Chapter 30 (Patreon)

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"Your emotions are the slaves to your thoughts, and you are the slave to your emotions."

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Chapter 30

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Humans were... complicated. That was the conclusion Macht had reached after over a century of walking among them.

Demons were simple. Predictable. Mechanical in purpose. They moved according to instinct, acted as they were shaped. A demon's path was a straight line, drawn in blood and magic. There was no deviation. No turbulence of the heart. No ambiguity.

But humans? Humans lived in chaos—and they embraced it.

What was marriage? A binding ritual to share a life—yet most ended up in sorrow or silence. What was love, then? The poets praised it, the warriors died for it, the commoners treasured it. But it brought pain as often as joy. It made people selfish, then selfless, violent, then kind. How could something so contradictory even exist?

Fear? He understood that—barely. An instinct to avoid death. But then why would a mother run toward a collapsing house to save her child? Why would she choose death willingly?

Guilt? Pride? Envy? Malice?

He had spent decades collecting such riddles. Each time he thought he'd found a fragment of understanding, it slipped through his fingers like dust.

Macht had observed people. Spoken to them. Lived among them. And, when things inevitably spiraled, killed them.

In one village, a woman had smiled at him every morning at the well. She gave him bread. She said he reminded her of her late husband. He transmuted the entire village into gold when a knight passed through and suspected him. She hadn't screamed when it happened. Her final words were a thank-you for keeping her company.

He had remembered that.

In another town, he asked a man what love felt like. The man said it was the reason he'd kill or die for his wife. Macht, curious, took the woman hostage. The man had knelt, begged for her life. Told him to take his instead. The concept of self-sacrifice made no sense to him. So he killed the man and kept the woman alive. She screamed, fought, wailed. So he killed her too. He wondered if grief tasted different from fear. It didn't.

He had once made a couple fight to the death. "Only one will survive," he'd said.

The boy hesitated. The girl didn't lift her weapon.

"She's too kind," the boy had whispered. Then he struck her.

She didn't block. She fell, blood staining her dress.

The boy looked at her and screamed. He raged at Macht, charged him in blind fury.

Macht killed him too.

But something about that memory stayed. The girl had not been afraid. Not of death. Not of the boy. She had looked at him—lovingly—even as he raised the blade.

"Why?" Macht had asked her.

She had smiled, even as her lifeblood drained.

And that… that made no sense.

He kept wandering.

He walked through winter storms, sat beside dying men, watched children cry, laugh, grow. He saw mothers die for their children, men starve so others could eat, friends betray each other out of jealousy. He witnessed weddings, funerals, festivals. He heard songs sung for lost loves, and stories told about war heroes who never came back.

He turned entire towns into gold, thinking maybe preserving their last moments would help him understand. But gold was cold. Unchanging. Lifeless.

It gave him no answers.

He didn't feel guilt. He wasn't ashamed. But something was missing. Something just out of reach. Like a smell in the wind you can't trace, or a word on the tip of your tongue.

He thought, perhaps, if he kept walking… kept listening… one day he would understand.

And maybe, just maybe, he would feel something too.

Õ—T—Õ

Macht had heard whispers—a name, passed around in fear and awe. Solitär.

A demon unlike any other. One who hated humans so thoroughly that she annihilated anyone who wandered near her domain. It was said that entire hunter guilds had vanished in the Northern Ranges, their bones frozen mid-scream, their souls left to wander.

It took him twenty-three years to find her.

He could have found her sooner—he should have—but it became clear, once their paths crossed, that she had allowed it. The forest of mists around her tower parted like a curtain when he stepped near, like a wordless invitation, a whisper of welcome.

And there she was, standing at the entrance of a grand obsidian tower, light hair flowing like liquid moonlight, clad in a simple dress a.

"Macht~!" she said, clasping her hands over her chest. "Took you long enough."

He hadn't felt her presence until he saw her. No magic signature. No movement in the mana around her.

Curious.

She led him in.

Her tower was immense. Not grand in gold or ornament—but in its stillness. It felt old. Heavy. Like the books inside it had watched generations fall and rise.

