Chapter 52: The Demon King Council

Zohan figured that Talisya must have been a profoundly narcissistic person in the past, viewing herself as an exemplary soldier endowed with many fine qualities.

When facing Nina and Madame Ordos, even as a prisoner, she remained exceedingly arrogant, her words and demeanor reeking of open contempt for them.

When all was said and done, she was still a young lady from a prestigious and powerful family, with a deep-seated sense of class superiority ingrained in her bones.

This was entirely normal; it was simply human nature.

Still, there was no need to pander to her. Eventually, she would become nothing more than Zohan’s experimental subject for magic—a amusing biological specimen.

"Let's conclude today's interrogation here. You should consider yourself fortunate that I haven't subjected you to severe torture; you really don't want to know how many methods I have to make you wish you were dead." Having been busy all day, Zohan looked slightly fatigued.

Talisya remained silent, but her furious glare clearly conveyed her disbelief: was this not considered severe torture? Especially the psychological humiliation, which had driven her to the brink of death.

"Relatively speaking, Nina is still somewhat kind-hearted. She didn't even strip you of your uniform, preserving the last shred of your dignity as a female." Zohan expressed his displeasure at Talisya's occasional mockery of Nina.

Nina nodded vigorously in response to Mr. Zohan's praise. She was indeed such a kind-hearted woman, and men simply adored kind women.

Talisya fell silent. To make her believe that Nina's actions stemmed from kindness was utterly impossible; the truth was simply that this foolish woman knew only how to strictly carry out Zohan's orders and dared not handle Talisya on her own authority.

"I am going to lock her in my bedroom. I will keep a personal watch on her tonight."

With that, Zohan pointed his staff at Talisya, making her levitate in the air as if she were a heavy object, and carried her off to his bedchamber.

Talisya tightly closed her eyes, not daring to imagine what he might do to her tonight.

She could only curse herself for retaining too many feminine traits, still possessing those alluring, deeply seductive curves and an enchanting aura.

Combined with her semi-bestial visage, it would likely only evoke some sort of exotic thrill in a fellow like Zohan.

How could men be like this?

Talisya herself felt absolutely nothing toward male demon wolves.

For men, however, the race of the other party hardly mattered. As long as the target had a full chest, a slender waist, long legs, and a compliant place for them to vent their lust, they could enter a state of rut without the slightest hesitation.

To Talisya's great surprise, however, that night Zohan genuinely did nothing more than keep a personal watch over her. He neither interrogated her nor toyed with her.

Of course, this did not mean Talisya had an easy time of it, because he still summoned Madame Ordos and Nina into the room, continuing his all-night magic experiments right before her eyes.

Staying in the same room with them was even more agonizing for her than undergoing brutal torture—it was pure psychological torment, and her physical body felt utterly exhausted as well.

After all, she was not devoid of passions and desires; inevitably, she was stimulated, yet she had no possibility of responding or relieving herself. As time wore on, the entire female demon wolf fell into a state of collapse and urgently needed replenishment of fluids.

...
...

That same night, Beaumarchais and Mahat, traumatized by the terrifying seventh-tier mage they had witnessed, retreated without stopping until they reached what they believed to be the safe haven of the Grandis Mountains.

Hidden here was an abandoned mine tunnel, where Mahat had concealed the advance unit of the Beast Fury Corps not long ago.

The mine originally belonged to the Ordos family. Driven by a philosophy of cost-efficiency—using whatever was available as long as it worked—the rest areas provided for the miners within the tunnel were extremely crude.

Fortunately, the space was vast, and since the Beast Fury Corps were soldiers by trade who placed few demands on living conditions, a bit of renovation had made it adequate for basic survival.

"The mine is a labyrinth of interconnected tunnels. Even a seventh-tier mage with immense spiritual power would find it difficult to search every single nook and cranny. Furthermore, our entrance was well-concealed; once we erased our tracks, virtually no one could discover us."

Mahat had recovered slightly from the frustration of the mission's failure. Rallying his spirits, he began building a campfire to prepare some food while speaking to Beaumarchais, who still seemed lost in shock.

Back in Red Hazel Town, Beaumarchais had clearly appeared calmer than Mahat and had even been the first to react and call for an active retreat.

Yet now, he seemed far less capable of accepting what had just transpired.

"Be careful with that. Keep the flame under control. When magic-infused minerals and materials burn, they produce a distinct reaction under magical detection," Beaumarchais said listlessly, patting his lean, gaunt cheeks.

"Understood." Mahat wasn't foolish enough to lack even that basic common sense. He glanced sideways at Beaumarchais, half-suspecting that the man had fallen into a state of self-doubt, his confidence utterly shattered by that terrifying display of magic.

"According to recent intelligence from the Mage Association, no new seventh-tier mages have emerged. So where on earth did the Ordos family find such a powerful helper?" Beaumarchais muttered in disbelief.

