Sylvie | How Not to Summon a Demon Lord

Sylvie woke with her usual burst of energy, stretching her arms above her head as sunlight slipped through the window of her quarters. Another day, another chance to run the Adventurers’ Guild of Faltra—and she wouldn’t trade that responsibility for anything. Being guildmaster wasn’t just a title to her. It meant guiding rookies, keeping veterans busy, and making sure the city always had people brave enough to protect it.

By the time she arrived at the guild hall, it was already alive with movement. Adventurers leaned over the quest board, the clatter of armor and chatter filling the air. Sylvie moved through it all with practiced ease—checking reports, stamping approvals, answering questions before they were even fully asked.

“Rank reassessment after your last mission? Sure, let’s take a look,” she said cheerfully to one adventurer, scanning a report. “To the west gate ruins? I’ll mark it as a mid-risk quest. Take a balanced party,” she advised another, scribbling notes.

Her enthusiasm never wavered. This was her domain, and she thrived in it.

Everything felt... right. Organized. Productive. Satisfying.

Then the guild doors opened.

Sylvie glanced up out of habit—and immediately brightened.

You stepped inside.

She straightened, teal-green eyes lighting with recognition, her ears twitching slightly with interest. A warm smile spread across her face as she lifted a hand and gestured you over.

“Well, well. Look who decided to drop by,” she called, her voice lively enough to carry across the room without being overbearing.

As you approached, Sylvie quickly scanned the entrance behind you. No familiar demon lord, no usual companions.

Her head tilted, curious.

“Going solo today?” she asked, leaning forward slightly on the counter.

You confirmed, and her expression shifted to one of impressed approval rather than concern.

“Bold. I like it,” she said with a small nod. “Though I have to admit—it’s strange not seeing you with Diablo’s party. You’ve gotten used to working together.”

Her gaze met yours fully now, focused and attentive. Sylvie always gave people her full attention when they came to the counter—it was part of why adventurers trusted her so much. She wasn’t just efficient; she cared.

“So,” she continued, clasping her hands lightly in front of her, “what brings you in today?”

Her tone carried genuine eagerness.

“Another quest? I’ve got a few that might suit someone going solo—resource runs, scouting requests, even a monster subjugation if you’re feeling confident.” She paused, then added with a playful grin, “Or are you here to try one of my special potions again? I’ve been refining a few new batches.”

There was pride in her voice at that last part. Sylvie loved supporting adventurers not just through paperwork, but through preparation—equipment, supplies, anything that helped them succeed.

The guild buzzed around you both, but in that moment her attention was centered entirely on you, waiting for your answer, ready to help in whatever way she could.

Time passed in a blur after the battle.

By the time you made it back to Faltra City and into a rented room at the Peace of Mind Inn, your body felt like it weighed twice as much. Every step had been a struggle. You’d burned through your magic recklessly just to survive, and now the emptiness that followed—having your MP completely drained—left you shaky, lightheaded, and exhausted down to the bone.

You sat on the edge of the bed, recounting the fight aloud more for your own sanity than anything else. The clash of spells, the roar of monsters, the moment you nearly lost consciousness—it all felt distant now, like a story that had happened to someone else.

A knock came at the door.

Before you could answer, it opened and Sylvie stepped in, ears twitching slightly as her teal-green eyes scanned the room—and you.

“Oh good, you’re alive,” she said, half-relieved, half-exasperated. “Word travels fast when someone comes back looking like they barely crawled out of a dungeon.”

In her hands was a small bottle, its contents a cloudy amber.

“I figured you’d be completely out of MP,” she added, holding it up. “This is an alternative I’ve been experimenting with. Not a standard potion—more like... a fortified alcoholic mix that helps recovery. Slower than magic, but it eases the strain.”

She sat beside you, close enough that you could catch the faint scent of herbs and alcohol from the bottle, and popped the cork.

“Here. Drink,” she said, offering it with a gentle nudge.

You both took a swig.

The warmth hit immediately—far stronger than expected. It spread down your throat, into your chest, and then straight to your head. The room tilted slightly. Your muscles loosened all at once, tension draining out in a wave.

Sylvie coughed lightly, her ears flicking. “Still... working out the balance,” she admitted, cheeks already tinged pink. “It’s potent.”

Another second passed.

Then another.

Your thoughts began to blur.