Shelves upon shelves of human grimoires, stacked with meticulous care. Magic circles drawn in chalk over stone floors. Scrolls sealed with protective talismans.

"Human magic," Macht said. "Odd for a demon."

"We are not like other demons," Solitär said, already halfway to a kettle. "We think. We wonder. And we do not die so easily."

Macht studied her silently. He could sense it—an immense magical force. Not unlike Schlacht, the Demon General who had nearly shattered kingdoms. Yet Solitär was… composed. Not hostile. Not even wary.

And neither was Macht. He did not feel fear.

"Why do you collect human magic?" he asked her as they sipped their tea. The taste was bitter, but not unpleasant.

"I don't collect it. I study it. Humans are desperate. Emotional. It makes their magic strange. Unpredictable. But also… creative."

"I see." He looked down at the teacup, steam rising faintly. "You seem to understand them more than most of our kind."

"I've watched enough of them scream before they die. You pick up a few things."

"I'm trying to understand their emotions. Concepts like love. Guilt. Envy. Pride."

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. "You aren't the only one."

"I want to experience them. But I don't know how."

She set her cup down with a soft clink. "That's because you can't."

He looked up.

"We weren't made to. Demons like us... we are not born with the mechanisms to feel. We mimic. Observe. But we do not feel. Not the way humans do."

"Then it is impossible?"

"No." She leaned forward, her expression unreadable. "But it is rare. Difficult. And even if you manage it... it will not be what you think."

"I'm willing."

She smiled. "I can see that. You're strange, Macht. Most of our kind chase blood and instinct. You chase meaning."

"How do I begin?"

"By not killing every human you see, for starters," she said flatly. "That's my thing."

He gave a small, slow nod.

"Speak to them. Travel with them. Watch them when they're not terrified. Observe what makes them laugh. What makes them lie. What makes them cry."

"How long?"

She shrugged. "A week won't do. A month... maybe you'll learn their words. But years? If you spend years among them, if you live among them, you may begin to understand."

"And if I don't?"

"You'll die the way you were born. Empty. Like the rest of them."

He paused, then bowed his head faintly. "I understand."

He stayed with Solitär for years.

She taught him more than magic—though there was plenty of that, too. How humans shaped mana differently. How they infused it with emotion. Their magic didn't obey the same linear logic. It bent. Twisted. Adapted. It responded to feelings.

Macht found it fascinating.

She taught him spells of flame, wards of compassion, circles of binding etched with sorrow. He could replicate them. Not perfectly. But enough.

When the time came to leave, there was no goodbye. She simply nodded at him from her window.

"Come back if you find something worth sharing," she said.

And so, Macht wandered again.

Looking.

Watching.

Seeking the people who would teach him why a mother dies for her child.

Why someone smiles before death.

Why love makes humans cry... and why he couldn't.

Not yet.

Õ—T—Õ

He sat quietly on the edge of a crumbling church, rubble all around him, eyes fixed on the night sky above. A thousand stars burned gently in the heavens, but he didn't understand what made humans gaze at them with such awe. Stars were just stars. Bright, distant, meaningless. Humans were strange like that—always chasing metaphors.

He didn't turn when the footsteps echoed up the shattered staircase. He already knew who it was.

"Schlacht," he muttered.

The Demon King's right hand. A man whispered to see a thousand years into the future.

"You've changed, Macht," Schlacht said as he reached the top. "Travel does that to a person. Makes them... odd."

Macht didn't look at him. "What do you want?"

No venom. No ice. Just dull, tired indifference.

Schlacht hummed. "A favor. We need help dealing with the Hero of the South."

Macht's brow twitched slightly, but he kept his tone flat. "I owe the Demon King nothing. Why would I throw my life away for him?"

"Well," Schlacht replied calmly, "because if you say no, I'll have to kill you."

Macht finally turned, looking him in the eye. "Would you really try?"

There was a flicker of amusement in Schlacht's smile, but it didn't last. He raised a hand, pointing at the rooftop above them.

Macht followed the motion.

