Chapter 92: The Pope’s Pragmatism and a Demon King’s Revelation

The newly appointed Pope always seemed to prefer being addressed as such. He consistently presented himself as a devout believer, yet most of his teachings had little to do with divine matters or even his own personal faith.

As mentioned before, this Pope held a somewhat human-supremacist view. He believed humanity should empower itself, rather than constantly seeking reliance on others.

Humans, he argued, should strive to protect themselves. There was no shame in this; only by living well could they truly enjoy material comforts and spiritual fulfillment.

Thus, the Pope was fond of holding meetings. He was always eager to impart his beliefs to others, portraying himself as a pious adherent.

However, the lessons he delivered were rarely about deities. Instead, they focused on humanity itself, echoing his conviction that humans should grow stronger rather than depend on external forces.

Becoming powerful and protecting oneself was not a shameful act. After all, one could only enjoy other material or spiritual conditions by living well.

Therefore, the majority of his lectures did not advocate for reverence towards so-called gods.

‘Gods? No, what’s the point of gods?’

‘When I need money, I shout, “God, please help me!” Does money then fall from the sky? When I’m sick, I carve two heads onto a statue of a god – does my illness simply vanish?’

‘No, clearly, such things are impossible.’

This Pope, though his title suggested a theologian, spoke with a terrifyingly practical realism.

Wade, too, attended this lecture. This time, he was accompanied by an additional person.

Zelin was still there.

Indeed, the young man remained.

His family invariably sent him to these events because, in their busy household, he was the only one who idled away his time. Consequently, such meetings always fell to him.

Occasionally, his family would inquire about the lecture’s contents. Zelin, for his part, absorbed some of it, relaying what sounded reasonable to his relatives.

He had no choice but to listen, did he? After all, the Pope was still the Pope. They had to curry favor with him to secure a better future.

Zelin hadn’t even dared to mention his brief encounter with the previous Pope. It wasn’t enough to call them friends, merely a fleeting acquaintance.

However, with the recent transition of Popes, accompanied by a shift in power and faith, Zelin couldn’t yet admit to knowing the former Pontiff. He feared igniting some unknown conflict between the Popes, which might engulf a minor figure from a small family like his.

If he drew trouble upon himself, it would be disastrous. If it only implicated him, that might be tolerable, but he certainly didn’t want to affect his family, nor his countless aunts and cousins he had never even met.

“—We must ultimately reclaim all that is ours from the hands of demons. We must ultimately defeat the demons and make them realize that humanity is also sufficiently powerful.”

On such central themes, the Pope always maintained a somewhat radical momentum.

As previously stated, he consistently championed the human perspective, standing firmly on humanity’s side.

He even knew of the White Knight’s existence, sometimes casually mentioning him during his grand assemblies, proclaiming the legendary White Knight to be a hero of humanity—a masked champion who left no name or trace.

Being on the side of humanity, he always held immense respect for this mythical White Knight.

What he didn’t know was that this legendary White Knight was currently sitting directly beneath his podium, in the farthest seat by the back door.

Moreover, it was the very same annoying knight whom he frequently caught trying to escape.

“Demons, huh…”

Lamia murmured these three words, listening to the Pope’s voice.

Indeed, the other person Wade had brought today was Lamia.

Wade sat in the middle, with Zelin on his left and Lamia on his right.

Zelin merely sat in his usual spot, staring blankly beneath the podium, listening to the Pope’s rambling, nonsensical lecture without truly internalizing a word.

Occasionally, he would glance in Wade and Lamia’s direction, but it was merely a look, devoid of any particular emotion.

After all, the last time he’d said something, the old Pope had unceremoniously carried him off.

The old man had appeared ancient, with a full head of white hair and a white beard, yet he had surprisingly been in his prime, completely unyielding to Zelin’s struggles. He could still feel the excruciating pain in his back from that over-the-shoulder throw.

Consequently, Zelin decided it was best not to interfere in such chaotic affairs anymore. Wade bringing his wife along was likely just as they had discussed—to give her a change of scenery.

Previously, their trio—an old man and two young men—had unanimously agreed that Lamia should go out more, to experience normal life.

Zelin was unaware of Lamia’s unique nature, nor did he realize that the surrounding crowd was unfamiliar to her because she was not human at all.

He simply perceived Lamia as a sheltered noblewoman, protected by her family, perhaps even one of those who weren’t permitted to leave home until marriage. Such women were common in high society; many remained in a ‘waiting to be wed’ state, rarely venturing out, yearning to pursue their own desires.

They were born to learn how to become perfect wives, how to care for their future husbands. He had seen countless women like this.

