Several months before the outbreak of the war between Milis and the Iron Legion, far from the battlefield, on the Demon Continent, more precisely in the province of Varmorik, a solitary figure walked with calm steps through the hostile landscape.
She was an elf. Her long golden hair shimmered even under the gloomy gray of the demonic sky. Her blue eyes, clear as ice, contrasted with the environment around her.
The province of Varmorik was a desolate land, marked by deep valleys and black, jagged mountains.
The constant winds carried a dry scent of iron and sulfur, and the clouds seemed never to dissipate.
Vegetation was rare, and the ground creaked beneath her feet like parched bones. Black rocks rose on all sides like the teeth of a sleeping beast.
The elf wore a dark wine-colored mage's cloak with silver details, beneath which part of a reinforced leather armor could be seen.
On her back, she carried a quiver and an intricately carved elven bow, and in her hand, a wooden staff topped with a red magical gem.
The aura she exuded was peaceful, almost gentle, but also conveyed the firmness of one who had crossed battles and eras.
In the distance, at the foot of a rocky plateau, rose a castle-city protected by high walls and watchtowers. It was the capital of the province of Varmorik, the most populous and secure city in that region.
"Excuse me!" the elf shouted as she approached the main gate.
One of the guards—a demon with red skin, yellow eyes, and two horns curved backward—awoke startled from his nap. He hastily grabbed his sword, looking toward the lone figure.
He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Then, finally speaking hesitantly, he said:
"Uh? Miss? You know it's dangerous to stay outside the castle walls, right?"
The elf smiled brightly.
"It's all right! I'd like to know if Gretta still lives in the nearby labyrinth?"
The demon immediately grew serious. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes appraised her with suspicion.
"Who are you, miss?"
"I'm a friend of hers. My name is Verdia Solarion."
Upon hearing that name, the guard's eyes widened for a brief moment.
"Ah… yes, I think she mentioned something about that…" he said, turning around."She still lives there, yes. But I recommend you be careful on the way… No, wait. Would you like an escort there?"
He was about to step down from the wall, but Verdia raised her hand gently.
"There's no need. Thank you for the information."
And so, she set off toward a deep ravine stretching alongside the city. That chasm of black rocks was the path leading to Gretta Fowsark's Labyrinth.
Gretta, of the demonic Fowsark clan, was the current Demon King of the province of Varmorik. Like many other Demon Kings, she had her eccentricities.
Although entitled to the castle, she preferred to live deep within an S-Rank labyrinth. It was said that there she studied, trained, and conducted bizarre arcane rituals.
But above all, she was very powerful. After all, no ruler of a demonic province survived long without strength.
Verdia crossed the ravine with light steps, as if she were walking through a field of flowers.
Monsters emerged from the shadows of the rocks, sniffing her like vulnerable prey. But none lasted long.
"Invisible winds! Compress the air, break the silence, and fire like storm spears! Pressure Shots!"
The words vibrated through the air, and a volley of wind spears exploded among the demonic jackals that surrounded her. The creatures were hurled and impaled, their bodies rolling inert over the black stones.
Verdia could not cast chantless magic, but she had long been able to shorten her chants.
An advanced-level spell like Pressure Shots normally required a much longer chant, but she invoked it with only two sentences.
When the monsters got too close, she retreated with agility impressive for a mage.
Her physical conditioning was excellent, and her movements precise. No creature managed even to scratch her during the crossing.
At the end of the ravine, the entrance to an immense black cave appeared.
Above the entrance, affixed to a rocky stalactite, there was a weathered plaque bearing writings in the demonic tongue, painted by hand:
If you are human, go away.If you are a demon, go away.If you are a feral, I don't accept challenges.If you are of a marine race… what are you doing here?If you came to sell blood, ignore everything else. You are welcome!
Verdia smiled as she read the message. That same plaque had been there for centuries.
It was as eccentric as its owner. Adjusting her staff on her back and pulling her cloak to cover her body a bit more, the elf entered Gretta's Labyrinth without hesitation.
