The city of traders awoke to fire and screams.
Noble estates, once symbols of pride and power, now trembled behind locked gates. Church bells rang—not for worship, but for warning. Smoke billowed from the South Market, climbing into the sky like a curse.
The slaves were gone.
The chains were shattered.
And the Demon King had arrived.
Eren didn't hide. He walked boldly through the city's blood-soaked streets, bare feet tapping against stone, a loose black cloak fluttering behind him like smoke. Knights charged. He let them. One lunged at him with a spear.
Eren caught the shaft mid-air.
With a grin that chilled the onlookers, he snapped it in two and buried the broken end into the knight's chest. The man's scream was short-lived. Another soldier tried to flank him—only to be hurled across a stone pillar by Eren's bare hands.
Blades pierced his body. He didn't flinch.
He tore one out and shoved it through another man's throat.
"In my last life," he muttered, dragging a noble guard by the hair, "I begged for mercy every damn day. Now, I'm the one writing the rules."
A young soldier collapsed to his knees, dropping his sword.
Eren tilted his head, then tossed the decapitated head of a noble in the boy's lap.
"Pick it back up," he whispered. "You'll need it."
From above, rooftops cracked under sharp claws. Jessy landed beside a burning building, her hands soaked in blood. She said nothing—just tore apart a slave trader who tried to run. Her wild eyes glowed with freedom.
Zenis walked behind her, snakes slithering around his shoulders. They hissed, sniffed, and slithered into sewer grates, revealing hidden passageways and underground cages. He found a merchant's hidden cellar packed with chained girls.
"I hate secrets," Zenis smiled as his blades sang.
Every chain was broken. Every cage was emptied.
Dozens of auction houses were burned to the ground. Others tried to hide—covering their brands and disguising slaves as servants. But it didn't work. The Demon King's army knew the scent of fear.
And behind it all… a new legend was forming.
At the city's inner district, the Hero stood frozen. Blood on his hands. Fear in his chest. He had trained with priests, read ancient scrolls, defeated beasts.
But this wasn't a monster.
This was a man who had nothing left to lose.
The Hero stood in front of a trembling group of nobles. His voice cracked as he raised his sword.
"I'll protect you," he promised. "We're retreating… strategically."
The nobles didn't question him. They only packed their gold and ran.
Inside the Hero's own manor, a servant quietly poured him tea.
Obama.
His face looked calm, loyal, gentle.
But behind that perfect disguise was a pig-faced demon who had slit the real butler's throat an hour earlier and worn his skin like a costume.
"You saw him, didn't you?" Obama asked. "The Demon King."
The Hero didn't reply.
Obama leaned closer. "If you face him again, you'll die. And what would we do without you, my lord?"
The Hero finally looked at him.
Obama continued, his voice low and venomous. "Say you're leaving to protect the people. Say it's a noble choice. The nobles will believe it. You're their shining light, after all."
He smiled, the kind of smile only demons wore.
"Dead heroes get replaced. But clever ones… they live long enough to win."
The Hero, pale and shaken, nodded.
And so the nobles fled with him—desperate, silent, and humiliated. They left their mansions, their banners, their legacies behind.
The Demon King did not chase.
From the bell tower above the city square, Eren stood with blood-soaked clothes and watched their retreat. The fires crackled behind him, casting his shadow across the city.
He didn't smile.
He didn't speak loudly.
He just whispered into the wind.
"Run while you still can. I'll find you soon."