The sun had just begun to set over the Demon Castle's training grounds, painting the sky with hues of amber and crimson. Inside the towering fortress, echoes of footsteps rang down a long, polished hallway. The atmosphere was strangely tense—quiet, but thick, like the calm after a storm. Frey walked beside Milim, her gait slower than usual, her pride still bruised. She wasn't used to feeling… small.
Milim, still upbeat and trying to lift the mood, peeked sideways at her friend and said with a nervous chuckle, "Come on, Frey. Let me introduce you again. Just… y'know, keep your temper in check this time?"
Frey inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. "Fine," she said softly. "But only because it's you asking."
As they continued through the corridor, the rich scent of grilled meat and spices filled the air, growing stronger with each step. Torches lined the walls, flickering in rhythm with their footsteps. Finally, they reached a grand wooden door carved with dragons and ancient runes. Two elite guards opened it, revealing the castle's dining hall—lavish, but not overstated. The long table was made of blackwood, surrounded by crimson chairs and silver cutlery that gleamed under the chandelier.
At the head of the table sat Yujiro Hanma, shirt half-open, casually chewing on a rib bone with one hand while gesturing to Middray, who sat across from him. They were locked in a deep discussion about martial technique.
"I'm telling you," Yujiro said, his voice low and firm, "it's not just about strength. It's the intent. Focus on your center of gravity—twist your hips, not your shoulders. Otherwise, you're just wasting movement."
Middray, eyes wide, nodded like an eager student. "Hai, Yujiro-sama. I never thought of that. I always assumed it was about force, but you're right… the torque matters more."
Just then, they heard the soft clack of heels against marble. Yujiro didn't look up, but Middray turned to see Milim and Frey approaching.
"Ah, Milim-sama," Middray greeted with a respectful bow. "And… Lady Frey." His tone dipped just slightly at her name, remembering what happened earlier.
Milim pulled out a chair and plopped down with her usual cheer. "Yo! Sorry we're late! Had to convince someone not to storm off again." She nudged Frey with her elbow.
Frey sat down beside her, quiet. She didn't dare meet Yujiro's gaze—not after what happened. Her neck still tingled slightly from where he had struck her. It wasn't pain anymore, but a kind of memory her nerves wouldn't forget.
Milim cleared her throat. "So! Let's try this again, nice and proper." She gestured with both hands. "Yujiro, this is Frey, my best friend and a fellow Demon Lord. Frey, this is Yujiro Hanma… my uncle soon-to-be, if I master his technique."
Yujiro didn't even look up. He gave a small nod and continued eating, sipping his drink like none of this concerned him. His presence, though, was undeniable—he was the eye of a silent storm.
Frey's lips tightened. She picked up her fork and tried to focus on her plate. Milim, sensing the discomfort, launched into conversation.
"Anyway, Frey—you won't believe the stuff I've been learning. He taught me how to break a tree trunk with just two fingers! And—oh! I sparred with him qhen he fast came here with Draguel!"
Frey raised her brows. "You fought him?"
Milim grinned. "Yup! Gave it my all too. But he still wiped the floor with me."
That line hit like a shockwave. Frey, who had just taken a bite of roast boar, choked mid-swallow. She coughed violently, reaching for her goblet.
"W-What? You… lost?"
Yujiro finally glanced at her, just for a second. A casual side-eye. Nothing more. But even that made Frey sit straighter, spine tense like a bowstring.
Milim laughed. "Yep. Didn't even stand a chance. He's scary fast!"
Then Middray added, his voice deep and respectful, "Yujiro-sama also defeated Guy Crimson, Lady Velzard, Veldora-dono, Lord Draguel… and Lady Luminous. All without using a single ounce of magic."
The silence that followed was deafening. Frey's fork slipped from her fingers, clinking softly against her plate.
Her mind raced. Guy? Velzard? Veldora? Draguel? Luminous? All of them… and without magic?
She looked at Yujiro again. He wasn't even listening. His eyes were focused on his food, like their names meant nothing. As if their legendary power, the chaos they could bring, were no different than the chicken leg he now picked apart.
That realization sank deep into Frey's chest. She finally understood what Milim meant. This man wasn't just a strong human. He was something entirely else. A beast in a man's skin. A living mountain that no magic could climb.
"Unreal…" Frey whispered to herself.
Yujiro wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up, pushing his chair back slowly. He looked at Frey one more time—calm, collected, a smirk playing at his lips.
"If you're done choking on your pride," he said, voice like rolling thunder, "you're welcome to train with the others tomorrow. Just don't cry when you find out magic was your crutch all along."
Then, without waiting for a reply, Yujiro turned and left, footsteps echoing through the hall like the drumbeat of fate.
Frey stared after him, her hands trembling under the table. Not from fear—but from something worse.
Respect.
Real, humbling, gut-twisting respect.
Milim leaned over and whispered, "Told you not to get cocky."
