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

However, Philippa's reaction to the opening remarks of the Goddess of Holy Light, which were ethereal and majestic and seemed to proclaim absolute sovereignty and supreme existence, was unexpected.

She seemed to completely ignore the figure sitting high on the divine throne, radiating boundless light, and also overlooked the terrifying fact that this place was the abode of the gods, the Heavenly Realm.

Her entire attention was completely seized the moment her feet touched the ground, and she saw Gray's still pale face and the conspicuous light sword in his chest.

"Grey!" she cried out in surprise, almost instinctively lunging forward and reaching out to carefully grasp the hilt of the sword still embedded in Grey's chest.

Without hesitation, without regard for the deity beside her, she exerted all her strength—

With a soft "hiss," the blood-stained light sword was instantly pulled out, leaving a small string of dark red blood droplets.

The excruciating pain caused Gray's body to sway almost imperceptibly, but he only groaned and did not stop.

Philippa immediately threw away the weapon that symbolized betrayal and pain, her hands trembling as she tried to press on Gray's still-bleeding chest wound, but her hand froze halfway through. She suddenly remembered that her specialty, which was also the most useless at this moment, was light-attribute healing magic.

For Gray, who is the Demon King, that would not only be incurable, but would also be a poison that intensifies his pain.

A profound sense of powerlessness and regret welled up within her again, and her eyes, which had just stopped crying, quickly became misty once more.

She could only helplessly and gently grasp Gray's hand, which was unstained by blood, and look up at her small face, filled with worry and fear, her voice trembling with obvious sobs:

"Grey...are you...are you alright? I'm so sorry...I..."

She was incoherent, worried about his injuries and filled with endless regret and pain for her actions. The complex emotions almost overwhelmed her.

Gray, the moment the light sword was drawn, secretly unleashed his vast magical power.

In stark contrast to his previous dejected acceptance of death, his eyes were now sharp and his will to live was unwavering.

The immense shadow magic, like the most skillful weaver, rapidly repaired the damaged heart and chest tissues, blocked blood vessels, and regenerated muscle tissue. The fatal wound, enough to kill an ordinary strongman ten times over, was healing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Feeling the coldness and trembling in Philippa's hand, he took her slightly cool hand in his own, his grip gentle yet firm.

He lowered his head, giving her a slightly pale but reassuring and gentle smile, his tone even carrying a hint of lighthearted teasing:

"You've had a tough time. It's alright, don't worry." He gently patted the back of her hand, as if comforting a frightened child. "It's just that your heart was pierced, and it still hurts a little. As for the injury... it's almost healed."

He spoke so casually, as if he himself hadn't just experienced a brush with death.

This composure and rapid recovery ability undoubtedly demonstrated to Philippa, and perhaps to some other being, that he was still a force to be reckoned with.

However, on the throne, the Goddess of Holy Light, who had taken in this entire scene, finally showed a slight ripple on her flawless face, which was as smooth as a frozen lake.

He listened to the conversation between the two below, who completely ignored His presence; He watched Philipana's heartfelt and genuine worry and concern; He watched Grena's rapid recovery from his injuries and his distinctly gentle attitude towards Philipana...

Especially Gray's "You've worked hard," and Philippa's incredibly complex expression, filled with regret and dependence...

In the eyes of the Goddess of Holy Light, a blend of ice and fire, flashed a fleeting understanding and... displeasure at being offended.

A barely perceptible furrow appeared between his brows, and a chilling aura began to quietly permeate the magnificent temple.

……

In the Demon King's Castle in the Secret Realm, during the meeting of the Heroic Squad in the Shadow Court.

Inside the meeting room, when the discussion reached a stalemate over "how to ascend to the heavens," Gray looked around at everyone and calmly presented his conclusion.

“Since none of you here, including the learned and knowledgeable His Majesty Phoenix, have a definite method to ascend to heaven,” his voice was steady, drawing everyone’s attention, “then, for us, there may only be one path left to enter the Celestial Realm.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Philippa's worried face, past Sofia's furrowed brows, and over Taric and Phoenix's expectant expressions, before finally returning to the void, as if he were seeing that suffocating temple of the gods once more.

“A passive, but proven, path—” Gray’s tone carried a cold, hard quality, “waiting, or rather, forcing [that person] to intervene again and ‘pull’ us up.”

These words caused a stir among the audience. Taric nearly jumped up from his chair, Sophia gasped, and even Phoenix widened his eyes slightly.

Only Philippa unconsciously clenched her hands on her knees, as if she sensed what Gray was about to say.

“I know it sounds absurd, like offering your neck to be slaughtered,” Gray continued, his tone flat. “But I’ve experienced it firsthand, more than once. That feeling… is absolutely true.”

His eyes became deep, as if he were lost in some unpleasant memory.

"In the Celestial Realm, before the throne of that Holy Goddess of Light," he said slowly, each word as if pulled from an ice cellar, "all we so-called tenth-order beings, the so-called pinnacle of the mortal realm, can feel is... utter suppression."

He slightly raised his hand, making a gesture as if he were being pressed down by an invisible force.

"That's not a difference in strength, it's an absolute chasm in terms of life level and the hierarchy of rules."

Like fish and shrimp in the deep sea, forcibly hauled to the surface and exposed to completely unfamiliar, hostile air and sunlight. Every cell (though only Eota here probably knows what a cell is...) was wailing, every wisp of magic was frozen. There, I felt myself... unable to lift my head.

Gray's voice remained steady, but the sense of powerlessness in his words made everyone present clearly feel the heaviness of his voice.

It was a despairing sense of insignificance that originated from the depths of the soul.

"He doesn't even need to deliberately release pressure; simply because He exists there, the rules of the Celestial Realm themselves are rejecting and squeezing out us 'outsiders'."

He looked at Philippa with a complicated expression. “The reason I was able to return last time was less because I successfully resisted, but rather because… He probably felt that the time was not right, or that I still had ‘value’.”

He looked at everyone again, his gaze sharpening.

"Therefore, this path means we are voluntarily stepping into a battlefield where our fate is entirely in the enemy's hands. But—"

He abruptly changed the subject, his tone revealing a resolute determination to burn his bridges.

"This is currently the only known route to the Celestial Realm. What we need to consider is no longer 'whether to go or not,' but rather... how to find a glimmer of hope under such absolute suppression, and the opportunity to unleash that sword!"

The meeting room was silent, save for Gray's words echoing and the heavy breathing of everyone as they grappled with this cruel and unique solution.