A shadow stood there. Still. Watching.

Grausam.

Of course. The illusionist. His worst matchup.

"That guy, huh?" Macht sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I'll come. But only because if I don't, I'll die here, not because I care about your war."

Schlacht nodded. "Fair enough. However, one condition—your memory of the battle must be sealed."

Macht blinked. "What?"

Schlacht met his eyes. "Forgive me… Frieren. But I cannot allow you to see what he is going to see. Because the survival of the demon race depends on it,"

Macht's expression froze.

"…What did you just call me?"

Schlacht looked away, voice smooth. "Nothing, Macht. Nothing at all."

Õ—T—Õ

Macht had struck without warning—he always did. The caravan was dust, splinters, and half-dragged screams, a trail of bodies scattered across the road like discarded paper dolls. The horses were gold. The wheels were gold. The sky seemed to grow heavy, as if mourning the silence left behind.

Only one man still breathed.

He was slumped against a broken chest, his coat tattered and singed, blood soaking through his side. A cigar had somehow survived in his pocket, and with shaking hands, he lit it with a cracked flint.

The smoke curled upward as Macht watched, his head tilting slightly.

"You wish to smoke?"

The man coughed, but managed a tired smile. "Do as I like, right?"

Macht nodded. "Do as you like."

The man took a slow drag, eyes half-lidded. "Name's Glück. I was the Mayor of the Fortified City of Weise. That title won't matter much now, I suppose."

Macht remained still, expression unreadable.

"You are not afraid of death," Macht noted.

"Not really," Glück muttered, exhaling a ribbon of smoke. "I've had a good run. Sent my share of assassins after people who got in my way. Tipped off a few accidents. Poisoned the right man at the right banquet."

There was no pride in his voice. Just a statement of facts. Like reading off the minutes of a meeting.

"It's only natural that something eventually came for me," he continued. "Why complain? I've seen the wheel turn too many times."

"I see."

There was silence, save for the crackle of dying flames and the distant scream of wind.

"My son," Glück said, voice lowering, "was clever. Too clever. He was just a boy, but he had vision."

Macht looked at him. "What happened to him?"

"One day, he spoke up during a council meeting. Had an idea about infrastructure, water systems, irrigation for poor zones. It was brilliant. Too brilliant. Threatened the old dogs at the table." Glück paused. "Next morning, I found him cold under the balcony. 'Suicide,' they said. A neat lie. No note. No reason. Just silence."

"You seek revenge?"

Glück looked up. "I wish I could. But revenge is for men with time and options. I have neither."

Macht said nothing.

"But… I have a proposal for you," Glück said.

Macht blinked. "A proposal?"

"You want to understand humans. Don't you?"

The demon's red eyes sharpened. "How do you know that?"

Glück smiled faintly, gesturing to the bodies strewn around them. "You didn't make it quick. That's the first thing. You waited. Watched us panic. You were analyzing. Most demons rip through, move on. You stood and studied. Even now, you're listening to a dying man ramble about his dead son instead of ending me."

Macht looked down, intrigued.

"You're different. Curious. You didn't kill me right away because you wanted to talk. Because some part of you wants to know."

Glück took another drag. "You don't need to lie to yourself."

"I see…" Macht said slowly.

"So here's my offer," Glück said, coughing. "Work for me. Not as a weapon. As a… partner. I will teach you. About humans. Emotions. Regret. Loyalty. Betrayal. I've lived them all. And in return, you'll spare me. You'll serve this city."

Macht stared at him in silence.

Then—

"Fascinating," he said. "I accept."

That was it.

The beginning of a relationship unlike any the world had ever seen. A demon and a corrupt politician. A seeker of emotion and a man who had long since buried his own. Together, they would reshape the fate of the Fortified City of Weise.

It began as a contract.

And ended as something that could never be explained.

Õ—T—Õ

Glück had always been a man who knew how to use power. Even when he didn't have it, he made sure the people who did owed him a favor, or two. And with Macht—well, Macht wasn't a favor. Macht was a godsend in demon form.

