Seris stared at her, then looked down. She didn't answer immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. "Joining the Aethereal Vanguard guild. We were principled, worked together, tried to survive with dignity. But when the Crimson Crusaders raided our headquarters, demanding we join or die... I didn't stand beside my friends who chose to fight. I retreated. I fled. I survived, while those who were braver... did not." She raised her face, her eyes glistening but no tears fell. "I survived. And that's what I regret most. Because since then, all that's left is survival, no longer knowing what for."
There was no lightning strike. No damage. Only a silence that swallowed her confession. It was a truth too bitter to fabricate.
"Second question," Nyxaria continued, without comment. "What do you expect by approaching me? Practically speaking."
"A safe place," Seris answered, direct this time. "Not from monsters, but from players like them. And... purpose. Something to fight for that doesn't make me feel like trash. You're building something here," she pointed toward the invisible Obsidian Aegis barrier behind Nyxaria. "Not just destroying. That's rare. And as a scout, my abilities are most useful if there's something to protect, not just attack."
Logical. Practical. Makes sense. Still too good to be true.
"Last question." Nyxaria walked closer, slowly, until only a few steps separated them. She bent down slightly, so her ruby red eyes were level with Seris's gray eyes. Her voice became a deadly whisper, only for the two of them. "If, right now, Draven Kross stood there and offered you second position in the Crimson Crusaders, with all the loot and power, in exchange for stabbing me in the back... what would you do?"
That was a trap. A hypothetical but lethal question, designed to excavate the deepest intentions.
Seris was silent longer. Her breath rose and fell visibly within her leather armor. She looked into Nyxaria's eyes, then somewhere far behind her, as if seeing ghosts of the past. When she answered, her voice was flat, empty of emotion, and therefore sounded more sincere.
"I would refuse. Because second position in hell is still hell. And I've burned myself there long enough."
[Contract Zone] pulsed once, its purple light blazing bright then dimming. Five minutes had ended. The zone dissolved, and the sounds of the world—wind whispers, birds daring to return—rushed in.
Nyxaria stood upright. She gazed at Seris, who remained standing, showing no signs of system damage. Nothing shattered. Nothing burned.
She passed. Or she's the greatest actor that ever existed. Statistics suggest the first possibility is higher. But my LUK 3... it always trapped me in minor details. Can I trust this?
"Follow," Nyxaria commanded, and turned, leaving her. She walked toward the barrier. She didn't check if Seris was following. That was an additional test—whether she would obey a simple command, or hesitate, or even seize the opportunity to attack an exposed back.
Light footsteps sounded behind her. Orderly. Maintaining distance. An obedient scout.
As they approached the barrier, Nyxaria merely waved her hand. The invisible purple energy wall parted for her, and for Seris who followed, her eyes widening slightly at the shift of that colossal energy. They stepped inside, and the strange warmth of Obsidian Sanctuary—not the warmth of sun, but the warmth of stabilized darkness energy—enveloped them.
And there, right behind the barrier line, stood Lazarus and Lumi. Lazarus with tense posture, both hands already glowing with pale green necromancy energy ready to be unleashed. Lumi stood beside him, merely watching.
"MY QUEEN!" Lazarus shouted, his voice full of horror and devotion. "You bring... her? A Player? Into the Sanctuary?" The word 'Player' was uttered like the name of the most vile pest.
Nyxaria ignored him. She looked at Lumi. The child showed no fear. She just stared at Seris with her heterochromatic eyes, then pointed slowly.
"Her color... dim," Lumi whispered.
Dim. Not bright red like an enemy. Not bright green like Lazarus or... perhaps me. But dim. Neutral. Unclear. Even Lumi's Glitch Sight was uncertain.
"She's a guest. For now," stated Nyxaria, to Lazarus. "Observe. But guard."
Lazarus looked as if he wanted to protest, but he swallowed and bowed deeply. "As... my Lord commands." Yet his green eyes never left Seris, radiating deadly suspicion.
Seris, amid all this, remained silent. She observed Lazarus, the level 90 necromancer whose power aura was palpable. She saw Lumi, an anomaly with strange eyes. And she looked back at Nyxaria, as if reassembling the entire picture in her head.
They walked in awkward silence toward the sanctuary's main entrance. Inside, in the living area near Nyxaria's private apartment, the atmosphere grew more strained. Lazarus stood near the door like a deeply anxious statue guard. Lumi sat in a large chair, her short legs not touching the floor, observing Seris with innocent curiosity.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Nyxaria sat across. She didn't offer Seris a seat. That was an assertion of status.
"You passed the verbal test," Nyxaria said. "Now, the practical test. You said you're disgusted with the 'hunt the weak' culture. Prove it. Provide valuable information. Something I couldn't obtain merely by observing from the barrier."
Seris nodded, as if she had anticipated this. She moved her hand, a gesture that made Lazarus hiss. But all she did was open her private system interface—a semi-transparent blue light panel visible only to her and, apparently, Nyxaria. Her finger danced across it, selecting something.
"I'm an Arcane Scout. One of my skills is [Advanced Cartography]. I map every place I visit, including major guild movements." She made a 'send' gesture, and a small data packet glittered in the air before being absorbed by the sanctuary's environment. Before Nyxaria, a rough holographic map materialized on the stone table.