Typically, such girls were either genuinely well-behaved, destined to be virtuous wives and loving mothers, serving their husbands like perfect, if somewhat clumsy, spouses.

Or, at the other extreme, they were like those Zelin, the playboy, often encountered: oppressed by their families, suffocated, and eventually choosing to abandon themselves—girls who sought complete indulgence.

While Zelin was a playboy who enjoyed flitting between various women, he did possess some moral boundaries.

When he met such self-destructive girls, he always adopted the attitude of ‘saving one is better than none.’ After all, they were too young to ruin their entire lives.

It could only be said that, aside from being somewhat flirtatious and spending lavishly on young, beautiful women, Zelin had no truly unspeakable vices. It was precisely for this reason that the old Pope had felt comfortable allowing Zelin to interact with Wade and Lamia.

“Why… is the word ‘evil’ added before ‘demon race’?”

Lamia continued to ponder the words from the pulpit, thoughtfully pinching her chin as she looked at the middle-aged man.

“Because it’s ‘demon,’ I suppose… ‘Demon’ makes people think of ‘evil demon’…”

Wade was momentarily stunned by Lamia’s question. He, who could always find an excuse, suddenly felt at a loss for words, unsure what explanation he could offer to make Lamia understand the term ‘evil demon.’

“But ‘demon’—it’s the ‘demon’ of ‘magic,’ isn’t it?”

After Wade spoke, Lamia put forward her own new perspective.

“The so-called Demon Race is merely a race possessing magic, not a race of evil demons. The words ‘evil’ and ‘demon’ should not actually be combined.”

“…”

This was a unique angle Wade had never considered.

Humans had always used terms like ‘Demon Race’ or ‘evil demons.’ Hearing the word ‘demon,’ they would naturally think of evil, always believing that ‘Demon Race’ signified a race of evil beings.

But now Lamia offered a completely different interpretation: the word ‘demon’ simply referred to ‘magic.’ It was merely because they possessed magic that they differed from humans, and thus were called the Demon Race.

What about ‘evil,’ then?

[Humans… this is how they truly perceive us, the Demon Race.]

[For centuries, this conflict has never yielded a clear victor. Who is truly invading whom, and who is disturbing whom? This must be a form of education, a kind of indoctrination. Because of differing stances, the enemy is portrayed as utterly evil, a villain without redeeming qualities. This way, their sense of justice can be ignited, allowing them to resist… It’s a form of brainwashing…]

Lamia, whose mind was usually filled with trivialities, was suddenly contemplating such serious matters today. These thoughts, conveyed in Lamia’s voice, reached Wade’s ears, startling him. He hadn’t expected Lamia to be capable of such profound reflection.

They had been living as husband and wife all this time. Only at this moment, when they both encountered the concept of ‘demons,’ did Wade suddenly remember: yes, Lamia was once the Demon King! Her mind shouldn’t be solely occupied with their affection; there should be other thoughts as well.

What Lamia was considering now was the relationship between humans and demons.

And from Lamia’s perspective, from the Demon Race’s standpoint, what did humanity truly look like?

Lamia said nothing more, and her inner monologue ceased. Wade was still hoping for more of Lamia’s analyses, eager to uncover more insights from her thoughts, but then—

[—White Knight, what do you think?]

The topic suddenly shifted to himself. Wade froze. His facial expression remained unchanged, but his pupils undeniably contracted.

Eavesdropping on thoughts was indeed a rather underhanded act, so he had always done it covertly. Whenever Lamia’s thoughts abruptly turned to him like this, he would feel a surge of tension, fearing his mind-reading ability would be discovered.

Listening to Lamia’s thoughts, understanding her inner workings, gaining more information about the Demon Race through the secret corners of her mind, and even using this subtle method to ‘conquer’ her—these had always been Wade’s clandestine tactics.

Wade hadn’t initially expected this mind-reading ability to last so long.

At first, he had felt somewhat fortunate, believing that if the mind-reading could persist for such an extended period, he could gain even greater control over Lamia.

However, as their time together grew longer, and as he began to harbor a genuine desire to face Lamia sincerely, he suddenly felt that this so-called mind-reading was like a buried landmine, liable to explode at any unforeseen moment.

If Lamia, who had finally found stable life and her own emotions by his side, were to suddenly realize one day that her supposed husband had been controlling her all along with mind-reading, what would her reaction be?

Wade had never considered this question before. He had merely found mind-reading incredibly convenient, so much so that he didn’t even want it to disappear.

