Who was Arvoos Anankeus?

He was the proud High Priest of the Holy Nation and had willingly led the Demon Purge, slaughtering countless demons and expanding their territory.

Yet when it came to a female demon, as the Holy Sovereign brought the cup to his lips, Anankeus roughly seized the wrist of the man holding Chronosa.

When his movements were abruptly restrained, the man’s expression twisted in displeasure as he turned around, his neck veins bulging.

“Who dares to—! High Priest!”

“What is this commotion?”

“She—how dare this thing!”

His words were abruptly cut off as he caught his breath.
What should he say right now?

Nothing came to mind—his thoughts were a storm, chaotic and directionless.

While the other High Priests stood by, watching in silence, why was the War Champion intervening in his handling of a mere demon slave?

Surely, there was some reason?

“Who are you and where do you serve?”

“I… I serve in the Temple of Abundance, overseeing administrative affairs… My name is Alexandros.”

Though not a priest, he held a noble rank of sorts. Alexandros recited his credentials as if in excuse.

Then, seeking some form of salvation, he turned to the High Priest of Abundance—his direct superior.

But the High Priest of Abundance showed no interest in him. He merely curled his lips in amusement, as though watching a delightful play.

His inaction made it clear—he was leaving all judgment to Anankeus.

Only then did Alexandros begin to feel the gazes of those watching.

By now, strands of the demon female’s black hair had gathered on the floor. Her clothes were half-disheveled.

And yet, in the midst of this—

Why was the War Champion blaming him, and not the female, for causing the disturbance?

The fleeting question was answered in the very next moment.

“Did you do this knowing she was mine?”

Alexandros blinked stupidly. He couldn’t quite take in what the War Champion had just said. This woman had been the High Priest’s slave during rut season.

But what about her bandaged feet?

Did the famously upright War Champion harbour a sadistic streak after all? A perverted disposition?

Perhaps the lingering intoxication was clouding his judgement, or perhaps he was simply in shock. Whatever it was, Alexandros’s head was a mess.

A beat too late, he asked.

“…Pardon?”

“I had just returned from an important conversation with His Holiness, and in that brief absence, you dared to covet what is mine?”

Impossible! He was a high priest. After the Holy Sovereign, he held the second-greatest amount of power in the entire Holy Nation.

Who in their right mind would dare covet the possessions of a high priest?

Even if they were just a lowly slave from an inferior race, coveting or laying hands on something belonging to a high priest was tantamount to a crime. It was an act of insubordination.

No punishment would be too harsh.

Realising what he had done, Alexandros’s grip weakened.

As the hair slipped from his hand, Chronosa’s body fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Exhausted from struggling, she could no longer get up.

Despite her dishevelled state, her breathtaking beauty remained undiminished as she remained seated on the ground. She was panting heavily, as if the ordeal had taken her breath away.

Yet even her ragged breathing was seductive.

Was she aware of how alluring she was, even now?

Yes, that was the problem.

Even her breathing was lethal.

“That was never my intent…Who would dare covet what belongs to a high priest? “I simply thought she had been abandoned…”

“In a place like this, you would think she was an abandoned slave.”

The voice held no rise or fall in tone, just a chilling flatness.

Alexandros bowed deeply and could not utter another word.

Yes, when it came down to it, how could anyone assume that a high priest would abandon his slave in a place like this?

Why had he thought that? Was it the alcohol?

“Even if, by some slim chance, she had been left behind—did you truly think it acceptable to touch someone else’s property without the owner’s permission?”

“I… I did not…”

“His Holiness is present. As am I, and the other High Priests. And yet, some mere administrator dares to covet another’s property and create such a disgraceful commotion before the Holy Sovereign?”

This was the Divine Assembly, personally presided over by the Holy Sovereign. A place where reckless actions were forbidden.

Alexandros fell flat on the floor without hesitation.

He could feel the cold, merciless gaze bearing down on him. It made his skin crawl.

“Come to the Temple of War tomorrow. You’ll answer for this then.”

It felt like the blood had been drained from his body.

But there was only one possible response.