Frey slowly nodded, eyes still on the door. "I didn't know… that monsters like him even existed."
Middray chuckled under his breath. "Now you do."
And the hall fell quiet again.
The next day....
Frey slowly opened her eyes, stretching under the velvet sheets of her guest chamber. Her body ached slightly from the tension she'd carried the day before, but it wasn't pain. It was... curiosity. There was something stirring in her chest, a pull she couldn't quite explain.
She sat up and blinked. What's that noise?
Sliding out of bed, she wrapped a silk robe around her shoulders and walked toward the large arched window. The sight that greeted her made her eyes widen in surprise.
Dozens of Milim's soldiers were out in the training yard, lined up in tight formations. But they weren't just practicing ordinary moves. Their punches, their kicks, the way they moved their legs and shifted weight—it all looked... different. Cleaner. Stronger. More precise.
It wasn't magic. It was real, raw technique.
Their palms sliced through the air like blades, knees drove upward like hammers, and feet struck the ground with a powerful rhythm that sent dust flying. When two soldiers sparred, the clash of their bodies sounded like thunder. Every movement had purpose. And energy—not magical aura, but something more primal—flared around their bodies, refined and compressed. Natural energy, focused through will and form.
Frey blinked. Is this… what Yujiro taught them?
Then she spotted Milim, drenched in sweat, her hair tied up, hands balled into fists as she tried to master a complex motion. She moved forward, twisted her hips, stomped her foot into the ground—and lost balance, falling flat on her butt.
"Ugh! Damn it!" Milim groaned, smacking the dirt. Then she looked up and spotted Frey watching from the window.
"HEY FREY!" Milim shouted, voice echoing across the castle grounds. "You finally awake?! Come join us!!"
Frey blinked. Her first instinct was to refuse. She was a Demon Lord, after all. She didn't train in the dirt like soldiers. She commanded armies, soared through skies. But then… she saw him.
Yujiro Hanma, standing near the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed, muscles like sculpted stone, unmoving as a mountain. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He just looked at her—smirked slightly—and turned back to the training.
That smirk stung more than words.
Frey clenched her teeth, marched over to her wardrobe, and changed into training gear. Light armor, tight boots, and a cloth band around her forehead. She tied her hair up high and stormed out of the castle, heart pounding with something unfamiliar—determination.
When she stepped onto the training ground, the soldiers paused for a second, eyes following her. Even Milim raised a brow.
"Well, look who decided to bless us with her royal presence," Milim teased with a grin. "Did the smell of sweat finally win you over?"
Frey crossed her arms. "Don't make me regret this."
Then Yujiro walked up, towering over her like a shadow cast by the sun.
"If you're gonna train," he said, voice calm but deep, "leave your magic at the door."
Frey narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"
"No magic," Yujiro repeated. "No flight. No enchanted weapons. Just your body. And what little natural energy you can control without spells."
He turned and walked away. "Unless you're scared."
Frey's pride flared like fire. "I'm not scared of anything," she snapped.
Yujiro didn't even look back. "Then show me."
So she did.
Or at least, she tried.
The training was brutal. Every punch had to be thrown with precision. Every movement needed control. She couldn't just blast her way through mistakes like she was used to. Her magic wasn't allowed to help her muscles recover, or boost her speed, or reinforce her bones. Every mistake hurt. Every step felt heavier.
Yujiro occasionally walked by and corrected her stance with just a word or a nudge.
"Lower your hips."
"Stop locking your elbows."
"You're wasting motion. Again."
At one point, Frey missed a step and fell flat on her back, groaning. She lay there, staring up at the sky, lungs burning.
"Welcome to real combat," Yujiro said without even looking at her, his voice floating past like cold wind.
Milim flopped beside her, just as exhausted. "I've been doing this for weeks. He made me cry the first day."
"You still cry," Middray said nearby with a grin.
"Shut up!" Milim yelled.
By midday, Frey's arms were shaking. Her legs ached. Sweat drenched her armor, and every part of her body screamed for rest. But she didn't stop. She couldn't.
Yujiro watched from the side, stone-faced. He said nothing more. He didn't need to. Every time Frey looked up and saw him standing there, it pushed her harder.
By evening, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the field. The soldiers had gone to rest. Milim collapsed under a tree, laughing deliriously. Middray limped over to the mess hall.
And Frey?
Frey stood alone on the field, arms limp, back hunched, legs trembling. She took one last swing—missed her balance—and dropped to her knees.
Breathing hard, her hands digging into the dirt, she looked up and saw Yujiro approaching.
He stopped in front of her and offered no hand.
"You're weaker than I thought," he said.
Frey gritted her teeth.
"But you showed up," he added after a pause. "That's more than most."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
Frey stayed there, kneeling in the dirt, chest heaving. Her pride was shattered, her body broken.
And yet… she smiled.
I'll be back tomorrow.