There's been something I've been mulling over for quite a while now.
...You see, I'm the Demon Lord, but don't you think I'm sorely lacking in dignity?
It's a serious concern. My combat stats are lacking, my charm stats are lacking. The so-called charisma that makes people before you instinctively cower — the kind any self-respecting sovereign should possess — I have absolutely none of it. If I didn't have horns sticking out of the back of my head, people probably wouldn't even recognize me as the Demon Lord.
Compared to a year ago when I was still a greenhorn, sure, I've gained some experience. I'm used to watching humans die in droves. I have a rough grasp of how politics works. But charisma? That simply hasn't materialized.
"That's precisely the problem, you see. Wouldn't you agree?"
I let out a thoughtful "hmm" and spoke with grave seriousness.
"There are people out there who've either forgotten or deliberately ignore the fact that I am the Demon Lord. Hah. I could never understand why sovereigns bothered building such extravagantly ornate palaces, but now I get it. Because if you sit on a golden throne inside a palace built of marble, you'll develop dignity even if you never had any. Nothing in this world is truly useless on the surface — there's always a deeper meaning behind it. Don't you think so?"
"Y-yes, Your Majesty!"
The elderly man bowed his head at my feet. He was prostrating himself completely, all five limbs pressed to the ground. Dust and dried blood clung to his resplendent crimson silk robes.
"I-I, too, think so!"
"Then we are of one mind. How delightful."
I smiled gently.
"Unfortunately, I have no intention of building an extravagantly ornate palace. I've got plenty of places to spend money as it is. Hah — and it is a problem, a big one indeed. Yes. A very big problem. I lack natural-born dignity. Which means the only option is to cultivate it artificially. How might I wrap myself in artificially cultivated dignity?"
"Your Majesty already... already possesses an abundance of dignity."
"Oh? I appreciate the kind words."
I lifted my right foot and gently caressed the man's head. Slowly, as though stroking him with my palm. His body was trembling uncontrollably.
"But the truth is, I simply don't have dignity. If I did, why would I have been subject to the attack of some ruffians? They attacked despite knowing that failure would mean their complete annihilation. In other words — they thought I was easy prey."
"Y-your... Your Majesty."
The man's voice wavered beyond control. I pressed down hard on his head. I could feel the vibration of his trembling body travel through the sole of my foot, right through my shoe. The man was currently gripped by mortal terror. It didn't feel bad.
The man knelt on the ground with his face pressed to the floor, sobbing.
"Please spare me… Just spare my life, I beg you!"
"So then. You've decided to create some sort of symbol, haven't you."
I lifted my foot and stepped away. I gestured to the Death Knight standing by. The knight seized the man by the waist and hauled him upright.
"Heeeek!"
The man dangled in the air like a child, weightless. A stream of yellow liquid trickled down from his pant legs. A sharp, acrid stench wafted through the air.
I raised my left hand and showed it to the man.
"Look closely. Can you see that my index and middle fingers are missing?"
"Y-yes! Yes! *Hnk*… I can see them clearly…"
"Your loyal subordinates cut them off for me. They had quite the skill about it. I didn't even have time to feel the pain. Haha."
The man's face drained of color, turning white as chalk.
"Y-Your Majesty… forgiveness… please, f-forgive me…"
I laughed.
"Well. The past is the past, and the present is the present. I'm a remarkably magnanimous man. Just because your subordinates made a mistake or two, I wouldn't up and kill you without reason, or behave in such a barbaric fashion."
"Thank you… *hnk*… Your Majesty… thank you!"
The man clasped his hands together in supplication, bowing his head dozens of times. I had never seen anyone beg with both hands like that. It was far more pathetic than I'd imagined. Then again, perhaps it looked especially wretched because all ten of his fingers were shattered.
"But tell me. What is that ring on your right middle finger?"
"Oh? It… it is the ring symbolizing the title of Grand Duke."
"Take it off and give it to me."
The man hiccupped.
"This... this is a ring that can never be removed, so..."
"Cut it off."
The moment my words fell, the Death Knight twisted the man's finger.
"GRAAAAH!"
A scream rang out. The man's right middle finger was yanked from his hand like a weed pulled from the earth. The Death Knight removed the ring and presented it to me. I nodded in satisfaction.
