The camp was empty now, eerily silent after the cowardly retreat of the Eastern demon-slayers. Smoke still lingered in the air, and the stench of ozone from the failed Thunderbolt weapon hung heavily over the battlefield.
In that silence, Sare stepped forward, his boots crunching over the debris. He carried himself with dignity, a calm, confident smile spread across his lips. His gaze locked onto Diablo, who stood relaxed and untouched in the center of the devastation.
"Oh, you are pretty impressive," Sare remarked dryly. "You look nothing like a Calamity-ranked archdemon."
Diablo tilted his head, the faintest of smirks curling his lips.
"…Oh? And are you not going to run away, as the others did?"
"Run away?" Sare chuckled, his tone sharp and prideful. "That's funny. I am Sare, member of the Pope's Imperial Guards of Lubelius. One of the 'Three Martial Sages' within the 'Ten Great Saints.' Enemies of all Demon Lords. Running away has never been in my nature. So—" he narrowed his eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, "—who are you really?"
"I already announced my name." Diablo's voice was calm, almost mocking in its smoothness. "I am Diablo. That is the name granted to me by my liege, His Majesty Atem of Eterna."
Sare's smile wavered for only a second. "…You don't intend to reveal your true identity?"
The words stung. Humiliation, unspoken yet undeniable, burned at his chest. This demon's arrogant tone, his mockery of strength, was intolerable. Sare's heartbeat thundered in his ears, but outwardly he forced his body to remain steady, masking the storm inside.
"Whether you can overcome this fear"—those words from Diablo earlier still rang like poison. To Sare, it was nothing but an insult. He could tolerate many things in battle, but not being looked down upon.
The demon-slayers from the East were pathetic cowards—begging for mercy, wetting themselves, and fleeing like animals. Sare had played along with them at Glenda's suggestion, treating them as useful pawns. But now? Now they had proven themselves worthless.
"They were nothing more than ordinary men," Sare muttered inwardly. "We, the vanguards of His Holiness the Pope and the servants of the great Goddess Luminas—we are cut from a different cloth. Our resolve in battle is on a level they could never hope to match."
That thought steadied him. With contempt, he cast away any value the demon-slayers might have had. Compared to him and Glenda, compared to the Sages, those Eastern dogs were nothing.
His eyes sharpened. "Grigori wanted to fight too, but this one is mine. My prey. And I'll make him regret ever mocking me."
The name Diablo was not written in any history he had studied. No ancient text, no sacred document recorded it. That was enough reason to dismiss him. All Diablo had done was brazenly speak the names of "Rouge" and "Blanc." A bluff. Nothing more.
Unless… unless this Diablo was an unnamed Primordial. But Sare shook the thought away. Impossible. Too rare. Too dangerous. No, this was nothing but arrogance on the demon's part.
Sare tightened his grip on his sword hilt, determination flowing through him. "If he refuses to reveal his true self, I'll force him to. After all, I alone carry the strength to fight a Demon Lord. I've proven it before. I pushed Demon Lord Valentine to the brink—nearly sent her to hell itself. Why should I fear an archdemon?"
His conviction steeled him, but Diablo's calm, almost disinterested tone came next, tearing into that confidence like claws.
"—True identity, is it?" Diablo's smile widened faintly. "Ah, that slipped my mind. I'm not interested in your silly rankings or titles. But since you're so curious, I'll say it plainly: I am no mere archdemon, as you claim."
Sare's breath caught. His chest tightened.
Diablo continued smoothly, as though commenting on the weather.
"I have long since transcended that stage. I have evolved… into a Demon Noble. There may not be much difference to you, but I do hope you won't mistake it again."
The words dropped like stones into Sare's chest.
His thoughts froze. His mind raced. His heartbeat thundered like a war drum.
Demon Noble?
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to shout that it was impossible. Yet he couldn't. His mouth went dry, his throat locked. He couldn't even muster a reply.
That term… those two words… carried a meaning too heavy to dismiss.
"Demon Noble"—a legendary existence, classified as Disaster-ranked threats, a truth carefully buried and hidden from the public. To speak it aloud was to invite despair.
Their power was said to eclipse that of an ordinary Demon Lord. Even Greater Spirits could not oppose them. Only multiple Spirit Kings, fighting together, could possibly hope to restrain one. They were the pinnacle of demonic evolution, beings mentioned only in the oldest, dustiest tomes.
And they were real. They existed. The evidence was undeniable.
The proof of it—the living, breathing proof—stood right before him, smiling gently as if it were nothing at all.
The same class of being that gave rise to the strongest Demon Lord in history.
The blood drained from Sare's face. His grip faltered.
For the first time in decades, Sare felt genuine fear claw into his heart.
Sare quickly considered what this meant.