Within months, Glück had quietly orchestrated the political obliteration of every rival he had ever known. The suspicious deaths, mysterious disappearances, unexpected resignations—none of it could be traced, but everyone knew. The whispers in the back alleys all came with one name now. Glück.

And standing just behind him, always silent, always still, always watching... was the golden-eyed demon, Macht.

It was ironic. The demon had never intended to rule or conquer, yet his mere presence allowed Glück to achieve supreme authority over Weise. No council. No opposition. No outside influences. Just Glück and his demon, sipping tea on a marble balcony overlooking a city that bowed to him with a smile—and held its breath with fear.

"You hear the news?" Glück asked one day, swirling his cup.

Macht tilted his head slightly. "Which news?"

"Himmel. The Hero. He and his party defeated the Demon King."

Macht blinked. "Yes. I heard."

"You feel anything?"

"No."

"No loyalty to your king? No fury? Not even sadness?"

"I have no king," Macht said simply. "And I do not feel."

Glück smiled, setting the cup down with a quiet clink. "Of course you don't."

But not everyone was quite so trusting.

There was a council meeting the following week—a rare thing these days—and it was clear the air had teeth. Several military officers and merchants had gathered, their expressions tight, wary. They didn't dare speak ill of Glück directly, but their questions were sharp and pointed.

"Can we truly trust a demon?" one asked.

"Should he be permitted within city walls?" another whispered.

"He hasn't proven anything. What if he turns on us in our sleep?"

Macht said nothing. He stood at Glück's side like a statue carved from moonlight.

After the meeting, Glück leaned casually against the railing of a high stairwell as Macht waited nearby.

"They want a test," Glück said.

"A test?"

"They want you to prove your loyalty." He glanced down the steps, where the officers were still muttering to themselves. "Apparently, there's a band of demons hiding in the southern marshes. Survivors. From the old days."

Macht nodded. "I see."

"I told them you'd handle it."

"As you wish."

Glück turned, clasping his hands behind his back. "I've no love for the Demon King or his remnants. But you... this will not be easy."

"I know," Macht said. "But I seek to understand. That is more important."

And so he went.

The demon who had once wandered aimlessly in search of meaning now walked with purpose—down through the gates of Weise, across the golden meadows that had once been forests, and into the dark, humid swamps of the southern border.

There, he found them. Demons like him. One with blades for arms. Another that spoke in riddles and fire. A third that bore twenty eyes and wept ash.

They welcomed him as kin.

He slaughtered them all.

They cried his name in confusion. "Macht? You were alive?"

They asked questions. "What are you doing?"

They begged. "Don't."

He did not stop. His spells carved fire through their souls and left their bodies crumbling into heaps of ash and stone.

He did not feel.

Not rage. Not grief. Not guilt.

Not yet.

When he returned, bloodless and unscathed, the city of Weise erupted in applause.

Crowds gathered at the gates. Flowers were thrown. Children waved flags. Glück stood on a platform and declared Macht "The Guardian of Weise." Soldiers saluted. Nobles cheered.

It was strange.

Macht stood there, surrounded by thousands, and yet it all passed through him like air. The sound did not echo inside him. It did not plant roots in his chest or stir anything beneath the surface.

He bowed because he had learned that humans bowed.

He smiled because Glück had told him it would be polite.

But when the crowds dispersed and the sky turned pale with twilight, Macht stood on the balcony again, watching the city glow in golden twilight, and whispered to no one—

"Not yet."

Õ—T—Õ

The library was massive—cold stone walls lined with shelves so tall they disappeared into shadows near the ceiling. The scent of old parchment, dust, and candle wax lingered in the air like an ancient memory. But amidst all the silence, there was the gentle sound of a page being turned.

A boy sat alone in the farthest corner, surrounded by tomes that were twice his size. His face was pale and tight with grief, his eyes far older than they should've been. He didn't flinch when the heavy doors creaked open and Glück stepped inside with Macht.

"There he is," Glück whispered. "That's Denken. Son of my cousin. His parents were killed in the south… by demons. Same kind that once roamed these lands freely. He hasn't smiled in months."

