Chapter 7: The Tactics of Passionate Love

What constitutes passionate love?

The succubi offered a myriad of answers.

Some spoke of opulent gifts. A person truly in love would shower you with possessions; mere clothes were trivial. They might even bestow upon you an entire house, declaring it the future abode you would share.

Others emphasized a focused gaze. When you occupied their heart, they couldn’t help but look upon you. They might struggle for words, uncertain of what to say, yet their eyes would remain fixed, intent on etching your entire being into their soul.

Some described intense, even forceful actions. They spoke of movements so profound they might cause a fleeting pang of pain, like being abruptly pressed against a wall, their warm breath caressing your face, your neck, even your thighs.

Still others defined it as an intimate space reserved solely for two. You understand, of course—given they were succubi, such matters were undeniably central.

Within that private sanctuary, you would hear the frantic rhythm of their heart, their face flushed crimson, their gasps punctuated by shivers, their Adam’s apple constantly bobbing.

“——That is passionate love!”

At the time, several high-ranking succubi, attendants to Lilith, had articulated these sentiments. While their individual perspectives varied, and they offered extensive advice, Lilith herself had added a crucial caveat: true understanding could only come from personal experience. Their words, she cautioned, were merely a fragile guide.

So, was this, then, the moment for such a guide?

Wade gripped Lamia’s wrist with an unwavering hold, his fingers blanching her fair skin to a vivid red. Neither Wade nor Lamia, however, seemed to notice the intensity of his grasp.

Wade harbored no guilt for causing the Demon King pain. This was hardly surprising, given he had previously cleaved her with his blade on numerous occasions. Why would a mere tight grip provoke remorse?

Lamia, too, remained unfazed. This was equally natural. Having endured Wade’s slashes multiple times before, such a degree of discomfort had long become inconsequential to her.

Wade, still clutching Lamia’s wrist, forcefully tugged her into his private chambers. The door clicked shut with a decisive sound. Leaning against it, Lamia instinctively reached out, her fingers confirming the lock was indeed engaged.

He had ushered Lamia into the room and secured the door. While Wade understood that a common lock held no meaning for the Demon King, he surmised she wouldn’t openly blast it apart in front of his household.

He rationalized his actions, telling himself he needed to keep her contained. This was his estate, and his servants were ordinary people. He worried she might unleash some dark sorcery upon them, hence bringing her here. He was merely fulfilling the solemn duty of a knight.

Yet, a memory of the accursed Demon King’s recent words flashed through his mind. Ah, damn it all, it must be the sheer absurdity of her statements that had rendered him so utterly uncomfortable. Otherwise, why would his heart feel so utterly twisted?

‘——This is love!’

…What?

His thoughts were already in turmoil, and the sudden appearance of that voice in his ear left him momentarily stunned.

‘He brought me to a private room and locked it, gripping my wrist tightly, his heart racing, his breathing quickening—this must be love! Passionate love!’

Lamia meticulously cross-referenced every minute detail of Wade’s behavior with the succubi’s elaborate guide.

As Lamia’s inner voice murmured, ‘gripping my wrist,’ Wade instinctively loosened his hold, as if her unspoken thoughts had startled him.

Locking the door, he reasoned, was to prevent Lamia from influencing others.

Gripping her wrist was to deter her from wandering off.

Heart racing, breathing quickening—was that *me*?

Wade faltered at this third point of his internal analysis.

He hesitated, unwilling to acknowledge the frantic reactions within his own chest.

However, he realized he might have been swayed by that overly dramatic interpretation.

A racing heart and quickened breathing? Was that not entirely natural? He had, after all, dragged Lamia here at a run. Any normal human body would surely be panting from such exertion.

But Wade didn’t immediately grasp this simple truth. Misled, he began to ponder: was he perhaps developing some improper desires?

Their confrontation remained unspoken, a silent standoff as they simply gazed at each other. That intense, fixed stare he directed at her even caused Lamia to compare it against the succubi’s established criteria.

So, what came next? What was the subsequent step?

“Of course, you express your feelings!”

At that moment, several experienced succubi, eager to share their wisdom, offered their insights to their magnificent, self-sacrificing Demon King.

“A simple kiss will suffice. Just kiss him, and he won’t be able to resist!”

“Exactly! Kiss him while he’s looking at you! The kiss doesn’t need to be profound; just brush his lips lightly.”

“It’s best if it’s incredibly soft, Demon King. You understand the art of playing hard to get, don’t you? Use that tactic to ensnare the White Knight’s heart!”

Love, they declared, was a battlefield, and the strategies of love were its tactics!

‘It’s time for a kiss…!’

The atmosphere was undeniably charged; it seemed only fitting to conclude with a kiss.

One could only marvel at how Lamia consistently managed to startle Wade. The mere word “kiss” surged through Wade’s mind like a jolt of electricity, causing his half-clenched fingers to tremble.

Kiss…?

Kiss…?!

He repeatedly questioned himself internally, wondering if he had misheard. He sought to calmly analyze the situation, but the thunderous beat of his heart and his ragged breathing utterly overwhelmed his thoughts.

What was he anticipating?

He parted his lips, as if to utter something, to disrupt this unfolding farce. Yet, he already saw Lamia drawing closer. Her hands settled upon his shoulders, then slid down his arms. Her warm palms soon pressed against his back. In a moment of sheer distraction, he found himself bending down, yielding to Lamia’s subtle pressure. Their breaths merged in a single, instantaneous union.

Wade’s heart hammered even faster than before. He knew this burgeoning emotion was wrong, yet it felt like an incurable physiological response. He gazed at the closeness of Lamia. Though he was acutely aware that her true form was the black-armored Demon King, his formidable adversary, as he looked intimately at her face, the inner voice wishing her happiness refused to fade from his mind.

What, truly, was her objective?

Why would she voice such thoughts internally? She couldn’t possibly know he could read her mind.

Nevertheless, a flicker of anticipation still stirred within him, akin to tasting forbidden fruit for the very first time, like a saint betraying the sacred doctrines they were sworn to serve their entire lives.

He regarded himself, a man who had dedicated his entire being to the divine, now locked in an embrace with a demon.

He sought to numb his conscience, to rationalize this singular moment of greed. Wade told himself this was merely a delaying tactic. After all… if the Demon King truly began to rampage, the surrounding towns would undoubtedly suffer.

A single kiss would be fleeting, perhaps lasting only a second or two.

However, the imagined softness and sweetness never touched his lips. Instead, he was met with her radiant smile.

“Haha.”

Due to their extreme proximity, her laughter resonated a hundred times clearer than he had ever heard it before.

She had not kissed him. Instead, her breath merely feathered against his lips—a delicate game of playing hard to get. Wade’s heart had already reached its absolute peak, and he even involuntarily gasped for a fleeting moment, before desperately stifling his breath once more.

Meeting her smile, Wade pressed his lips into a tight line. A tremor ran through him. Was it the sheer intimacy of their closeness? The abrupt disappointment of his dashed expectations? Or perhaps this infuriating little tactic of playing hard to get?

“Should we perhaps go and decide on the dinner menu?”

Lamia tilted her head, as if punctuating these small, playful gestures.

“Or perhaps—”

The very next second, Wade, who had assumed their interaction was concluded, felt Lamia gently nip his cheek. It left no discernible tooth marks, but it imprinted a momentary sensation, along with the fleeting, wet brush of her tongue.

“——Should I write my husband’s name on the dinner menu instead?”

The sudden, heart-stopping thrill evoked by Lamia’s voice made Wade, who had always considered himself the strongest knight on the surface, feel an immense sense of impending crisis.