It was a scent I knew all too well—the scent of the battlefield.
Speaking of the city, the family of Tavo—my hobgoblin official—had set up a restaurant on the main street. I had made a modest investment in the establishment as well. It was a relatively upscale place, serving citizens who held official positions within the autonomous zone so they could put their salary to use and keep the economy moving. They used a lot of powerful spices in their cooking, which had turned off the keenly sensitive dog beastfolk entirely, making their patronage at the establishment exceptionally rare.
That was, of course, my doing. I had used my clout as an investor to try and make things easier for Claire as she used the place to gather intel. Apparently she had come to terms with the owner being a hobgoblin, understanding that while they looked a lot like the goblins she so vehemently hated, they were technically a completely different race. It was much more common to come across a hobgoblin here than back at the castle, so it was a relief that she wouldn’t go crazy every time she saw one.
“The blacksmith mentioned that apparently the short swords sold for self-defense are flying off the shelves. It seems it doesn’t sit right with them to be walking around unarmed even under the demonic kingdom’s rule.”
Every time I went to resupply Claire with magic, she shared what she had learned at the pub. From requests she had drawn out from merchants, to complaints from the vice captain of the City Guard, and so on.
“Dealing with drunks is so easy. All you have to do is make it sound like you’re listening and they’ll spill everything on their own,” Claire would say with a laugh. Her face was always locked in that polite smile, but something in her tone made it sound like she was actually becoming quite attached to them. Getting attached to the people of the autonomous zone...
Whenever I left Evaloti, Claire would send reports every day through Enma who would then share them with me. Though generally those reports consisted of little more than “nothing especially of note.”
Then there were the slaves I had brought back from the Rage territory: the musician Vigo, the carpenter Dirilo, and the instrument maker Organo. With no suitable place in the Demon King’s castle for human slaves to stay, they had been kept in the night elf prison for quite a while.
All things considered, they were looked after reasonably well. But they were almost never permitted to go outside, and were constantly subjected to screams of agony from those being tortured around them. So even still, they were in quite the hellacious position.
I still regularly visited the night elves for the special healing quota, so I used it as an opportunity to talk with Vigo and the others briefly once a week—basically just me giving them updates about what was going on around the kingdom—and to listen to Vigo perform. I couldn’t say I had grown close to them in any way, but it seemed they understood I wasn’t going to harm them, so they were no longer nervous when dealing with me.
As you might expect, after confirming the three of them were willing to go, I put in a request to have them transferred to the autonomous zone. It was a city of humans and beastfolk, the closest thing to the “outside world” that the hero Leonardo had described to them. They rarely showed even a hint of emotion when talking with me, but there was a noticeable shift in them at the prospect of a change of scenery. Though, when I told them the intention of the autonomous zone (to produce food for the demonic kingdom, then eventually rebel and become a battlefield), that shift seemed to be leaning more toward unease rather than excitement.
“I made a promise with the hero Leonardo to let you three live. Don’t hesitate to ask for my protection should things get dangerous.” So I told them at our last meeting in the prison, but after sharing a brief look, the three men slowly shook their heads.
“I’m sorry, but if it comes to that...we would prefer to share the fate of the autonomous zone. That’s... That’s what we believe Leonardo truly meant about what it means to ‘live.’”
Even if that fate led them to be caught up in the fighting, they would rather die fighting as people than simply surviving as property. I could feel the meaning clearly beneath the surface of Vigo’s words. The flame Leonardo had lit in their hearts, that respect for the dignity of life, still burned in their eyes.
“Very well.” I’d figured they would say as much, so I just nodded casually. After taking a short time to handle preparations, they were carried by bone horse carriage to the autonomous zone.
I wanted to send a message that they were to be received with favor, but doing that for a slave would have been strange coming from a demon prince. So instead, I had Claire spread word of them throughout the autonomous zone as gossip. “Those slaves are the personal property of Demon Prince Zilbagias, but despite promising to spare their lives, he didn’t have any use for them. So he just dumped them here.” That was the story.
No doubt the people of Evaloti would be unable to contain their curiosity at learning what life was like for humans who grew up in the demonic kingdom. And I desperately hoped that would lead Vigo and the others to spread word throughout Evaloti—and eventually the Alliance—about the life of slaves in the demonic kingdom, and the magnificent way Leonardo had carried himself to his end.
As far as the demonic army’s war of conquest was concerned, summer would see the opening battle against the neighboring Kingdom of Areina. Daiagias would be leading the Gigamunt family in the vanguard.
“Honestly, this war stuff is just a pain,” Daiagias grumbled as we sat down for tea—sharing a cup had become a regular thing between us. I suspected that was truly how he felt too. It was an unbecoming attitude for a demon, but Daiagias really had no taste for battle. He got stronger just from fooling around with women, and he enjoyed that as much as he could. As for why the sex-crazed Daiagias took time out from his “work” to drink tea with his little brother, he claimed it was “for the stimulation.”
The birth of the Bon Dage Style after our previous encounter had been a vital lifeline that pulled him out of the rut he had found himself ensnared in. This allowed his strength to continue growing at a steady pace once more. Though all we really talked about was new ideas for Bon Dage Style outfits, and women. Yeah. That’s what he wanted to talk about. With a six year old.
“I can tell you’re different from us. You’re a bit weird. Spending time with you is good stimulation. Who knows, maybe it’ll give me another flash of inspiration.”
Being called “weird” by Daiagias felt like the ultimate defeat...