The tension was suffocating.

  Gazes emerged from every direction, like invisible blades.

  Stingara stood up, instinctively hiding behind Souta.

  “What are you doing…? This is the Demon King’s territory!” her voice trembled. “Are you insane? If you want, I’ll do whatever you want… but let’s leave right now!”

  Souta didn’t step back. His smile grew even sharper.

  “N-O. We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t be an idiot!” Stingara nearly screamed. “Not even my mother could defeat him!”

  Souta cut her off, arrogant:

  “How do you know that? Have you ever seen them fight?”

  Stingara grabbed his arm, desperate.

  “The gods whispered it to my mother. They never make mistakes. In a fight, she wouldn’t even get past the right-hand generals!”

  Souta laughed, thrilled by the situation.

  “Then let’s break that record. Come on, we defeat him… and as a bonus, I go back to my world. You’ll never see me again.”

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  “If you’re trying to cheer me up… it’s not working.” Stingara looked around, increasingly terrified.

  Souta opened his arms, as if embracing chaos itself.

  “Isn’t it amazing? That feeling of not knowing what’s going to happen… even when the biggest chance is death!”

  “We do know what’s going to happen!” Stingara exploded. “We’re going to die! Let’s go back, I beg you! If you want, I’ll kneel! Just don’t be stubborn!”

  A thin sound sliced through the air.

  Shhhiiimmm.

  Souta reacted instantly, pulling Stingara back.

  He landed safely, eyes fixed on the darkness.

  Three figures emerged from the shadows.

  Their demonic presence was overwhelming.

  The black aura around them distorted the very space.

  “Welcome to the gates of the Infernal Castle. We will be your executioners.”

  Souta narrowed his eyes.

  “Creamy… what are those things?”

  The system answered without hesitation:

  “They are the Demon King’s Temporals.”

  Souta frowned.

  “I should know what those are.”

  Creamy explained, voice deep:

  “They are ten sub?generals, classified by the amount of time they would take to injure or defeat a Celestial General.”

  And then he listed them, like a dark chant:

  Millennium.

  Century.

  Decade.

  Year.

  Month — Firmora, the Firm.

  Day.

  Hour.

  Minute.

  Second.

  Instant.

  Souta remembered.

  “Firmora… the one from the labyrinth. He was the ‘Month.’”

  Creamy nodded.

  “Depending on the style and the environment, facing a Temporal can be harder than you imagine.”

  The three figures advanced, darkness vibrating around them.

  Stingara trembled, terror stamped on her face.

  Souta, on the other hand, smiled even wider.

  The game had begun.