The streets of Solneva were as noisy as ever.  

Hovering newspapers drifted above the crowds, their headlines flashing in crimson:

**“Grandson of Demon Lord Vaedrin Draveth, Ragel Draveth—Grievously Wounded in the Human Realm!”**

Jexy Bakian stopped, staring for a few seconds before sighing.  

“That idiot… he’s still the same.”

His maid, **Freya Monar**, tilted her head. “Is he someone you know, my lord?”

“Of course,” Jexy said, waving away the floating report.  

“He’s an old friend—grew up together. The man’s strong, but his head’s full of bricks.  

Always talking about ‘destroying the Human Realm.’ I told him a hundred times—it’s stupid.  

The food there’s good, the wine’s better, and the women are gorgeous.  

If you destroy the Human Realm, where are you supposed to find that many beautiful women again?”

Freya allowed herself a faint smile. “I’ve long since learned to stop questioning your worldview, my lord.”

“That’s the right attitude,” Jexy said lazily. “I’m against meaningless wars—  

especially the kind that destroy good entertainment.”

But peace never lasts in the Demon Realm.  

Within days, horns blared across every territory.  

War banners rose. Commands echoed from the Demon Lords themselves:

**“Full mobilization. Invade the Human Realm.”**

Even the smallest guilds were summoned.  

No exceptions—not even the F-rank **Chalice of Emberlight.**

Inside the guild’s meeting hall, silence pressed on everyone’s chest.  

Guildmaster **Lyssara Veinflare** dropped the official decree onto the table, her hands trembling slightly.

“We’ve been assigned to the same combat zone as the S-rank guild, *Crimson Devils*.”

Velna froze. “Wait—*that* Crimson Devils?!”  

Rhazel’s jaw dropped. “They’re fighting the High Guilds of the Human Realm! That’s suicide!”  

Tyria’s voice wavered. “Are… are we cannon fodder?”

No one answered. The quiet said everything.

Then the door opened.  

Jexy Bakian strolled in with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other,  

looking perfectly calm.

“What’s with the long faces? Did someone die already?”

Lyssara glared. “We’re being sent to the Crimson Devils’ front line—to fight the human elites!”

“Oh,” he said simply. “Sounds lively.”

“Lively?!” she snapped. “It’s *war!*”

“I know,” Jexy replied, sipping his drink. “Relax. We’ll be fine. We’ve got money.”

He snapped his fingers.  

A burst of light filled the room as boxes, weapons, and scrolls piled up on the table.  

The mana pressure made the air hum.

“Each of you gets a hundred **Protection Scrolls**—keep them up at all times.  

And fifty **High-Grade Spell Scrolls**.  

See an enemy? Throw one. Problem solved.”

Rhazel rubbed his temples. “Boss, this sounds more like a fireworks show than a battle.”

“Exactly!” Jexy grinned. “If we’re going to fight, we might as well do it beautifully.  

Don’t worry about running out—I’ve got plenty more.”

Lyssara sighed deeply. “You really think this is a party.”

“Why not? It’ll keep morale up.”

Meanwhile, in the Crimson Devils’ command camp,  

the demon lord **Tankaris Akuma** frowned at his deployment chart.

“The Chalice of Emberlight? That’s that broke F-rank guild, isn’t it?  

Why are they in *my* sector?”

His lieutenant cleared his throat. “Perhaps… to draw fire, sir?”

Tankaris sneered. “Then let them. They won’t last five minutes anyway.”

Days passed, and the world changed.  

Blood-red portals tore open across the sky,  

spilling waves of magic into the air.  

The Demon Realm was marching to war.

At the Chalice’s camp, the members scrambled to prepare.  

Rhazel tied down the last crate. “One hundred protection scrolls, fifty offensive ones—our supply weighs more than we do.”  

Velna chuckled nervously. “Relax. If we don’t kill the enemy, we’ll bury them in gold.”  

Lyssara glanced over the glowing gear stacked like treasure,  

and though anxiety still lingered,  

she finally managed a faint smile.  

At least, this time, they wouldn’t die unarmed.

The day of departure arrived.  

A crimson rift pulsed before them,  

its winds screaming like the heartbeat of the war to come.  

Demons of every rank stepped forward, their banners waving in the fiery gale.

And at the back of the line, Jexy Bakian arrived—  

carrying a *chair.*

He set it down with a flick of his wrist,  

sat comfortably, and poured himself a glass of flaming whiskey.

The others could only stare.

“Relax,” he said, raising his glass. “It’s just war.  

All we need to do is *look* richer than the enemy, and we’ve already won half the fight.”

Freya stood behind him, perfectly still.  

“My lord,” she murmured, “are you not nervous?”

“Nervous?” he laughed softly.  

“I’m not here to die. I’m here to watch the fireworks.”

He looked up at the blood-red portal ahead,  

the reflection of fire dancing in his golden eyes.

“Before the first strike even falls,” he said quietly,  

“let the world see what *true financial security* looks like.”