episode_0021

It has been roughly 400 years since the Demon King first appeared in this world. In that time, countless events unfolded, wars erupted, and even the Demon King himself reached his fourth generation. Yet despite this, the frontlines have steadily retreated, and now half the continent has fallen under the Demon King’s control.

The nations that suffered the most in this process were the Empire and the Kingdom.

Excluding the small Holy Nation and the Elves’ homeland—which, despite its size, was little more than a forest—these two nations had once divided the continent between them before the Demon King’s forces arose.

Their vast territories naturally placed them adjacent to the Demon King’s domain, and compared to their glorious past, neither now possesses even half of their former lands.

Thus, with both nations weakening by the day, two factions—believing they would be next once these crumbling defenses fell—joined forces merely to maintain the frontlines.

Against a single colossal enemy, all of humanity fought together.

Yet even in such dire circumstances, humans could never shake the fear that someone might betray them. As a result, border checkpoints between nations remained under the strictest surveillance at all times.

Against this backdrop, a certain stern woman found herself in a predicament.

Arina groaned in frustration, unable to enter Imperial territory despite having stood at its borders for a full week.

Even now, after yet another fruitless day, she sat in a tavern, gnawing irritably on her nails, shaking her leg—until a mug of beer was smoothly placed before her.

The pink-haired beauty looking down at her with faint pity was Ririth, who, despite her condescending expression, diligently performed her duties as a slave.

Though she wore loose clothing to hide her succubus wings and tail, Ririth exuded her natural charm through her face alone.

“Honestly, you dragged us all the way here without even a plan to get past the checkpoint?”

“It’s not like I came unprepared! Who knew things would be this different from before?”

Ririth ruthlessly reminded her of their circumstances, and irritation welled up all over again. That stifling frustration when things didn’t go her way—she hated it. At times like these, nothing chased it off quite like beer.

Arina downed the freshly refilled mug in one go.

Winter was deepening, and beer left unattended quickly turned ice-cold—which made it taste all the better.

A crisp, refreshing chill followed by a warm alcoholic buzz. Before she knew it, she was grinning.

“To think an alcoholic like you is the mage of the Hero’s party… I wonder how much time humanity has left before peace crumbles~”

Ririth shrugged, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Arina’s grin vanished.

“I told you not to call me that.”

Ririth flinched under the glare Arina shot her. But her anger wasn’t because her slave was acting insolent—no, it was the title.

Months of conditioning through brute force had left scars.

“S-sorry! As an apology, I’ll pay for your drinks todaaay!”

She dashed to the counter before Arina could respond, pulled coins from her pocket, and ordered another beer.

Glancing discreetly back, she exhaled in relief when she saw Arina quietly sipping her drink.

Occasionally—no, frequently—Ririth teased Arina out of sheer mischief. But months of experience had taught her exactly when not to push it.

Arina had enforced her authority as master quite violently, sending her on endless errands under the guise of “teaching her how to be a proper slave.” If Ririth hadn’t learned to read the room, she wouldn’t have survived this long.

Thanks to that (if you could call it a blessing), Ririth had mastered the art of delicate flattery.

Safe this time… She sighed briefly, only to immediately regret it.

A few weeks ago, under Durahan’s protection, she lived comfortably in luxury. And before that, as the Succubus Queen’s right hand, she commanded universal respect.

Now here she was, groveling before humans for money while carefully watching Arina’s moods. How could humiliation like this ever be a relief?

If only I could slip a cursed sigil onto that bitch—

“Did they run out of beer back there? Took you long enough—”

“I-I’m going now!”

“Ugh, it’s disgustingly cold.”

Arina blew warm air onto her hands before pulling her coat tighter. This morning, after a night of heavy drinking, she had woken up with a dire realization: Things can NOT keep going like this.

Even with her throbbing hangover, she found herself trudging through the freezing winter streets.

“Why do I have to come?!”

