The maid squad is too strong, what use is there for me, the Demon King?

Seeing that the intense hostility and despair in Philippa's eyes were finally replaced by deep doubt, and that although she was still weak, she was at least willing to listen, Gray knew that this was the key moment to break the deadlock.

For Philippa, there were several shocking truths, and Gray decided to explain everything to her slowly, in order of increasing shock.

First and foremost, there's himself, Gray Brandt's true identity.

Gray quickly weighed the strategy he had decided at the meeting of the Ten Shadow Attendants—to temporarily conceal his true identity and make contact from the standpoint of a pure "Demon King".

But looking at his old friend, scarred yet still stubbornly seeking answers, Gray felt that if he wanted to gain true cooperation and trust, he had to show enough sincerity first.

Hiding things is not the right way.

He made up his mind.

“Ahem…” Gray coughed lightly. This was not a pretense, but an unconscious movement before adjusting his vocal cords, changing the heavy tone of “Shadow” back to the normal tone of “Gray Brandt”.

However, it was this soft cough, the subtle familiarity in its tone and manner, that made Philippa's pupils tremble violently as she lay on the ground.

This sound...

Before she could think further, the deep, majestic voice belonging to the "Demon King" vanished. In its place rang out a voice she could never forget, the voice that had told her about the beauty of the outside world, laying the foundation for her determination to escape the prison called the palace—the voice she deeply loved—clear, gentle, and with a familiar, unique composure.

“Philippa,” the voice called her name in the tone she remembered, with a complex and incomprehensible emotion, “It’s me.”

As he finished speaking, Gray raised his hand, grasped the edge of the wide hood covering his head, and slowly and firmly pulled it back.

As the heavy shadows faded, the first thing revealed was the well-defined jawline, followed by the straight bridge of the nose. Finally, the entire face was fully exposed in the dim light of the hall, clearly reflected in Philippa's suddenly contracting pupils.

With short black hair and deep purple eyes like the night sky, the young, handsome face that had appeared countless times in her memory and on that recent gold-embossed invitation—Grey Brandt—was gazing at her now. Gone was his usual gentle smile; instead, his eyes held a heavy calm and an undeniable seriousness.

He revealed his dual identity to his old friend, who was severely injured and whose beliefs were almost shattered, an identity that was enough to overturn all her understanding.

Philippa's breathing stopped completely at that moment.

Gray Brandt's face was clearly displayed before Philippa, who awaited the expected shock, disbelief, and even angry questioning.

Philippa's reaction did indeed freeze for a moment; her amber eyes, somewhat unfocused due to blood loss, suddenly widened, clearly reflecting his face. However, that look of astonishment, like a pebble thrown into a lake, only created brief ripples before quickly dissipating.

Then, her expression changed in a way that Gray had never expected—the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, forming an extremely sarcastic, almost disdainful arc, and she even let out a weak but clear snort from her nose, full of disdain.

Gray froze, a sense of astonishment and... a subtle unease rising within him. He had anticipated various reactions, but none of them included this... disdainful look, as if watching a clumsy performance. He had even secretly prepared several explanations, only to find the other party didn't believe him at all? This made him feel as if his "sincerity" had been thrown to a blind man, leaving him somewhat hurt.

Just as Gray was puzzled by this unexpected reaction, Philippa spoke. Her voice was still weak, but it carried a chilling insight that saw through the trickery:

“Ha…what a…clumsy trick.” She gasped, each word dripping with undisguised sarcasm. “You think…conjuring up the likeness of 'Grey Brant'…will lower my guard? Or…do you think using my friend’s face…will be easier to deceive me?”

Her gaze sharpened, and though her body was immobilized, her eyes swept across Gray's face like knives: "Put away your illusions, Demon King. Or... what kind of sophisticated shapeshifting magic is this? But whatever it is, it's meaningless."

She simply didn't believe it!

She believed it was still the devil's scheme, an even more despicable deception set up to exploit her friendship with Grey Brant.

In her view, how could a demon king who ravaged the continent and was an enemy of humanity possibly be Grey Brant, her best friend on her journey of growth, a gentle and polite man who was even engaged and had sent her a wedding invitation? It was simply a fantasy! The only explanation was that he was trying to exploit her emotional weaknesses.

Gray looked at Philippa's eyes, which were certain he was being deceived, and was momentarily speechless.

He had planned everything meticulously, but he hadn't anticipated that Philippa's vigilance would be so high that she would directly deny the facts before her eyes and even conjure up an explanation of "illusion" in her own mind. This left all the follow-up statements he had prepared stuck in his throat.

The situation seems to have reached an even more troublesome stalemate. How do you prove your identity to someone who doesn't believe you at all?

Grey Brandt: How should Grey Brandt prove to Philippa that Grey Brandt is Grey Brandt?

Gray stared at Philippa's mocking expression, which seemed to say she had seen through everything, and was first taken aback. Then, a feeling of absurdity and bewilderment welled up inside him.

He had anticipated shock, anger, and even another attack, but he hadn't expected the other party to deny the authenticity of the identity of "Grey Brant" and attribute it to illusion.

“Wait, Philippa, listen to me,” Gray tried to make his voice sound more sincere. He maintained his original appearance, not reverting to his deep, authoritative voice, and still used the “Gray” tone. “Illusion magic, especially sophisticated illusions, is invariably directly related to the caster’s mental strength and its influence on the target’s mind. Sense yourself carefully. Is there any abnormal mental energy interfering with your judgment? Do you feel any fluctuations of thought that don’t belong to you?”

Upon hearing this, Philippa, though still disbelieving, subconsciously concentrated her remaining mental energy to carefully perceive the situation.

Indeed, apart from the mental ripples caused by her own severe injuries and emotional distress, there was no external mental force field around her attempting to distort her perception. She could not deny this.

Seeing the fleeting hesitation in her eyes, Greg felt a glimmer of hope.

However, Philippa immediately found a new and more reasonable explanation (in her opinion), and she weakly but sharply retorted: "...Even if it's not illusion...what about magic or arcane arts that change appearance or simulate voice? Is that difficult for you demons...especially a demon lord like you?"