by Fuse
Just then…
“Just as terrible as always, aren’t you, Clayman? Sad to hear. You need to treat your tools right, or else they’ll fall apart. Didn’t Laplace tell you that?”
The apparent response to Clayman’s whispers came from a hazy presence in a corner of the room. It revealed a young girl wearing the mask of a clown, one with tear marks running from its eyes.
Her voice was equally forlorn. It didn’t bother the demon lord, who leisurely turned around to face the girl.
“Oh, you’re back, Teare? That was fast.”
He addressed her with a deep sort of affection, despite her entering the room unannounced. That was rare for Clayman but nonetheless to be expected. This was one of the demon lord’s very few true friends. Teare, the Teardrop Jester—much like Laplace, the Wonder Jester, her coworker and vice president of the Moderate Jesters—was an old companion of Clayman’s.
“Uh-huh. It was pretty tough this time. I couldn’t move around too freely in Frey’s territory. She is a demon lord, after all.”
“I could imagine. You weren’t noticed, were you?”
“No problems there. Mission complete! I am part of the Moderate Jesters—you could learn to trust me a little more!”
Clayman flashed her a contented smile. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, I do, I do, Teare. I just worry you’re putting your neck on the line too much.”
The concern he had for Teare was evident in his voice. It was a much different tone from what he used with Mjurran a moment ago. Anyone could see that any worry he had for Teare was the genuine article.
“Ugh! Can you stop treating me like a child already?!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Yes, of course, Teare. But did you hear the news? Milim seems to have taken quite the liking to those magic-born. This is turning out even more interesting than I had thought it would. Who could have imagined that Milim herself would seek out one of Carillon’s Three Lycanthropeers? Such a pleasure to see unfold.”
“Well, fair enough,” Teare replied quizzically. “But how do you think it’s going, though? I haven’t seen your crystal-ball recordings yet, but are these magic-born really amazing enough to keep Milim’s interest?”
Clayman could sense her curiosity. He made no attempt to hide his own heart from her. “Well, to be honest, I suppose they cannot go on ignored. In terms of strength alone, I would easily be able to dispatch them…” He paused to think for a moment, carefully choosing his words. “But Laplace was…unnerved by them. He ‘felt’ something, is how he put it. I thought he was overthinking matters, but if both the orc lord and these mysterious magic-born survived, it does give me pause.”
“Hmm… Really?” Teare sounded convinced by this assessment. “Well,” she continued, “if it was enough to unnerve that little sneak Laplace, there’s got to be something to it, doesn’t there? Either them and the orc lord made peace, or one side’s subjugating the other…or something else? It’s hard to judge their value, I think, as long as we don’t know. We at least need to know what the demon lord Milim finds so fascinating about them.”
“Certainly… I can’t disagree with that.”
“Right? You aren’t acting like yourself, Clayman. You’re usually a lot more cautious about these things.”
Such a scathing comment forced Clayman to reconsider his approach. If some monster under his control made this statement, he wouldn’t have given it any kind of sincere thought. It might’ve enraged him into killing the poor creature.
“Perhaps I might be a little too hasty here. I suppose I’d best collect more information from a variety of angles before I debate it any further.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right!”
So following Teare’s feedback, Clayman decided to investigate the magic-born a little more. He had no interest in recruiting them; his objectives were still the same.
The only question he wanted to tackle: What was Milim so interested in with them? That was a major concern for him, and he thought learning more about the magic-born might lead to an answer.
Otherwise, to a demon lord like Clayman, high-level magic-borns hardly mattered at all.
Recomposing himself, Clayman decided to listen to Teare’s report.
“So how did your investigation turn out?”
“Well, it looks like Frey has no intention of getting involved in the Forest of Jura.”
“Ah… So she won’t make a move, then? Did you get a grasp of what was going on over there?”
“Oh, absolutely!” Teare grinned.
She had taken on this job because Laplace was busy with another assignment.
