Chapter 15: I am her husband.

The cold corridors of Demon King City echoed with the sound of two sets of footsteps—one light, one heavy.

Rose trailed closely behind Restel’s towering figure, like a wary yet irresistibly curious little tail. Her silver eyes darted around the gloomy surroundings until she finally couldn’t hold back anymore and asked in a small voice:

“What exactly do you mean by your ‘glorious moment’?”

Restel didn’t slow his pace or turn his head, answering simply:

“The Demon King Challenge—a tradition among demons.” His voice rang clear in the empty corridor. “Any demon with enough courage and strength—whether low-tier lesser demon or otherwise—can sign up to challenge the current Demon King. Win, and the throne is yours.”

Rose’s small brows furrowed. She felt a faint discomfort at the brutal rule.

“Then what happens to the previous Demon King if he loses?”

Restel’s footsteps paused for the briefest instant before resuming as though nothing had happened.

He tilted his head slightly. In the dim light, his dark crimson eyes looked deep and merciless. His tone was flat:

“Of course he dies. The loser has no right to exist. As for the body…” A cold curve touched the corner of his mouth. “…it’s naturally drained of every last drop of power and refined into a powerful Demon Core—another trophy for the victor.”

“!!!”

Rose’s heart plummeted. The low, frigid air of the passageway suddenly felt suffocatingly cold.

She instinctively hugged her slender arms tighter, rubbing the fine scales on her skin for comfort before asking again:

“And the challengers? Do all the losers die too?”

Her voice carried a barely noticeable tremor.

“Not all of them.”

Restel let out a low, ambiguous chuckle, as though recalling something amusing.

“I’ve seen all kinds over the years. Some get so scared by the killing intent and my pressure the moment they step inside that they piss themselves and run. Others—overconfident idiots calling themselves Heroes—come rushing to their deaths. And then there are the cowards who sign up but chicken out right before the match and never show their faces.”

Restel shrugged, sounding faintly bored.

“There’ve been too many to remember. The ones who survive are usually the ones with at least a shred of self-awareness.”

Rose listened in silence. Her silver lashes trembled faintly.

In her past life as Priest Perth, she had always pursued a peaceful, stable existence.

If not for the Empire’s expansionist ambitions—if not for the campaign to purge the demons lingering at the border—she would never have ended up here… and never encountered any of this.

“What’s so great about being the Demon King anyway?”

She muttered under her breath, filled with deep confusion.

Restel stopped walking. He turned around and looked down at her. A near-maniacal flame ignited in his dark crimson eyes.

“Of course it’s great!”

His voice thrummed with overwhelming desire for control.

“The absolute authority over the entire demon race, endless treasures, the fear and reverence of every living being—all of it lies in your grasp. How could a single word like ‘thrilling’ even begin to describe it? And this position is no empty title.”

He spread his palm as though seizing something invisible.

“It draws true powerhouses to challenge you. On the grand stage of single combat, under the eyes of thousands, you crush your opponent with absolute strength. Watching them—whether in terror or rage—eventually kneel in submission… that is the ultimate pleasure of power!”

For the Demon King who revered raw strength and the glory of battle, this kind of one-on-one, unrestrained duel ignited his blood far more than any prolonged war of attrition against humans.

But just as Restel’s words fell and he was about to push open the massive arched doors leading to the arena, the狂热 smile on his face suddenly vanished—replaced by a rare look of gravity.

A mountain-heavy pressure, thick with the aura of destruction, slammed toward them even through the thick stone doors.

Restel’s scarlet pupils contracted slightly.

This challenger’s presence was completely different from any that had come before.

The heavy stone doors rumbled open with a deep groan. Deafening sound waves crashed over them like a tsunami.

Rose saw ahead of her an enormous circular arena so vast it made her dizzy. Tier upon tier of hive-like spectator seats surrounded it—every single one packed to capacity.

Wild surges of demonic energy, thick bloodlust, and the frenzied, bloodthirsty roars of countless demons blended together into a nauseating, suffocating heat wave that hit her full force.

The stands were sharply divided into two camps: one side roaring the challenger’s name with狂热 fervor, the other hurling vicious curses and malice toward him.

