The mist began to thin. Nanoda felt the range of her Mana Perception suddenly widen, and an unusual, strangely familiar Mana was drawing near.
Nanoda simply walked out to meet it. "Oh? You saw me and didn't run — instead you're walking toward me?"
A tall, red-skinned Demon stood there, one hand raking through his crimson hair, the other propped on his hip, releasing powerful, scorching Mana without restraint.
He was a Demon General — Hafleet of the Ashes!
"Such a feeble little thing, and this Mana besides — you've probably never even heard my name, never seen me before. Kneel before this general right now, little soldier!"
Hafleet stood nearly one and seven-tenths times Nanoda's height. He tilted his head down slightly, looking at this creature who clearly didn't know its place.
Through his Mana Perception he could tell the Mana radiating off her was faint to the point of almost nothing — either she was naturally weak, or she'd already burned through most of her strength. Either way, she was no match for him.
Probably just some poor wretch who'd wandered in here by accident. "How insolent! What's that tilt of the head supposed to mean?"
He watched the big red brute, listened to the tone of his voice.
Something about this whole scene struck Nanoda as oddly familiar.
"Hafleet?"
She said it absently, as though trying to place a memory.
"Hahahahaha! Have you lost your mind?! Kneel, now!"
Hafleet reached out a hand, as if about to press it down on Nanoda's head.
He had originally been following Schlacht's orders, waiting in the mist for the powerful enemy the prophecy had foretold.
His memory drifted back to the moment etched deepest into it.
Someone had once reached a hand toward him out of the darkness. Back then he'd apparently suffered abuse at Humans' hands, his whole body covered in wounds.
"What? You're — you're one of the Seven Sages of Destruction, Lord Grausam the Miracle?! I'm Hafleet of the Ashes!"
"Those titles are all in the past now. I simply couldn't bear watching you suffer, so I got you out."
"Yes — that, that person, whoever — ah, doesn't matter. That hateful Human really did put me through hell. Lord Grausam, if you don't mind having me, I'd gladly serve as one of your men."
"No, I don't need that. These days I'm living hidden among Humans myself. Go — you're free now, same as I am."
Hafleet nodded and left, heading for the place the Demon King had once ruled — the Northern territories.
He wanted to find Humans and take his revenge, to vent everything he'd suffered.
On the road north, he crossed paths with that "big brother" — Divine Technique's Revolte!
The man didn't waste words. He simply drew his blade.
His flames were shattered by a longsword that struck now heavy, now light. Both were Demon Generals, yet the gap in raw power between them was glaring.
Hafleet, who leaned heavily on magic, was completely outmatched once his magic was suppressed.
Forced into submission by sheer strength, Hafleet reluctantly became his underling.
But in the very moment he submitted to Revolte, a strange feeling suddenly rose in his chest — though something in his mind seemed to resist the memory, and in the end he didn't dwell on it.
He drifted through his days in a daze, tagging along behind Revolte as the man wandered about testing his blade on whatever he found. Day after day, amid the slaughter of Humans, his resentment toward them slowly faded without his noticing.
And yet the heaviness in Hafleet's heart never fully lifted. The agony of that time of torment still lingered in the memory carried in his body, in his muscles.
For some reason, he felt himself growing more and more worthless with each passing day.
Then one day, word spread that the Hero was dead.
Revolte, who until then had confined his blade-testing killings to remote backwaters, began expanding his range.
Later still, on another day, Hafleet picked up a strange stone.
That was the moment his fortunes turned.
One day the strange stone suddenly began to glow, crumbling entirely to powder, and an eerie black void unfurled out of nothingness.
"Finally. I've arrived."
Under Hafleet's disbelieving stare, the legend of the Demon Race himself, the great Omniscient One, Schlacht, stood before him.
Those mismatched black-and-white eyes, which seemed able to see straight through the future, met his own.
"A hardy little Demon, aren't you. Care to join me in correcting the future?"
Even Hafleet, who embodied the Demon Race's characteristic coldness, felt his heart pounding.
And so it was that Revolte, sensing the Omniscient One's arrival nearby, brought his three subordinates — Hafleet among them — into Schlacht's plan.
"I promise you this: the future of the Demon Race is destined never to be severed. You'll all find what you're searching for."
Schlacht's words seemed to carry a Mana of their own, drawing hearts to him.
Following him, Hafleet came to meet, in turn, the Great Demon Solitär, living under a hidden name, and Grausam of the Seven Sages of Destruction — the one who had once saved him.
Back then, Lord Grausam had even shaken Hafleet's hand warmly.
It had even drawn a flash of displeasure from "big brother" Revolte.
Plan after plan came together; task after task was handed down by Schlacht. The Omniscient One was like a musician, playing a divine melody that led toward the future.
And Hafleet was a note dancing across that score — one destined to be remembered forever in the history of the Demon Race!
As long as he held fast to the future Schlacht had chosen, that future would be in his own hands!
Arrogance. Smugness. Bravado.
Hafleet was certain he had this little Demon in front of him — some nobody who'd wandered in from who-knew-where — completely at his mercy.
But then a gust of wind from nowhere swept past, blowing back Nanoda's hood and lifting that striking white hair. A single grey eye. And beneath the white hair, a hint of pale gold.
Hafleet's hand froze in midair.
Something was wrong. Something felt off.
She was plainly a Demon he'd never laid eyes on before, and yet she troubled him beyond all reason.
By the Demon Race's law — the weak submit to the strong — she should have already been on her knees, begging for mercy, already bowed beneath his power.
"Uh... um... hnh..."
Hafleet swallowed the urge to slam her to the ground and instead backed off a few steps, studying Nanoda.
It felt just like how he used to feel, trailing along behind Revolte.
Hafleet's posture visibly wilted. "It's been a long time." The line came light as breath, and yet it struck like a sudden thunderclap.
"You know me?!"
"Of course. Missing all this time — so this is where you ended up."
Even as she spoke, Hafleet felt his knees give way. He stared in disbelief as Nanoda's foot struck squarely into the joint.
With a thud, the towering Demon dropped to his knees before the white-haired one, the height gap between them vanishing in an instant.
"Who's the one behind you slandering Gaderia? And just what was that attitude of yours toward me a moment ago?"
Nanoda's voice went cold as ice as she pressed the sharp edge of her broken horn straight against his throat.
There was something strange about this Hafleet, it seemed.
____
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