Her mission was to investigate the demon lord Frey and collect intel on any potential weakness they could take advantage of. That was what brought Teare into Frey’s territory.
Teare might have looked like a little girl, but much like the demon lord she served, she was a first-class superpower.
“So, um, my impression was that Frey was kind of on high alert about something or other. She had harpies flying around all over her realm, like she was preparing for war or something.”
“Ah. It figures. Did you find out why?”
Teare snickered a little. “I did. And guess what?! She’s freaked out because Charybdis might resurrect itself!” she reported cheerily.
It made perfect sense to Clayman. “I see, I see… Well, Teare, I’d like to make another request of you, but how’s your schedule looking?”
“Eee-hee-hee! I thought you might say that. I have Footman on standby, too, so if it involves some rough stuff, we can handle it!”
“Heh-heh… Well done, Teare. But I’d like you to keep this from turning violent. First, I’d like you to travel to where this Charybdis is sealed away and see if it’s possible to win this creature over to our side.”
“Sure thing! Leave it all to me, Clayman!”
“I believe the location is—”
“I said, leave it all to me! I gotta get going, okay?”
With that, Teare once more sank into the muddy darkness. Watching her leave, Clayman exhibited a twinge of worry in his eyes—an extraordinarily rare thing for him. In an instant, they were back to their bold, fearless shine.
“Well… Charybdis, eh? Very good. If its power is truly up to demon lord standards, I can hardly wait to see what it packs.”
The whisper was delivered with a joyful smile as he descended into his own thoughts.
Carillon, king of the lycanthropes, first declared himself demon lord four hundred years ago in his thirst for more power. The world was in a great era of upheaval back then, with demon lords stepping in and out of the picture at a dizzying rate, and he made the move near the end of a great world war, one fabled to take place every five hundred years.
Frey was one of the other survivors of that era to join the demon lord club, with Clayman staking his claim a century later. Leon Cromwell, meanwhile, assumed the title two hundred years ago, with his defeat of the Accursed Lord under his belt.
Together, the four young demon lords were known as the New Generation.
The older ones, meanwhile, were wizened generals by comparison, all surviving at least two world wars, and their strength was on a completely different level from the new gang. That led many in the New Generation to strive to expand their own forces, and Carillon was one of them.
It was little wonder, then, that he was now attempting to recruit some more brawn for his side.
Phobio, the Black Leopard Fang and one of Carillon’s Three Lycanthropeers, understood his master’s feelings better than anyone else. That was why, even after being trounced to a terrifying degree by the demon lord Milim, he was still hiding himself deep in the forest.
There was no way he could do something as utterly shameless as returning home right now. If he explained everything to Carillon, he would no doubt laugh it off and forgive him. But Phobio’s pride refused to allow that. Failing to live up to the expectations of Carillon, the man who saved his life, would be unbearable.
“I
can’t let that happen!” he half howled into the air.
“Please, calm yourself, Sir Phobio!”
“That defeat was unavoidable. Not even Lord Carillon could quell the rage of Milim—”
“Shut up! Lord Carillon would never show his ugly face again if it happened to him. I was just too inexperienced for the job…but my pride forbids me from returning without anything to show for it.”
The anger in Phobio’s embittered reply made his men fall silent.
They had been hiding out for a week, taking shifts as they kept watch over the town. The demon lord Milim had stayed there the entire time—and they had also seen monsters engaged in a variety of tasks, from building construction to road expansion. There were also monsters tasked with procuring food and patrolling the area—the order preserved around town was amazing to see. Not even Phobio could hide his shock.
“Just look at those bastards. Up and building a town for themselves… I dismissed them as lowly monsters, but they’ve got technology that not even I am aware of…”
“You certainly said it. I wouldn’t want to subjugate them so much as open formal relations with their leader.”
