A soft tap echoed.
The sound was small, but it carried.
Ruok's vision snapped upward like something pulled his perspective back into place, like a hand dragging him by the collar of his soul. The ground vanished. The angle shifted.
Suddenly—
He was seated again.
Facing Edgard.
Breathing and whole.
Ruok froze.
His hand shot to his neck.
Fingers pressed hard against skin.
Warm and unbroken. No blood nor wound.
"…What the hell…"
He turned his head left, then right. Rolled his shoulders. Flexed his fingers.
Everything responded.
Everything worked.
He let out a slow breath, though it did nothing to calm him.
Edgard remained seated across from him, posture relaxed, head tilted slightly. His eyes did not blink. They stayed fixed on Ruok with quiet, unsettling interest.
"Interesting…" the old demon murmured. "Very interesting."
He rubbed his chin, slow and deliberate, like a scholar examining a rare specimen.
"A man who cannot find peace, even in death," he said, voice soft but precise. "How… peculiar."
His gaze sharpened.
"A soul denied fulfillment. An existence anchored in chaos… within a world already drowning in it."
Ruok frowned.
"…You done?" he said.
Edgard looked at him fully now.
Ruok lowered his hand from his neck. His jaw tightened slightly.
"What was that for, old man?"
"A test," Edgard replied calmly. "Nothing more."
Ruok blinked once.
"…You cut my head off."
"Yes."
"And that's just 'testing' to you?"
Edgard gave a small, almost polite shrug.
"One must observe a phenomenon directly to understand it," he said. "Secondhand knowledge lacks… reliability."
Ruok stared at him for a long second.
"…Next time," he said slowly, "maybe give me a heads-up."
Edgard's lips curved faintly.
"That would diminish the authenticity of the result."
Ruok exhaled through his nose.
"…Right. Of course it would."
Edgard planted his staff into the ground.
The crimson skull caught the fading light, glowing faintly like it had its own pulse.
Then—
He raised his free hand.
His fingers closed around empty air.
The space in front of him warped.
A thin crack appeared—sharp and clean—like glass under pressure. It widened slowly into a small rift, its edges trembling. Inside, there was nothing. Not darkness. Not light.
Just absence.
Ruok leaned back a little.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "That's normal too."
Edgard reached inside without hesitation.
When his hand came back, it held a bottle of clear liquid and two plain glasses.
The rift sealed itself with a faint ripple.
Gone.
Like it was never there.
He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, smooth and practiced, then poured into both glasses without looking.
Not a drop spilled.
He extended one toward Ruok.
"Drink," he said. "It will steady your nerves."
Ruok stared at the glass.
Then at Edgard.
Then back at the glass.
"…If this kills me again," he muttered, "I'm starting to think it's personal."
Still, he took it.
"Thanks."
He brought it close.
Sniffed—
—and pulled back immediately.
"…Whoa."
His nose wrinkled.
"That's strong."
Edgard lifted his own glass slightly.
"You can take it."
Ruok gave him a flat look.
"…That's not comforting."
He took a small sip anyway.
At first—
Smooth.
Too smooth.
Then—
It hit.
Warmth burned down his throat and spread through his chest, then outward into his arms, his neck, even his ears.
Ruok coughed once.
"…Okay," he said, blinking. "That's heavier than vodka."
Edgard paused mid-sip.
"Vodka?" he repeated.
Ruok waved it off quickly.
"Nothing. Just… from where I came from."
Edgard studied him for a brief moment.
Then nodded.
"I see."
He didn't ask further.
That silence felt intentional.
Ruok lowered the glass and glanced at the book still in his other hand.
"…So," he said, "what's inside this thing?"
Edgard took another slow sip before answering.
"That," he said, "is for you to discover."
Ruok sighed.
"…Of course it is."
He opened the purple book.
His brows drew together almost immediately.
"…I can't read this."
The pages were filled with strange symbols—curved, layered, twisted. Some looked like they moved when he stared too long.
He flipped a page.
Then another.
Still nothing.
"…So it's useless to me."
"Not entirely."
Ruok looked up.
Edgard rested both hands over his staff again.
"It is written in a lost tongue," he said. "One that requires… more than simple literacy."
Ruok narrowed his eyes slightly.
"…And you give it to me, you peculiar old demon."
Edgard smiled faintly.
"I shall accept that as a compliment."
Ruok closed the book halfway.
"Then stop dodging," he said. "What is this thing actually for?"
Edgard's gaze drifted past him.
Toward the battlefield below.
