Tyras set his cup down, steam rising between his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, a rare seriousness settling over his expression.

  “There is a place I want the four of you to explore,” he said. “A place called Winterhell.”

  The room quieted. Even Husk stopped chewing for a moment.

  Tyras continued, “Winterhell is one of the holy places in the Netherworld. A vast, frozen battlefield buried beneath endless snow and silence. It’s where the ancient demon warlords fell when they challenged me in the past—back when I was still known only as the First Demon.”

  His gaze drifted to the side, as if peering into a memory buried deep. “Though I defeated them, they managed to take something from me—something important. I don’t remember what it was, only that it mattered enough for them to seal it deep within that place. If I can reclaim it, I believe I’ll regain the memories of my past life.”

  Husk raised an eyebrow, licking grease from his thumb. “You’re the strongest demon alive. Why don’t you go fetch it yourself?”

  Tyras’s smile didn’t return. “Because Winterhell is cursed. The will of those ancient demons lingered long after their bodies fell. It became a demonic spirit—a guardian fueled by their final hatred.”

  He lifted two fingers. “The first curse: if a being whose soul has reached elite-class or higher enters, Winterhell will vanish for a hundred years. The curse will follow them. It will kill anyone connected to them—family, friends, even pets. The visitor might survive if they’re strong enough, but their loved ones won’t if they are weak.”

  Qi’s eyes widened slightly behind her veil. Locci tilted his head, brow furrowed in thought.

  Tyras lowered his voice. “The second curse is simpler but absolute. If I step foot in Winterhell… it will collapse upon itself. The entire place will self-destruct, and the thing I seek will be lost forever.”

  Arayn tapped the table, brows drawn. “So you need people strong enough to survive the place but still under elite-class.”

  “Exactly.” Tyras looked at each of them. “That’s why I chose all of you. You’re powerful, but not yet beyond the threshold. You’re just right.”

  Husk cracked his knuckles. “Snowy battlefield cursed by dead warlords? Sounds fun.”

  Qi nodded quietly. “I’ll go, master.”

  Locci gave a small, amused smile. “Well, it’s been a while since I went sightseeing in snowy land.”

  Arayn glanced at Tyras. “If you acquire your past life memories, I want you to teach something meaningful to me.”

  Tyras exhaled slowly. “Of course. Then, I will count on you.”

  “There’s one last thing you should know about Winterhell,” he said.

  “It’s not just a cursed graveyard. It’s a holy ground for a reason. It contains so many secrets. A hundred years ago, a hybrid demon stumbled into a fortuitous encounter during one of his explorations. He survived. Not only that—he inherited the legacy of one of the ancient demon warlords.”

  “That hybrid is now a Grandmaster-class demon. From nothing to legend, just because of one stroke of luck in that battlefield.”

  Arayn leaned forward slightly, and even Husk’s usual casual grin was replaced with something more thoughtful.

  “There are more secrets buried beneath the snow,” Tyras continued. “Weapons that remember blood. Techniques carved into frozen stone. Souls of the fallen that whisper to those who can hear. Fortuitous encounters beyond what I can even predict.”

  “I’m not sending you there for my sake alone. This is your opportunity too. Whatever you find… whatever you awaken in that place… it’s yours to keep. Grow stronger. Uncover the secrets of Winterhell. Let the battlefield test you, and let it reward you.”

  Husk grinned faintly. “Now that’s more like it.”

  Qi’s eyes glinted behind her veil. “Don't worry, master. I will prioritize retrieving your precious item more than everything else.”

  Even Locci muttered, “If there’s a strong dragon in that battlefield, I’m fighting it.”

  Arayn nodded. “I will do things on my own pace.”

  Tyras smiled. “Good. Then we will depart tomorrow.”

  The restaurant doors swung open. As they reached the restaurant’s grand obsidian archway, Tyras came to a stop. His gaze lingered on the red sky above, and then he turned to Arayn.

  "Hey," he said casually, "I was pondering it, and I’ve decided, I’ll train you."

  Arayn tilted his head. "Train me? What do you want to teach, master?"

  Tyras grinned. "Your footwork technique. 'Destructive Mirage'. You’ve only scratched the surface. I want you to witness its true potential. Maybe you’ll gain inspiration."

  He glanced at Husk. “And it's a good opportunity for him to see your Corlust Eyes in action.”

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  Arayn’s voice carried a tinge of anticipation. "Alright. When are we going to practice?"

  Tyras raised a hand and flicked his fingers.

  The ground dropped away. In an instant, Arayn, Qi, Husk, and Locci floated effortlessly above the city, suspended mid-air as if held in the palm of a god. Below them, Tyras stood alone, his coat fluttering in the still air. His head tilted up, watching them with a faint smile.

  Qi blinked in awe. “Master is truly formidable. He lifted all of us without even alerting the city defenses.”

  Husk snorted. “You’ll be able to do that too if you become as broken as him. For now, just keep your eyes wide. You don’t want to blink and miss the show.”

  Arayn’s pupils shifted. He activated his [Corlust Eyes of Demonic Arsenal], the ancient glyphs rotating inside his irises like burning wheels. Magic circuits bloomed behind his gaze.

  Husk whistled. “So this is the famed Corlust Eyes of this world, huh? Not bad. Let’s see what they can catch.”

  Tyras exhaled softly and took a step forward.

  And vanished.

  Thousands of afterimages burst into existence across the entire city, like phantoms skipping between rooftops, threading through alleyways, walking upside-down along spires and walls. The sky seemed to fracture with mirrored versions of him moving at incomprehensible speed.

  Demon guards around the district raised their weapons in alarm. One bellowed, “How insolent! This city is under the jurisdiction of Lord Azael Crimsonstar himse—”

  He never finished.

