During Satan's stay in Babel Tower, Theresis had begun launching attacks with increasing frequency.
Most of Babel Tower's combat personnel were dispatched to the frontlines on missions—W included.
---
"When are you leaving, Satan?"
Ascalon asked, seated openly across from him. Her tone no longer carried the same sharp hostility it once did, though her vigilance hadn't faded.
Satan, unbothered, continued enjoying his afternoon tea—alone.
The staff members who usually served or accompanied the meal had all been pulled into urgent work due to the worsening situation. Even W had headed off to the battlefield.
Though Ascalon's opinion of Satan had softened somewhat after his days of seemingly obedient behavior, she never once lowered her guard. She always refused his invitations to join him for tea.
"Am I really that unwelcome?" Satan dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. "After all the supplies I've provided, you can't wait to drive me out already? Isn't that a little ungracious?"
He had been eating Victoria-style afternoon tea for days on end, and the novelty had long since worn off.
Now, with Babel Tower's interior nearly empty and its fighters scattered across missions, Satan knew that if Kashchey pushed this body of his to its limits, suppressing—or even killing—Ascalon wouldn't be difficult.
'But… something feels off.'
He couldn't shake a faint unease.
On the surface, this was the perfect moment to strike. Almost too perfect.
Deep down, he knew he still hadn't truly earned Babel Tower's trust.
Yes, the afternoon teas he arranged seemed popular. But how many of them came for him, and how many came just for the pastries?
…Well, except for a certain person.
---
"Satan."
The voice of Babel Tower's so-called Specter—the Doctor—called out to him.
"Would you mind if I had a taste of those pastries? My recent workload has been draining. I could use some sugar."
The neutral voice that came from under the hood was impossible for Satan to pin down—neither male nor female.
'A voice changer? That thorough with secrecy?'
He hesitated for an instant, but outwardly kept his composure.
"Of course."
With a snap of his fingers, the leftovers and used dishes vanished from the table, replaced by an entirely new spread.
"Please, help yourself."
He sipped his Victorian tea, curious.
Wrapped from head to toe in concealing garments, the Doctor didn't look like someone who could eat easily at all. Satan wondered how they would manage.
"Ascalon," the Doctor turned their hooded head toward her, "I'd like a quiet environment for this meal."
Without hesitation, Ascalon rose. She ordered all staff in the dining hall to leave with her, then stationed herself at the doorway.
The Doctor produced a communicator.
"Shut off the surveillance inside the dining hall."
"But Doctor—"
"That's an order."
"…Understood."
One by one, the cameras went dark. Even the hidden listening devices Satan had detected earlier fell silent.
"…Doctor, what do you mean by that?"
Satan kept his composure, voice even.
"I want your help to assassinate Theresa."
The smile on Satan's face vanished in an instant.
What did that mean? A test? Too blunt, surely…
"I will not allow you to besmirch my loyalty to the King!" Satan slammed his palm on the table and rose. His shout carried far enough that Ascalon outside could have heard it—if she had chosen to. But Ascalon ignored it. Unless the Doctor sent a specific signal, she would not intervene. The Tower trusted the Doctor implicitly.
"You're too loud. Your theatrics are excessive." The Doctor remained seated, unmoved. He repeated, cool and calm: "I want your help to assassinate the Sarkaz King."
"Do you think I'll expose you right now and let everyone see your vile intent?" Satan shot back, posture ready for a fight. But the Doctor only said again: "I want your help to assassinate the Sarkaz King."
"…Is that all you can say?" Satan's tone sharpened. He could read nothing from the Doctor—no emotion, no strength, no inner intent. Even Kashchey's black snakes usually found some purchase; even the seaborn's minds were noisy. Here there was nothing. A hollow silence.
Finally the Doctor added, "I want the Eternal Duke of Ursus to help me assassinate the Sarkaz King."
Satan relaxed slightly. If the Doctor already knew his true identity yet still spoke civilly, then the Doctor had a purpose. Deception was possible, but unlikely enough that Kashchey dismissed it. Kashchey was not a flawless planner; he relied on his peculiar abilities and the distilled fragments of his memories to stay ahead—and he knew his limits.