Verdia passed through the S-Rank Labyrinth completely alone.
It was true that she had taken that path before, which helped her greatly: she knew the traps, the treacherous turns, and the hidden shortcuts.
Even so, despite this prior knowledge, the monsters that inhabited the place remained serious threats.
They demanded effort, they demanded power. But Verdia was someone who possessed both in abundance.
When wounded by claws or fangs, her hands were already casting healing spells almost immediately.
When an ambush sprang out of nowhere, a pre-established magic circle activated and detonated the enemy with surgical precision and force.
Verdia Solarion was an exceptional mage.
There was a clear reason why the Saint of North God Style, Kalinoski, only attacked her after exhausting both her mana and her physical stamina.
Her spells were always sure and overwhelming, and her movement was agile, refined—very unusual for a mage.
Her body was in shape and her reflexes sharp as a sword.
That golden-haired elf had spent much of her life in constant war, and that kind of experience left marks.
Marks that, in her case, had turned into power and experience.
Confident, she traversed the labyrinth with skillful precision. The monsters perished before they could touch her.
Thus, step by step, she finally arrived at the boss room of the labyrinth.
She stopped before the door, observing everything around her with nostalgic eyes. The walls, the cracks, even the faint sound of drips falling into ancient pools brought back memories.
Memories of battles, of conversations, of decisions. And then, she pushed open the heavy dungeon door.
Contrary to what one would expect of a labyrinth boss room, the interior was… organized. Extremely organized.
The spacious, vaulted chamber was illuminated by dozens of magical torches symmetrically arranged.
There were shelves laden with vials, ingredients, alchemical tools, and scrolls.
Potion benches, runic diagrams, and even a table with handwritten papers. Everything meticulously arranged at the back of the hall.
On the center of the raised platform, chained to a reinforced magical containment circle, slept a colossal creature. A demon dog larger than a house.
It had four heads, all different in appearance, and a suffocating aura. The chains wrapped around its muscular, black-bone body trembled lightly with its deep breathing.
One of the heads slowly opened its eyes. Its eyes were as red as embers, and upon seeing Verdia, one of its muzzles lifted.
A greenish gas began to pour from its mouth, and without warning, a poisonous breath was unleashed toward the elf.
Unfazed, Verdia calmly withdrew a scroll from her cloak.
Touching it with her fingertips and channeling mana, the magic circle drawn on it glowed intensely and formed a translucent barrier that enveloped her completely.
The gas struck her and dispersed, impotent.
"Gretta!" she called with a joyful smile. "It's me, Verdia!"
After a few seconds' delay in which the monster rose to continue its assault, the chains around the dog's neck were suddenly yanked to the side.
A powerful, impatient female voice echoed through the room:
"LAP! She's a visitor! Who do you think you're attacking?!"
From one of the side doors of the hall emerged an imposing figure.
A very tall woman—at least eight feet high—with gray skin and well-defined muscles. If judged only by anatomy and posture, she might be mistaken for an unusual human. But her long, dark purple braided hair said otherwise.
A large onyx horn protruded from the center of her forehead, curving slightly backward. Her blue eyes shone with a wild intensity.
Gretta Fowsark, the Demon King of the province of Varmorik, wore only a white cloak, barely fitting her body.
It was more a formality than real attire: the fabric barely covered her breasts and her intimacy. Her confidence was absolute—in strength, in presence, in authority.
She walked toward Verdia with heavy steps, crossing the stone hall as if there were no hurry in the world.
When she stood before the elf, she watched her silently for a few seconds. Her eyes rested on the mage's golden hair, now glowing with a soft, magical light.
"Hey, your hair is shining, Verdia," Gretta said curiously.
Verdia smiled gently. A smile filled with joy and nostalgia.
"I know…" she replied.
The Demon King hesitated and said:
"You… are you dying?"
"…..what?"
----
"Ahahaha! So you're not dying!" Gretta said, laughing with her firm, hoarse voice, which reverberated off the dungeon walls.
