It started the same way all disasters in the Demon Realm did—  

with the Demon King laughing too loud.

In the great obsidian throne hall of the Bakian Dominion,  

Dawf Bakian’s laughter boomed for hours.  

He couldn’t stop showing the same memory crystal to every visitor,  

every general, every servant who passed too close to the throne.

“Look at him! Look at my grandson!”  

“One punch—no, not even a punch! He *thought* and an A-rank guild ceased to exist!”  

The generals bowed, smiled, and nodded.  

Every single one of them was terrified.

It wasn’t unusual for high-ranking demons to destroy cities or armies—  

but this was *him*.  

The one they’d always called *the most useless heir in Bakian history*.  

The “Spendthrift Prince,” the disgrace of a noble line.  

And now he was an unstoppable storm in human form.

Naturally, Dawf was proud.  

Too proud.

So proud, in fact, that he had the footage distributed—  

a full projection of the massacre at *Devourer’s Soul*.  

It spread like wildfire.  

Within days, every guild, tavern, and back alley in the Demon Realm  

was replaying the same scene:  

a young man in a torn coat, holding a bottle of whiskey,  

walking through flames while entire legions crumbled into dust.

By the end of the week, everyone knew.  

The Bakian heir had joined a small, half-forgotten guild—  

and turned it into a nightmare.

At *Chalice of Emberlight*, Lyssara Veinflare sat in her office,  

a pale crystal projector hovering in the air before her.  

She didn’t blink once as she watched the image—  

him, unmistakably him,  

standing amidst fire, golden eyes blazing.  

She exhaled slowly.  

“So it really was you,” she whispered.  

When Jexy finally entered the room,  

she was waiting behind her desk, arms crossed.  

The atmosphere was quiet, heavy,  

the kind of silence that makes even devils sweat.

“Sit,” she said.

He sat, scratching his cheek awkwardly.  

“I can explain—”

“Don’t bother.”  

She tossed him the crystal.  

He caught it, grimaced.  

“So, you’re really *that* Bakian.  

The Demon Realm’s biggest headache.”

He groaned, slouching in the chair.  

“I didn’t ask to be famous.  

I just wanted to have fun.”

Lyssara rubbed her temples.  

“Fun,” she repeated flatly. “You joined a guild for *fun*?”

“Yup,” he said without hesitation. “I was bored.”

“…And your goal?”

“To keep being bored in interesting ways.”

Lyssara stared at him for a long moment.  

Finally, she sighed.  

This idiot.  

No ambition, no plan, no political motive—  

just chaos and money.

But somehow, she couldn’t even be angry anymore.  

If not for this ridiculous man,  

they’d all be dead or broke by now.

Word of the Bakian heir’s identity spread faster than wildfire.  

Guilds that once mocked *Chalice of Emberlight*  

now bowed their heads and avoided eye contact.  

No one wanted to “accidentally offend” the grandson of the Demon King.  

At the same time, something unexpected happened.  

Dozens of unaffiliated demons—mercenaries, swordsmen, sorcerers—  

began showing up at the guild’s gates,  

all wanting to join.

“If the Bakian heir is there,” one said,  

“then that guild’s going places.”  

Lyssara had no choice but to expand recruitment again.  

The guild hall turned into a constant blur of interviews, tests,  

and magical assessments.

Meanwhile, Jexy?  

He wasn’t even there.

Back at *Succubus Kiss*,  

he was once again surrounded by soft laughter,  

a table full of empty glasses,  

and the gentle glow of enchanted candles.

A red-skinned succubus leaned against his shoulder.  

“Lord Jexy, they say you’re famous now.  

The whole realm’s talking about you.”

He winced. “Don’t remind me.”

“They say you destroyed an A-rank guild with your bare hands.”

He sighed. “They exaggerate. I had whiskey in the other hand.”

The succubi giggled, draping around him as he poured another drink.  

To anyone watching,  

he looked like a man without a single care in the world.  

But deep inside, he knew—  

peace never lasted long in the Demon Realm.  

Because far beyond,  

in the Human World,  

armies were already moving again.  

The kingdoms that had once lost the war  

were planning their return.