After the Fall of the Demon Race, Reincarnated as a Demon Girl - Chapter 12

Renith listened quietly to Laya’s story, her heart undisturbed.

Apart from the mysterious voice that seemed connected to the information she sought, Laya’s past was nothing more than a dark history steeped in sin and betrayal.

“A life of wickedness”—those four words summed up Laya’s existence.

“So… can you let me go now? I’ve told you everything.”

Renith gave a slight nod, her eyes narrowing as a faint, enigmatic smile curled at the corners of her lips. She turned away, flicking a finger through the air, and the stone hands gripping Laya’s body loosened their hold.

Just as Laya tried to rise, a clear, icy voice—like that of a young girl—rang out behind her:

“Scripture, Page 82. Earth Magic—Crush.”

A massive boulder plummeted from the sky, hurtling down with unstoppable force. In that split second, Laya instinctively raised her arms to block the deadly strike.

But it was too fast. She wasn’t prepared.

With a deafening crash, the boulder smashed into the ground where Laya stood, sending dust and debris flying. Pain exploded through her body as if she were being torn apart. Her vision blurred, her ears filled with a shrill ringing.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her heavy eyelids open and glared at Renith’s retreating back.

“You liar!”

“I didn’t attack you… Well, hurry up and finish this.”

Renith strolled leisurely out the back door and picked up the child lying in the hay.

Inside, Philof’s golden figure hovered silently in the air, her hollow gaze fixed on Laya as she recited Renith’s words:

“Scripture, Page 274. Arrogance Magic—Nightmare Judgment. You shall repent for your sins for all eternity, trapped in endless nightmares.”

Twisting tendrils of light slithered beneath Laya like living serpents, spreading rapidly to form a yawning abyss of darkness. At the same time, shadowy arms woven from Arrogance Magic coiled around her body, seeping into every inch of her like specters.

Cloaked in unfathomable malice, the arms dragged her toward the abyss—a black maw that seemed capable of swallowing all existence.

Terror and despair flooded Laya’s eyes as she struggled wildly, but the spectral restraints held her fast, immovable as iron.

“Come—come—join us—”

The whispers from the abyss echoed in her ears like a cursed incantation, luring her toward ruin.

As her body sank deeper, the light around her dimmed. Her voice, hoarse with desperation, faded into silence. The last thing she saw was Renith’s back, framed by the doorway, before the abyss consumed her completely.

Philof landed softly on Renith’s shoulder, her head bowed in visible dejection.

“What’s wrong? Thinking about her?”

Philof nodded faintly.

“Renith-sama, that woman was truly evil. She hurt so many people. I could only kill her… but I can’t bring the dead back.”

Renith felt a flicker of pride—her creation was beginning to ponder philosophy. But then irritation surged within her. Philof’s words sounded far too much like Alegraya’s.

Damn Alegraya.

“The dead don’t return. Even if they could, it’s beyond our power now. This is all we can do. Understand?”

“Philof… understands.”

Her form flickering, Philof retreated into the depths of the Scripture, lost in grief over the irreversibility of death—and in contemplation of Renith’s words.

Meanwhile, Renith stood alone in the empty street, her gaze piercing through the villagers gathered outside the restaurant. With a slight shake of her head, she turned and walked toward Schubert’s cabin.

To Renith, these villagers were untrustworthy. Their eyes brimmed with fear and unease—emotions that convinced her they’d hand the child over to Elberd the moment her back was turned, whether out of terror, self-preservation, or greed.

Aside from Schubert and the allies he’d brought for her inspection that evening, she refused to trust any of them.

Cheap trust only leads to ruin.

……

“M-My lord! My lord!”

A gray-haired steward rushed down the empty wooden corridor, his hurried footsteps echoing loudly. For a man his age, such speed was no small feat.

He burst into Duke Elberd’s chambers, the door slamming against the wall with a heavy thud. Gasping for breath, his chest heaving, he barely had time to recover—something far worse than his own exhaustion demanded attention.

“My lord—something terrible has happened!”

Elberd had been deep in slumber, on the verge of touching the queen’s fingertips in his dream, when the steward’s shouts jolted him awake.

He shot upright in his ornate four-poster bed, his body trembling from the sudden shock. After a moment, he steadied himself, his brow furrowing as he glared at the steward with a mix of fury and confusion.

What could possibly warrant this?

The steward wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

“My lord—the eastern livestock farm has been blown up! The animals panicked and escaped!”

The steward hadn’t known until the farm workers called the mansion’s telephone, reporting that someone had blown up the walls.

“Impossible! That place has night patrols—‘Chosen Ones’ are stationed there! How could this happen? Are they all useless?!”

Elberd’s voice was thick with disbelief and rage as he roared, hastily throwing on his luxurious coat.

He immediately mobilized every available guard in the castle—along with the hidden otherworlder with unique abilities.

“I need your power, Noxarc.”

Before Elberd, ten guards stood in rigid formation. Noxarc’s figure emerged like a specter from one of the soldiers, peeling away with eerie grace.

The soldier’s face turned deathly pale, his strength draining in an instant. With a weak scream, he collapsed, crawling desperately toward the door.

Ignoring the man’s terror, Noxarc—dressed in a black tailcoat—gave Elberd an elegant bow.

Elberd’s tension eased instantly. A satisfied, expectant smile spread across his face. He knew better than anyone: if Noxarc acted, most problems would be resolved.

“As you command, Lord Elberd.”

Just as Elberd was about to order the capture of the farm’s saboteur—

BOOM!

A deafening explosion erupted from a room near the ballroom.

The sound struck Elberd like a hammer, shattering his momentary calm.

“What now?!” he bellowed, scanning the room, but no one had answers.

“I’ll handle it.”

Noxarc’s voice was calm. In a flash, he vanished, leaving only an afterimage as he sprinted toward the explosion.

Elberd nodded inwardly at Noxarc’s decisiveness.

But when he turned back to the remaining guards—still frozen like statues—his fury reignited. The sheer incompetence was unbearable.

“Worthless fools!” he snarled, his voice echoing through the halls. “Do I feed you for nothing? Move!”

The nine guards finally snapped into action, clutching their rifles as they scrambled after Noxarc.

“And take that piss-soaked coward with you.”

They hesitated, exchanged glances, then two were reluctantly chosen to haul away the unconscious soldier. Halfway there, they dumped him in a storage room.

Noxarc reached the explosion site in seconds.

Outside the room, Schubert lay motionless on the cold floor, his face ghostly pale, one leg torn apart by the blast. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the wood a gruesome red.

Inside, the room was in ruins—walls shattered, furniture reduced to splinters and ash.

Noxarc stepped over Schubert and surveyed the wreckage, his gaze settling on the blown-out window.

The culprit escaped this way.

The guards arrived within three minutes—a record compared to their usual sluggishness. If they kept slacking, Elberd would replace them with cheaper, more expendable men.

After a brief interrogation, they had the servants drag Schubert out and dump him beyond the gates.

Let him die out there.

Bad luck to have a corpse indoors.