Chapter 1 – Old Dwarf, Long Time No See
During the Mythic Age, long before the Demon King's fall.
The Holy City — Strahl.
Inside the Grand Selection Hall, a golden-haired elf sat high upon her throne, her sharp eyes coldly sweeping across each candidate.
"Your face looks too bitter. Unqualified."
"Flat chest. Unqualified."
"Hmm? And what's with that half-bucket of oil in your hand? Unqualified."
...
The elf on the throne was none other than the pinnacle of all magi — the living archive of magic, the one closest to the omniscient and almighty Goddess herself — the Great Archmage, Serie.
Eighteen candidates had just been eliminated the moment they stepped through the doors.
Standing beside her, another Great Archmage, Flamme, sighed softly with a faint smile.
Her teacher was still as capricious as ever.
To Serie, the line between "genius" and "mediocre" was decided by a single whim.
And yet—her instincts were always right.
Flamme's sea-green eyes lifted as the nineteenth candidate entered.
Something in her gaze flickered with unease.
Strange...
What is this aura?
A man in a dark brown traveler's cloak walked slowly into the sanctum, his long shadow stretching across the marble floor. Even the warm flames from the magical sconces on both sides couldn't dispel the chilling sharpness on his face.
Elias.
It had been three thousand years since he reincarnated as a demon.
His memories from his former life — the life of a human — drifted away like dust in the wind.
The faint traces of humanity he'd accumulated over thirty short years as a man had long since dried up, like a riverbed in drought.
After all, what was thirty years compared to three thousand?
A fleeting nap in the afternoon of eternity.
A dream so distant that upon waking, nothing remained.
Not even... love.
Elias slowly lifted his gaze.
The instant he saw that familiar golden hair, a fragment of the distant past stirred within him —
The first day he reached out and patted her head.
"Hey, shorty. You're never gonna grow taller, are you?"
"Try touching my head again. You'll lose that hand."
...
Now, staring straight into Serie's golden eyes, Elias's cold lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
"Old dwarf... long time no see."
Flamme blinked in confusion.
Her teacher — the revered Great Archmage Serie — might look young, but her ears were notoriously sensitive to two words.
"Old."
And "short."
And this man — this exam candidate — had just stepped on both landmines at once.
If one wished to die, there were a thousand ways to do it.
But perhaps, to him, dying by the Great Archmage's hand was an honor.
Serie tilted her head, the brown earrings on her long ears swaying slightly.
"Hmph. What's with this year's selection? Three rounds of trials, and not one examiner managed to see through your disguise. Did I really appoint a bunch of fools?"
Her lips curled into a mischievous grin, revealing her small, sharp fangs.
"What about you, Flamme? What do you see in him?"
The moment Flamme's gaze fell on Elias—
A ripple of pale magic surged through the air, and her expression froze in astonishment.
"His body... it's surrounded by an incredibly powerful magical force."
"And it's... moving."
"...Moving?"
Elias's eyes flickered. He turned to look at the young woman — bright orange hair, a human, barely twenty years of age.
Twenty years — not even enough time to decipher a single page from a myth-era grimoire.
And yet, she could see the fluctuation of his sealed magic.
What terrifying talent...
He couldn't even recall the last time someone had perceived it.
It had been that long.
Serie's expression softened with a trace of pride at her apprentice's keen perception. She lowered her head, her tone teasing yet sharp:
"And? What else, Flamme? If that's all you can see, you're no different from the others."
Flamme drew a deep breath and fixed her gaze on Elias once more.
As her eyes followed the shifting waves of magic around him...
The air itself began to tremble.
Above Elias's head, faint lines shimmered into existence — slowly forming a pair of demonic horns.
"Those are…"
"...Demon horns!"
—— Whoosh!
Before she could even think, Flamme reacted purely on instinct. A burst of magic flared from her staff, streaking toward the demon below!
A deafening explosion followed. Smoke filled the hall.
When it finally cleared, Elias stood exactly where he had been — motionless, unharmed.
A golden bell-shaped barrier shimmered faintly around him, etched with glowing sigils that pulsed like rotating halos.
Flamme's pupils shrank.
What kind of magic… is this? What era does it even belong to?
As Elias lowered the barrier, a rare smile appeared on his lips.
A human-born mage — and Serie's disciple, no less.
She truly was a genius among geniuses.
To see through his human disguise so easily, and to attack without hesitation… impressive.
Had he not reacted in time, he would've been reduced to ash already.
"Old dwarf, a thousand years apart and you've managed to find yourself quite the talented student."
Serie's golden eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a smirk.
"You have the nerve to say that?"
Her tone turned sharp, teasing yet laced with reproach.
"Elias, weren't you the one who took in a fine disciple as well?"
Elias's expression stiffened; guilt flickered in his eyes. He looked away awkwardly.
"Serie, that... that one's not my fault."
"How could I have known," he sighed, "that the disciple I took on a whim… would later become the Demon King."
---
The Demon King... was his disciple?!
For a heartbeat, Flamme thought she'd misheard.
Her body froze. The memories came rushing back — that blood-soaked night when the Demon King's army razed her home and slaughtered everyone she loved.
But then she saw Serie's calm, unchanging expression.
No denial. No surprise.
Which could only mean — Elias was telling the truth.
That would mean both of them — Serie and Elias — were beings from the Mythic Age, survivors who had lived through thousands of years.
Serie hopped down lightly from her marble throne, her small footsteps echoing in the silent hall.
"Very well. I'll take your word for it—for now."
"I won't hold your student's sins against you."
"But tell me, Elias. Why would an ancient archdemon like you go to such trouble to find me?"
She stopped before him. Her head barely reached his waist.
Elias lowered his gaze. He didn't speak. Instead—
He reached out his hand.
And patted her head.
"It's been a thousand years since I last did this. Brings back memories..."
Serie: «།=_=།»
"Y-You...!" Flamme shrieked, face blazing red as she charged forward, slapping his hand away.
"How dare you touch my teacher's head, you wretched demon!"
"I've been dying to pat her head myself, but she never lets me!"
"And you—! You beat me to it!"
Compared to Flamme's outburst, Serie looked utterly calm.
...Had she actually gotten used to it?
Elias stared down at her, thoughtful.
Serie crossed her arms, her voice dripping with disdain.
"Elias, we're both thousands of years old. Drop the nonsense and get to the point."
Elias's faint smile faded. A cold sharpness returned to his features — his true self revealed.
"Serie, I've heard that those who pass your trial earn the right to request a spell from the all-knowing you."
"Unqualified."
The refusal came instantly — sharp as a knife. She turned, hopping back onto her throne with a flick of her hair.
"Elias," she said quietly, her voice losing its jesting tone, "after three thousand years... you're still searching for that spell, aren't you?"
Elias's eyes darkened.
Memories flooded back — the first time he tore into a human throat, driven by starvation.
The taste of blood.
The stench of death.
The guilt that never faded — not even after a thousand years.
"Yes."
"I'm still searching... for the spell that can turn a demon... back into a human."