After the relentless pace of the past few weeks, I had finally decided to take a step back.
A break.
A moment to breathe.
I found myself once again in the Nightingale manor, nestled within the Count Chase estate. The familiar halls, the quiet hum of the household—it should have been a place of peace.
And yet, something felt off.
Perhaps it was the strange dissonance in my mother's presence.
In front of my father, she was as warm and gentle as ever. The kind and devoted wife. The same woman I had grown up knowing.
But now, I knew better.
And that warmth felt strange.
Still, I let it be.
For now.
Then—everything changed.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
A number I didn't recognize.
I answered without much thought.
"Hello?"
There was a pause—just long enough to feel deliberate.
Then, a voice I knew.
"Arthur."
My grip tightened around the phone.
Quinn Slatemark.
I straightened slightly. "Greetings, Your Majesty."
"There's no need for formalities," Quinn cut in, his tone brisk, unreadable. "I'm calling you as Rank 1 and Guild Grandmaster."
I frowned. "What is this about?"
"Duke Blazespout is dead."
The words hit like a blade.
I inhaled sharply. "What?"
"His son, Jack Blazespout, killed him," Quinn continued, his voice as calm as if discussing a change in the weather. "Then, he destroyed the entire Blazespout estate."
I processed the words slowly.
Jack had moved first.
"Due to your achievements," Quinn went on, "I am promoting the Nightingales to a Marquisate with you as the Marquis."
I blinked. "What?"
"The land under Duke Blazespout will now be yours," Quinn said. "One-fifth will be divided among other nobles."
Then—he cut the call.
I stared at my phone, still holding it to my ear, even as the call disconnected.
No official decree.
No council discussions.
He had simply told me.
Quinn Slatemark, Emperor of Slatemark, had not even bothered with formality.
I lowered the phone slowly, shaking my head.
So Jack had finally shown his true colors.
'It's a bit early,' I admitted.
'But he moved before I could subjugate him.'
A soft voice echoed in my mind.
'So you lost the chance to handle him properly, hmm?'
'Luna,' I responded mentally, feeling her presence stir faintly. She still wasn't fully recovered, but she was aware.
'Jack is dangerous, Arthur,' she continued. 'More than you think.'
"I know," I muttered aloud.
A quiet footstep.
I turned slightly, sensing her approach before she spoke.
My mother.
Her blonde hair shimmered in the dim light as she came to stand beside me, her presence impossible to ignore.
"You heard," I said. It wasn't a question. With her level of power, she had no doubt heard the entire conversation.
She simply nodded.
"Is this fine, Mother?" I asked, my voice quieter than before. "A Nightingale in the open—holding a title, ruling land?"
Her lips curled into something that was not quite a smile.
"We Nightingales," she said, "are meant to be unsung heroes."
A pause.
"But everything is meant to change with you."
Her blue eyes gleamed.
"So yes, Arthur. It is fine."
"Are you going to say that to everything about me?" I asked, watching as she tilted her head in thought.
"Of course." She crossed her arms, her voice steady, unshaken by doubt. "Arthur, you are the true Hero of the world. You were born with that destiny. And for that destiny—"
Her blue eyes met mine, unblinking.
"I killed my son when he was born."
I exhaled slowly. "Did it hurt?"
For the first time, she faltered.
Her expression didn't change, but I saw it—a flicker, a hesitation so brief it barely existed.
"What hurt?" she asked.
"When you killed Arthur," I said, my voice quiet, steady. "When you put a fake soul in this body. When you waited for me to come and inhabit your son's corpse."
Her eyes darkened.
For a moment, she didn't speak.
Then, she turned away.
"A Nightingale is not a robot, Arthur," she said, her voice softer now, almost too quiet.
Then, a confession.
"Even I shed a tear when I had to kill my own son with my own hands."
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off before I could speak.
"But it was necessary."
She turned back toward me, her expression once again composed, resolved.
"If I hadn't done it," she continued, "humanity would be wiped out within three decades."
I fell silent.
Because I knew she wasn't wrong.
In the world I had read about—the world from the novel I once believed to be fiction—her words were true.
Humanity couldn't handle the black mana species.
Especially not the demons.
Art had warned me too. But knowing it and facing the truth directly were two different things.
My mother studied me for a moment before speaking again.
"Demons are very strong, Arthur," she said. "Even with your absurd talent, even with your ridiculous power, they are still a threat."
Her voice was unwavering.
"In terms of relative power, you are ahead of almost all of humanity. But demons—" she exhaled slightly, "demons are ahead of vast numbers of humans too."
Her eyes locked onto mine.
"Our power system itself is incomplete compared to theirs."
I already knew that. I had seen it.
"We Nightingales," she continued, "have achieved something close to completeness. Something that allows us to match demons."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"But the rest of humanity cannot."
"Mother, please tell me in detail," I asked, my voice firm. "Why exactly are demons so strong?"
She regarded me for a moment before nodding.
"First—True Domains."
Her tone was measured, precise.
"Every demon who reaches high Immortal-rank or above can create a True Domain. This gives them an immense advantage in battle. Unlike humans, where only a rare few can achieve such a feat, demons instinctively develop it as part of their progression."
I exhaled, already knowing how devastatingly powerful True Domains were. The fact that every high-ranking demon had one as a baseline… that alone was terrifying.
"Second," she continued, "they have a superior mastery over black mana."
"Black mana and mana are equal in power at their core," she clarified. "However, demons are simply better users of black mana than humans are of mana."
A hard truth. Humans had developed techniques, arts, and spells over centuries—but even our greatest swordsmen, mages, and martial artists struggled to match the demons' natural efficiency.
They were born superior.
And then came the final blow.
"Third," my mother said, her dark eyes unwavering, "every demon above a certain level has two Gifts."
I stilled.
"Two Gifts?" I repeated, the words almost tasting wrong.
Among humans, Gifts were anomalies—a blessing so rare that only a handful in the world could claim them.
I had three Gifts. Lucifer and Rin had two.
But for demons, having two Gifts was… standard?
"It depends on talent for them," she explained. "Every demon, when born, is categorized into eight groups—one of the Seven Sins or Sinless."
My breath hitched slightly. "Seven Sins?"
She nodded. "Sinless demons make up only two percent of their population. The remaining ninety-eight percent are divided evenly among the seven sins—each representing one of the Seven Deadly Sins."
"Each Sin Demon possesses a Gift directly related to their sin."
She met my gaze evenly. "These Gifts are not unique. The same type of Gift will repeat among demons of the same sin. However—"
She tilted her head slightly.
"That doesn't make them any less terrifying. These Gifts are strong. And since almost every demon is born with one, the baseline power of their species is leagues ahead of humanity's."
A cold weight settled in my chest.
"What the hell? How is that even fair?"
In humans, Gifts were so rare that perhaps one in ten million had one.
There were likely less than a thousand Gifted humans in existence out of Earth's ten billion population.
And yet—nearly every demon had at least one.
"Then," my mother continued, her voice even, "many prodigious demons develop a second innate Gift, separate from their Sin Gift."
I inhaled sharply.
"Their strongest warriors, their rulers, and their prodigies all possess two Gifts."
The implications were staggering.
Demons already had superior mastery over black mana.
Demons already had True Domains as a baseline.
Demons already had at least one Gift—something that humans could only dream of.
And their elites…
Had two.