The grand celebration continued to unfold; it was the final night of the ball, heralding the imminent crowning of the Queen of the Blackcastle Kingdom.

Young women eagerly surrounded the prince, desperately showcasing their charms in a last-ditch effort to win his affection.

Yet it seemed the prince had eyes for no one else.

Cinderella was equally elated; her dreams were about to materialize. She would soon be free of her despised stepmother and the burdens of daily chores. Awaiting her was a life of luxury and comfort as a queen.

Every day would be filled with beautiful gowns, surrounded by admiring and envious gazes, living happily with the one she loved.

The scenes from her mother’s lullabies were about to come to life, and Cinderella felt as if she were still dreaming.

Once the clock struck midnight, everything would become a reality.

The old king of Blackcastle was just as excited. He had instructed his son to choose the girl who fit the glass slipper. Once she became queen, he would gain eternal youth, vitality, and boundless power.

Under his rule, the lands of Blackcastle could expand further—an unprecedented achievement.

At that moment, a palace guard rushed in, urgency etched on his face.

"Your Majesty, the Holy Knights of the Church have surrounded the palace."

"What?!" The King of Blackcastle’s face twisted in disbelief. How had the Church learned of this?

"Damn it! How could you let them in so easily?" the king bellowed, furious.

The captain of the guards wore a pained expression. "The cavalry from the Kingdom of Oraton has overpowered our soldiers."

Oraton Kingdom?! That lapdog of the Church, growing ever stronger under their influence! Damn it, what now? The dark sorcerer—how had he provoked such a powerful reaction from the Church? What kind of trouble had he stirred up?

The King of Blackcastle paced anxiously in front of his throne like a caged lion.

There was no choice; the deal had to be canceled. The transaction hadn’t violated any Church edicts, so surely they wouldn’t take drastic action.

Under the Church’s immense pressure, the king reluctantly decided to back down.

As the clock struck twelve, the music ceased. The handsome prince stepped to the center of the hall, holding Cinderella’s hand, who looked dazzling and radiant.

"I believe," the prince said tenderly, gazing deeply into the eyes of the girl he adored, "I have found the one who will be my future queen."

The result was met with a wave of murmurs tinged with disappointment.

Cinderella’s eyes sparkled with excitement—this was the moment she had been waiting for.

Announce it, my beloved prince; say my name.

Cinderella's heart was racing.

"She is," the prince began loudly, "this beautiful girl beside me, Cinder—"

"Stop!"

Just as everything was about to be settled, a voice interrupted the prince.

All eyes turned to the speaker—it was the king, his face cold as ice.

"You cannot choose this girl as your queen, my son."

A shocked murmur spread through the hall.

Cinderella’s joy froze on her face. Her mind went blank. Why? The king had been so pleased with her just a few days ago. His gaze had been filled with admiration, even a touch of respect! What had gone wrong?

As confusion washed over her, she noticed the gloating expressions of those around her, especially from the Terman mother and daughters, their faces making her feel sick. A wave of fear gripped her—everything she cherished seemed to be slipping away.

"Father," the prince protested, "you said I could make my own choice."

"Yes," the old king's tone was as cold and hard as stone, "but I have changed my mind."

"But—"

"No buts!" the king snapped, cutting him off. "You can choose again, or I will choose for you."

The prince’s pale face turned beet red with anger and humiliation, but it quickly gave way to helpless resignation.

"I’m sorry, Cinderella..."

Cinderella’s face turned ashen. She felt utterly betrayed. Was she really going to return to her life as a servant, a mere cinder girl? No!

As everyone prepared to laugh at her misfortune, a commotion erupted at the entrance to the palace.

The sharp, rhythmic sound of boots echoed through the hall as a squad of fully armored knights marched in.

"Apologies for disturbing your delightful evening," the leader of the knights, tall and handsome, with golden hair that gleamed like flames in the lamplight, announced with a commanding yet courteous tone.

Someone in the crowd gasped, "They’re the Church’s Judgement Knights!"

The emblem of the Holy Light on their gleaming armor was instantly recognized. They were among the most powerful and noble knights on the continent—members of the Church’s Holy Knights.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The King of Blackcastle, as if anticipating their arrival, remained silent, his face cold and indifferent.

"Good ladies and gentlemen, the ball is over," the leading knight declared gracefully. "Now, please leave in an orderly manner. We have other matters to attend to."

Salthos, the deputy commander of the knights, reveled in his moment of triumph. For years, he had been overshadowed by Oliver, whose superior talent and devout faith had always kept him in second place.

But now that fool was dead, leaving Salthos with an opportunity to lead this demon hunt and prove himself.