"I want to win this war." the Doctor said.
"…Killing Theresa equals winning? I don't understand."
"The Sarkaz King's death will leave Theresis with nothing."
"…So that's your plan? The Sarkaz royal court, the senate, those ancient monsters… they'll never allow the Sarkaz King to truly die."
"That's true… but you can."
"…And what would that be? A mutual destruction?"
"No. Babel Tower will not collapse from this."
"…I still suspect this is a trap."
"Tonight, Theresa will attempt a ritual to further grasp the Sarkaz King's authority."
The Doctor rose from the table and walked away.
Not a single bite of food had been touched.
"…What a waste."
Satan glanced at the untouched pastries, then snapped his fingers. In an instant, they vanished into thin air.
'Tonight… they're really leaving me no time to think.'
'Is this a trap? Or is the Specter of Babel truly what the outside world whispers—a madman willing to do anything for victory?'
---
'Hungry… so hungry… when will this war end…'
A filthy Sarkaz child curled up on the ground. He hadn't eaten in three days.
'Am I going to die…?'
Just as his eyelids were about to close for the last time, a sweet fragrance drifted into his nose.
A plate of food!
The boy had never seen cake before, but that didn't matter—he knew it was food.
He devoured it in seconds, too starved to savor it.
Still, to him, it was the most delicious thing he had ever eaten in his life.
When he licked the plate clean, he noticed a drawing etched on it—a chibi-style Sarkaz in a crown and suit, painted in red.
Beneath it, a line of text:
[Satan is in a good mood today, so he's hosting a grand giveaway! One Sarkaz chosen at random will receive a free dessert.]
[Note: Freshly baked~]
The boy couldn't read the words, but the crowned red Sarkaz was burned into his memory.
---
'Black Snake! Black Snake! Black Snake!'
Theresa hadn't slept in days.
Every time she closed her eyes, the Sarkaz King's roars echoed in her ears—the same Sarkaz King reviled for dragging the Sarkaz into endless wars.
The other Sarkaz Kings still slumbered, but this one was restless, brimming with energy.
'Black Snake! Even killing you a thousand times wouldn't be enough!!!'
Her hallucinations grew worse, the curses bleeding into her waking hours.
"Be silent."
Her patience snapped.
The dead Sarkaz Kings were not meant to interfere with the living—that was the unspoken rule.
Yet this one clawed at her, trying to seize her body and throw it into battle against Satan—the Black Snake.
As the current Sarkaz King, Theresa could suppress him, but it drained her strength.
The voice fell silent at last, but she knew it was only temporary.
This Sarkaz King, once hunted down by countless nations, had returned broken, incomplete. And yet, for some reason, his memories of the Ursus duke remained vivid.
'I can only hope the Doctor's plan works…'
---
A caravan of merchants made their way toward Kazdel.
They ate, they slept, they tallied goods, they chatted—just like any ordinary traders.
But hidden in their cargo, on their shoulders, their heads, even within their eyes…
Countless black snakes coiled in silence.
And not one of them noticed a thing.
As if the writhing serpents were invisible.
"…Your Majesty, a sealed letter from Duke Kashchey."
An Emperor's Blade of Ursus respectfully broke the rune-sealed envelope and handed the letter to the empire's sovereign.
The Emperor opened it and read carefully.
"..."
"…Tell Duke Kashchey that the Empire is his staunchest backing. Let him act boldly."
He set the letter down.
"And another thing — there are restless elements stirring. At a time like this, when unity matters most, there are those who would conspire against the founding heroes… I want every one of them to never see the light of dawn again!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!" replied the guard.
---
"Your Highness the Regent, are we really moving now? The Ursus duke is still within Babel Tower — if anything goes wrong—"
"I know the risks. I could wait, but the royal court and the senate will not. Confessarius, now is the time to show your loyalty."
"…Yes, Your Highness."
---
"Hello there, Doctor."
Satan entered the room the Doctor had summoned him to with an easy smile, and casually tossed the still-unconscious Ascalon to one side.
"See? I'm being generous — I spared her because I wasn't sure whether she'd be useful to you."
Satan looked toward the Doctor standing beside Theresa.
"So… can you show me your sincerity in return?"