After the Fall of the Demon Race, Reincarnated as a Demon Girl - Chapter 11

The earth’s steadiness is enough to muffle faint cries.

Yet, its fury can pierce through the clamor, reaching every ear with unmistakable clarity.

At this moment, the violent tremors from the explosion shook the depths of the cellar like thunder, the deafening roar ringing clearly in the proprietress’ ears.

Someone was in her restaurant!

Who in the world had the audacity to challenge the limits of a transmigrator?

Blinded by rage, the proprietress shackled the child in her hands to a bloodstained, spiked wooden post, the cold glint of the chains flickering in the dim cellar.

Then, fuming, she climbed back into the kitchen—only to be met with the sight of raging flames mercilessly devouring her restaurant. The firelight illuminated her face, twisting her expression into something monstrous, as if she were grinding her molars to dust.

Five years ago, she had poured her heart and soul into building this restaurant. Now, in a single night, it was reduced to ashes. Anger and resentment surged within her, threatening to consume the entire world.

She scanned her surroundings, searching for the perpetrator, but aside from the roaring flames and billowing smoke, there was no trace of any suspicious figure.

Who was it?

Her gaze fell upon the counter—inside lay her hard-earned savings over the years. If she could just take the gold and silver, she still had a chance to start anew.

She took a step forward, her heavy foot landing on the kitchen’s threshold—right atop nearly imperceptible magical engravings.

In that instant, the earth seemed to come alive. Two massive stone hands shot up, clamping tightly around her thick ankles and yanking her violently toward the counter.

The proprietress staggered in shock. Instinctively, she tensed every muscle in her body, transforming into a furious beast, attempting to crush the stone hands through sheer brute force and break free.

But things did not go as she hoped. Already off-balance, her desperate resistance only sent her stumbling, nearly toppling over in disgrace.

“Damn it!”

She barely caught herself with her wrists, her powerful fingers digging deep into the wooden floor. Every joint seemed to crack with exertion as she fought against the mysterious magic array’s pull.

Hidden in the shadows, Renith watched all of this unfold, her eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise at the proprietress’s staggering strength.

Renith had known the woman was strong—that bulk wasn’t just for show—but she hadn’t expected her to hold her own, even briefly, against a grandmaster-level magic array.

Good thing I prepared enough. If she had to face two or more transmigrators of this caliber at once, she’d be in for a brutal fight—one she might not walk away from unscathed.

Or, as the transmigrators themselves would say:

“Might as well drink a few pots of suffering.”

Was this their so-called “Divine Gift”?

Not quite on par with Herthes’, but still absurdly powerful.

According to Herthes, these people had been mere ordinary humans before arriving in this world. Yet here, they wielded strength far beyond their former selves.

Seeing the proprietress locked in an eerie stalemate with the array, Renith couldn’t afford to let her drain its magic and escape. It was time to add fuel to the fire.

“Scripture, Page 179—Wind Magic: Gale Slash.”

Renith stepped forward. An invisible, razor-sharp gust sliced through the air, cleanly severing the tendons of the proprietress’s fingers.

Blood sprayed instantly, staining the wooden floor crimson.

“Ugh… damn you…”

The proprietress’s grip faltered from the agony. Seizing the moment, Renith intensified the stone hands’ pull. Another pair emerged from the floorboards, seizing the woman’s throat.

Her body arched backward under the force before she finally gave in, her hefty frame collapsing onto the shattered floor behind the counter.

Her eyes darted toward the source of the earlier voice—a figure cloaked in black robes.

“You…”

Even with the stone hands choking her, fury burned in the proprietress’s gaze, her hatred a storm threatening to swallow the intruder whole.

“Ghk… ‘Dissect’!“

With great effort, she hurled a glass tumbler toward the robed figure.

It shattered mid-air, scattering into fine powder that drifted down onto the cloaked form.

“You’re… done! Touch that, and your body… will split open like livestock! One thought from me, and you’ll be—!”

But the powder didn’t seep into the figure’s body as expected. Instead, it passed straight through, landing harmlessly on the floor.

