Not long after, word spread like wildfire:

Clay had stopped a Guardian Knight from attacking the soldiers of Yaphenon.

“The Demon King was in Yaphenon?”

“I’m telling you—it’s true. A Guardian Knight from Krata attacked the soldiers, and he stopped them.”

“He helped in Donon too. I think it’s true—the Demon King is protecting us.”

Not just the soldiers, even the citizens of Yaphenon began to view Clay in a far more favorable light. Rumors that he had become the Demon King only out of necessity for survival were now accepted as fact.

“Just look at what Krata’s doing. No wonder the Demon King was framed and executed.”

“They ignored us when our country was destroyed.”

“Emperor Lutan is a hypocrite.”

In the past, such words would’ve triggered accusations and secret reports to Krata—but not anymore.

After all, from Yaphenon’s perspective—obliterated by Vald—their true saviors were Neville, Krata’s crown prince, and the Demon King.

“They say Lord Neville was fed up with Krata and joined forces with the Demon King.”

“Obviously. Look at what Krata’s doing.”

“The Demon King united the demons and is using them to protect us. He’s definitely sacrificing himself for humanity.”

Whether it was true or not, Clay’s image was now that of a man burdened with the title of Demon King, fighting to save people.

And while public opinion across Yaphenon and neighboring nations tilted in Clay’s favor—

“Cough.”

Clay lay in a bed inside Yaphenon Castle.

“My Lord…”

Syltanaro sat in a chair beside him, wearing a deeply worried expression.

“Are you sure you don’t need treatment?”

Ever since the battle with Valruel, Clay had been unwell.

Though many were concerned, Clay had asked for no special care—only warm water brought to him regularly.

“I’ll be fine.”

He turned his gaze toward Syltanaro.

“Converting a large amount of divine power into magia all at once… put strain on my body.”

Though he’d altered his constitution, the process of converting divine power to magia remained highly inefficient. The ability to absorb large amounts of divine power was a great advantage, but the strain it caused couldn’t be ignored.

“So it was too much after all…”

Syltanaro let out a sigh.

“The only reason I was able to anchor Valruel’s divine strike was because you poured so much magia into me.”

Without that, even with Clay’s intent resonating through her, she wouldn’t have been able to endure it alone.

“What about reaching out to Lin and Goltche again?”

Syltanaro suggested.

“We can’t guarantee this won’t happen again. Maybe they can do something to further reinforce your body.”

“No.” Clay answered quietly, “As long as divine power and magia remain fundamentally different… it’s a problem even Lin and Goltche would struggle to solve.”

“Then…”

“For now, I’ll have to endure it and keep searching for a way.”

It wasn’t a crisis. As long as he regulated how much divine power he converted at once, the backlash wouldn’t be this bad.

It would be nice to reduce the recoil…

But even Clay couldn’t think of a solution yet.

Clack.

The door opened—and in walked Athanasia.

“You said you were fine, but this is day two.”

She held out a bowl toward him.

“Here. I brewed some medicine. It’s supposed to help stabilize the body.”

When Clay eyed the bowl suspiciously, Athanasia’s brow twitched.

“I didn’t put anything weird in it! Just try it. I heard it’s effective.”

“It’s not a potion… I didn’t think you were into folk remedies.”

“Well, live long enough and you get into all sorts of things.”

She pouted, clearly avoiding a direct mention of her age.

Clay accepted the bowl and brought it to his lips.

For medicine, it smelled rather fragrant—almost floral.

“…Not bad.”

As the warmth seeped through him, he did feel a little better.

Athanasia smirked proudly.

“See? I told you it works.”

“Um, if I may ask something…” Syltanaro turned to her, “Do you… know the details of the Demon King’s condition?”

“My Lord’s condition?” Athanasia looked at Clay, “Well, he seems sick?”

“No, I mean…” Syltanaro sighed, “Do you know what might be causing his condition—since he became the Demon King?”

“Ah.” Athanasia shrugged, “Not in detail.”

She turned back to Clay, “So? What’s going on?”

“…”

Clay sighed, “You don’t need to know. Syltanaro, why did you bring this up to Athanasia?”

“W-Well, I just thought—since she’s an ancient god, maybe she’d know something. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that you said anything wrong.” Clay paused, then nodded slightly, “Athanasia, since Syltanaro brought it up, I’ll explain. If you have any thoughts, I’d like to hear them.”

“Sure.”

He described his condition—from the Brands carved into him before his execution, the methods he’d used to suppress them, and the current side effects of converting divine power into magia.

