The figure who appeared had golden-red hair that nearly brushed his shoulders, its tips fading into a ghostly gray-white.
Atop his head were two unevenly twisted horns, and his sharply contoured face bore an expressionless, chilling indifference.
His eyes were a deep crimson, yet one of them was marred by a jagged, black lightning-shaped scar that ran through both eyelids and even crossed the pupil—a seared mark of some ancient power.
His slender, lean body was dressed in what looked like an archaic black garment, and his presence exuded no trace of life whatsoever. In fact, if not for being visible to the naked eye, one might think he didn't exist in this world at all—perhaps just a projection, or an illusion from another realm.
The lingering ripples in the air behind him indicated that he hadn't just walked out of thin air.
No, it was more accurate to say he'd emerged from a dimensional layer beyond perception—something utterly beyond the grasp of human senses.
To put it simply, it was akin to walking out of a passage connecting two different worlds—except, he didn't walk through it. He passed through it like a ghost breaching the boundary between realities.
Even though this figure had inserted himself directly between the two girls and the imperious young man, he behaved as though he hadn't noticed any of them at all—as if they didn't even exist in his eyes.
No, more accurately—it wasn't that he couldn't see them. It was that they were unworthy of his attention.
Like how no one ever looks twice at the three ants crawling beneath their feet while walking—they were that insignificant.
It was a staggering level of arrogance.
A divine, almost transcendent disregard for all else. Anything not deemed worthy of his attention—be it tangible or intangible—was merely part of the background noise called "the world," not even deserving of a glance.
In this man's eyes, red like a rising blood moon, only the one thing existed—the dragon called Icarus. Nothing else could enter his field of vision.
Of course, for the two new girls, this behavior was merely impolite at worst. But for the boy standing across from them, it was another story entirely.
Suruga Andou.
Ever since awakening as a Savior, he never truly thought of himself as above others. He had simply seen himself as "a little special" and worked hard to get stronger, to protect his world and humanity.
But then… he'd soared ahead faster than anyone could've predicted.
Before he even realized it, he had stepped into the dream-like realm of SS rank—a place others could only imagine. He had become one of the six heads of the White Knight Order and the branch director of Sakuraguni.
In both the Surface and Inner Worlds, he had become someone revered, feared, and desperately courted. Even royalty had to lower their heads to him.
Of course he had changed—he had to.
Someone of such imperial caliber needed the presence to match. Though he hadn't lost himself completely, he had developed a few… quirks.
Like flirting with beautiful women.
He was, for all intents and purposes, a bit of a playboy. But he never forced anyone. With charm and confidence, he won them over eventually.
And the two new girls? They were just that—new, unaffiliated. He'd seen their potential immediately.
So of course he moved to recruit them for his side.
Declaring them as his own before anyone else could make a move was just strategic.
A little intimidation was fair play.
And yes, as a natural playboy, he'd added a little flirtation to the mix. Nothing too serious.
But now…
Now someone had interrupted.
Not just interrupted. Completely ignored him.
He—Suruga Anton, the Eastern Saint, the SS-ranked legend—was being treated as if he didn't even exist.
Not even worth noticing.
People had insulted him before. Rivals, enemies, sure. But this… this was something else.
The person who'd stepped in wasn't even looking at him, like he was less than a stain on the wall.
And what's with those horns? He did look vaguely familiar…
"I haven't seen someone this—"
Suruga's lips twisted into a sneer as he reached out and grabbed the figure's shoulder. But the moment his hand made contact, his eyes widened in shock.
Smoke.
His palm was smoking.
The pure light of his holy purification force had clashed with something else—an absolute darkness.
The reaction was instant and violent, like water on a hot iron.
So… he's a demon? A dark being? An enemy, no doubt.
Then it hit him.
That's it! This was the same demon lord he had sensed before!
Back then, he had been identified as around S+ level. So why hadn't Suruga sensed him this time?
Ah—he realized it now.
This must just be a fragment… a remnant soul.
That would explain the absence of reaction, the lack of threat. A soul acting purely on instinct and obsession.
Still, he should've recognized that earlier. He nearly made a fool of himself.
"...Oh?"
The man's emotionless red eyes shifted slightly, barely acknowledging Suruga's presence.
Even that tiny glance made Suruga's blood boil.
No matter. He'd eliminate him now, before any unwanted changes could occur in that dragon.
His face once again donned that haughty arrogance.
"What a pity… pathetic demon lord. This is—"
What?
Before he could even finish, he felt a hand clamp down on his face.
His face.
The demon had raised him—lifted him off the ground by his face.
You piece of—!
No way.
Where was his purifying light? Why wasn't it burning the demon away?
What was this?
What kind of darkness was this?!
It was like opening the lid of hell itself—the abyss vomiting out an endless black flame.
His body and soul both trembled. The darkness had begun to devour his light, corrupting it, consuming it.
The first to feel the pain was…
His face.
The part being held began to burn, like a red-hot iron brand in ancient torture chambers.
And then—
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH——!!!"
The arrogant king, the unshakable emperor, let out a blood-curdling scream.
(T/N: Prolly tho I'd like to see this scene animated XD.)