Chapter 56: The Frightened Little Beast Sophisia.
Far from the Kangkela Empire, in Fichel Town, a black-haired cat-eared beastgirl, Liya, meticulously licked the back of her hand like a true feline, as if cleaning invisible dust. Her posture was deferential, but her perked ears and twitching tail tip betrayed her hyper-awareness of her surroundings. The high-backed chair she stood beside was like solidified midnight.
Seated there was Movina Noctura, the embodiment of “darkness.” Her black velvet dress spread around her feet like a yawning shadow marsh. The spiderweb lace and thorn embroidery on her gown weren’t idle, writhing subtly in the dim light like shadowy sprites holding a tea party on the fabric. Most striking was the pendant at her neck—a jagged beast fang that greedily drank the faint moonlight, emitting a ghostly red glow, like a mischievous firefly.
“Liya,” Movina’s voice slid through the air like cool silk, laced with lazy amusement, “tell me, how’s our ‘lost’ little Astraea lord doing?” (Liya’s name ring a bell? Recall the faded scratches on the collar of that smug black cat before Yanlu appeared—the answer’s there, meow~)
Liya gracefully lowered her paw (hand), bowing slightly, her cat-like eyes glinting in the shadows.
“Your Highness, that little rat’s not making waves yet. His style? Sneaky, backstabbing assassin vibes. But his rank… apprentice low-tier, stuck there for a decade, steady as a rock!”
She stretched the word “steady,” prompting Kasim, a demon officer nearby, to scowl darkly, as if his tail had been stepped on. Liya’s tail flicked with delight as she continued, “But, Your Highness, some folks fight with skill, not magic. In terms of raw combat and survival instincts…”
She paused, smirking at the fuming Kasim, “Our dear Kasim might need to write his will before facing him…”
“Of course!” Liya’s tone shifted, light as if discussing the weather, “He’s still a rat chained by his magic limits. During the Crimson Abyss ruckus, he showed a hint of nature magic, but it’s wobbly, like a toddler’s first steps, all thanks to that tacky green ring on his finger. In short…”
She shrugged, dismissing him with a wave.
“His strength? Even our camp’s potato-peeling recruits could pin him down. To you? Not even dust—just a speck you wouldn’t notice.”
Movina’s lips curved into a “delighted” arc, her gaze lazily shifting to the blonde girl opposite her, whose hair shone like a spotlight in this grim place.
“So~” she drawled, her voice sweet as poisoned honey, “our precious Church gem, Saintess Sophia Astraea, what’s your take on this Lord Flo?”
“E-Eh? M-Me?!”
Sophia nearly leapt from her chair, like a startled rabbit. Her pale face flushed red, fingers clutching her holy skirt as if trying to dig a hole to hide in. Her voice was a trembling whisper: “C-Can… we not… hurt him?”
This candidate saintess was the epitome of “terminal social anxiety.” Raised in the Church’s ivory tower, she could count her real-world contacts on her fingers. Now, in the demon’s den, facing a scheming demon princess, it was a miracle she could form sentences. Her composed public facade? Obliterated by the situation.
“Dear~” Movina leaned forward, her blood-red eyes gleaming with mischief, “I asked for your opinion, not a plea~”
Sophia’s head dropped, voice quivering with tears. “He… he’s so pitiful… I-It’s true… I took his place… The whole Astraea family… was… ruined by the Church…”
She trailed off, shoulders shaking.
“Pfft…” A soft, genuine chuckle escaped Movina’s throat. So satisfying! The Astraea family, which she loathed, had been undone by humans themselves! Her vengeance hadn’t even begun, and they’d already collapsed! It was more intoxicating than the finest bloodwine!
As for this three-winged saintess? Movina’s inner demon cackled. A shy canary, blushing at loud voices, couldn’t escape her grasp, even with six wings! Why else would she dare sit in the demon’s lair with just one companion (albeit a notable one), sipping tea?
That companion—Felice Tatist, Sixth Princess of the Kangkela Empire—sat elegantly, her Aegean-blue hair woven into a princess braid. Propping her chin, she watched the “demon teasing saintess” show with a knowing, subtle smile. A candidate saintess and an imperial princess? Impressive titles, but bargaining in a demon stronghold? Like Little Red Riding Hood delivering takeout to the Big Bad Wolf.
“Alright, Sophie,” Felice interjected, her voice smooth as jade, carrying royal soothing magic, cutting off Movina’s fun. “It’s not your fault; don’t blame yourself.”
Her blue eyes turned to Movina, smiling but weighted. “Your Highness, teasing dear Sophie is amusing, but we came for business, not to watch you stage ‘How to Make a Saintess Cry.’ Shall we get to it?”
“Heh, fine. Your plan’s doable, but why should I help? Demons and saintesses, demons and humans—where’s the reason to cooperate~?” Movina’s smile was playful.
“Haven’t demons lost people to the disappearances too? I’d say that’s reason enough, Your Highness,” Felice countered.
Just then, a discordant voice shattered the conversation…