“Hm.” Athanasia furrowed her brows, then spoke, “It’s not entirely unsolvable.”

“…What?” Syltanaro blinked in shock, “There’s a way?”

Clay looked equally surprised, “Athanasia… if you’re joking, drop it now.”

“I’m not joking.” She frowned, “You really think a god who’s lived as long as I have wouldn’t know about side effects from divine power? Even when people borrow my power, they sometimes suffer backlash. It’s not like they always use it exactly the way I gave it to them.”

“I see.”

Clay asked calmly, “If that’s the case—what’s the method?”

“Well…” Athanasia hesitated, “Hmm…”

“Is it hard to explain?”

“It’s not that. I just can’t guarantee it’ll work for you, and if something goes wrong, I’ll feel responsible.”

“I’ll be fine. Just tell me.”

Clay knew—soon, the Demon King’s forces would begin their march following Naiad’s message. If there was a way to resolve his internal issue before then, he needed to take it.

“I won’t blame you if it fails.”

“Even if you won’t, I will.”

Despite her reluctance, Athanasia eventually explained what she knew.

“There’s something called a Coexistence Form.”

“Coexistence Form?”

“Yeah. A god’s body is normally built to handle just one divine authority. Same goes for humans. But there are always those who feel one isn’t enough, and they figured out a way.”

That’s what the Coexistence Form was.

“Think about what happens when you use your power. You said converting divine power into magia puts strain on your body, right? That’s because your current form is forcibly aligned to magia.”

Which meant his body’s baseline default was magia.

Any divine power that came in would undergo a conversion, and that process was what caused the burden.

“But what if your body could accept divine power and magia equally?”

“Then conversion wouldn’t overload me, or at least, it’d drop drastically.”

“Exactly.”

“But… is that even possible?”

They were fundamentally opposing forces. For the body to accept them as equals—

That was near impossible.

“It is possible.” But Athanasia claimed otherwise, “If you stop divine power and magia from rejecting each other, your body can handle both without resistance.”

“And how would you do that?”

The more Clay listened, the less sense it made, but Athanasia looked confident.

“By achieving balance.”

“Balance?”

“If you create a Balance Heart—a core where both divine power and magia are kept in equal measure—they’ll adjust to each other naturally.”

Balance Heart.

Clay’s eyes widened. Athanasia explained further.

“Make a shared domain in your body where the two forces coexist. At first, it’ll be painful, but over time, your body will adapt.”

“And how do you know this?” Clay narrowed his gaze. Athanasia let out a dry chuckle.

“Well, that’s…”

Then she suddenly tilted her head.

“Huh?”

“What is it?” Syltanaro asked.

“My memory…”

Athanasia winced, pressing a hand to her head.

“Why does it hurt?”

A pained expression twisted her face.

“S-Sorry. It’s strange. I know I knew this—but I can’t remember how I knew it.”

“You don’t remember?” Clay echoed.

“Yeah…”

So was it reliable or not? Clay fell silent in thought.

But… I’ve heard of ‘Balance Heart’ before.

While searching Krata’s archives to find a way to fight the Demon King, Clay had come across that phrase in an old book.

Back then, I couldn’t find what it meant…

The page had been torn out. He hadn’t learned anything beyond the name.

And now, Athanasia was saying it aloud.

“If you can’t recall clearly, we can’t recommend this to the Demon King,” Syltanaro said firmly.

“If you try to make divine power and magia coexist in your body and it backfires… it might be beyond saving.”

She turned to Clay, serious.

“My Lord, I know it’s inconvenient, but this is not worth risking your life.”

“No—it is possible!” Athanasia snapped, clearly frustrated, “I don’t know why I know. But I do know it works. Probably.”

“‘Probably’? And you expect us to risk His Majesty’s life on a maybe? Let’s drop this.” Syltanaro pressed a hand to her forehead.

Even Athanasia, unsure of how she remembered the method, looked uneasy.

“Athanasia.” Clay asked again, calmly, “This Balance Heart… do you know how to create one and make me a Coexistence Form?”

“M-My Lord!”

Syltanaro cried out in alarm, but Clay held up a hand, eyes still on Athanasia.

“I’m asking her.”

If this worked, it could change everything in the battles ahead.

“Yes. I know how to make it.” Athanasia answered, “I can make you one—on one condition.”

She looked straight at him.

“You don’t get to quit halfway.”

If you quit, you die.

That final line stabbed into Clay’s mind like a blade.

(End of Chapter)

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