Word spread fast in the Demon Realm.  

In less than a day, the news had reached every guild, fortress, and noble citadel—  

a single man, drunk and furious, had wiped an A-rank guild from existence.  

Not defeated.  

**Erased.**  

No one dared even whisper his name without caution.  

They spoke of him in half-sentences,  

of the nameless young demon who had turned *Devourer’s Soul* into ash in seconds.  

And the guild he belonged to—  

the once laughably small, newly promoted B-rank guild *Chalice of Emberlight*—  

suddenly became a name spoken in fear.  

Jexy Bakian didn’t care.  

When the flames died down, he returned to what was left of his own hall.  

The floor was cracked, walls burned, the air still heavy with blood.  

Lyssara Veinflare still breathed—barely.  

He bent down, checked her pulse,  

then quietly lifted her into his arms.  

The path to the back of the guild was strangely silent.  

He’d never entered the guildmaster’s quarters before.  

Inside, the room was simple—warm light, faint perfume,  

nothing like the extravagant lounges he spent most nights in.  

He laid her carefully on the bed, pulled the blanket over her,  

and stood there for a moment in silence.  

“Stubborn woman,” he muttered softly.  

“Still trying to boss me around while half-dead.”  

Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him.  

In the main hall, a handful of wounded members were still breathing,  

some unconscious, others barely moving.  

Jexy summoned what remained of his energy,  

chanting nothing—his will alone enough to activate a series of restoration sigils.  

A ring of pale blue light swept through the hall.  

“Stay put,” he said quietly.  

“I used a Soul-Preservation Scroll. You’re not dying today.”  

He dragged the injured one by one to a safe room in the back,  

then slumped into a chair,  

waiting.  

Within hours, a few senior members rushed back from their missions.  

They froze in the doorway at the sight—  

half the building ruined,  

the gates gone,  

the floor blackened—  

but Jexy sitting there, perfectly calm.  

“What… happened here?” one of them asked.  

Jexy looked up, his tone flat.  

“An attack. It’s handled.”  

He didn’t mention *Devourer’s Soul*.  

He didn’t have to.  

The silence in his eyes said enough.  

“Get a magus-healer here. Now.”  

He stood and adjusted his coat.  

“I’ve already stabilized everyone,  

but I’m not doing this twice.”  

Three days later,  

the guild was alive again—barely, but alive.  

Construction crews and magic engineers swarmed the grounds.  

The sound of chisels, chants, and sigil-etching filled the air.  

And Jexy Bakian… was spending again.  

He’d hired half the region’s best rune-masters,  

ordered an entire suite of high-grade defensive arrays,  

and even imported anti-curse barriers from the Infernal Market.  

The new *Chalice of Emberlight* would not fall again—  

not while he still had pockets full of gold.  

“Reinforce that column with a silence trap,” he ordered.  

“Next to it—binding field, double-layer.  

And add reflective warding along the balcony.  

If anyone so much as sneezes an attack spell in here,  

I want the curse bouncing straight back into their face.”  

The heavy doors creaked open.  

Lyssara Veinflare, wrapped in bandages but standing on her own,  

stepped into the hall.  

She stopped, staring.  

The once-ruined guild was already half rebuilt.  

Dozens of rune-masters worked in perfect rhythm under Jexy’s direction,  

weaving protection into every wall and floorboard.  

And there he was—  

her supposed lazy, useless spendthrift of a vice-leader—  

sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over the other,  

a cup of wine in his hand,  

pointing casually toward a pillar.  

“That spot—yeah, right there.  

Give me a high-density *Malefic Silence Seal*.  

And next to it, stack a tier-three *Constriction Glyph*.  

No, no, not that pattern—make it elegant,  

I’m not living in an ugly fortress.”  

Lyssara could only stand there in disbelief.  

Was this… really the same man she thought would get himself killed?  

She remembered the last thing she’d said before blacking out—  

*Don’t come back, you idiot, you’ll just die too.*  

Yet here he was, alive, commanding,  

turning ruin into strength.  

For the first time,  

she didn’t know whether to scold him—  

or thank him.