Yet, in this instant, when the words ‘White Knight’ suddenly appeared in Lamia’s thoughts, he felt a sudden fear—a fear that Lamia might actually discover the truth.

Would their relationship plummet to rock bottom if she found out?

Would Lamia leave him if she discovered it? Would she depart from his side, cease playing the boring role of his wife, and return to the Demon Race?

If that happened, would all the emotions Lamia had painstakingly cultivated be for naught? Would the peace he had hoped to achieve without a single casualty also be considered a failure?

Wouldn’t she still have to return to the Demon Race? Wouldn’t she have to go back to that place where she was confined, and become a mere machine fulfilling the wishes of others?

Then, conflict would inevitably arise between them again. There would be battles, life-and-death struggles. He would have to find a way to conquer their city walls, and inflict pain upon her.

He suddenly felt… mind-reading was somewhat terrifying.

“Hmm, what’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Despite his internal turmoil, he suppressed his emotions, putting on an innocent facade as he looked at Lamia beside him.

“Nothing. I was just thinking, you’re a knight, aren’t you? Knights are responsible for fighting and resisting the Demon Race. In your view, what kind of existence is the Demon Race?”

Lamia’s gaze remained unchanged. She looked at Wade with her usual expression, devoid of any suspicion.

Seeing only simple curiosity in Lamia’s eyes, Wade subconsciously let out a sigh of relief.

“How do I see the Demon Race?”

Even so, it was a heavy question.

How did *he* see the Demon Race? He was the White Knight, the one who always stood at the forefront of the fight against them.

So, how should he tell her that demons should all be annihilated? Should he tell her he had always aimed to kill her?

No…

Facing Lamia, he simply couldn’t utter such words.

‘Obeying orders is our sacred duty. We follow the commands from above; whatever they need me to do, I do. We are civil servants, after all.’

After much deliberation, Wade finally gave Lamia a somewhat vague answer.

He knew Lamia was aware he was the White Knight, but she wouldn’t voice it. And he, in turn, would pretend not to know.

He would simply answer Lamia’s question as an ordinary knight.

[Obeying orders…]

Lamia blinked, her inner voice tinged with a hint of concern.

[So… the White Knight is a human enforcer? He says he’s just told where to strike?]

Though it sounded a bit nuanced, that indeed seemed to be the meaning.

As a child, he was an enforcer to survive. As an adult, he was an enforcer for humanity’s future. Though the title changed to the grand ‘White Knight,’ the essence of his actions remained largely the same, differing only in rank.

The people who needed ‘teaching’ were no longer simple either.

[From that perspective, I’m quite similar; I’m also an enforcer. My subordinates expect me to defeat whoever they point to, and I do whatever they need me to. So, shouldn’t the White Knight be a king? With such immense power, with the ability to fulfill everyone’s wishes, shouldn’t such an existence be a king? Why is he merely someone who works a 9-to-5 job?]

‘No, no, a king shouldn’t be like that, right? While a king’s purpose is to strive for a better life for their people, they definitely aren’t some enforcer who just strikes where told, are they?’

Wade certainly realized that, for his own peace of mind, he was not much different from an ordinary worker, just doing things that sounded more grandiose. But Lamia, you are the Demon King, a true king sitting on that throne. Why—

Suddenly, Wade realized that it was indeed true: every attack was led by Lamia herself.

Every time, Lamia personally guarded the city gates… while the demon soldiers merely stood behind the walls…

‘Huh…?’

At this thought, Wade truly understood.

He had always believed that Lamia’s stubbornness led her to want to be a ‘wish-granting machine,’ that she had taken on this role because she wanted to shoulder the so-called responsibility. He thought the other demons were merely enjoying the convenience Lamia provided, benefiting from the Demon King’s abilities and responsibilities.

But now, it seemed she was completely… a tool of the Demon Race?

Just as Lamia had been learning human rules and customs, having been a blank slate as a human, needing gradual guidance.

What about as a demon…?

When she was first born, when she needed to bear the responsibility of the Demon Race, who had guided her?

Who had told her what to do and how to do it?

Her status, her abilities, her personality, her dignity—who had taught her all of this?

So—

Lamia didn’t *willingly* become a tool.

It was the other demons who *used* her as a tool.

At this realization, Wade clenched his fist. His other hand, gripping the armrest of the chair, squeezed the long wood so tightly that Zelin could distinctly hear the uneasy sound of splintering.

‘—Wade?’

!

Only when Lamia’s voice echoed in his ear again did he snap out of it, loosening his pale, aching hand, and offering Lamia a polite smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t understand what this old man is saying… How about we slip out like last time?”