Even local heavyweights like Clement, who had risen over a century ago, could only manage to secure the support of a fifth-tier mage like Beaumarchais. As for the Ordos family—previously, whenever such provincial bumpkins grandly proclaimed themselves a "family," Beaumarchais would inwardly sneer.

"The Mage Association's intelligence is notoriously lagging and rarely updated in a timely manner. Moreover, the mage tier certification exams are only held once every five years. Many powerful mages whose strength has reached higher tiers don't necessarily bother going to the Association to update their rank certifications," Mahat noted, quite familiar with the ways of mages.

"A seventh-tier..." Beaumarchais turned a deaf ear to Mahat's explanation. Having escaped the overwhelming deterrence of the seventh-tier mage, a seed of bitter jealousy began to take root in his heart.

Becoming a Archmage was the dream of nearly every magic practitioner from their days as apprentices, yet most people lingered at the third or fourth tier for their entire lives. Beaumarchais was already considered an elite among them.

"To think I would witness a seventh-tier mage cast a large-scale extinction spell in a place like this," Beaumarchais groaned in agony, burying his face in his hands. "So this is the oppressive might of a seventh-tier mage. Compared to the sheer scope of his magical fluctuations, mine can only be described as feeble, utterly invisible."

"And he is very young." Mahat didn't even bother trying to comfort Beaumarchais anymore. Faced with such an insurmountable gap, anyone's confidence would be thoroughly crushed, plunging them into a deep abyss of self-doubt where no amount of persuasion from others could help.

It was much like the death of a close family member: aside from quiet companionship, anything anyone said was incapable of making things better, and any action was ultimately futile.

"How young?" Beaumarchais immediately asked. In truth, given his age, he was considered quite young for a fifth-tier mage.

"Probably under thirty years old." A trace of confusion flickered across Mahat's face as well. "Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me?"

A mage's vision, even within an unobstructed line of sight, is often influenced by their perception of the target's magical fluctuations. Because Mahat could not perceive Zohan's magical fluctuations at all, his physical eyes had actually functioned more clearly.

This realization also induced a tinge of self-doubt in him: if a powerhouse could be that young, then all his own hard work and talent seemed heartbreakingly insignificant and worthless.

"Your eyes must have deceived you," Beaumarchais forced a dry, awkward laugh. He could sense that the adversary wasn't old, but how could someone be under thirty?

Unless another Yormungand or Edestellen had appeared on this continent.

Yet such genius-level Archmages only emerged once every millennium. Edestellen was a figure from a century ago; how much time had passed since then? It was simply impossible for miraculous figures capable of altering the entire continent to be born back-to-back.

"Are we really not going back to rescue Talisya?" Mahat changed the subject.

"We must preserve our vital strength. Bringing this intelligence back is far more meaningful than acting on our own impulse to rescue someone," Beaumarchais said coolly. "Even the Clement family will not act rashly when faced with a seventh-tier mage."

"A seventh-tier mage... there is still an opportunity for assassination," Mahat muttered to himself. "If high-tier mages were truly invincible, the fall of the Empire a century ago would not have been so thoroughly devastating."

Beaumarchais nodded. Mahat was right, though the statement carried a heavy undertone of self-consolation.

In a national war, a seventh-tier mage facing a legion fully armed with magical weaponry stood virtually no chance of victory. However, how could the Clement family possibly mobilize a real army equipped with magical weapons simply to rescue Talisya?

Doing so would only provoke questions about whether the Clement family intended to rebel, placing the clan in an extremely passive and vulnerable position.

It was precisely for this reason that the Clement family had sought to cultivate a more pliable private army—the Beast Fury Corps.

Yet that very force had suffered a crushing defeat in Red Hazel Town, wiping out its core strength in one fell swoop with the loss of over a hundred modified demon wolves.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow, you will return to the Clement family to discuss countermeasures and see what price they are willing to pay to rescue Talisya." Suddenly struck by a wave of fatigue, Beaumarchais couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the female demon wolves left stranded outside the estate.

He had only ever toyed with one of them, leaving the remaining five untouched. Their warm bodies and fur would surely soothe his body and mind right about now.

"Very well. And you?" Mahat asked casually.

"I will relay the news to the Demon King's Council. If that seventh-tier mage is willing to join the Council, our losses can be overlooked. If he is unwilling, the Council will likely dispatch a Cleaner." Beaumarchais spoke with a completely expressionless face.

Mahat instinctively tossed some more fuel onto the fire, causing the flames to blaze fiercely and radiate more heat, as if that could dispel the bone-chilling cold carried by the word "Cleaner."

Beaumarchais shot him an annoyed look but said nothing. Cleaners were assassins cultivated by the Demon King's Council specifically tasked with executing rogue mages, notorious for their gruesome and torturous methods. For Beaumarchais, a mage himself, uttering that title made him deeply uneasy.