When he spoke again, his voice carried a different weight.
"That," he said, "is the Book of Taboo."
The wind howled between them.
Ruok stilled.
"The first Demon Lord—Laorus—crafted it," Edgard continued. "Within its pages lie forbidden constructs. Spells. Runes. Arrays."
A pause.
"Each more… catastrophic than the last."
Ruok glanced down at the book.
It didn't look dangerous.
Just old and unassuming.
"…And you're just handing this to me?" he asked.
"It should have remained sealed," Edgard said, ignoring the question. "Buried in the deepest reaches of the abyss."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"But Mephyst acquired it."
Ruok frowned.
"…Found it?"
Edgard's lips curved faintly.
"Or," he said, "perhaps it was given to him."
Ruok looked down at the book again.
Then back at Edgard.
"…Let me guess," he said slowly. "This thing… it's connected to the trods. And Mephyst."
He hesitated.
"…He summoned them."
Edgard met his gaze.
"Impressive," he said. "Almost correct."
Ruok straightened slightly.
"…Almost?"
"It is not merely the trods," Edgard said. "It is the war itself."
Edgard's tone remained calm, but there was something colder beneath it.
"Trods are not his objective," he continued. "They are a means."
Ruok felt his stomach tighten.
"…So what does he want?"
Edgard answered without hesitation.
"To ascend."
A pause.
"To become a Demon Lord."
The wind seemed to grow louder.
"In that book," Edgard went on, "lies a ritual. One that allows a high demon to ascend beyond his station. To reach a realm of power comparable to a true Demon Lord."
Ruok swallowed.
"…What's the cost?"
Edgard looked at him.
"Ten million souls."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
Ruok let out a dry breath.
"…But trods don't have souls."
Then his eyes widened.
"…The six armies."
"Correct," Edgard said. "Which is precisely what this war was for."
Ruok's grip on the book tightened.
"He wants to wipe out everything," he muttered.
Ruok looked back at the battlefield.
At the camps.
At the soldiers.
"…He's using them," he said. "All of them."
"Yes."
Edgard's voice remained composed.
"As sacrificial lambs for a forbidden ritual."
Ruok clenched his jaw.
"…That's messed up."
Edgard gave a faint nod.
"It is efficient."
Ruok shot him a look.
"That's your takeaway?"
Edgard did not answer immediately.
Instead, he glanced at the glass in his hand, swirling the liquid slightly.
"He's not ready for the role of Demon Lord," he said at last. "I attempted to interfere. I summoned an otherworldly being while… somewhat intoxicated."
Ruok froze.
"…You did what?"
"It appears," Edgard continued calmly, "that the attempt was unsuccessful."
Ruok stared at him.
'So you're the reason I'm here.'
He didn't say it.
But the thought stayed.
Edgard lifted his gaze again.
"Tomorrow," he said, "this will reach its conclusion."
He looked directly at Ruok.
"His success… or failure… depends on you."
Ruok let out a short laugh.
"…No pressure."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"…How did he even know the trods would retreat?"
"Mana fluctuation," Edgard replied. "Subtle, but detectable. For one of his caliber, it is trivial."
Ruok nodded slowly.
Then asked—
"…Do you think I can beat him?"
Edgard didn't hesitate.
"Not a chance."
Ruok blinked.
"…You could've lied."
"That would be counterproductive."
Ruok let out a breath.
"…So I'm going to fail."
"Not necessarily."
Edgard raised his hand again.
Another rift opened.
From it, he retrieved a small red vial.
He held it out.
"This will augment your physical capabilities," he said. "Strength. Speed. For a brief duration."
Ruok took it carefully.
"…Enough to beat him?"
"No."
A beat.
"Enough to restrain him."
Ruok looked at the vial.
Then back at Edgard.
"…So I still need to figure out the rest."
"Precisely."
Edgard straightened.
With a small snap of his fingers—
The book vanished from Ruok's hand.
It reappeared in Edgard's grasp.
"I will reclaim this," he said. "It serves no purpose to you at present. And it is… unsafe to leave unattended."
He turned.
Slashed the air.
Another rift opened.
Before stepping through, he paused.
Then looked back.
"Do not fail," he said calmly. "And do not kill him."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"For if you do…"
A faint smile formed.
"I shall hunt you."
Then—
He stepped into the rift.
And vanished.
The wind returned.
Ruok, alone on the cliff.
Holding a glass.
And a small red vial.
He looked down at it.
Then toward the battlefield.
"…Yeah, this is better than nothing," he muttered.