Amid the chaotic whispers of the refugees, Eyze and the newbie watched with shock. Eyze still beheld the massive aura of death on the Demon Lord, but he had never expected him to be the Fallen Angel Lucifer...this information, however, explained a lot. “His aura finally makes sense... He’s the Fallen Angel,” Eyze said.
“Th-The dangerous one who ruled the night... Just look how scary he is!” the newbie chimed in.
The death aura Eyze saw on the Demon Lord was hellish—an amalgamation of tens of thousands of grudges left behind by the fallen. No mortal could have maintained their sanity amid such a torrent of death wails.
While chaos born of whispers and mistaken identities continued to ratchet up, the Demon Lord alone remained elated. Finally, he had an opportunity to lure the hero onto his home field. He was already hyped to the max. He glanced over to the refugees, eager to set up their lodgings, since he could hardly have the conversations he needed to have with two thousand of them roaming the streets.
With a dramatic flourish, the Demon Lord whipped out a Holy Coin from his pocket, holding it out to the hero as if to show it off. Yu, eager not to be outdone by Ren, had collected twenty-one Holy Coins from Central. It was easy to imagine what kind of questioning she had employed in order to scrounge up so many of them from the war-torn territory.
Oblivious to the atrocities that took place behind the scenes, the Demon Lord struck a pose like a Shakespearean actor. “I am the ruler of all! My world comes to life! Area Modification: Longhouses.” He lobbed the Holy Coin into the air and swiped his other hand as if to cleave the air in two. Suddenly, the falling coin, high in the air, exploded with blinding light.
An expansive patch of barren dirt was overwritten in an instant by rows and rows of longhouses. The refugees stared at the settlement, awestruck. Soon, small voices came from them in pitter-patters until their emotions exploded in a deluge of shouts and cheers.
“A town just...sprouted up! Right there!”
“It’s a miracle... It’s the angel’s miracle!”
“Th-That wasteland turned into a village... I don’t believe it.”
“Well, believe it!”
In their amazement, the refugees fell to their knees, lowering their heads before the Demon Lord.
Even Weeb and his Trinary watched speechlessly, until he began to quake, his glasses sliding off. “Impossible...!” Weeb had once witnessed the Demon Lord unleashing an enormous blast of magic that had obliterated an Invasion, silencing the entire Bastille Dungeon with it. That, too, had been nothing like any magic spell Weeb had ever seen, and neither had this...miracle. Weeb had no other way of describing it.
Seeing Weeb’s reaction, the Demon Lord suppressed a smirk. That was cringey as hell, but it got the job done... Good. He had mentally rehearsed the effect with the Holy Coin, all the way down to his corny line. His acting chops as a professional con man had really come in clutch. And setting up the Longhouses was merely a prelude for the Demon Lord, who was itching to set up the Abandoned Mines. If he was being honest, he could hardly be proud of the Longhouses—a cluster of old-fashioned apartments, townhouses, and shacks.
“Now, Hero,” he began dramatically. “Behold the Abandoned—”
“I-I need to see the interior!” Weeb blurted, bolting for the Longhouses. His Trinary quickly followed.
“What?” the Demon Lord said. Wait a minute! If he takes a look inside, he’ll see the shoddy construction! He wanted to grab Weeb by the scruff and keep the hero from going in, but it was too late.
Weeb had already approached one of the dusty, two-story apartments that were common in Japan half a century ago. Knickknacks and rusty propane tanks sat by the apartment door, accentuating the Showa aesthetic of yesteryear. The hero’s eyes were darting all around, eyeing every detail with curiosity. “What is that red thing...?”
“That’s like... A mailbox,” the Demon Lord said.
A traditional red mailbox stood in a patch of weeds, rusted all over. There was even a sort of wabi-sabi to it all, suggesting decades of unuse. Akira Ono had created this particular area as a kind of museum, a memorial that combined the charm of a bygone era and the beauty of the Japanese countryside. Someone in modern-day Japan might have felt nostalgic, but there was no guessing what the hero took away from it.
Dammit, I screwed up the order! This isn’t what I wanted to show you! The Demon Lord gritted his teeth. Watching Weeb inspect his creation so closely, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by how run-down the place was... As if Weeb was going to turn to him and ask “You call this a miracle?”
In reality, Weeb reacted in a completely different way. “Even commoners sent letters in ancient times...?!” In this world, letters were reserved mainly for nobles and merchants. Postage was too expensive for letters to be sent frivolously. Besides, most of the working class was illiterate to begin with, with no prospect of receiving education.
“H-Hero. The mines would be much more—”
“I need to go inside,” Weeb said again.
“Hey, wait—”
Weeb opened the old wooden door to a simple tatami-floored room lit by a dim fluorescent light. A typical tea table sat in the middle of the room; an old wardrobe and thin futon bedding sat by the wall. The attached kitchen, while small, still held some appliances like a refrigerator.
“What is that circular, turquoise object?” Weeb asked, pointing.
“That’s, uh, a fan,” the Demon Lord said, looking at the bare-bones standing fan with nothing but three buttons—High, Medium, and Low—and not so much as a timer or oscillating function. Weeb’s eyes were demanding an explanation, so the Demon Lord pushed one of the fan’s buttons like he was disgusted by the outdated technology.
“W-Wind...! Does it use a Spell Stone?! No, I sense no magic in it... How?!” Weeb demanded.
“It’s powered by electricity— Well, this one isn’t, exactly, but...” the Demon Lord stammered.
“An ancient magical item...” Weeb breathed. “That must be a delight in this scorching country. Oh? What is that white box over there?”
“L-Let’s get of here and move on to the—”
Weeb seemed not to hear the Demon Lord as he rushed over to the one-door refrigerator—an old model where the only freezer was the top shelf, and it didn’t even have an ice maker. The Demon Lord could have burst into flames from the embarrassment he felt standing in the middle of a quintessential ’70s apartment.
“This cold air must be generated by an Ice Spell Stone—”
“There’s no magic!” the Demon Lord shouted, breaking character. Weeb’s genuine curiosity felt like backhanded comments to him, especially when these appliances were far from impressive by modern standards.
“What is that thing the pot is resting on...?!” Weeb breathed in amazement.
“It’s just a stovetop.” Resigned, the Demon Lord callously twisted the knob, lighting a circle of blue flame on the burner.