[The Devil That Stayed]

As Kael walked through the cobbled streets, shadows stretching long beneath the setting sun, his eyes drifted to the white ring on his finger.

It shimmered faintly against his dark robes—like moonlight clinging to a blade.

Negotiation had never been difficult.

In his past life, he'd been a professional bachelor—skilled in contract clauses, split bills, and the fine art of saying "it's not you, it's the economy."

Outwitting a young merchant girl?

Hardly a challenge.

And yet…

His thoughts returned to Lysaria.

That girl.

Sharp as glass and twice as dangerous when polished.

She didn't just sell artifacts—she danced through the deal like a noble with something to prove and the claws to prove it.

"She's going to be a monster in the market someday," Kael muttered, half-smiling to himself.

"The kind that smiles while robbing kings blind..."

He respected that.

He'd made a note of her in his mental ledger.

She was a contact worth keeping.

A useful future asset… or rival.

Either way, he needed to stay in touch.

A sudden tug at his leg broke Kael's stride.

He looked down.

A boy—barefoot, in ragged clothes—clung to him, eyes wide and desperate.

"Help! Please, help—!"

A nearby passerby snarled.

"Are you mad, boy?!

That's a noble!

Touch him again and you'll be hanged before morning!"

Startled, the boy flinched back, stumbled—and fell.

Kael exhaled through his nose, eyes drifting toward the bleeding horizon.

The sun was dipping low.

He was already late.

Still, he spoke.

Voice flat.

"What happened?"

The boy looked up, face smeared with dirt and tears.

"M-my mother…" he stammered, sobbing.

"She's not moving. Please. Please save her."

Kael stared for a moment.

It wasn't a performance.

The grief was raw—choking.

He sighed.

"Take me."

They weaved through narrow alleys that reeked of ash and rot, past hunched figures curled in blankets that were barely cloth.

This wasn't the heart of the duchy—it was its bones.

A place the nobles forgot unless they needed cheap labor or a riot to blame on the poor.

Kael had seen places like this before.

In another world.

Soon, they arrived at a dark corner where the boy ran to a collapsed figure on the ground.

A woman.

Still.

Too still.

A younger girl was there, sobbing quietly.

When she saw Kael—his black coat, polished boots, the gleam of nobility—her breath caught.

Then she slapped the boy's head.

"Idiot!" she whispered harshly. "You brought a noble here?!"

She turned quickly and bowed low, trembling.

"I'm sorry, my lord… my brother, he—he didn't mean to offend. Please don't hurt us…"

Her voice cracked with fear.

She wasn't wrong.

Nobles didn't need a reason to kill commoners.

Sometimes, stepping too close was reason enough.

But Kael said nothing.

He knelt beside the woman.

Checked her pulse.

His jaw tightened.

She was cold.

Dead.

The boy's shoulders crumpled as he dropped beside his sister.

The girl's eyes shimmered as she realized Kael hadn't drawn a blade… only reached for her mother's wrist.

And Kael… Kael just stood there, silent, letting the truth settle like ash.

Another corpse in a kingdom that claimed to be civilized.

Another child who'd learn too young that prayers don't work—and gods don't come.

Kael looked at the children again.

He didn't know how their mother died.

Hunger, sickness, neglect—did it even matter?

But in their eyes, he saw the truth.

They had always known.

Even before he said a word, they had known… she wasn't coming back.

Still, they looked up at him.

Hoping.

Waiting.

As if he could undo death by standing there.

Kael remained quiet.

He didn't want to say it aloud.

Thankfully, someone else did.

An old man stepped forward from the gathering crowd, placing a weathered hand on Kael's shoulder.

His voice was gentle, but firm.

"Riven. Lira. You have to accept it now. Your mother… she's gone."

That was the final line.

The sentence that broke the world.

Lira dropped to her knees, Riven began to sob uncontrollably, and the two clung to each other as if they might vanish next.

Kael didn't move.

His expression unreadable, eyes cold beneath the falling dusk.

He stayed longer than he intended.

Long enough to watch the others place the woman's body in a crude wooden coffin, then lower it into a grave that had been waiting far too long.

The first droplets of rain began to fall—soft at first, then steady.

The children didn't notice.

They just cried.

And Kael… simply stood in the storm.

Then the old man turned to him again.

"You're different from the others," he said.

"Not like the nobles who walk past us with eyes that don't see. You stayed."

Kael didn't reply.

The man sighed, watching the earth soak with rain.

"This is life's truth," he murmured.

"The ultimate truth.

The end."

A beat passed.

"But I'm not sad," he added. "I see this as a beginning."

Kael's gaze sharpened—just slightly.

The old man continued, looking at the grave.

"That woman… her soul has gone on a long journey.

Maybe she'll find peace there.

A better life."

"This is the end," he said again. "And this… this is the beginning."

"I think it's a blessing."

Thunder cracked.

Loud.

Sudden.

The wind dropped, and the rain turned cold as frost.

Kael finally turned.

The old man blinked—just once—and the air changed.

It felt heavier.

Wrong.

The warmth vanished.

The street grew still.

The old man looked into Kael's eyes and felt… nothing.

No humanity.

No mercy.

Just the abyss staring back.

"A blessing," Kael said softly.

His voice was calm—too calm.

And then he smiled.

A slow, curling thing.

Not warmth.

Not kindness.

A revelation.

"A blessing, you say…"

The old man stiffened.

The pressure was sudden, crushing.

The weight of the world in a single presence.

His lungs refused to work.

His knees locked.

He could hardly breathe.

Kael took a step forward.

The shadows behind him moved… wrongly.

And he whispered, almost kindly:

"So if I butcher an entire kingdom for my gain… burn their homes, enslave their children, bury their hopes…"

"…am I blessing them, too?"

The old man's lips trembled.

Kael's smile widened—inhuman now, the faintest glint of something monstrous just beneath the skin.

"Am I freeing them from their misery?" he said, voice like velvet wrapped around a noose.

Silence.

Then—

The old man gasped.

Eyes wide.

Because behind Kael, just for a heartbeat—

He saw it.

A shadow.

No, not a shadow.

A thing wearing the shape of one.

Horns. Eyes that bled flame. A smile wide enough to split the sky.

The Devil.

Staring at him.

Waiting.

The old man clutched his chest, breath stolen, heart pounding with terror.

In that final moment, as his vision blurred and darkness closed in—he understood.

The young man he thought was different from the other nobles…

Was far worse.

Not a noble.

Not a human.

A devil, wearing human skin.

And by the time he realized it—

It was already too late.

His legs gave out.

The world tilted.

He collapsed in the mud with a choking breath—

—and never got up.

Dead.

Kael stood over the old man's lifeless body.

Rain slipped down his face like the sky itself had bowed in mourning.

Thunder growled, low and distant—like something ancient had stirred and taken notice.

Kael exhaled quietly.

"You didn't answer," he said to the corpse, voice soft.

Almost disappointed.

"I'll take that as a yes."

###

Author's Note:

Guys, that thing behind Kael?

Don't worry—we'll explain it in the coming chapters.

Stay tuned… it's going to get interesting.