For the first time in its miserable history, the Chalice of Emberlight was… comfortable.

The lights worked.  

The chairs didn’t collapse.  

The food no longer tried to eat *them* back.  

Even Velna stopped complaining for an entire hour—a record in demon history.

But luxury didn’t change the guild’s rank.  

They were still F-class.  

And in the Demon Realm, “F” stood for “Forgettable.”

A few mornings later, Jexy yawned his way into the guild hall just in time to see Rhazel leaning over a cracked mission board.

“Busy day?” Jexy asked.

Rhazel grunted. “Trying to be.”

“Hmm. Sounds exhausting. I’ll supervise.”

“Yeah, figured you’d say that.” The dragonborn grabbed his cloak. “Come on. If you’re that bored, tag along. We’re heading to the mission exchange.”

Against all natural law, Jexy actually agreed.

The **Demon Realm Task Consortium** was one of the busiest places in Solneva—a grand hall where nobles, warlords, and desperate demons posted all kinds of requests, from escorting royal caravans to unclogging lava ducts.

Rows of parchment lined the walls.  

The receptionist, a long-tailed imp in a vest, squinted as the two men approached.

“Oh, the Chalice of Emberlight again,” he said, voice dripping with polite pity. “We have a few *suitable* tasks for your… current level.”

Jexy’s eyebrow twitched. “Define *suitable.*”

The imp cleared his throat. “Let’s see… cleaning the Fire Hog pens in the West District. Or assisting a dock crew with scrubbing barnacles off vessels bound for the Sea of Ash.”

Rhazel winced. “...Yeah. That’s about our bracket.”

Jexy stared at the parchment like it had just insulted his lineage.  

“Scrubbing pigs and boats. We’re the bottom of the food chain.”

The imp smiled nervously. “I believe you mean *entry-level opportunities.*”

“Entry-level humiliation,” Jexy muttered, turning on his heel.  

Rhazel followed with a sigh. “Can’t be helped. We’re the lowest ranked guild in Solneva. Until we prove ourselves, all we get is trash.”

Outside, the spoiled heir stared up at the crimson sky, silent for a long moment.

“Rhazel,” he said finally.

“Yeah?”

“How strong is the Chalice now?”

The warrior scratched his chin. “Counting part-timers and Velna’s pet imp? Nineteen. Used to be over three hundred before the last guild war.”

“Guild war…” Jexy repeated.  

That triggered a memory—rumors from taverns, whispers from merchants.  

The **Grand Guild Wars**—an official event sanctioned by the Demon Council itself.  

A brutal, all-out clash where guilds fought for status, territory, and survival.  

A loss meant dissolution. A victory meant elevation.

To demons, it wasn’t just a tournament. It was natural selection with fireworks.

Jexy’s lips curved into a small grin. “When’s the next one?”

“Soon,” Rhazel said grimly. “A few weeks, maybe less. Lyssara’s been stressing about it. She’s already trying to find excuses to back out.”

“Hmm.”  

Jexy looked toward the bustling market ahead, eyes gleaming faintly.  

“Then maybe it’s time we stop being forgettable.”

That afternoon, he vanished into the **Golden Spine Bazaar**, a labyrinth of stalls that could sell anything—from dragon hearts to cursed tea sets.  

He moved like a man with a mission and a wallet that feared for its life.

“Three crates of Voltra Nova grenades.”  

“Five dozen rune-sealed scrolls—tier eight or higher.”  

“And those—yes, the limited-edition Demonforged blades. Take ten. No, twenty. Just in case.”

“Sir,” one merchant stammered, “those scrolls are… one-use only. And cost ten thousand gold *each!*”

“Perfect,” Jexy said. “Make it an even fifty.”

Coins clattered. Contracts sealed.  

By the time he was done, entire shopfronts were out of stock.  

Merchants wept tears of joy and exhaustion.

Evening fell as Jexy strolled back into the guild, whistling off-key.  

Inside, Lyssara sat at the meeting table with a mountain of reports and an even bigger headache.

“I don’t see how we can refuse the war this year,” she said to Rhazel. “If we withdraw again, the Guild Authority will revoke our license. But if we *join*—”  

She rubbed her temples. “We’ll be annihilated before round one.”

“That bad?” Jexy’s voice cut in from the doorway.

Lyssara’s head snapped up. “Where have you—”

Before she could finish, he snapped his fingers.  

The room *flashed*.

In an instant, the long table was buried under glowing artifacts, enchanted blades, and scrolls humming with unstable mana.  

The air filled with the scent of ozone and impending bankruptcy.

Everyone froze.

Velna leaned closer, eyes wide. “Are those… real?”

Jexy grinned. “The cheapest one can vaporize a mid-tier monster.”

Lyssara stood up slowly, staring at the mountain of wealth that had just appeared in her war room.  

“W–what is all this?”

“Supplies,” Jexy said casually. “For the Guild War.”

Lyssara’s jaw dropped. “These are *legendary-grade* scrolls! You could fund a national army with this!”

“Or,” he said, “one very flashy F-rank guild.”

She pressed her hands to her forehead. “You can’t just buy victory!”

“Why not?” he said simply. “It’s the most efficient method.”

Rhazel let out a low whistle. “You’re insane… I like it.”

Lyssara looked between them, torn between rage and awe. “You think this is a game?”

“I think losing is expensive,” Jexy replied with a shrug. “And I hate bad investments.”

He shoved a pile of scrolls toward her. “Take them. Use them. If it’s not enough, I’ll buy more.”

Lyssara stared down at the weapons—some glowing, some humming, some leaking sparks that probably violated several safety regulations.  

Even the weakest one could obliterate a fortress.

For a moment, she said nothing. Then she laughed softly—half in disbelief, half in resignation.  

“Fine. If we’re going to burn, at least we’ll burn *spectacularly.*”

Jexy smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

He turned toward the window, watching the crimson skyline shimmer like molten glass.  

“The Guild Wars want blood and chaos,” he murmured. “Let’s give them fireworks instead.”

Behind him, Lyssara called out, voice dripping with exasperation.  

“You really are the worst kind of noble.”

He glanced back, eyes gleaming.  

“No. I’m the *most entertaining* kind.”

And somewhere in the distance, a thunderclap echoed—  

as if the Demon Realm itself was laughing at what was about to come.