  All of Tyras’s afterimages detonated simultaneously. A wave of destruction rippled outward. Buildings crumbled like sandcastles, roads split open with screams of molten energy, and the screams of the guards were swallowed by roaring flame and collapsing stone. The explosion engulfed the entire city in an instant—Valak City, a proud jewel of the underworld, was reduced to a smoking crater.

  High above, Arayn watched with awe and laughter. “So the explosion from the afterimage is capable of this much damage… I thought it was just a gimmick. Interesting.”

  Ash rained like snow. From this day forward, Valak City—city of pride under the second Heavenly Demon—was erased from the map.

  Tyras stood amidst the ruins, hands still in his pockets, his expression calm beneath the fading firelight.

  ---

  Dream Dimension.

  The space they met in was white. Not light, not mist. Pure absence. A place where the concept of direction meant nothing. Tyras and Azael sat across from each other at a plain table conjured from nothing, its surface white, like everything else around them.

  Azael’s figure was draped in regal white, and his face shimmered behind a veil of blinding light, blurring every feature.

  Tyras leaned back in his chair, a low chuckle rumbling from his throat. “I’ve seen your real face, you know. What’s the point of hiding it now?”

  Azael’s voice came cold. “Because you're no worthy to see me.”

  Tyras grinned. “Still playing the pride game, huh? Why are you so bent on standing in my way, Azael? We’re both Heavenly Demons. We could work to achieve our goals together.”

  “There can only be one Heavenly Demon,” Azael replied. “That title is not meant to be shared.”

  Tyras sighed. The sound echoed faintly in the nothingness. He stood, brushing invisible dust from his coat. “Then there’s no point in continuing this monthly gathering. This will be the last time we speak as equals. As comrades, even.”

  Azael nodded once. “Fine by me. Next time we meet, I’ll bring you down.”

  Tyras narrowed his eyes. “What are you plotting?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Azael answered, amused. “The truth is, I know everything about your current movements. Your little plans. Your horsemen. Even your destination and purpose in Winterhell.”

  Azael leaned forward slightly. “But you know nothing about mine. You’re no longer the leader of the Gourmet Faction. No one feeds you information anymore.”

  Tyras's smile faded just a little.

  Azael chuckled. “Wait patiently. I’ve prepared a surprise for you in Winterhell.”

  Tyras said nothing. He stared at the blur of light that was once a face he knew well. Then, he turned and walked away, the void swallowing his silhouette.

  ---

  Tyras opened his eyes.

  The cold, white emptiness of the meeting with Azael faded, replaced by the rush of wind and the hum of enchanted engines beneath him. He was seated cross-legged on the deck of a flying boat, its dark metal hull gliding silently above a red sea that churned with eerie life. The air stank of rust and wet ash.

  Above them, the clouds were the color of blood, thick and writhing. They cracked with violet lightning. Some bolts struck the ship, but each time, a transparent barrier shimmered into view, soft ripples warding away devastation.

  Qi leaned forward, steam curling from the teacup in her hand. “You’re awake, master,” she said with a soft tone. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  Tyras gave a slight shake of his head, eyes still watching the sky. “I wasn’t sleeping,” he said calmly. “Every month, Azael and I hold a gathering between Heavenly Demons. That was the last one.”

  The others looked at him.

  “You four must be careful,” Tyras continued. “He’s plotting something. I don’t know what, but he’s hiding more than ever.”

  Husk stretched his arms and gave a low chuckle. “You’re right to warn us. I may act carefree, but I’m no longer a powerful Transcendence. What I have now is the strength I had when I was at this level long ago. I can’t afford to be careless.”

  Locci stood near the edge of the ship, his silver hair fluttering in the wind. His gaze was distant, but his voice calm. “When are we going to arrive, Tyras?”

  The demon lord closed his eyes briefly. “Soon. Winterhell isn’t far now. You’ll know when we enter its domain because the air itself will start to scream.”

  The flying boat pushed forward, cutting through the storm like a blade through frostbitten flesh. As they ventured deeper, the air changed. It began to scream. Not like wind howling through mountain passes, but like souls in agony, layered voices shrieking with rage and despair.

  The temperature dropped sharply. Frost formed on the steel rails of the ship, and even the barrier began to show cracks, thin and spider-webbed, like fragile glass under pressure. Violent gales slammed from all directions, hammering at the shield that protected them. Each impact echoed like a drumbeat of doom.

  Tyras stood up, his coat billowing, eyes narrowed at the horizon of nothing but red clouds and pale frost. “This is as far as I can go. If I proceed further, I fear something irreversible may happen.”

  He turned to his four horsemen. “Good luck. Winterhell is unpredictable. Its situation may have changed greatly after millennia, even I'm not familiar with the situation inside. Work together. Search for information. Survive. I’ll see you again.”

  Without further words, Tyras vanished, disappearing into thin air like mist burned away by morning sun. At that moment, the wind stopped only for a second. Then, the red clouds above dispersed.

  A massive face of ice emerged from the dispersed storm clouds. Its eyes were frozen caverns, and its scream shook the sea below.

  “NO TRANSPORTATION OR COMMUNICATION SHALL ENTER WINTERHELL! ”

  The words rang out in the ancient demon tongue. The other horsemen stared in confusion, but Arayn understood perfectly.

  “No transportation... no communication devices allowed in Winterhell,” he murmured.

  And with that, the barrier cracked fully, then shattered like a crystal struck by thunder.

  A violent tornado burst into existence in the middle of the boat, formed from nothing, born from cursed air. It roared, ripping through the ship with monstrous force. Wood splintered. Steel warped. Mana cores overloaded and detonated.

  The flying boat was gone in seconds, torn asunder midair and scattered like ash across the sky.