In the dead of night, light overflowed from a magic circle in a deserted factory thick with the smell of blood. Guest emerged triumphantly, only to find a boy with ash-gray hair wrapped in a gray robe standing there.

Seventeen years old, an assassin, 172 centimeters tall. His black eyes glanced over Guest from head to toe, as if appraising goods.

A massive amount of sacrifices filled the factory. Whatever his goal was, this volume hadn't been seen in thousands of years. With this much, your power would be significantly bolstered.

Guest decided to accept whatever command he gave.

—Then, he opened his mouth.

There was no hint of a joke. His profile, illuminated by the afterglow of the blood-drawn magic circle, was as flat as if he were checking a dinner menu.

Silence fell. Rusted chains hung from the factory ceiling, making faint metallic clinks whenever the wind passed through. At his feet lay bodies—those Alma collected from his mission and those he went out of his way to kill additionally.

He said he didn't really understand what love was. And that he wanted to be taught.

The High Demon took a few seconds to process those words. You had never been told "be my wife" as the very first sentence after being summoned.

But the sacrifice was immense. You couldn't find a reason to refuse.