“An… illusion?!”

The black robes dissolved, revealing a figure of radiant holy light—Philof.

“Not bad, Laiya.”

A low, raspy voice spoke from the kitchen entrance, carrying a hint of approval.

Renith emerged from the cellar, carrying the unconscious child on her back. The boy’s face was eerily peaceful in the flickering firelight, as if detached from the chaos around him.

After casting Gale Slash, Renith had Philof disguise herself as another figure while she used Lightfold to slip into the cellar and rescue the child Laiya had taken earlier.

Everything had gone smoothly.

Renith handed the child to Philof, who quickly carried him out the back door, away from the inferno. Meanwhile, Renith’s gaze remained fixed on Laiya.

The restaurant’s beams groaned under the heat before collapsing with a deafening crash. Burning debris rained down, smashing tables and chairs into splinters, sending embers scattering to Renith’s feet.

Outside, the clamor of voices grew—villagers and laborers, roused by the explosion, were gathering, debating whether to investigate.

Renith glanced at her aged hands. She had about two minutes of Lightfold left. No time for idle talk.

“Laiya, let’s make a deal. You don’t want to die here, do you?”

“What… kind of deal?”

Renith lifted a finger, and the stone hands loosened their grip.

Laiya gasped, greedily gulping air as if returning from death’s doorstep. But the kitchen was now a furnace of smoke and searing heat.

Tears streamed from her stinging eyes, her vision blurred. Every breath scorched her throat and lungs, sending her into violent, hacking coughs.

“Tell me—how did you receive your Divine Gift?”

“And who brought you to this world?”

Laiya fell silent. It wasn’t that she refused to answer—she simply didn’t know.

Before arriving in this world, she had just finished disposing of her family’s remains, chopping them up and tossing them into the pigsty to evade the police.

The plan had worked—until forensic testing uncovered traces of blood. Her brief freedom ended in arrest.

But on that very day, a voice echoed in her mind:

[“Cross the boundary, and you shall soar freely, unrestrained.”]

[“Will you cast off this dull, shackled existence and embrace a world of endless delight?”]

At the time, she thought it was a hallucination—a dying mind’s last fantasy. With nothing to lose, she chose yes.

Better to hope for divine intervention than rot in a cell.

Darkness swallowed her. When she awoke, she stood in a breathtaking new world—lush, vibrant, untouched by the grime of her old life.

Just as she marveled at its beauty, the voice returned:

[“Welcome to this realm of dreams. May your days here be filled with joy.”]

[“Your gift is Dissection. Discover its uses yourself.”]

Then, silence.

Had she really… transmigrated?

And what was Dissection?

She tested it on the air, plants, the ground—nothing happened. Assuming it was a lie, she shrugged it off.

In this new world, she resolved to live well. She took a local-sounding name—Laiya—and borrowed money to open a restaurant, confident her culinary skills would bring fortune.

Her specialty? Pork spare ribs. No one could rival her cleaver work.

But the city’s elite oppressed her, charging exorbitant rents. Even street thugs extorted her for “protection.”

Some “world of joy.” Same misery, same boredom.

One day, pushed to her limit, she unleashed Dissection on her tormentors.

The man leaning against the doorframe—his skin, flesh, everything—slid cleanly off his bones, falling in uniform slices.

The doorframe… she had touched it that morning.

Staring at the now-bladed wood, she understood.

Dissection—the art of butchering humans like livestock.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

No butcher in her old world could fillet meat so flawlessly from bone.

This… this was a Divine Gift!

This was the promised joy.

She slaughtered her oppressors, then the entire town—one, two, three… an entire city of cattle.

No laws, no restraints. She could do as she pleased!

Until other transmigrators came.

They said:

“Kill everyone, and what’s left for us to play with?”

Against them, her Dissection was useless.

They bundled her and a few other murderers off to the western frontier.

On the journey, two took a liking to her skills. They invited her to be their personal chef.

She asked what they wanted to eat.

Their answer?

“Humans.”

What a coincidence.

Human was her most skilled dish.

And so, she opened a new restaurant—specializing in livestock.