Coercion

The Northern Frontier, a remote town on the human frontier.

Macht sat alone on a huge stone step, his back straight and his posture elegant.

Her long, purplish-red hair was still perfectly styled, and her dark green dress remained motionless in the night breeze.

His face was expressionless, his pupils staring straight ahead, as if he were gazing at something invisible, or as if he were simply spacing out.

A faint sound of footsteps, almost blending into the wind, echoed from the depths of the ruins.

The man was draped in a heavy, dark cloak that seemed to absorb all light. The wide brim of the hood hung low, completely obscuring his face in deep shadow. Only a pair of huge, curved, and menacing horns, like gnarled branches of an ancient tree, protruded from the sides of the hood, revealing his inhuman nature. He exuded an aura as obscure and unfathomable as an abyss.

Macht's gaze remained fixed straight ahead, without wavering.

His voice, perfectly steady without a ripple, broke the silence:

"... Scharlach."

The hooded Demons — the Omniscient Scharlach, the one whose status under the Demon King could be considered "number one"—slightly raised his head.

"One of the 'Seven Sages of Destruction,' Macht of the Golden Land."

Macht did not respond to the address; he simply sat quietly.

Scharlach continued, his voice calm and collected. "I hope you can join us in defeating the Hero of the South."

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

Macht remained motionless, but the magnificent coat draped over his left shoulder seemed to come alive, silently transforming and spreading across both of his shoulders.

Clearly, he was ready for battle.

He still didn't look at Scharlach, his voice carrying an undisguised indifference and detachment:

"Scharlach, do I look like the kind of guy who would risk his life for the Demon King Lord?"

His tone clearly conveyed a refusal.

"Stop dragging me into your boring war games. I have absolutely no interest in the Demon King's Army."

The Hero of the South is very strong.

He didn't want to fight.

It's not out of fear, but because it's unnecessary.

Scharlach didn't seem angered by the blunt rejection; his voice remained calm. "You've never liked fighting with others, have you?" This was a simple statement, devoid of praise or criticism.

"However, this is an order personally issued by the Demon King. Anyone who disobeys this order will face certain death."

He tilted his head slightly, the shadow of his hood seemingly sweeping across Macht, and also across this desolate ruin.

"Demons are all individualists; only fear can unite them. You understand that without me saying it."

As soon as he finished speaking, Scharlach slowly turned around, his back to Macht, as if he had everything under control.

Macht remained expressionless, his gaze fixed on Scharlach figure, his tone flat:

"Trying to make an example of me? You think you're worthy? Do you even think you can do that?"

Scharlach turned to the side, and the shadow under the hood once again fell on Macht.

Do you think I'm not good enough, that I can't do it?

Their gazes clashed silently in the dim moonlight, several steps apart.

On one side is unfathomable foresight, on the other is the indifference of absolute power.

Macht and Scharlach stared at each other.

A moment later.

"If I could, I wouldn't want to do this," Scharlach said slowly.

"I thought so too." Macht's gaze remained unchanged. "Since you, with your ability to glimpse the future, have come all the way here to find me, it means that this operation desperately needs me."

He paused, but his tone remained calm:

"Besides, I can't refuse this order... right?"

Almost the instant he finished speaking, in the shadows behind him, where there had been nothing before, the air rippled like water. A figure silently appeared.

A ball of light was floating in his hand, emitting a chilling aura.

Macht didn't turn around, but calmly called out the other person's name:

"One of the Seven Sages of Destruction, [Miracle] Grausam. My most formidable opponent."

Scharlach's deep voice rang out. "It seems you are well aware of the current situation."

Macht turned his attention back to Scharlach.

"What a chilling guy! I've been completely fooled by you ever since."

"Tell me, what do you want me to do?"

Scharlach seemed completely unsurprised by Macht's cooperation, and succinctly issued the instructions:

"You only need to engage the Hero of the South with all your might. No plan is needed. With an overwhelmingly strong opponent like you present, the Hero of the South's actions will be somewhat restrained."

"Is that all?"

"I have predicted the future battle with the Hero of the South countless times," Scharlach's voice carried a fatalistic certainty, "This is my conclusion. There are no problems."

Macht's gaze lingered for a moment on Scharlach's hooded face.

"The conclusion is that you and he both perished?"

Scharlach closed his eyes and remained silent for a moment, as if he were peering into the future of the Demons.

The shadow beneath his hood seemed even deeper; he neither admitted nor denied it.

"You look like you're about to die, Scharlach."

Scharlach finally spoke again, his voice low and deep. "Until it really comes to that, no one knows what the future holds. This is a battle concerning the survival of the Demons race, a battle that cannot be won, but also a battle for the Demons race."

"This memory of yours will be erased by Grausam later. It was spied on. I'm sorry, Frieren, you can't see it."

"What?"

Scharlach did not answer.

He turned his back. "Then, see you on the battlefield."

Having said that, Scharlach didn't linger. He turned around, and together with Grausam, who had remained silent and whose orb of light was slowly fading from his hand, their figures were about to disappear into the darkness once more.

"I hope you survive, Scharlach."

Scharlach did not turn around.

"This is the first and last time I'll hear words of concern from you. Although I've heard those words countless times in the future."

As soon as they finished speaking, the two figures vanished completely, as if they had never existed.

Macht sat alone on the stone steps, tilting his head slightly upward to gaze at the cold crescent moon in the night sky. Its golden pupils reflected the moonlight, yet remained utterly undisturbed.

He gently raised his hand, and the magnificent shawl coat silently slipped off again, draped back over his left shoulder, restoring his elegant posture.

"... boring."

A very soft whisper dissipated in the sobbing wind.