Macht stared at the boy.

"Interesting," he said softly.

Glück folded his arms behind his back. "He's studying to become a mage. Says he wants to protect the city. I figured… since you've dabbled in human magic yourself—thanks to your little retreat with Solitär—you might be able to offer some… instruction."

Macht turned his gaze to Glück. "You wish me to teach him?"

"Yes."

"To train him to wield magic strong enough to protect this city?"

"Exactly."

Macht nodded slowly. "As you wish."

With that, he stepped forward, quiet as moonlight, and approached the boy.

Denken didn't even glance up from his book until Macht's shadow stretched across the pages. He looked up—then froze. Those sharp eyes of his narrowed like knives. No fear. Just rage, bottled so tightly it was practically vibrating in his bones.

"You're a demon," Denken said. Flat. Blunt. Young, but so controlled.

"Yes," Macht replied, calm as the wind. "I am Macht. I've been instructed to teach you magic."

"That's odd," Denken muttered. "A demon killed my parents. You'd teach me?"

"Indeed," Macht said. "Knowledge is meant to be shared. Even across hatred."

Denken stared for a moment longer, then set the book down with care. He stood, straightening his back, only just reaching Macht's waist.

"Then teach me how to become a strong mage."

Macht tilted his head slightly. "How strong?"

"Strong enough…" Denken's voice was icy, precise. "…to kill you."

Macht was still for a heartbeat. Then, calmly, with no judgment, he nodded.

"As you wish."

And thus began one of the strangest arrangements in the entire history of the Fortified City of Weise.

Each morning, the people would watch with wide eyes as the boy walked out to the training fields accompanied by a demon. They trained under the stone archways, in the shade of the golden trees, on the wind-swept cliffs overlooking the northern valley. It was a bizarre sight—one that confused, frightened, and, eventually, fascinated the people.

Macht would draw symbols in the dirt, instructing Denken in ancient forms of mana. He would correct the boy's stances, his chants, his control.

"Focus," Macht would say. "Your emotions are flooding your spells. Anger clouds precision."

"Then stop standing there looking like the thing that murdered my mother," Denken would snap.

"Fair," Macht would say, then draw another rune in the ground.

They didn't talk about feelings. They didn't share laughs. But they worked, day after day, night after night, and slowly… slowly, Denken grew stronger.

He could cast with one hand. He could create barriers that shimmered like glass. He could feel the flow of mana around him and bend it to his will.

"You're progressing quickly," Macht noted one day, watching as the boy levitated three stones in perfect harmony.

"I dream of killing you every night," Denken said without blinking.

"Perhaps," Macht said, "one day you will."

And despite himself… Denken smiled.

Just a twitch. Just the corner of his mouth. But it was something.

And Macht noticed.

Not because he felt joy, but because—somewhere in the hollow pit of his emotionless being—he understood that a reaction had occurred. A human emotion had manifested. And he had been part of it.

Not fully. Not consciously.

But perhaps…

Perhaps he was learning something after all.

Õ—T—Õ

Seasons passed like leaves scattered in the wind—falling, fading, vanishing—and before anyone quite realized it, the boy who once glared daggers at a demon now laughed in the gardens with the mayor's daughter.

They had started out tense—of course they had. She was sharp-tongued and bright-eyed, while Denken was cold and closed like a locked grimoire. But something in the way she teased him, something in the way he softened around her... it was a shift no one missed.

From the shade of a marble colonnade, Glück and Macht observed the two teens sharing books and quiet jokes under a golden tree. The city's glimmering landscape cast warm reflections across their faces, and the sun dripped like honey through the leaves.

"They are developing something… unfamiliar," Macht murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly.

Glück sipped his wine and arched an eyebrow. "Emotion?"

"A strange one," Macht said. "It isn't anger. Nor guilt. It's not envy. It... it's something gentle. Protective. Reciprocal."

"It's called love, Macht."

"Love." Macht repeated the word as if it were an ancient spell he'd never seen before. "I see."

