“If you are bound for Lord King’s territory, I shall accompany you!” Mitsuhide offered.
“Oh yeah? Good... I won’t get bored on the journey.” Ajax’s eyes narrowed, piercing Mitsuhide with savage intention.
Mitsuhide smirked. She was among the fiercest fighters in Jipang, a nation of never-ending warfare where its lords had battled each other for power over centuries. Mitsuhide certainly had a taste for battle, tests of mettle, and making a name for herself.
“Whatever skill you are so confident in won’t stand a chance against me and Toshizo,” she said.
“I’ll show you who doesn’t stand a chance against who...on the way.”
Close enough to feel each other’s breath, they growled. Their last battle had been interrupted by the Demon Lord’s shenanigans, so the match hadn’t been decided.
And so this tumultuous party set off on its way to Holylight.
——Milk, Northern Nations.
Mynk and Olgan were camping out on a grassy plateau that stretched out to the horizon in every direction. The air was temperate during the day, but became bone-chilling during the night. Mynk huddled by their lifesaving fire, looking like a caterpillar in her layers and layers of blankets. Olgan, on the other hand, sat unaffected. She never felt hot nor cold.
“Nights here are always freezing,” Mynk said. “It’s like Niflheim, the frosty realm where the—”
“What are you on about now?” Olgan asked, cutting off Mynk’s emo-nologue. Not much had changed between these two, save for the ray of kindness that shone on Olgan’s face. “Cold as it may be, you can’t see stars like this anywhere else.”
Above them stretched a breathtaking ocean of stars. Olgan smiled, remembering the time she and the Demon Lord had stargazed together.
“Sure, the stars are gorgeous, but...” Mynk grumbled. “The frost of Niflheim affects even me, through my shroud of darkness—”
“Will you ever shut up? I can’t even enjoy a memory in peace.” Olgan brushed her hood back and touched the horns on her head.
Suddenly, Salamanders began gathering around them. These elementals were mostly invisible to humans unless they were summoned by magic, but finding her horns either an object of comfort or curiosity, they showed themselves clearly.
Mynk sighed in her blankets. “So warm... The fire of Muspelheim lights my shroud of darkness...”
“Shroud of darkness...” Olgan chuckled. She turned to the Salamanders with a gentle smile. Elementals always tried to speak to her.
“What are they trying to tell you, Olgan?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t speak their language. But...”
“But?”
“They always utter a single word.”
“And what is that?” Mynk asked.
“It’s just my hunch, but... I sense strong respect and reverence from them.”
“The Demon Lord gave you those horns, didn’t he? They’re probably cursed. You should chuck ’em.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They are my greatest treasure.” With a look on her face that Mynk had never seen before, Olgan stroked her horns. She looked like a girl in love, blissfully reminiscing about a time she’d received a gift from her beau. If her past self could see her now, she would blow herself to smithereens out of sheer embarrassment.
“Now that it’s getting warm, I’m going to bed... Morbeus will lead me into the realm of dreams...” Mynk dozed off immediately.
“Can’t you just say ‘good night’?” Olgan muttered before lying down.
Still, the Salamanders were staring at Olgan—at the horns created by the Demon Lord. They still muttered that single word. Without any good reason, Olgan guessed it.
Creator, they were repeating.
Maybe I can come up with an excuse to see him, Olgan thought before slowly falling asleep.
She and Mynk were en route to Xenobia, unaware of the trouble that brewed ahead.
The end of Holylight’s civil war meant the start of a new tomorrow for many people throughout the continent: the largest group of which was the party leading the former residents of the Euritheis slums.
——Along a travel road connecting the Northern Nations to Holylight.
Ren, with the two thousand refugees from the Euritheis slums in tow, quietly traveled southward. Almost imperceptibly, Ren smiled. She had just been relayed the developments in Holylight, and she took extreme pleasure in a particular piece of news.
“So Master rescued those children and vanquished the heinous nobles who tormented their own people, all in one night?” she repeated.
“Sure did,” Tahara replied. “Once the Secretary gets going, he moves like a wildfire.”
Ren’s interpretation was the kindest possible one of the Demon Lord’s actions. In fact, Tahara would push the narrative in that direction by utilizing the Censorship skill, the effect of which would culminate in nationwide adoration of the Demon Lord. A more accurate description of his actions would paint the Demon Lord as a ruthless bandit who wiped out everyone who inconvenienced him; for Ren, though, her Master would always be a beacon of light that showered her with love.
“Give my regards to the hero, will you?” Tahara concluded.
“I will.”
Ren hung up her Communication with Tahara, and her face returned to complete stoicism. She turned an icy gaze to the group next to her: over four hundred criminals handpicked by Eyze. Not everyone in the slums were honest, hardworking people who met a bit of bad luck. Some were hardened criminals, like lifelong thieves. Eyze and his partner had sorted out and grouped them together to form a band, flanked by Ren and Weeb on either side.
