiated undeniable authority. "We need every warrior for the coming war. Spare his life for the sake of our people."
As swiftly as he appeared, the **Grand Vizier** vanished. Most spectators hadn't even noticed his presence.
Klara yanked his sword free, tearing out a gory chunk of flesh. "Consider this mercy. Next time, show respect."
He wiped his blade clean on Sincia's clothes before striking a triumphant pose—one that, had Sophie seen it, might have reminded her of a certain **Victory Statue** from another world.
Carried off by bat-winged medics, Sincia shot Klara a venomous glare. As leader of the **Shadowfang Clan**, he never forgot a grudge. The **Venomwing Serpents**, who had cost him his manhood, had learned that the hard way—he'd exterminated their entire bloodline, even feasting on their unborn eggs.
Before Klara could savor his victory, another Western general took the stage—**Dominica**, one of the rare flying commanders.
"Think you're impressive just for beating Sincia?" Dominica taunted, his crimson wings flaring.
Klara's envy flared. Flight was a dream he, as a **ground-bound Jakan**, could never achieve.
"Today, I'll clip those wings of yours," Klara snarled, twirling his sword.
Dominica smirked, already calculating. The arena's open edges offered an opportunity—if Klara was reckless enough, this fight could end without much effort.
**Will Dominica's aerial advantage prevail—or will Klara's cunning turn the tide?**