I'll pass, thanks.

The three adventurers arrived at the entrance of the castle, where Rowemn was supposed to be waiting for them. To Videl's surprise, the witch was lying sprawled on the stone steps, completely asleep. Her chest rose and fell gently, her long hair splayed around her like a dark halo.

Videl frowned. “What… happened?”

Kael gave a small shrug, her hands on her hips. “The battle with her… it was exhausting. For both sides. She needed rest. Even the strongest witches need to recover after a fight like that.”

Lian stepped closer and cleared his throat. “Shall we wake her?”

Kael shook her head. “Not sure if we should. Look at her—she’s out cold. We might just end up making it worse.”

So the three stood there, awkwardly, unsure of what to do. The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional chirp of a distant bird or the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. Lian shifted from one foot to the other, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“So… um,” Lian began, then stopped, realizing there was nothing else to say.

Kael crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Yeah… um…”

Mira, sitting down on a nearby stone, hugged her knees. “…”

Another long pause. Lian cleared his throat again. “She… she looks peaceful at least.”

Kael snorted quietly. “Peaceful and terrifyingly fast asleep. I swear, I’ve never seen anyone nap like that.”

Mira let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh. Lian and Kael looked at her, surprised.

“What?!” Kael exclaimed. “You’re laughing?”

Mira shrugged. “It’s just… she looks ridiculous. All sprawled out like that. Don’t take it the wrong way, but… even someone so intimidating can look completely ordinary when asleep.”

Lian chuckled, trying to hide a grin. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little funny. But also kind of impressive. Look at her—like a sleeping dragon.”

Videl did not say one word. They couldn't understand it if was because he did not want to talk, or did not know what to say, or did not care about it.

The three of them shifted nervously from side to side, each trying not to stare too much, yet unable to stop themselves. Time crawled. Minutes passed, and the awkwardness thickened, punctuated by the occasional cough, the scrape of a boot against stone, or the breeze stirring their cloaks.

After half an hour, Rowemn’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She yawned loudly and stretched, then fixed her sharp gaze on Videl. “What happened?”

Videl’s expression was serious. “It’s time to initiate the emergency plan.”

Rowemn’s response was immediate, calm, and unquestioning. “At your command.” Without another word, she sprang to her feet, producing a large, blackened cauldron seemingly from thin air. She began tossing in strange ingredients, muttering under her breath and stirring with precise, practiced motions.

“Add the hair,” Videl instructed, pointing to a lock of his own. Rowemn plucked a single strand and dropped it into the simmering mixture. Steam rose, curling around the three adventurers.

For ten long minutes, Rowemn worked tirelessly. Herbs, powders, a pinch of some glittering substance, a flick of her wrist here, a swirl of her wand there. The smell was pungent, almost acrid, yet oddly sweet at the same time. The cauldron hissed, bubbled, and emitted small sparks of light.

Finally, she lifted the cauldron’s contents and revealed the result: a perfect, lifelike replica of Videl’s head. Every detail—the angle of his jaw, the sharpness of his eyes, even the faintest smirk—was meticulously recreated.

“Alright, everyone,” Rowemn announced, holding the replica up. “This is all yours. Who’s carrying it back to your city?”

The three exchanged glances, each silently thinking the same thing: “You first.”

Kael raised a hand. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

Mira tilted her head, looking at Lian. “The leader goes first,” she said softly.

Lian let out a long, exaggerated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Everything falls to me, as usual.” He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and, with a mixture of exasperation and determination, grabbed the replica by the hair. His fingers closed firmly, holding it like a grim trophy.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, “here we go…”

With that, the three adventurers began their journey back to Orbis, the replica head of the Demon King in hand. Their steps were careful, synchronized, each fully aware of the weight of what they were carrying—not just the physical proof, but the responsibility it represented.

Kael walked slightly ahead, scanning the path for threats. Mira kept her hands close to her weapons, though her eyes occasionally flicked toward the head Lian was carrying. Lian, despite the strange burden, moved with a mixture of resolve and awkward self-consciousness, muttering under his breath occasionally about how heavy the hair made it.

The road ahead was long, but the first step of their audacious plan was now underway. Every footstep, every glance, every small adjustment in grip reminded them that the world they were about to return to would never see the Demon King again—at least, not in his true form. And for Lian, Kael, and Mira, that realization came with a mix of fear, excitement, and a strange, uncomfortable pride.