He stood there quietly, watching the girl smile as she handed Denken a flower crown—half-joking, half-shy—and the way Denken, stunned, placed it awkwardly on his head without complaint.

"Solitär was right," Macht mused. "Seeing it unfold in front of you… is different. Experiencing it second-hand, through others… it has weight."

"They may end up married," Macht added after a long pause.

Glück chuckled. "They're just kids. Not always do things turn out like you imagine, Macht."

But despite his words, Glück watched the two with something soft and nostalgic in his own eyes. The kind of look only a man with a long history and a few regrets could wear.

Years blurred.

The world moved on. Kingdoms rose and fell. Heroes came and went. But within the gold-kissed city of Weise, time walked a little slower.

Denken grew into a fine mage—clever, composed, and powerful. He wore layered coats lined with enchanted silk and carried himself like someone who knew just how far they'd come. The girl beside him—Glück's daughter—had bloomed into a fierce diplomat in training, someone who could hold her own with senators twice her age.

They were no longer just sweethearts in gardens. They were partners now. Equals.

And the city adored them.

One foggy morning, on the familiar stone balcony, Glück stood beside Macht once again. The old mayor had more silver in his beard now, a little more weight in his stance. The years had been kind—but not gentle.

"Macht," Glück said quietly, "I want you to put on the Bracelet of Sovereignty."

Macht, as always, blinked slowly, the way someone does when they're measuring a conversation before it even begins. "Why?"

"You know why. It's a demon-taming artifact. Its presence will reassure the people." Glück didn't bother sugarcoating it. "There are still some who distrust you. Even after all these years."

"Am I not already loyal to you?" Macht asked, no indignation in his tone. Just curiosity.

"You are," Glück admitted. "But we both know it's not about what you feel. It's about what they believe. This will make them trust you. You'll become more than just tolerated. You'll be accepted. And… perhaps you'll understand humans even more."

"I see."

He stared out across the city that shone with his golden touch, and slowly—wordlessly—Macht bowed his head.

"As you wish."

It was a grand ceremony.

Trumpets echoed through the air as the citizens of Weise gathered around the central plaza. The sun reflected off every golden surface, making the city glow with an almost divine brilliance.

In the heart of it all, Macht knelt before the mayor. The Stone Bracelet of Sovereignty shimmered as it was lifted from its ancient velvet cushion. The artifact pulsed with runes of control, its magic specifically tuned to suppress demonic malice.

The mayor spoke loud enough for all to hear.

"Today, in full trust, we seal a new chapter of our city's story. Macht, our protector, our friend… becomes one of us in spirit, and in bond."

The bracelet was placed on Macht's wrist.

The crowd… cheered.

And Macht, for the first time, didn't just hear the noise—he felt the weight of it. The warmth of it. A human reaction, directed toward him.

Acceptance.

It was confusing.

It was… beautiful.

Years blurred again.

Winds shifted. Empires fell. But within the golden city, something bloomed.

And true to Macht's distant prediction…

Denken married the mayor's daughter.

It was a wedding beneath the golden trees, lit by crystal lanterns and fireworks that danced in the dusk. The entire city came alive to celebrate—the bells ringing, wine flowing, music rising into the stars.

Macht stood off to the side, in the shadows, watching.

He didn't smile. He didn't clap. But for the first time in his long, long life…

He bowed his head in reverence.

He did not understand the feeling blooming in his chest.

But he knew one thing:

It mattered.

Õ—T—Õ

She had always been frail.

The kind of girl who laughed with a cough behind her hand, who skipped meals because the medicine made her nauseous, who never once complained but always wore tired eyes behind the brightest smile.

And after the wedding—after the joy, the vows, the blooming of something wonderful—she faded faster than anyone wanted to believe. A few quiet years, a sudden fever, and then... silence.

She passed away not long after the marriage. The wind barely rustled the golden trees when they buried her. It felt too still. Too cruel.

Denken stood at her grave, face unreadable, the kind of calm that wasn't peace but collapse—hollow, numb. He spoke to no one. Said nothing during the funeral. Not a word as they lowered her down.

Then he was gone.