He had heard the old whispers, the kind of stories most warriors dismissed as myths. Archdemons who had once been Demon Lord Seeds, given enough time—thousands of years—could evolve into something even greater: Demon Nobles.
But those tales had always sounded like exaggerated warnings to him, the kind of fables meant to frighten rookies. And yet now, staring at the demon before him, Sare realized they were real.
If that was true, then it was only natural that such a being carried monstrous power. Their magicule reserves alone would dwarf that of any archdemon, multiplied several times over. And with centuries—no, millennia—of experience, their combat instincts would be flawless.
—His power would be limitless.
From afar, the leader of the demon lord slayers felt his vision darken the moment Diablo's calm words registered in his ears. "Demon Noble." The phrase itself was a death sentence. His knees buckled, his heart clenched in terror, and he collapsed where he stood. It wasn't cowardice—it was instinct. His mind had already imagined the horror of standing against such a being. Fainting was his body's only mercy.
No one who noticed blamed him. In fact, a part of them envied him.
Sare himself wanted to flee. Every muscle screamed for him to run.
But another thought slashed deeper than fear—someone had been stupid enough to name such a rare monster.
Demon Lord Atem… what in the hell were you thinking?
Cold sweat broke out across Sare's body. His instincts roared louder with each passing second.
This is bad. This is the worst possible situation. I cannot win this fight.
Normally, a named monster without a master was vulnerable. They would never declare their name so openly—it was too dangerous.
Yet this demon… this Diablo… had spoken his name without hesitation. Which meant the truth was undeniable: Atem himself had given it to him.
The idea was absurd. Atem, who had only recently become a Demon Lord, naming an archdemon of this caliber? How much power did the man of Eterna truly wield? Sare couldn't stop his mind from chasing the thought. Perhaps it was just his way of trying to escape the overwhelming fear gnawing at his gut.
And then—
"What are you waiting for, Sare! Let's hurry up and take care of this sexy demon already!"
Glenda's voice tore across the battlefield.
"You fool! Stop it, Glenda!" Sare roared back, but his warning came too late.
Glenda moved like a shadow dancing in the wind, silent and swift. In an instant she was upon Diablo, her black dagger flashing as she drove it straight toward his heart.
"Hah! Not so impressive after all!" she sneered as the blade connected.
But—
Diablo hadn't even tried to evade.
"Kufufufufu… truly remarkable physical precision. But I must inform you—" His voice was calm, mocking, his golden eyes glinting with amusement.
"—you cannot harm me with mere physical attacks."
Glenda's grin froze.
He wasn't boasting. Her dagger, which should have pierced flesh, had been rendered meaningless. His body simply refused to take damage, as though rejecting the concept itself.
"Physical Attack Nullification." A simple explanation, delivered with almost bored amusement.
"Tch! How annoying!" Glenda spat, springing back and then launching forward again.
Despite Sare's frantic shouts for her to retreat, she pressed the attack. Her blades carved sharp lines in the air, each strike laced with killing intent. She wasn't treating Diablo as just an archdemon anymore—no, she had acknowledged him as a Demon Lord-level threat.
But to Diablo, it was child's play. He didn't even flinch. Her movements were sharp, her instincts good—but the difference in their power was insurmountable. Every thrust, every slash, every desperate feint fell flat before his presence.
Glenda realized it too. No—she had always known.
Her real goal wasn't to defeat Diablo.
It was to buy time.
To keep him occupied. To distract him from the others.
Sare's eyes widened as the truth sank in. Her recklessness, her relentless attacks—it was all deliberate.
And that left him with no choice.
If she was going to stand against this monster, even as a decoy, then he couldn't—wouldn't—let her do it alone.
His fists clenched. Fear gnawed at him, his instincts screamed at him to run, but his pride refused.
If he abandoned her now, he would live with that shame for the rest of his life.
"Damn it all!" he roared, his aura flaring violently as his magicules surged into the air.
He charged forward, sword in hand, planting himself at Glenda's side.
Glenda flicked her eyes toward him in surprise before a crooked grin tugged at her lips.
"Heh… took you long enough."
"I don't want this," Sare growled, his voice raw, shaking with equal parts fear and fury. "But I won't let you fight this thing alone. If you're going down… then I'll stand with you until the end!"
The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, facing Diablo together.
Diablo lowered one hand, the faintest of smirks curling across his lips. His voice was velvet and venom all at once.
"Kufufufu… how charming. Choosing despair together. Very well, entertain me."
His tone was almost indulgent, as though this was a passing amusement rather than a true fight.
And Sare understood. Diablo didn't see them as equals, or even opponents.
He saw them as playthings.
Still, their choice had been made.
Even if it was futile.
Even if it meant certain death.
They would resist.