Richard stood in the middle of a spacious room, his crimson eyes locked onto the woman before him.
She was dressed in the modest garments of a nun—simple white robes with golden embroidery lining the edges.
Her blonde hair, though mostly tucked into a neat bun, had a few loose strands framing her face.
She looked to be in her late twenties, her blue eyes sharp with intelligence yet softened by an air of kindness.
But right now, those eyes were narrowed in scrutiny.
She was currently probing him with magic.
A warm, tingling sensation spread through his body as golden light pulsed from the nun's fingertips.
It wasn't painful, but it was invasive, crawling under his skin like searching tendrils of energy.
He felt the magic sweep through his veins, brushing against his core. Or rather, where his core should have been.
Nothing.
The realization settled in. His magic—his power—was gone.
His fingers twitched at his sides, barely resisting the urge to curl into fists. He had known something was wrong from the moment he had awoken.
The absence of his horns was a clear enough indication, but this? To be left powerless? It was more than just an inconvenience. It was humiliating.
All around them, children moved through the room. Some were playing with wooden toys, while others had stopped to watch in awe as the nun performed her magic.
Their eyes sparkled with fascination, oblivious to the weight of the moment for him.
Richard didn't need to be told where he was anymore. The evidence was clear.
An orphanage.
He had heard stories of them in human society—homes for abandoned or parentless children.
The very idea was foreign to him. In demon territory, the weak were either killed or enslaved. There was no such thing as charity.
'Although there was... no matter. It's long gone.'
The nun's probing magic faded, and she exhaled, her blue eyes widening slightly.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked, her voice calm yet laced with curiosity.
Richard met her gaze. "No."
She hummed thoughtfully, nodding to herself. "I see."
She then turned her gaze toward someone to his right.
He followed her line of sight, his eyes landing on the orange-haired girl from earlier. She was staring at him, her expression unusually tense.
The nun lifted a hand and gestured toward the girl. "Do you know Beatrice?"
Richard glanced at the girl again. Her orange eyes were locked onto his, brimming with anticipation, hope clashing with unease.
"…No."
Silence.
For a moment, there was no reaction. Then—
Beatrice's face crumpled.
Her lips parted slightly, her eyes glistening with something raw—pain. She took a shaky breath, her fists clenching at her sides as if she was struggling to hold something in.
Richard simply watched.
He had expected anger. Perhaps even an outburst. But the way her emotions shifted so rapidly intrigued him. The weight of his words seemed to crush her, and yet—
Before he could fully process her reaction, something changed.
She inhaled sharply, then smiled.
It was small at first, a little wobbly, but it quickly stretched into something bright—something warm.
"Well then!" she declared, placing her hands on her hips. "If you've lost your memories, that just means we have to make new ones!"
Richard blinked, caught off guard by her sudden shift in demeanor.
The nun frowned slightly, as if about to correct her, but Beatrice was already moving. She reached out, grabbing Richard's wrist with surprising force.
"Come on, Richard!" she said cheerfully.
He barely had time to react before she yanked him forward.
His immediate instinct was to resist. He had never been dragged anywhere in his entire existence.
He was the Demon King, the Unifier, the Ancient One—he commanded armies, leveled kingdoms, and bent entire species to his will.
And yet, here he was, being pulled along by a commoner girl as if he were some helpless child.
His eye twitched. "Where are we going?" he demanded, voice tinged with irritation.
"To play, obviously," Beatrice responded without hesitation.
Richard stiffened at the absurdity of the statement.
Play?
He was about to snap back when he caught sight of her face—bright, expectant, brimming with excitement.
She genuinely meant it.
For a moment, he almost didn't know how to respond.
I mean he had fought literal wars, conquered lands, and struck terror into the hearts of entire civilizations. And now, in this strange new life, he was expected to… play?
He nearly scoffed at the absurdity of it all.
But before he could protest further, Beatrice had already pulled him through the doorway, dragging him toward whatever ridiculous activity she had planned.
Meanwhile, back in the room, the nun remained standing, watching them go.
The thoughtful expression she had worn earlier slowly shifted.
Her lips curled upward, forming a knowing smile—one that was far too sharp, too cunning to belong to a simple caretaker of orphans.
Her blue eyes glowed faintly as she whispered under her breath,
"Welcome back, your majesty."