The night before her match, Rishott dined alone in another luxury restaurant. She hadn't even bothered to invite Marigold to eat out.
"A duel to the death," Rishott muttered.
Centuries ago, Rishott might have smiled at the thought of such a duel, but she had long since stopped her needless murdering.
Like most people who got to know Zarathustra, Rishott knew that there was something wrong in the archdemon's head.
As they say, absolute power corrupts absolutely.
But Zarathustra's corruption was something special, indeed. It was the corruption that arose when an individual could do anything they wanted without any repercussions.
Oh, how Rishott wished she could slit the archdemon's neck. And yet, that dream could never come to fruition.
After taking a sip of wine, Rishott peered out the window, admiring how Drachnum glowed so frivolously in the night.
"Reality is quite harsh; now cracks a noble heart."
***
