However, Luo Qi dared not linger—outside, time marched on without pause. Steeling himself, he slipped silently back into his original reality.
Unbeknownst to him, his exuberant strike a moment ago had sent shockwaves rippling across the entire world. Any mage with even modest power could feel the tremor of that fearsome force—his blow had been so supremely potent that it nearly tore at the very fabric between parallel dimensions.
"Is… that a dimensional quake?" murmured one of the Grand Archmages in the Federal Council's grand chamber. Dozens of them were in mid-session when their faces collectively went ashen—they could all feel the raw, monstrous power that had just surged across realities.
"Clearly, I'm not the only one who noticed it…"
"The magnitude… staggering. Hardly looks natural."
"Agreed. Regardless, we must investigate."
"It seems one of the parallel planes has just undergone a cataclysm."
"Should we initiate precautionary measures? Could this herald some greater disaster?"
Perhaps because no single Archmage could muster such force—some quietly suspected the impossible. Or perhaps they simply refused to speak the unspeakable: the return of the Demon King.
"Fret not," intoned the chairing mid-level official, unused to such raw terror. He was an unassuming human in his forties—thinning hair, no magical talent to speak of, yet astonishingly steady under pressure. "Most likely it's just a fluctuation within the elemental realms. Let's await feedback from our global monitoring stations before jumping to conclusions."
A murmur of disagreement rippled through the chamber.
"This Federation bureaucracy is maddening… can we really afford to wait?"
"We must follow protocol, of course. Already we're debating the necessity of a Special Response Division with extraordinary powers to handle such anomalies—clearly, it's time to finalize that plan."
"But staffing it with mostly Star Knights gives them too much authority, doesn't it?"
"That, we can refine later," the chair replied serenely.
Just then, the bald elder at the far end of the table cleared his throat, shifting the topic. "Speaking of small prodigies… what's Master Zhao's daughter up to these days? I heard she's transferring schools?"
"I… am not sure," the chair admitted, genuine surprise flickering in his eyes. "I'll inquire."
"Ha! I trust it's some fine public institution—she's destined to be our family's future daughter-in-law, after all." The bald elder smiled in a curiously sly way.
"Surely not," said Archmage Dongxu, representing the Republic of Zinnia, his tone stiffening. "That school is excellent—our own Lin Youmei graduated from there."
"Lin Youmei?" The elegant elven beauty on Dongxu's left—usually as composed as moonlight—let out a sigh of regret. The Council members exchanged knowing looks, as if this were a familiar refrain.
"Alright, gentlemen…" the chair raised a hand. "We're on the clock here. Let's revert to our agenda: finalizing the charter of this Special Response Division… and, yes, its protocols for countering a potential Demon King resurgence."
Several Archmages exchanged skeptical glances—after all, it had been seven centuries since the last Demon King fell. Many had long since dismissed him as mere legend. Yet as the new data streamed in—spikes in magical flux detected worldwide, all tracing back to the Dark Soul Realm—they felt the old dread stir again.
Back in her family's manor, Luolin—just as she was teaching her dragon-maid to polish silverware—had been urgently summoned to the research laboratory. This was no trivial matter.
Meanwhile, in a dank subterranean sanctum, a cabal of black-robed zealots clustered in fervent excitement.
"Demon King! The prophecy was right—he's born again! This quake is his masterpiece!" exclaimed their leader.
"It must be him striking from another world—his power eclipses all past Demon Kings!"
"Indeed. Only the Demon King could unleash such terror; I could feel it even here, at the kingdom's northernmost border."
"Enough debate—my relic reacted. It must be the 77th Demon King in person."
"Of course! The prophecy names him the strongest yet. If he cannot conquer this age, there will never be another."
A hush fell. Each knew the stakes: the Demon King had awakened, and time was slipping away.
"So, what do we do next?" someone asked, voice tight.
"What do we do? We must find him at any cost!" came the roar.
"But you understand we can't sweep the globe for a single target…"
"We've tried for decades. Many of us hold key posts in the Federation—each day we sift mountains of intelligence, searching for so much as a trace."
"I have a lead."
"Speak. Is it Demon-King-related?"
"Perhaps. It involves Master Zhao's daughter."
"Master Zhao's daughter? She's no big player—what of her?"
"Intel places her at a certain school—a mundane public academy."
"A public academy? Has she lost her way?"
"Impossible! She must be after something there."
"Don't interrupt. My info suggests she's seeking the Demon King. She's used some method to pinpoint that school. Shall we have agents tail the Heroine?"
"That's not wholly unreasonable. After all, Heroes and Demon Kings are eternal nemeses—Heroes may instinctively track him down."
"So we plant operatives in that school?"
"Too obvious—we'd alert Master Zhao's daughter."
"In times like this, subtlety is a luxury."
"Don't we have female agents native to that region? They could blend in seamlessly."
"Excellent idea. Didn't expect you to be of use."
"Hmph! If it weren't for our grand cause of resurrecting the Demon King, I'd never soil myself by working with you vermin."
"Still… it seems our lord Demon King remains hidden."
"Perhaps he only just awakened today?"
"Possible—but what if he's not interested in world conquest?"
"Nonsense—a Demon King's very essence is his lust for dominion."
"Enough bickering. Priority one: contact the Demon King before Master Zhao's daughter beats us to it. We've already lost crucial time."
With that, the black-robed assembly melted away—most had participated via long-range scrying circles or temporary glamour projections. Magic commonplace yet effective in shielding them from prying eyes.
Only one figure remained: his white-blotched mask reflecting dim torchlight. He sank into a carved obsidian throne, fingers drumming the armrest.
"Time to amuse our little princess," he murmured, eyes narrowing. "Who shall we send to keep her company?"
In that moment, every shadow in the world deepened—heartbeats quickened—and the true campaign for the Demon King's return crept into motion.