Chapter 4: Portraits, Armaments, and a Half-Finished Smile

It was said that the ancient castle of the Demon Lord boasted a history nearly as long as that of the entire demon race.

Established atop the Padson Plateau since the very inception of the First Demon Lord, it had weathered countless wars, only to be continually rebuilt upon its ruins and broken pillars, much like the successive generations of Demon Kings themselves.

Yunajin led Qiaolun through the Demon Lord’s Corridor.

Golden sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting vibrant, kaleidoscopic halos that shimmered upon the portraits of past Demon Kings adorning the walls.

Qiaolun’s gaze swept over the ancient portraits, their styles remarkably consistent.

Contrary to popular belief, these Demon Kings, once renowned across the continent, were not depicted as terrifying or ferocious as rumor suggested.

On the contrary, their human-like appearances and expressions exuded an unwavering resolve, as if perpetually poised to confront some colossal challenge.

Such a look, he had only ever glimpsed a hint of it on King Celtus, from the human kingdom in the distant northern lands.

These portraits alone were sufficient proof that the so-called Demon Kings were perhaps no different from humans or any other race inhabiting this vast land.

It was not until… Qiaolun passed the current Demon Lord’s portrait.

“What are you doing?”

Just as Qiaolun prepared to view Yunajin’s portrait, she swiftly snatched a covering cloth and draped it over, her face taut with nervousness, a few beads of sweat glistening on her forehead.

“It’s nothing, merely that my portrait isn’t finished yet.

You can admire it another day!”

With a rustle—

The covering cloth slipped from behind him, and Qiaolun’s eyes glinted.

Evidently distinct from the preceding oil paintings, this portrait boasted a richness and subtlety of color Qiaolun had never witnessed before.

The maiden in the painting appeared graceful and refined, her pink hair falling effortlessly over her rounded shoulders.

Her delicate, fair hands were naturally clasped, and after Qiaolun’s initial glance, his attention was immediately captivated by the elusive, mysteriously elegant smile playing on her lips.

‘Was she smiling?’ Qiaolun wondered.

‘And what was she smiling about?’

‘Those subtly upturned corners of her mouth, those gently pursed lips—they conveyed an air of gentle elegance, yet simultaneously hinted at an inexplicable loneliness or sorrow.’

As Qiaolun became lost in contemplation of the portrait, Yunajin, flustered, retreated to the side.

She recalled an incident from her previous life, when a self-portrait she had secretly drawn was discovered by others, who then mocked the girl’s narcissism and her fanciful daydreams.

While Demon Kings’ portraits were traditionally commissioned from specialized painters, Yunajin had insisted on creating her own, even going so far as to prepare the pigments herself.

‘If I use colored pencils, I can sketch freely first, then finalize the perfect piece before replicating it with dyes.’

‘No one here would have encountered a drawing made with colored pencils.’

Thus, the portrait of Yunajin hanging in the Demon Lord’s Corridor was merely a temporary piece.

“It’s not finished yet,” she murmured.

“A half-finished piece like this might earn the Hero’s ridicule, and I wouldn’t want to spoil the impression I’ve made on him.”

“Truly beautiful…” Qiaolun murmured, his praise heartfelt.

“Really?” Yunajin whispered, subtly sidling up beside him.

Her voice brimmed with the delightful surprise of being acknowledged and praised.

“Eh!?” Qiaolun yelped, stumbling back a step like a startled gray cat, his innate caution resurfacing against the sudden proximity.

“Hmph,” he scoffed.

“I was referring to the novel painting technique and the pigments, which have nothing to do with the person depicted.”

As Yunajin’s face lit up with a beaming smile, Qiaolun turned his head away, crossing his arms over his chest as he spoke.

‘Oh my, such a tsundere!’

“Hero, you truly are adorable.”

“Tch.”

Yunajin, with a flourish, swept her black cloak and beckoned Qiaolun to continue forward.

The Demon Lord’s Corridor, it was a repository of most information concerning successive Demon Kings, detailing their personalities, abilities, and even their personal preferences throughout their lives.

Qiaolun held little interest in the departed, but the weapon-like artifacts preserved within crystal displays piqued his curiosity.

“Those are ‘Demon Lord Armaments,’ the exclusive weapons of the Demon Kings,” Yunajin explained, pointing to a golden one-handed hammer.

Despite the meticulous preservation work, which had left its surface almost entirely dust-free, irregular green traces still marred it, resembling dried, splashed liquid.

“That’s ‘Devil Breaker,’ the weapon of the First Demon Lord.”

‘Honestly, why would anyone give a weapon such a bizarre name?’ Yunajin thought.

‘I certainly wouldn’t.’

When she first learned about the armaments of previous Demon Kings, the sheer ‘chuunibyou’ nature of their names made Yunajin increasingly suspect she had transmigrated into some game world.

She had harbored this fear for a considerable time, after all, as the Demon Lord herself, there was a high probability she would become a boss for numerous players to challenge.

Fortunately, Yunajin had observed human life, and after some investigation, she concluded from their daily habits that they were all native inhabitants of this world.

It was also around this time that she, quite by accident, discovered Qiaolun through her crystal ball.

“Where’s your weapon?” Qiaolun asked, reaching the end of the display after counting five items and gazing at an empty crystal case.

“Oh, I don’t have one yet,” she replied playfully.

“My weapon is still being forged.

Aren’t you excited to see it?”

Regardless of whether the human Hero Qiaolun felt any anticipation, Yunajin herself harbored a deep yearning for her own ‘Demon Lord Armament’.

“It should be a sword, just like the Hero’s.”

“Hmph, and you know how to wield a sword?” Qiaolun scoffed, a cold laugh escaping him.

He had observed Yunajin’s physique: her legs were plump and lacked agility, her waist slender and devoid of strength, her arm muscles lax.

Judging solely by her smooth palms, she had clearly never held a weapon in her life.

“No,” Yunajin admitted, shaking her head honestly.

She had never undergone any relevant training.

As for why she chose a sword, one reason was its portability—it could be carried on her back or tucked into her waist.

But the most crucial reason was—

‘Come on, swords are just cool, aren’t they!’

Upon hearing her reply, Qiaolun’s fighting spirit waned a few more degrees.

He began to ponder how exactly he had lost consciousness earlier.

Many details eluded him, such as—

‘How did my sword get damaged?’ he mused.

‘It felt like this person shattered it with a single punch.

Was that real?’

“Haaah—”

While Qiaolun continued to scrutinize the Demon Lord’s information, Yunajin, waiting beside him, had already begun to yawn from sheer boredom.

She had only been the Demon Lord for a little over a decade, and she herself was still unaware of some of her own abilities.

‘What kind of information could possibly be recorded about *her* there?’

‘Could it be that he’s interested in me?’ she wondered.

‘Does he want to understand me?’

With that thought, Yunajin involuntarily perked up, hoping Qiaolun would examine the details more closely.

“How dull,” Qiaolun muttered, a look of disappointment crossing his face.

Indeed, while the corridor recorded every detailed piece of information about the Demon Lord, it was strictly limited to the traits she currently displayed.

It listed her fondness for red wine stew, her penchant for petting Slimes, and even her habit of needing a body pillow to fall asleep—yet conspicuously absent was any mention of her actual strengths or abilities.

‘Which idiot recorded this?’ he grumbled inwardly.

“Ah, you…” Yunajin puffed out one cheek in displeasure at Qiaolun, who had simply walked off, and huffily followed after him.

‘The higher the predator, the more patient they are with their chosen prey, wouldn’t you agree?’