Although Fafnir had not said it outright, Angel understood that the sickening smell she mentioned should refer to those demons lurking and watching in the shadows.
"They could endure it, all right. They only came knocking after nearly three hours." Angel narrowed his eyes slightly, yet made no move.
Rustling sounds had already risen from downstairs. Clearly, the guests had entered, but Angel remained as composed as an old man, lost in thought.
Only when the crisp chime of the wind bell drifted from the courtyard up to the attic did Angel leisurely head downstairs.
The moment he appeared, he immediately felt several gazes laden with strong purpose sweep over him. As he walked out into the courtyard and discussed payment matters with Canaan, Angel glanced from the corner of his eye toward the direction those stares had come from.
His understanding of demons was not comprehensive to begin with, and many demons possessed exceedingly bizarre appearances. He could not identify exactly which demons they were for the moment, but judging from their auras, not one was below the intermediate demon rank.
Still, they were not entirely unfamiliar. There was one exception among them.
The instant Angel saw one particular demon, a name sprang into his mind.
It was a lean, white-skinned demon. Even among the gathered demons, it was small in stature. It had no wings, and its tail was an utterly ordinary pig tail. Such a frail-looking demon, yet not a single demon dared approach it. It squatted alone beneath the shade of a tree mother in the courtyard, looking rather at ease.
Mogheim. Angel slowly uttered the name inwardly.
This name, whether in the Frost Moon Alliance... or rather, throughout the entire Wizarding World, was enough to inspire fear when spoken aloud.
It was so famous because