Two minutes later,
Ryo and Layla stumbled out of the house's gate, their clothes singed with scorch marks.
Layla's mini-shorts were gone, replaced by a pair of black pants—his mother's only piece of clothing that hadn't burned in the blast.
Ryo's white hair was slightly charred at the tips, and his bag hung crookedly over his shoulder.
"She's fiercer than I expected," Ryo muttered, rubbing his stinging cheek.
"Yes, Master," Layla agreed, brushing ash from her hair.
"She attacked me! Can't the police take her away?"
"No, Master," Layla said. "As your mother, she's within her rights."
Ryo growled, kicking another pebble. "This world is a nightmare, Layla. Am I blessed or cursed?"
"I don't know master, but I am by your side, always."
He glanced at Layla, who walked beside him with a calm grace despite the ordeal.
The sunlit streets stretched ahead, lined with quaint houses and people going about their day—laughing, chatting, utterly unaware of the reborn tyrant in their midst.
But as they walked, a nagging thought gnawed at him.
Who were the Peacemakers? And how do I get my real power back?
He glanced at Layla.
"Keep digging, Layla. I want names, descendants, anything. Those traitors will pay, even if it takes another thousand years."
"Yes, Master," she said, her eyes glinting with loyalty. "Your will shall be done."
"What about Viv?" he asked suddenly, his voice sharp as he scanned the sunlit street for any sign of his other battle maid. "She's not here?"
Layla shook her head, her long black hair swaying. "I don't know, Master. I awoke a week ago, alone in a strange room. It was… difficult, but I managed. Then, today I felt a shift in the air—a pull that led me to you. If Viv is here, she should've been drawn to you as well."
Ryo smirked, folding his arms.
"So my slave spell still binds you, even after a thousand years. How delightfully confusing." His mind churned with possibilities.
Viv, my fiery blade, my sexy maid… if she's out there, she'd better show up soon.
He glared at the bright, bustling street, the chattering humans grating on his nerves.
"Where's this academy, Layla? And why are we walking like common peasants?"
"Shall I carry you, Master?" Layla offered, her tone unwaveringly loyal.
"Yes," Ryo said with a grin, his ego inflating.
Layla crouched, and he clambered onto her back, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she lifted him effortlessly.
This is more like it. A Demon Lord deserves to be carried.
As they moved through the crowded streets, Ryo noticed groups of young men and women in outfits like his: white shirts, navy pants, and that odd silk "blindfold" he'd stuffed in his pocket.
Here, they wore it around their necks, tied in neat knots.
So that's what it's for.
"Why do they have that thing around their necks, Layla?" he asked, eyeing a group of students who passed by, their ties fluttering.
"Fashion," Layla replied, her voice steady despite his weight. "It's called a tie. It's proper for academy students."
Ryo snorted.
"Fashion? It's a leash for weaklings." He caught the stares from the crowd—some glared, others chuckled, their whispers barely concealed.
"They are all looking at me. They must sense my power, trembling before the great Xelvar Vaal Vorthyx."
"No, Master," Layla said softly. "It's because I'm carrying you. In this world, it's… unusual for someone your age to be carried."
"Damn these fools and their idiotic rules!" Ryo spat, his face flushing.
"I'm a Demon Lord, not some sniveling brat! Let them stare—I'll make them grovel soon enough!" He clung tighter to Layla's back, refusing to climb down, his pride outweighing the embarrassment.
"Did we have anything like this academy in our time, Layla?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the students, who looked soft and carefree.
"The closest equivalent would be the Black Fire Volcano," Layla said. "There, young demon children were forged in hellish climates to grow strong. The weak perished."
Ryo cackled, the sound high-pitched but menacing. "These frail humans wouldn't last an hour in that inferno. Look at them—soft, pampered, ripe for crushing."
"Yes, Master," Layla agreed. "The academy nurtures both demon and human children, training them to grow strong and join the workforce or the army."
"Army?" Ryo's eyes gleamed. "Why bother with an army if this world is so disgustingly peaceful?"
"Peace is fragile," Layla explained. "The land is divided, controlled by different powers. Armies maintain order and protect their territories."
Ryo threw his head back and laughed, a maniacal edge to his voice.
"Pitiful! This world's begging for a true ruler."
His laughter drew more stares, but Layla carried him unfazed, her steps steady despite the growing crowd and their judgmental glares.
Finally, a massive building loomed ahead, its spires piercing the sky. Its stone facade was adorned with intricate carvings, and colorful banners fluttered in the breeze. It was grand, imposing, and utterly infuriating.
"Is that the academy?" Ryo asked, scowling.
"Yes, Master," Layla confirmed.
"I hate it," he declared. "It's bigger than my castle! I can't let it be."
Layla remained silent, her expression neutral.
"Let's crumble it to dust one day," Ryo said, his voice dripping with malice. "I'll build my throne on its ruins."
"Yes, Master," Layla replied, a faint spark of amusement in her eyes.