Naturally, her personal errand girl was with her.

“Oh, so you thought you’d stay cozy indoors while I, your master, gathered intel?”

“It’s not like I need to go to the Empire anyway… Couldn’t you just, you know, use magic or something?”

Her complaint-laden tone and careless suggestion immediately set Arina off.

Oh, right—you’re a mage, aren’t you? Can’t you fix this?

It was the kind of question all mages despised hearing, and Arina had endured it one too many times growing up.

People without magic never understood it. To them, it was like some fairy godmother’s wish-granting trick—any minor inconvenience, and suddenly they expected miracles.

There was nothing Arina could say to that except, What exactly do you expect me to do?

“If magic could bypass checkpoints, why would anyone waste money building them? These places are crawling with mana-detection tools and guards. If I could brute-force it, I’d have shattered the damn walls already.”

Ririth pouted at the sharp retort.

“Then… what’s the plan?”

“The best option would be forging identification papers.”

After searching for a week, Arina still hadn’t found anyone specializing in that kind of work.

The heavy military presence made illegal operations nearly impossible here.

“Things weren’t like this before.”

Compared to when Arina used to pass freely through checkpoints, the atmosphere now was downright hostile.

“If I knew it’d be like this, I’d have forged papers ahead of time elsewhere.”

She’d rushed here in hopes of arriving before winter—only to be stuck now.

“But turning back now isn’t exactly ideal either.”

Not only would it take forever, but traveling in this weather wasn’t advisable.

If they let themselves freeze, their senses dulled, they’d be sitting ducks for ambushes—regardless of skill.

Without a clear solution, they lingered aimlessly, hoping luck would favor them.

The biting winter wind stole moisture from their skin, flaying them raw. By the time their skin burned red, Ririth spoke up.

“Let’s just go back. Wandering around like this isn’t helping.”

“No. It’s already been a week. We don’t know when pursuers might catch up.”

“And yet someone wasted time drinking like it was nothing.”

“You think I was just drinking? Adventurers eat, drink, and breathe taverns—you can gather all sorts of dirt from them. Plenty of those guys know the underworld like the back of their hand.”

Ririth’s eyebrows twitched. Underworld? That sounded familiar.

She racked her brain, replaying last night. After dragging a blackout-drunk Arina back to the inn, she’d gone straight to… work.

Succubus work, of course. Under the stipulation that she wouldn’t fatally drain anyone—Arina had begrudgingly agreed to it.

Without absorbing vitality regularly, succubi died. This wasn’t indulgence—it was survival.

But the important part was last night’s client.

A man who couldn’t resist bragging—about his high-ranking connections, his exploits, the fortune he made.

No doubt, he wouldn’t have spilled his guts like that to anyone but a bought woman.

Among his useless boasts, one stood out: His claim of bedding female criminals who begged him for forged IDs.

Arina’s eyes had widened immediately.

“WHERE did you meet that bastard?”

“That same tavern. When I carried you out drunk, he was there.”

He might show up again today—he’d clearly taken a liking to her. Without another word, Arina bolted back to the tavern.

“See him?”

“Yep. That guy sitting at the far end.”

“He’s looking right at me. Guess he did enjoy you.”

“Obviously! Who do you think I am? The Succubus Queen’s right hand, that’s who!”

Ririth puffed out her chest, radiating pride.

(That wasn’t a compliment.)

The idea that anyone liked being objectified by men like that baffled Arina. All it did was attract disgusting creeps.

“Go ask if he can forge papers.”

“Obviously all the important work falls to me. Don’t forget my worth, got it?”

After a theatrical flourish, Ririth strutted over to his table—only to return moments later uncharacteristically hesitant.

“That was quick. Did he agree just ‘cause he likes you?”

“……”

She wavered, clearly torn between answering truthfully—knowing full well the consequences—and lying.

“Well?”

“Um… He says he’ll only talk to you directly.”