This was Enrio, a monkey lycanthrope, taking an intellectual approach to the question. He had a point. These monsters were working in orderly crews, under the command of their leaders. This was clearly some state-of-the-art engineering. It was incomparable with what Enrio knew in his homeland, the Beast Kingdom of Eurazania, with its crude stone houses and roads of bare, flattened earth.
“Yeah. Even if Milim wasn’t here, we’ve taken the wrong approach. We tried to conquer them without any chance for them to counter us—and that cost us the opportunity to earn their trust. But what’s done is done. And even if I’m all healed up, my humiliation at the hands of Milim hasn’t disappeared. I have to find a way to get back at her! Some way that won’t put any trouble on Lord Carillon. I know in my brain that it’s impossible, but this is about my heart.” Phobio’s voice was dark, ghostlike, and bereft of its usual cheerfulness.
Up to now, Phobio was an absolute ruler. Nobody could defy his strength—but now his first setback was giving him pause. He had never lost to anyone before, except Carillon. His logical mind told him that losing to Milim was unavoidable, but the flames of humiliation still simmered deep below.
“I know what you mean, sir, but…”
Enrio knew exactly how Phobio felt. But exacting revenge upon Milim was not in the scope of reality. He tried to make Phobio give up on the idea but found himself interrupted.
“Ohhh, I completely understand. All that anger and frustration… I’m an old veteran of those feelings.”
“Who goes there?!”
“Since when were you here?”
Phobio’s troops were far too late to react. The figure had already sidled right up to them as they sat around the campfire—and judging by the way it had avoided detection by an entire group of high-level magic-born, it must have been quite talented indeed.
“Hohhhh-hoh-hoh-hoh! A good day to all of you! I am called Footman, member of the Moderate Jesters. They call me the Angry Jester, and I am delighted to make all of your acquaintances!”
The polite greeting from the rotund figure was marred slightly by the enraged expression on its mask. The gregarious tone of the clown’s voice made its presence seem, in a way, quite surreal.
“Mm-hmm. You don’t have to be so wary of us. My name’s Teare, a fellow Moderate Jester. We’re sort of jacks-of-all-trades, and I promise we’re not fighting against you!”
And then, a female clown stepped out from behind Footman, this one with a tearful mask. The angry man and the sobbing girl—a very strange thing to see beside a peaceful campfire.
Asking Phobio and his cohorts not to be “wary” of them was a tall order. But the way they appeared out of nowhere certainly hinted at their powers. If they weren’t foes, perhaps it was best to believe that.
“Hohh? I’ve never heard of this Moderate Jesters group before. A jack-of-all-trades? Well, whatever. What are you after anyway?” Phobio asked, trying to work out their objectives.
Footman seemed like he couldn’t wait to answer. “Hohh-hoh-hoh-hoh! Well, I was called here by your feelings of anger and disgust. The waves of rage I felt rippling from here were quite noteworthy, indeed! Were you the source of them? I would love to know what makes you so enraged. Would you be so kind as to tell me? Because I’m sure I could offer some assistance!”
He transformed his mask as he spoke, making it erupt into an eerie smile.
“You expect us to talk to someone as creepy as you two?” Enrio countered. “Sir Phobio, there’s no reason to fall for their politeness. May we dispatch them for you?”
“He’s right!” another of Phobio’s men added. “It’s not normal, someone coming here without being asked to. You two look to be high-level magic-born as well, but you picked the wrong group to wrestle with. We belong to the Beast Master’s Warrior Alliance, part of the armies of the demon lord Carillon. Do you think a pair of wandering magic-born like you could defeat us?”
The group had little interest in hearing them out. The strangers were too suspicious-looking, and the way they dared to offer help riled their anger. Phobio’s group were in the elite echelon of Carillon’s forces—they hadn’t fallen to the point where they required the help of random creepsters.
Ignoring them, Footman continued. “You seek power, do you not? Well, power’s just what we have. Quite a bit! It comes with a level of danger, of course, but if you can conquer this danger, the strength you could earn from it is tremendous!”