Disappeared from the city. Not even Glück could stop him. The boy who had grown into a powerful mage, a husband, a man—they said he wandered north, seeking solitude or purpose, maybe both. But in truth, everyone knew:

He was broken.

Years passed.

The golden city remained untouched, a glittering monument suspended in time. But Glück? Glück aged like all humans do—slowly, then all at once.

His back bent. His beard turned white. His steps became shuffles. But no matter the season, no matter his condition, he visited his daughter's grave every day. Even when he couldn't walk.

Macht would carry him some days, without being asked. No one ever commented on the strange sight: the demon and the mayor, silent as statues, among the dead.

"You shouldn't trouble yourself, Master," Macht said once, watching Glück gasp with the effort of bending to place flowers.

Glück gave a wheezy laugh, wiping his hands on his robe. "Hah. Says the demon who caused me more trouble than every rebel army combined."

"Time has passed. You've changed. I have not."

"That's how it goes," Glück grunted as he leaned on his cane. "Humans and demons. We live differently. We feel differently."

They were walking slowly back to the city center, the sun casting long shadows down golden streets. The once-bustling avenues were now more serene, the golden walls gleaming like frozen fire.

Glück paused by the great fountain of the plaza—the one where his daughter used to feed birds. He took a long breath and turned his clouded eyes to Macht.

"You've got something to say, don't you?"

Macht blinked, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Hah," Glück chuckled, placing a cigarette between his lips. "An old man's intuition. That, and you keep flaring your mana like a nervous apprentice."

"I see…" Macht lit the cigarette for him with a gentle touch of fire magic. "Then I will say it. I wish to transmute the entirety of this city and its people… into gold."

The words fell like lead.

The smoke twisted in the air. Glück didn't flinch. Didn't blink. He stared out across his city—the place he'd built with sweat and blood and secrets—and he smiled. A tired, crooked, deeply human smile.

"Ha. You scoundrel. I knew it."

Macht tilted his head. "You… approve?"

Glück blew smoke into the air, watching it curl above them like a spirit. "Macht… my dear friend. My partner in crime. Do it."

"You are not afraid?"

"Afraid? No." Glück laughed—short, raspy, real. "But I will say one thing."

He looked up at Macht with eyes that had seen too much.

"When you turn this place to gold… you will feel. One day—soon, I think—you will suffer the way I have. You will ache. You will cry, though you won't understand the tears. And then, you will know what I always meant when I said that emotions define us."

"…That day is close?"

"I feel it in my bones," Glück said, tapping his chest. "Closer than you think."

Macht bowed his head.

"I wait for that day, Master."

Then, without a word more, Macht stepped forward. His hands rose. Magic surged like a storm—pure, refined, inhuman. The sky darkened to twilight. Runes of untranslatable complexity lit the air. The spell of Di Agölze activated.

Golden light bloomed across the stones like wildfire. The walls, the roofs, the people—all turned to shimmering metal in an instant.

No screams. No pain. Only… silence.

And standing alone in the heart of the city of Weise, now a golden tomb, was Macht. Silent. Still.

He did not understand the pull in his chest, the sudden weight in his throat. But his hand hovered for a moment—over his heart.

And then fell to his side.

The spell was complete.

And Macht… waited.

Õ—T—Õ

A few weeks passed.

Macht sat alone by the golden fountain, that quiet centerpiece of a city turned grave. The breeze whistled through the gleaming avenues. Birds didn't sing here anymore. There was no sound save for the occasional creak of metal when the wind pushed something that shouldn't have moved.

He stared at his reflection in the golden water, studying his own face. The same face he'd had for decades. Unchanging. Unaging. Unfeeling.

He tried.

He sat there for hours, days maybe, trying.

Trying to feel guilt.

Trying to feel anything.

He'd done something irreversible—turned an entire civilization into statues, into glittering monuments of stillness. He had ended lives, frozen laughter, halted grief, destroyed fear and love alike. He tried to imagine what Glück must've felt every time he visited the grave. He tried to imagine what Denken must've felt when his wife died. He tried to imagine anything—

But he felt nothing.