It was a map of the surrounding territory. Obsidian Sanctuary was marked as a black dot with a purple aura. And about thirty kilometers southeast, a pulsing red dot glowed.
"This is the location of the nearest Crimson Crusaders temporary base," said Seris, her voice professional, like an intelligence briefing. "An old fortress they seized from NPCs. According to my observations over the past week, since the system announcement about You, their activity has increased drastically. They're not just preparing defenses. They're planning a major raid here."
She pointed to several symbols on the map. "They're gathering siege weapons. They're purchasing large quantities of potions and scrolls from Eclipse Merchants. And they're recruiting. Not just high-level players, but also... 'fuel'."
Nyxaria frowned. "Fuel?"
Seris looked at her, and for the first time, her expression revealed deep anger. "Low-level players. Or NPCs who can't fight back. They'll be used as distractions, bait, or living barriers to waste Your cooldowns and mana. Their logic is simple: even Final Raid Bosses have limits. And they'll send wave after wave, until that limit is revealed."
Now, all of Mara's suspicion converted into another emotion: a coldness deeper than fear. They haven't changed. They merely found a new battlefield. And they'll do exactly what they did to me before—using the weak as shields, as tools, as expendable numbers.
But there was something else. A small, strange relief that began to grow amid the chaos. She said it. She showed the map. She didn't flatter. She provided cold facts, even the terrible ones. She... could be trusted. Perhaps. A little.
[System Feedback: First Non-Hostile Player Interaction: Nyxaria & Seris. Logged.]
That notification appeared in the corner of Mara's view, simple and without fanfare. No global announcement. Just an administrative note. Yet it felt... significant. As if the system acknowledged a long-standing pattern had just cracked.
"Lazarus," Nyxaria called, without looking away from the map.
"Yes, my Queen?" the necromancer responded immediately.
"Verify this data. Use whatever means you possess. Ravens, remote sensors, anything."
"With pleasure!" Lazarus declared, almost enthusiastic now that he had a mission involving suspicion of players. He darted away, his robe billowing.
Only the three of them remained—Nyxaria, Lumi, and Seris. The awkward silence descended once more.
Okay. I have a spy. Or an ally. Or something in between. Now what? I have no protocol for this. 'Being a Demon Queen 101' doesn't cover the 'accepting player guests' chapter.
A small movement caught her attention. Lumi had slid down from her chair and now stood beside Seris. She looked up, gazing at the scout's weary face.
"Are you tired?" Lumi asked innocently.
Seris was surprised, then a small, seemingly genuine smile—the first since they met—touched her face. "Yes. Very."
Lumi nodded, as if she fully understood. Then she looked toward Nyxaria. "Mama Ghost, she's hungry."
Mara, inside, wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. Amid all this complexity—espionage, raid threats, guild politics—what a child perceived was that the person was tired and hungry. Perhaps that was the most accurate analysis.
Nyxaria looked at Lumi, then at Seris. She sighed, a sound that seemed almost human. "Lazarus will bring food. You may sit."
That wasn't forgiveness. That wasn't full acceptance. That was a ceasefire pending verification. But it was something.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, Mara felt something foreign: that amid all this fear and paranoia, perhaps, just perhaps, not everyone was an enemy. That there was someone else wounded by the same machine that had shattered her. And that... felt like the beginning of something. Not a solution, but at least a direction.
Seris slowly sat in the chair across from Lumi, her body seeming to shed years of tension with that simple permission. She gazed at the holographic map still pulsing with that red dot, then at Nyxaria.
"They will come," she repeated, her voice soft but firm. "And they won't stop."
Nyxaria gazed at that red dot, and inside, Mara felt an old determination begin to crystallize. Not fear. Not the desire to hide. But an acknowledgment.
"Let them come," Nyxaria whispered, more to herself. Then she looked at Seris. "And you will help ensure they never forget their visit."
Seris nodded, once, a silent agreement forged in that warm and strange room, under the watch of a child's heterochromatic eyes and the aura of a Demon Queen learning to be more than a monster in a story.
From her interface, Seris pulled out another small data file and sent it. The map magnified, focusing on the area around the red dot. Old fortress, approach routes, guard posts.
"All the data I possess," said Seris. "Locations, estimated numbers, patrol patterns. They're planning a major raid here." She paused, ensuring Nyxaria saw everything, then added one final sentence that hung in the air, full of warning and possibility.
"And they don't know we've already seen them coming."
The red dot on the map pulsed. Like a sick heartbeat, or a target mark in a sniper's scope. Its pulse was felt in the suddenly silent room, drowning out the lingering scent of Gloom-Moss tea and smoked meat. Seris's statement—"They're planning a major raid here"—still hung, but now it had shape, coordinates, and real weight. Thirty kilometers southeast. An old fortress. A threat that was solidifying.
Lazarus darted back into the room, his breath slightly labored—an oddity for a level 90 necromancer. His green eyes immediately fixed on the holographic map floating above the stone table, and his vertical pupils narrowed. "Verified," he hissed, his voice full of dark satisfaction. "This servant used the vision of corrupted ravens from the northern peak. There is activity. Considerable activity. Smoke from forges, carts entering and departing, excessive campfire light for a mere encampment." His clawed hand pointed to the area around the red dot on Seris's map.
"Their logistics are active. This is not mere gathering. This is war preparation."