He didn’t particularly care about the target of the hunt. Even though Oliver, a high-ranking knight, and Elijah, one of the cardinals, had perished, Salthos had brought the full might of the Holy Knights, the strongest force on the continent.

Moreover, the four cardinals had already set up the Judgement Barrier outside the palace, ensuring that no evil could escape the purifying light.

With this victory, the position of Knight Commander would undoubtedly be his when he returned.

Salthos was in high spirits, treating the entire demon hunt as little more than a leisurely outing.

The noblemen and women whispered among themselves as they began to file out, one by one, under the scrutiny of the knights.

At that moment, no one cared about the selection of the queen. This week-long ball had turned into nothing more than a farce.

No one, that is, except for Cinderella.

"You promised I would be your queen..." she clung desperately to the prince’s hand, her eyes filled with hope, pleading, and obsession.

But the prince, her former lover, merely pulled his hand away and softly apologized, "I’m sorry."

Cinderella stood there, dazed, her mind racing back to the soot-stained floors and her stepmother’s cruel punishments. She couldn’t go back to that life. She had already grown accustomed to luxury and splendor.

Suddenly, she felt a chill beneath her feet. Her glass slippers had vanished.

In horror, she realized that her beautiful gown was fading, slowly reverting to its drab and ugly former state—the one her late mother had patched together.

Was this all just a dream? Was she now waking up from it?

"Dear Cinderella, you still have a chance."

A gentle voice whispered in her ear.

Cinderella looked up and saw a familiar face—the man who had granted her the miracle. He was now dressed as a servant.

Cinderella, like a drowning person grasping at a lifeline, pleaded desperately, "You can help me, can’t you? You said you would make me queen..."

Cinderella stared into Carlo’s eyes, terrified that he might refuse her. But Carlo didn’t disappoint her.

"Of course," Carlo replied with a smile. "I told you, it’s a deal. What you’ve experienced so far was just a bonus. Now comes the real transaction."

"I agree! I’ll do anything!" Cinderella cried, her desire overwhelming her. "What do you need? Money? My virtue?"

Carlo shook his head gently, speaking with the tender tone of a lover. "None of that. Just relax, close your eyes, and it will all be over in a moment."

Cinderella couldn’t tear her gaze away from his deep, dark eyes. She found herself drowning in them, and without hesitation, she closed her eyes.

A brief flash of searing pain shot through her forehead, and then it was gone.

When Cinderella opened her eyes again, she felt an unbreakable bond between herself and the man before her. Every move he made seemed to draw her deeper into his charm, compelling her to kneel and kiss his feet.

Carlo chuckled softly, but his laughter grew louder and more unrestrained, echoing throughout the grand hall. Everyone turned to stare at him in shock.

A thick, oppressive demonic aura filled the space, its chaotic, violent, and evil energy spreading everywhere. Shadows crept across the once-bright palace, dimming the lights.

Salthos’s expression shifted dramatically. He unsheathed his sword, and a dazzling white light flared from his body, a testament to his considerable strength.

"Are you the demon that killed Oliver?" Salthos demanded, his voice filled with righteous fury as he addressed the figure floating in midair, shrouded in darkness. "You have nowhere to hide. Today, in the light of the Holy, you will be turned to ashes."

The powerful aura emanating from the demon made Salthos’s heart race. He understood why Oliver had perished. However, he knew he didn’t need to defeat it; he only needed to stall for a moment until the Judgement Light descended, bringing an end to it all.

Salthos swung his sword at the encroaching darkness, the radiant white light cutting through the shadows, but there was nothing there.

Salthos’s heart sank. The next instant, a deep voice resonated in his ear.

"Are you talking to me?"

Salthos couldn’t respond. A powerful hand had gripped his throat, suffocating him. He turned red as he struggled futilely in the air.

He met the gaze of a pair of crimson eyes.

Carlo's demonic form fully manifested in the air before him, towering over two meters, strong and imposing, with a fierce beauty.

His demon horns stood sharp like swords, and his bat-like wings unfurled, filling nearly half of the hall with their dark expanse. His tail writhed in the void behind him like a venomous snake.

"Tempting a child of divine grace into the abyss has granted you 2000 experience points and 20,000 evil points."

"Congratulations on your rank-up. Current level: Greater Demon (Low Tier)."

"You now have one chance to draw from the lottery. (Note: Future upgrades will no longer grant lottery draws; tasks must be completed to obtain them.)"

"The Demon Shop is now open again."

...

Carlo received several notifications in an instant but paid them no mind. He was focused solely on one thought.

Being a Greater Demon feels quite nice.

Next, he would surely be able to crush everything in his path.