Inside a spacious secondary chamber, lit by magical crystals embedded in the walls, two figures sat facing each other.
In the center, a robust wooden table covered with old scrolls, glass vials, and alchemical tools. The room smelled of aged potions, dried herbs, and magical ink.
Verdia Solarion reclined gracefully, legs crossed and her long golden hair gleaming softly under the amber light of the crystals.
Across from her, Gretta—the imposing Demon King of the province of Varmorik—was reclining in a chair too large for any human, holding an iron chalice.
"No, I'm not," Verdia replied in a soft but firm voice.
Gretta tilted her head, frowning with genuine confusion.
"But that's strange. Your hair… you remember? It used to shine a lot when you were young."
Verdia nodded silently.
"And it lost its shine over the ages as you grew older, right?"
Another silent nod from the elf.
"So… why is it shining again?"
The mage took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her lips.
"I know as much as you do."
A brief silence fell over the room, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence only old friends could share.
The two then relaxed, settling in for hours of conversation.
It had been exactly a century since Verdia's last visit, but neither seemed to give much importance to time. Both belonged to long-lived races.
Gretta was already over 800 years old, and Verdia just over 500.
They had met during the campaign of Demon God Laplace.
It was in one of the fiercest battles that Verdia saved Gretta's life by facing none other than Feroze Star—the legendary Fire Emperor of the human race.
Gretta's days, however, had become much more peaceful over the last few centuries.
Her routine consisted basically of waking up, studying alchemy, and sleeping. She spent most of her time among vials and formulas, deeply investigating complex topics.
For the last 300 years, her obsession had been focused on bloodlines. How they formed, how they were transmitted, and what could be awakened within them.
Verdia, on the other hand, roamed the world. She had stories of all kinds—epic victories, strange encounters, tragedies, and reunions.
She spoke animatedly, and Gretta listened attentively.
Until the inevitable subject arose: Rygar.
She spoke excitedly about her disciple, while Gretta continued to watch the glow in her friend's hair discreetly, without mentioning it further.
Gretta straightened in her chair, paying closer attention now.
"That Rygar fellow is quite amazing, from what you say. Although I don't know what that 'Saint level' title means…"
Verdia smiled.
"It's a classification humans invented in recent centuries. An attempt to measure the power of warriors and mages."
"Then what would be a better reference?"
"At eight years old, you could say he was already as skilled with the sword as I was in my youth."
Gretta raised an eyebrow. Now she was truly impressed.
"Wait… in the old days? You stopped practicing with a sword?"
The elf leaned back against the wall, her eyes distant.
"I'm sure I mentioned that the last time I was here… It's been a few hundred years since I used a sword in combat. It's not like I've forgotten everything, but… maybe I no longer have the same flair."
"What a pity…" Gretta murmured. "Elven swordsmanship was beautiful to behold. It would be a tragedy to lose that."
A few more minutes of silence. A crystal glowed softly in lilac tones, marking the passage of another hour.
"So?" Gretta asked, refilling her chalice. "What's the real reason for your visit, Verdia?"
The elf hesitated, looking at her hands on the table.
"I came to retrieve something I left here long ago…"
"Your weapons? Are you going to fight a war?"
Verdia nodded slowly.
"And one more thing," she raised her eyes and stared at Gretta intently. "I'm calling in my debt now. I want your help. I want you to come with me to Milis."
Gretta's expression hardened. Her eyes flashed briefly.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely sure," Verdia replied without blinking.
A few days later, the mountain winds blew across the Demon Continent's peaks, witnessing a rare sight: the Demon King of the province of Varmorik abandoning her territory, accompanied by her old friend.
Two legends, side by side, crossing the Continent toward the Holy Country of Milis.
-----
Hello! If you want to support my writing, check out my subscription P@treon
By subscribing, you will get access to up to 20 advanced chapters of the Webnovel and polls to decide various things about the story.
Your support will encourage me to continue writing more chapters! Check it out here: pa treon.com/DaoistJunkYard
---
Special Thanks
Thank you to RaGe McGee for becoming member on P@treon!