Their current state of orderly obedience was hard-earned. At first, they would grumble or catcall Ren, frequently disrupting the march. Each time, Ren had brought down her lance with cold and fierce brutality. Now every one of them remained silent unless spoken to and marched in perfect time, backs rod-straight and arms rhythmically swinging. A perfect orchestra of footsteps went with them, played out by criminals focusing harder on maintaining perfect posture than they’d focused on anything else in their lives. The slightest deviation in form would earn them a lance lashing.
“Middle row, number seven,” Ren called. “Slouching.”
The offender shrieked and snapped himself up. “Please! Forgive me!”
“Back row, number twenty-three. Swing wider.”
“M-Miss Ren! Have mercy! It won’t happen again!”
Their rearguard—the Trinary—watched her handiwork, clearly impressed.
“I’ve seen armies march with less discipline.”
“In such a short time, their march has become impeccable.”
“Hrmph... The female may be repulsive, but she wields her lance like a whip.”
Weeb and each member of the Trinary were generals in their own right; each knew too well the trials of leading a troublesome army in a march. Trained soldiers were out of their reach as the relationship between Weeb and the Pope only deteriorated. Instead, they were saddled with new recruits, the elderly, and even criminals who were offered shortened sentences for their military service. In those cases, the Trinary would ruthlessly discipline them while Weeb spoke to them with compassion, forming a perfectly balanced carrot and stick. This time around, with Ren dealing with the criminals in a way too brutal for even the Trinary, the three had switched their roles to more supportive ones—people who the marchers could talk to. Without them, many would have dropped out long ago...especially because Ren was willing to leave behind any who refused to meet her expectations.
In the end, their formation was a spectacular success. The beautiful girl as cold and deadly as absolute zero, the brilliant light of compassion that was the paladin, and the three knights that understood their plights had molded the lot into honest people ready for work, as if they had been through the best rehabilitation facility imaginable.
Watching the marchers carry on with the intensity of an army going to war, the Trinary continued their discussion.
“What is this crowd for, anyway?”
“Two thousand in all... Setting up their shelter alone must be a tremendous undertaking.”
“Holylight is short on water as it is, to say nothing of how desolate the eastern wastelands are.”
The Trinary shared the impression of Holylight that most on this continent had. Furthermore, Holylight had gained a reputation as a refuge for thieves and bandits on the run from the law. Compared to living in the bountiful Tzardom, moving to Holylight seemed akin to exile. Weeb seemed to share their concern, as his expression grew tighter as they marched closer to their destination. Ren rode up next to Weeb—which was a rare occurrence on its own—and shared with him a part of what she had been told through Communication: Dona’s Central faction had fallen. A group of imprisoned children had been rescued, and Dona’s hoard of wealth would be returned to the people in a grand fashion, as well as the Water Spell Stones that would be given to the people for free... What Ren relayed sounded wonderfully benevolent on paper.
“He really doesn’t hesitate to take action, does he...?” Weeb asked.
“All puny souls will bow before my Master,” Ren said with unshaking confidence.
Tahara was entirely willing to hand out as many Spell Stones as it took, and even planned to incorporate the casino into wealth redistribution. Spreading coin through the pleasures of the excessively lavish golden temple, all the while garnering more and more support from the people: it was all to encourage spending in every class of society. The working class, especially, would be overjoyed by the sudden disposable income. Some would go out for an expensive meal they couldn’t afford before, or go out to a bar, or stay in a nicer inn when traveling. Perhaps others would buy new clothes or shoes.
The varied spending would stimulate the economy in multiple industries, enriching the lives of farmers and artisans. Tahara was also planning to pave the travel roads and even build highways and railroads. Each project would involve a great number of workers and a vast amount of materials. When completed, the modernized infrastructure would become an invaluable asset to Holylight. Not to mention all the miracles performed by the Demon Lord—meaning all the facilities he was going to set up. Policies soon to be enacted by the Demon Lord’s cabinet would send the stagnant economy of Holylight skyrocketing so fast it would make everyone’s heads spin.
Weeb had no idea of what was to come, except that the black angel was about to spread wealth on a scale never before seen in this world. “He intends to force a flow of gold... No, he’ll flood Holylight with it like a torrent.”
Money was like blood pumping through the human body. A healthy circulation kept the body alive, while stagnation meant death. Holylight had been on the brink, but it looked like the Demon Lord was performing CPR. Having traveled to many countries in varying degrees of economic stability, Weeb could understand the Demon Lord’s intention...and the dangers of an overstimulated economy.
“Currency and resources bestowed by my Master will know no bounds.”
“No bounds?”
“Yes. They are...infinite.”
Weeb couldn’t comprehend what Ren meant, even as the words of the Fallen Angel came back to him like both a beckoning finger and a dagger to the throat at the same time.