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

'What exactly do you want?' A pure curiosity, like observing white mice trying to escape a labyrinth, lingered in the heart of the Goddess of Holy Light. Was it rebellion? Questioning? Or seeking that elusive… liberation?

Whatever the answer may be, in His eyes it is nothing more than a pebble thrown into a deep pool. It may cause a few ripples, but in the end, it will still sink into the dark abyss that was destined to be there.

"Very well," a slight thought stirred within him, carrying a hint of indifferent tolerance, "let's see if this variable can produce a few off-key notes in this predetermined melody."

In any case, all efforts will ultimately be in vain.

He adjusted to a more comfortable posture, leaning against the mithril throne, like an audience member about to watch a play, waiting for the curtain to rise, waiting for the already known, uninteresting yet slightly novel performance to begin.

And He remains the one who writes destiny with His pen, high above the clouds... the sole sovereign.

The ethereal yet majestic voice echoed once more within the magnificent temple, this time devoid of any mockery, leaving only a pure, cold gaze that looked down upon all things. He didn't even use their names, as if those individual identifiers were meaningless.

"The Demon King."

"Brave."

The two titles, like cold branding marks, precisely define their sole value in His eyes—symbols of opposing fates, instruments to maintain the cycle. Beyond that, their thoughts, emotions, and struggles are perhaps insignificant in His view.

On the throne, the perfect figure leaned forward slightly. Although it was just a subtle movement, it seemed to cause the weight of the entire Celestial Realm to press down.

The invisible divine power descended like a tangible tsunami, mainly pressing down on Philippa who was standing in front.

Philippa felt a tightness in her chest, as if the air around her had turned into heavy lead, squeezing her chest taut.

She let out a muffled groan, her face instantly turning pale. Her delicate body trembled uncontrollably, and fine beads of cold sweat appeared on her forehead. Faced with that vast and boundless divine power, she felt like a small boat in a storm, which could be completely crushed at any moment.

Just as she was about to collapse to her knees, a warm and firm hand gently embraced her shoulder, then stepped forward with an undeniable air, protecting her firmly behind him.

It's Gray.

He used his own body to shield Philippa from the most direct impact of the divine power. (Philippa frowned and pulled Gray in front of her.)

His spine remained straight, like a silent mountain. Despite the overwhelming divine power, his expression was equally solemn, and his magic power flowed instinctively around him to resist the omnipresent oppressive feeling, but he did not retreat even half a step.

The Goddess of Holy Light took this scene in, her icy and fiery eyes seemingly unmoved. She simply continued to ask, in her ethereal voice, the question that seemed to know everything yet also carried a hint of boredom:

"Ants' Deception..."

The brief pause made the space seem to freeze.

"...What brings you to this Celestial Realm?"

The voice was calm, yet it struck the two men's hearts like a questioning law. Was it an accusation, or a cat-and-mouse game? Perhaps, both.

Compared to his previous ordeal of being forcibly pulled into the Celestial Realm, where he was caught off guard by divine power and could barely lift his head, his body on the verge of collapse, Gray's performance this time was clearly more composed.

The overwhelming pressure, as vast as the starry sea and as heavy as the entire world, still remained, binding every inch of space around him like invisible shackles, sluggish the flow of magic, and causing his soul to tremble. But Gray could clearly perceive the subtle differences within it.

On the one hand, thanks to the near-destructive experience he had just had, his body and soul developed a very slight, almost instinctive, adaptation to the oppression emanating from the supreme being.

Like creatures that have been under the pressure of the deep sea for a long time, although they still cannot fight against the power of the ocean, at least they are no longer crushed instantly as when they first entered the deep sea.

He learned how to mobilize his strength more effectively under pressure, how to isolate the stinging sensation in his mind from his core consciousness, and how to maintain a clear mind.

On the other hand, and more importantly, the pressure emanating from the Goddess of Holy Light at this moment has a completely different "purpose" than last time.

Last time, it was to save the angel, and even more so to punish and deter this "restless" demon king. With an almost destructive will, the goal was to completely subdue him, and he almost caused him to explode and die.

This time, while the oppressive aura was still suffocating and primarily targeted Philippa, its core meaning leaned more towards asserting sovereignty and exerting a show of force.

Like a dragon giving a low growl to an insect that has entered its nest, intended to intimidate and warn rather than crush it immediately. It seems He simply wants them to recognize, and more deeply, the insurmountable chasm between them, and to dispel any unrealistic ideas, rather than to immediately impose severe punishment.

Therefore, although Gray was still under tremendous pressure, his face was solemn, and his magic surged around him in resistance, he was at least able to stand steadily and actively protect Philippa behind him, instead of struggling to even maintain his own existence like last time.

Like a rock rooted in a torrent, he stood silently amidst the waves of divine might, proclaiming without a word: this time, he was not unprepared to be slaughtered.

Despite the still vast disparity in strength, their mindset and circumstances have subtly shifted.

The goddess of holy light on her throne seemed indifferent to this insignificant "progress" of an ant, still looking down with her indifferent eyes.

Faced with the divine might that seemed to topple the heavens, Gray took a deep breath and focused his mind to resist the omnipresent oppressive feeling.

He raised his eyes, his gaze piercing through the ripples of divine power, staring directly at the figure on the divine throne, his voice steady:

“Goddess of Holy Light,” he said in a steady tone, with a calm, declarative quality, “we have come to seek answers.”

He paused deliberately, observing the reaction.

The Goddess of Holy Light's perfect face remained devoid of any emotion, but her eyes, a blend of ice and fire, seemed to narrow slightly, a barely perceptible curve appearing. A clear, ethereal voice rang out, carrying a playful, almost experimental quality:

"The answer?" His voice echoed in the hall. "You have put on a rather 'unique' show, which has indeed piqued my interest for a moment."

He slightly adjusted his posture, his sleeves radiating a holy light, and his tone was as if bestowing attention upon someone:

"Very well. For the sake of this 'interesting' situation, I will allow you to ask questions."

His gaze swept over the two of them. “You may ask many questions. But remember, whether I answer, and how much I answer, is entirely up to my mood.”

This is still a one-sided "gift" from the gods, carrying the connotation of charity and control, but at least, there are more opportunities to speak.

Gray's mind raced. He needed to carefully choose the order and content of his questions, aiming to extract as much key information as possible without revealing his ultimate intentions too directly.