“…I will obey.”

Anankeus walked past Alexandros and lowered himself towards Chronosa.

Despite the countless pairs of eyes watching them, he lifted her into his arms.

As always, Chronosa didn’t lean into his embrace.

She hung limply in his arms, her body saying no as it always did.

Yet her gaze met his, held high and unwavering.

Her clothes were half undone. One side of her face was swollen beyond recognition, and her hair was a wild, sweaty mess. She panted, her breath ragged.

But her eyes—those eyes—remained the same.

That same emotionless light, as if nothing had happened.

Talata’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

She had been pretending to toy with a slave, watching the situation unfold like a farce.

“Lord of the Great Crag? Argh!”

Talata kicked away the man who had been clinging to her. She didn’t care whether the plaything she had been amusing herself with went flying with a shriek, crashed into the table, or was covered in spilled food.

All that mattered was what was now in front of her.

They called Arvoos Talata the madwoman among the High Priests, but that was merely because her personality was a little eccentric.

She was no fool.

That strange tension between Anankeus and the demon woman—the way their eyes met, as if it meant nothing, and yet, unmistakably, they were searching for each other.

More than anything, it was the bare hands lifting the limp woman from the floor that stood out.

Anankeus—the man who deemed demons filthier than anything else in the world—was touching her.
No gloves. Not even thick ones. Just his bare hands.

‘This isn’t right.’

Talata’s instincts screamed.

Something incomprehensible was happening.

She turned her head and stared at the Holy Sovereign.

Her father, still holding his wine cup, looked down on them with an unreadable expression—as if he knew everything… or nothing at all.

***

The left side of her face, where the punch had landed, was swollen and red.
By tomorrow, it would be dark with bruises.
Her lips were split, and blood still dripped from her nose.

Why hadn’t he stopped it in time?

He knew what happened when someone in rut was left alone.
If only he hadn’t gone to the Sovereign.
If only he’d dared to ignore the Sovereign’s summons.

Would things have turned out differently?

A wave of helplessness crashed over him—something he had never once felt in his life.

As he applied ointment to her cracked lips, Anankeus murmured quietly.

“Just a little…”

He didn’t need to look — the image was already vivid in his mind.

The proud Princess of Belphegor was never one to endure anything like this in silence.

Wasn’t she the one who had once spoken out against the Sovereign himself? And yet, in that moment, he wanted to say something.

‘Why didn’t you just endure it?’
‘Why did you go against someone you couldn’t possibly win against?’

The words lingered on his tongue.

At the same time, the things he’d said earlier echoed in his mind.

‘Rut slave. My possession. Property.’

Words that all reduced her to a thing.

‘Demons are not human.’

The absolute truth that he had accepted all his life welled up inside him, accompanied by a single question: Are they truly not human?

In the end, instead of a reprimand, different words slipped out.

“…I’m sorry.”

—Why are you sorry?

Chronosa, for her part, acted like nothing had happened.

Maybe that was only natural.

For someone who constantly dwelled on death, a little pain must have meant nothing. His hand, still resting gently against her bruised lips, didn’t move. But still—just this one thing.

“I couldn’t protect you.”

At that, a flicker of confusion passed through Chronosa’s eyes.

—…Since when were you the kind of male who should protect me?

“We made a promise, didn’t we?”

—A promise. You know as well as I do—my rut isn’t over.

—Males will desire me. And I… will desire them too.

With her split lips, Chronosa offered a faint, wry smile.

—I won’t reject them either.

At last, he could read it clearly—that unchanging tone of hers.

It was a lie.

“Then why cause all that trouble?”

Anankeus asked quietly. Even without having seen it, the whole scene played clearly in his mind.

“Wasn’t it because you did reject him that he made such a mess?”

—…Yes.

She lowered her gaze.
Her trembling hand reached out and grasped his wrist—the one still resting against her lip.

—Because it wasn’t a warmth I was used to.

—That’s all.

And at those words, a selfish part of him quietly bore fruit.

The fact that she had acted that way, It made him feel just a little… happy.

Strangely enough, he was happy.