“…Oh?”
“Yeah! You want to beat the demon lord Milim, don’t you? So why don’t you become a demon lord, too?”
Teare’s question drove the camp to silence. The sound of one lycanthrope swallowing nervously seemed to echo against the trees.
“A…demon lord? Did you think you could trick us with such ridiculous—”
“Charybdis. Have you heard of it?”
The single word from Footman had earth-shattering effects. The moment he uttered it, Phobio froze in place.
And then—
“The evil powers that giant fish holds are incredibly massive! If you don’t need it, well, we can always offer it to someone else. See ya!”
—Teare dealt the next blow.
Gesturing to Footman, she turned and prepared to walk off. This was how the devil tempts you—by making you panic, stealing your decision-making skills, and blocking your ability to think rationally.
“…Wait.”
Phobio stopped her, defeated by his very own ambitions.
“No, Sir Phobio!”
“You can’t listen to these people!”
“Tell me more,” Phobio asked, ignoring his men.
The flames of crazed desire were dancing in his eyes as he turned them toward Footman. Maybe this was his chance to scare the wits out of Milim with all her power. It could even let him rule over the lands as a demon lord himself. None of it was a dream any longer. And imagining it made Phobio fling away all his composure.
No. I never liked this from the start. Why did the demon lord choose me to dispatch a single, wimpy orc lord? I don’t need to take that crap. Yes… If it’s a new demon lord they need, nobody should have any complaints about me taking the helm. If it makes me stronger, I’m sure Carillon will laugh it off anyway!
Phobio, prone to hasty thinking even in the best of times, had been completely hooked by Teare’s and Footman’s sweet words.
“Ooh! A fine decision, Sir Phobio. And the correct one! Who besides you could ever become a demon lord?”
“You’re up for it, then?” Teare added. “Well, it makes sense to me. Someone strong’s gotta be demon lord, or else it’d be a terrible mistake! That’s what I think, too—and you’re just the man for the job, Sir Phobio!”
Yet, Phobio was no fool. He still had ultimate authority over these two flattering him, and he hadn’t forgotten one very pert
inent question to ask.
“Knock that crap off! I said, tell me more. If I say yes to that offer, what do you get out of it? You gotta have some kind of endgame! So out with it!”
Teare and Footman had expected this.
“We do get something out of it, yes. If you become a demon lord, Sir Phobio, we’re hoping you can show us a little favor afterward. Hopefully, you’ll be able to accommodate us in a few areas?”
“Hoh-hoh-hoh! And we could hardly subdue Charybdis by ourselves. We’ve discovered where it’s been confined and everything, but if we can’t tame it, it’d be such a waste! And just as we were pondering over what to do about that, who should we run into but you, Sir Phobio!”
That was easy enough for Phobio to accept.
“Huh. All right. But how do you know I can tame Charybdis any more than—?”
“Hohhhhh-hoh-hoh-hoh! No worries there! I am positive you will succeed at the task, Sir Phobio! And even if you should fail by some incredibly unlikely event, we will demand no reparations from you. We only charge our clients if they win, win, win! On that score—at the least—you can place your full trust upon the jacks-of-all-trades at the Moderate Jesters!”
Huh, Phobio thought. So when I become demon lord, they want it to be clear who helped me out the most.
In that case, perhaps it was best to leave the demon lord Carillon’s army. That move could do him well, whether he succeeded at this or not.
Phobio had a lust for power. He also felt confident that he could tame Charybdis. Instead of fearing failure, he was already sure of his success, ready to accept the deal. All the extravagant praise from this pair made him feel like he was sitting on a demon lord’s throne even now—or perhaps, Phobio was already caught up in their spell by then.
“All right. I accept your offer!”
Following his instincts, Phobio nodded, signing the papers that Teare handed to him.
Phobio then turned to his troops and gave his final orders.