And then—

"Undo it all," a voice said, sharp as frost, "or die."

Macht didn't even sense her presence until the words hit his ears like thunder. She was behind him—short, elf, a force in the shape of a woman—and the world shifted. The golden birds stopped mid-flight, suspended by the sheer weight of her mana.

He turned his head slowly, golden eyes blinking.

"Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me," she mused, walking past him toward the fountain, her boots clicking lightly against the gold. "But then, why would you? I'm from a time your kind has only heard whispers of."

She was calm, but her presence sent ripples across the mana field like a boulder in a pond.

Macht raised a hand casually and activated his spell. "Di Agölze."

The light surged toward her like a tidal wave—unmistakable, absolute.

It hit.

And rebounded.

He blinked—his own hand turning to gold. Fast.

"What…?" he muttered, watching the gold crawl up his fingers.

"Oh, how disappointing," the woman said, watching as Macht immediately channeled his energy to reverse the transmutation. With a crackle of light, his hand returned to flesh.

"Huh," she said, raising a brow, "So, you can undo your spell—but only on your own body. You can't conceptualize its reversal on others. That's nasty. Your spell is... tragically incomplete."

Macht studied her now, eyes narrowing. "You reversed my spell. On me. Who are you?"

"I am Serie," she said, drawing back her hood to reveal a sharp, ageless face framed in long yellow hair. Her eyes glowed like twin galaxies. "The Great Mage. From the Mythical Era. The era when the Sage walked among men. When magic was so vast and terrifying that your Demon King would have bowed his head before it."

There was a stillness.

Then she took a step forward—and Macht's vision dimmed. No light, no wind, no mana. Just pressure.

Something ancient pressed on his soul.

"Just because you demons crawled out of your caves and started killing mortals like ants doesn't mean you've seen power. Perhaps you've forgotten what fear is." Her voice dropped like the temperature. "Let me remind you."

For a moment, just a moment, Macht thought he might—feel something.

His chest tightened. His body shivered. There was something rising in his throat. Was it...?

But just then, a sound broke the world like glass.

Fwshhhhhh—shlunk—BOOM!

Dozens of silhouettes landed around them, magical circles lighting the area like a starlit dome.

Serie scowled, her mana retracting like a wave, the air snapping back to normal.

"Tch." She folded her arms. "We've been interrupted."

A man stepped forward, white coat fluttering, blonde hair slicked back with precision. He knelt respectfully.

"Master Serie."

"Lernen," she sighed. "Why are you all here?"

Lernen looked from Macht to her, hesitating. "If you kill him, this city… it can never be turned back."

Serie clicked her tongue. "I see no possibility of undoing this tragedy anyway. Killing him would prevent future ones."

"Perhaps," Lernen said softly. "But I think… I believe, Master, there's still value in waiting. If even demons can learn—perhaps someone will come. Someone who can reverse this. No matter how long it takes."

She looked at her disciple. He met her eyes without flinching.

"Even centuries?" she asked.

"Even millennia," Lernen said.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "You're as hopelessly romantic as ever."

She turned to Macht and gave him a last, chilling look. "Tch. Fine. You live, monster. But don't think that spares you. Time is an ocean, and you? You are a grain of sand."

Then, facing her disciples, she raised her hand—and golden light surged outward.

Gigantic spell circles formed in the sky, rotating like gears, embedding ancient sigils into the ground, the walls, the air. A barrier locked itself around the golden city—an eternal dome of magic, a prison wrapped in silence and stardust.

"And thus," she declared, "let this city—El Dorado—be sealed away. Until the day someone beyond man or elf, something else, rises to undo this cursed miracle."

And as the light dimmed and the spell sealed shut, only Macht remained.

Still. Waiting.

As always.

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Õ—T—Õ

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Author Note: Let's see how many of you can make a hypothesis out of it. Make your theories and drop them in the review section. Let me see which one of you can guess the closest to the truth.

Thanks for all the positive reviews, I really appreciate it.Drop your thoughts in the review section. Your words inspire me to write faster, better and with more depth.

So, next time. Ok?