On the terraces, ferocious beastmen pounded their chests with war cries. Cunning goblins shrieked with high-pitched laughter. Stocky goblins brandished unknown bones. Every eye burned with craving for bloodshed, eager to see the two figures in the arena tear each other to pieces.

Rose sucked in a sharp breath at the barbaric, violent scene. Her small body instinctively shrank behind Restel. Her fingers clutched tightly at the hem of his robe.

She had no doubt—if she were exposed in this place without him by her side, this fragile juvenile dragon body would be shredded by greedy gazes in an instant, reduced to an appetizer for some demon’s meal.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the stands—!!!”

A voice amplified by magic thundered across the entire arena, instantly drowning out the chaos.

“Let us welcome today’s challenger with our most frenzied roars—Sa—tan—!!!”

The cheers, boos, and howls reached a deafening crescendo. Accompanied by heavy footsteps, a figure completely shrouded in a wide black robe stepped slowly into the light at the center of the arena.

Wherever he passed, the very air seemed to thicken and grow oppressive.

“Restel! Over here!”

At that moment, a clear, bright voice—completely out of place in the surroundings—called from above.

Rose followed the sound. In the best-view VIP lounge, behind floor-to-ceiling windows, a man was waving toward them.

He had pointed ears and rare black-purple short hair. His features were strikingly handsome—almost otherworldly. Dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, he held a wine glass with elegant poise. Against the backdrop of roaring, frenzied demons, he looked like a gentleman who had accidentally wandered into hell.

“Oh!”

Restel’s face lit up with his usual lazy smile. He raised a hand and waved enthusiastically back, then—ignoring Rose’s faint struggle—naturally took her small, cold hand and led her up the stairs to the VIP area.

The door closed behind them, muffling most of the outside noise.

The man named Ankhira stepped forward with a smile.

“Let me introduce you—this is my capable subordinate, Ankhira.”

Restel gestured casually toward the suited gentleman.

Ankhira’s gaze immediately fell on Rose. His crystal-clear eyes brimmed with open curiosity and scrutiny.

He set down his wine glass and gave a slight, elegant bow.

“It’s an honor to meet you…”

Before he could finish, the silver-haired juvenile dragon cut in—eager to clarify.

“Hello! My name is Rose!”

Her voice was clear and childish, tinged with nervousness as she rushed to introduce herself before Restel could speak.

Ankhira studied the little girl in the plain gray dress, crowned with a pair of small silver horns, then glanced at Restel beside her. A playful smile curved his lips.

“Miss Rose? What an adorable little one. Restel, where did you pick up this relative’s child? Or rather…” He paused meaningfully. “…have you finally found a long-lost member of your own kind? In all the years I’ve known you, I never heard you mention any other dragons.”

Clearly, he had assumed Rose was a juvenile dragon Restel had recently discovered from his own race.

“Let me make this clear—I’m not a little kid.”

Rose frowned, clenching her small fists. Her voice rose several degrees.

“I’m already an adult.”

“Okay, okay~ Got it. The little kid is all grown up.”

Ankhira looked as though he’d heard the funniest joke. He couldn’t help laughing as he crouched down to bring his eyes level with hers.

His expression was teasing yet gentle—like coaxing a child. He softened his voice:

“Good girl. Your big brother has to go fight in the match now. He’ll be back soon. Stay right here during that time—Uncle will protect you. Don’t wander off; it’s very dangerous outside.”

“He’s not my big brother!”

Rose’s cheeks puffed out in anger, looking like an inflated pufferfish.

“And she’s definitely not my little sister.”

Restel retorted almost simultaneously.

His gaze had already locked onto the black-robed figure—Satan—walking into the arena. Battle intent began to rise within him.

Ankhira was completely baffled by their synchronized denial. He looked from the furious, puffed-up Rose glaring at Restel to the Demon King—who wore an impatient expression yet had the faintest upward curve at the corners of his mouth—and had no idea what was going on.

At that moment, Restel suddenly turned toward the bewildered Ankhira and flashed an extremely smug, proud smile—as though showing off a priceless treasure.

His dark crimson eyes shone with unmistakable possessiveness and declaration as he spoke slowly and clearly:

“I… am… her… hus—band~”