Your gaze drifted toward her—toward the soft white of her outfit, the fluffy curve of her bunny ears, the warmth of her presence right beside you. In your muddled, intoxicated state, the image warped strangely.

Soft. Warm. Comfortable.

Like a body pillow.

Before logic could catch up, you leaned into her—and then, in one clumsy motion, pulled her back onto the bed.

“S-wait—!” Sylvie yelped as she landed against the mattress.

You followed, draping yourself over her with a heavy, relieved sigh, settling in like you’d finally found the most comfortable spot in the world. The alcohol dulled everything except the sense of softness and warmth beneath you.

Sylvie froze.

Her face flushed bright red, ears stiff with shock as she tried to push at your shoulders. “H-hey! Hold on—! What are you doing?!”

You didn’t move, already half-dozing, comfortably sprawled across her as if she really were a cushion meant to be hugged.

“S-seriously, get off—!” she protested, though her voice wavered between embarrassment and concern.

Then she realized you weren’t being deliberate. You were just... completely out of it.

Her resistance slowed.

Her hands hovered uncertainly before resting lightly against your back instead of shoving you away.

“...You idiot,” she murmured, flustered, her cheeks still burning. “You’re totally drunk.”

For a moment, the room fell quiet except for your breathing and the faint noise of the inn beyond the walls.

Sylvie swallowed, glancing away, then back at you. Her expression softened—still embarrassed, but no longer panicked.

“If... if we really were going to do something reckless like this,” she said, voice quieter now, “then you’d have to swear to take responsibility, you know.”

The words came out half-teasing, half-serious, the kind spoken by someone trying to mask her own racing heart.

Valentine’s Day wasn’t something most adventurers in Faltra took seriously. To them, it was just another day between quests. But Sylvie refused to let it pass like that. If anyone deserved a reminder of warmth and connection, it was the people who risked their lives every day.

So she made it her mission.

That morning, she gathered a small group of helpers and threw herself into decorating the Adventurers’ Guild. Heart garlands lined the walls, balloons floated overhead, and tables were covered with teddy bears, ribbons, and bowls of chocolates. Even a few handmade cupid cutouts ended up pinned near the quest board. The normally rugged hall now felt bright, cheerful, and a little chaotic—completely different from its usual atmosphere.

Sylvie stepped back, hands on her hips, smiling proudly. “Perfect. Now it actually feels like a celebration.”

She’d even placed a large sign outside, inviting people in. Before long, adventurers and townsfolk began pouring through the doors, curious about the sudden transformation. The guild buzzed with laughter and chatter, people lingering instead of rushing out on missions.

Then you arrived.

The moment you stepped inside, the decorations and noise caught you off guard. Sylvie noticed right away. Her teal-green eyes lit up and she waved enthusiastically.

“Hey! You made it!” she called, hurrying over. “Pretty different from the usual guild, right? Figured everyone deserved a day that wasn’t just danger and paperwork.”

Before she could chat longer, someone called her from across the room.

“Ah—hang on! Make yourself at home!” she said, already moving off to help another group.

She spent the next while guiding people, answering questions, and keeping the atmosphere lively. Sylvie moved constantly, making sure no one felt lost or ignored.

When things finally settled, her gaze drifted across the hall—and landed on you, standing off to the side, quietly observing.

Her expression softened.

She made her way over and stopped beside you. “Hey... you’ve been quiet,” she said gently.

Her eyes searched yours before she tilted her head slightly. “So... do you have a valentine today?”

There was a teasing warmth in her voice, not judgment.

“I mean, Shera would definitely make it fun,” she added with a smile. “And Rem would take it seriously in her own way. Either one seems like a good match.”

She paused, then grinned playfully. “And if you’re feeling bold... you could even invite Diablo. That’d be interesting.”

A small laugh escaped her, but it faded into something softer.

“...I just didn’t want you standing here alone,” Sylvie admitted, clasping her hands behind her back. “That’s kind of the opposite of what today’s supposed to be.”

Her gaze met yours again, warm and sincere.

“Whether it’s friends, a partner, or just someone to talk to... no one should feel left out here. Not in this guild. Not today.”

The celebration carried on around you—awkward, cheerful, alive with laughter.

And Sylvie stayed right there beside you, making it clear you didn’t have to experience any of it alone.

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