The story of a certain demon who settled street brawls with a *drinking contest* spread through Solneva faster than wildfire.  

By the next morning, every tavern in the district was gossiping about it.

“Did you hear? Some rich idiot stopped a gang fight with beer mugs!”  

“They say he bought out half the taverns that night!”  

“Apparently the guy’s from that broke guild—what was it—‘Chalice of Something?’”

By noon, the news had already reached the Chalice of Emberlight itself.

Lyssara Veinflare sat at her desk, clutching the report parchment so tightly it nearly caught fire.  

Her crimson eyes twitched as she read the words *‘settled conflict by drinking duel’* for the fourth time.

“That imbecile,” she hissed, “used alcohol diplomacy?!”

Velna was lounging upside down on the couch nearby, legs crossed. “At least no one died,” she said sweetly. “That’s progress.”

Lyssara slammed the desk. “No one died *yet!* He turned a robbery into a festival!”

Before she could rant further, a loud knock echoed through the hall.  

Lyssara barked, “What now?!”

The guild doors swung open—revealing a line of demons in immaculate uniforms, carrying scrolls, blueprints, and golden measuring tools.  

Behind them stood a polished carriage bearing the insignia of **Inferno Construct Ltd.**, the most luxurious renovation company in the entire Demon Realm.

Their leader bowed respectfully. “Lady Veinflare, good day. We’ve arrived to begin the reconstruction and expansion of your guild facility.”

Lyssara blinked. “...What?”

The man smiled, adjusting his monocle. “Full payment has been made. Platinum tier. Three phases. Indoor remodeling, exterior reinforcement, and luxury furnishing package.”

“Wait—paid? By *who?*”  

“An anonymous patron,” the foreman replied with a grin. “But judging by the attached signature, we suspect your new member—Mr. Jexy.”

Lyssara just stood there, mouth slightly open, every vein in her temple throbbing.  

She didn’t know whether to laugh, scream, or faint.

“Of course,” she muttered at last. “If he’s not drinking, he’s spending.”

Velna whistled. “Gotta admit, his chaos is productive. At this rate, we might actually look respectable.”

Lyssara groaned. “Respectable?! He’s turning our guild into a five-star hotel!”

Meanwhile, the “anonymous patron” himself was strolling through Solneva’s marketplace, hands in his pockets, humming a tune that had no rhythm whatsoever.

The wind shifted—and he stopped.  

A familiar scent brushed past him: soft perfume, tinged with demonic mana he knew far too well.

“...So, you came after all,” Jexy said with a lazy grin.

A figure appeared from a nearby alley, graceful and poised as ever.  

Silver hair, elegant horns, and a pair of eyes that could pierce through deception—  

**Freya Monar**, his ever-loyal maid.

“Indeed, my lord,” she said, bowing slightly. “Lord Dalph has noticed your absence. He asked me to check whether you’ve managed to burn anything important.”

“I’m on vacation,” Jexy said. “Tell the old man to relax.”

Freya sighed softly. “He has tried. Repeatedly. It hasn’t worked.”

She looked him over. “A guild, my lord? Really?”

“Mm-hmm. A little F-rank one. They’re fun.”  

He smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, I’m behaving… relatively speaking.”

Her expression darkened slightly.  

A *guild.*  

The idea of any guild having a Bakian heir among its members was absurd—dangerous, even.  

If anyone found out who he really was, half the Demon Realm would start kneeling while the other half tried to assassinate him.

Jexy caught her look and chuckled. “Relax, Freya. Keep the family crest hidden. We’re just normal adventurers now.”

“But, my lord—”

“No ‘buts.’ You wanted to stay by my side, didn’t you?”  

He tapped her chin lightly, his tone soft but absolute. “Then follow my rules. No titles. No family names. Just… play along.”

Her breath hitched faintly. She lowered her gaze. “As you wish, my lord.”

When the pair returned to the guild, jaws dropped.

Rhazel nearly choked on his drink. “You—! You went out and came back with a *succubus?!*”

Velna raised an eyebrow. “That’s fast, even for you. What’s her name? Or are you calling her ‘Sweetheart Number Three’?”

Freya only smiled politely. “I am his maid.”

The guild members exchanged glances that said *‘sure, and I’m the Demon King.’*

Jexy ignored them all, stretching lazily. “Don’t mind her. She’s here to help with cleaning.”

Lyssara, meanwhile, was hiding in her office.  

She could already hear the chaos in the hall, and her nerves were one twitch away from snapping.  

Through the window, she could see the construction crews setting up scaffolding, repainting walls, unloading shipments of luxurious furniture.

Her guild—her *scrappy little guild*—was being reborn before her eyes.  

And she had absolutely no control over any of it.

Lyssara buried her face in her hands. “He’s infuriating. Infuriating—but… gods help me, effective.”

Outside, the foreman barked orders as another shipment arrived—velvet chairs, enchanted lighting, carpets woven from phoenix silk.  

Guild members cheered as free meals and new supplies rolled in.

Velna lay across a newly delivered sofa. “I could get used to this.”

Rhazel clinked his mug. “Luxury sponsored by lunacy.”

Lyssara finally exhaled, slumping into her chair. “Fine. Let him waste his fortune. At least this time it benefits us.”

By the end of the week, the transformation was complete.  

The once-ruined tavern looked like a royal estate.  

Debts paid, guild fees covered for the next three centuries, meals upgraded, equipment renewed.

The Chalice of Emberlight had never looked better.

And at the center of it all, Jexy Bakian lounged in the lobby with a satisfied grin, surrounded by laughter, luxury, and one quietly sighing maid who knew exactly how much trouble was still waiting to arrive.