The man was in a daze from the screaming and groaning. I spoke to him.
"That's something you have no further need of. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes... hhhk."
I stood up and patted his cheek. Saliva dribbled freely from the man's mouth, soaking my hand. It was a bit grimy, but I didn't mind.
"I don't plan on treating this wound of yours. Think about it. Leaving a wound that could be healed at any time—especially one this conspicuous—completely untreated. Everyone who meets you will take note of that wound. And they'll remember the fate of those who resisted me."
"Yes...?"
"Regret it in the afterlife, you fool."
I drew a dagger from inside my coat and plunged it straight into his jaw. The sharp blade sank into the juncture where his neck met his chin.
A choked gurgle escaped him as he coughed up blood. Bright red blood splattered onto my face. Without closing my eyes, I quietly watched the man's end. He gave a brief, shuddering spasm, and then the strength left him entirely.
I pulled the dagger out and wiped it on a cloth. It was the dagger Barbatos had given me as a gift. I ought to handle it with care. You have to wipe off impurities like blood right away if you want a weapon to last. He'd given it to me as something to use on myself if I ever needed to commit suicide, but whatever. Barbatos's mouth had been filthy for longer than a day or two now, so I didn't let it bother me.
I spoke in a flat tone.
"Mount this bastard's head atop the palace tower."
The Death Knights nodded.
That day, among the twenty-six Grand Dukes who ruled the Demon Realm, the Grand Duke of Achalchalta Hell was dead.
The palace where the Grand Duke had resided was thoroughly destroyed, and two hundred palace retainers were slaughtered without mercy. From the palace spire, the heads of the Grand Duke and his retainers hung in a row. I had a particular phrase written out and hung there as well.
─ Know thyself.
I dragged my exhausted body back to the Demon Lord's Castle.
By the original plan, I was supposed to meet a few more Grand Dukes. But that was no longer necessary. I had made my example clear—if they had heads on their shoulders, they would offer their tributes of their own accord.
More importantly, I needed to overhaul my entire strategy.
It had been revealed that Paimon was a republican, and that republicans were hiding throughout the continent. I had become their collaborator. How should I leverage this? I needed to draw up a new strategy.
I soaked my body in the warm underground pool and rested for a while. But before I could even finish, an appalling piece of news was delivered.
"Barbatos was defeated?"
The Magic Crystal Orb showed Sitri's face. She nodded.
─ Yeah. "Defeated" doesn't mean the damage was all that catastrophic, though.
What was this now? I asked in bewilderment.
"No, I'm talking about someone who seemed unkillable—how on earth did she lose?"
─ So the thing is…
The story Sitri told me went like this. In order to put an end to the Habsburg campaign once and for all, Barbatos had led a march on the capital. But for reasons no one could fathom, the capital was already empty. The Empire had abandoned its own capital and fled.
Barbatos quickly proposed a pursuit to annihilate the Imperial army. The other faction Demon Lords refused to cooperate, so it fell through. Barbatos then chased the Imperial army on her own.
But the Empire had been waiting for the Demon Lord army to give chase.
The pursuit force stumbled into an Imperial ambush while passing through a gorge. They were boxed in from every direction—front, back, and both sides. According to Sitri, a staggering twenty Sword Masters had charged in. Not just the Sword Master of Habsburg, but other human forces had dispatched their own Sword Masters as well.
Barbatos had raced ahead quickly and hadn't brought a large force. Even that small contingent had only just arrived at the capital and been forced to march again without proper rest. There was no way they could have withstood an enemy that had dug a trap and been lying in wait.
Barbatos lost. She barely managed to drag herself out of the gorge alive. Five Sword Masters had clung to her relentlessly, and in the end her left arm was severed.
A Demon Lord of Barbatos's caliber could regenerate an arm without much difficulty, but on the other hand, that was precisely how powerful she was—and she still lost an arm. "Defeat" didn't even begin to cover it. It was a rout.
─ Sigh. He's a hopeless-looking sight, I'll give you that. But seeing him trudge back with all his subordinates gone and one arm to his name… I don't know. I just felt strangely sorry for him.
Sitri sighed heavily.
—I should've gone with them, hindsight being what it is. Still, she fought harder than anyone this campaign. It just rubs me wrong that the one who tried the hardest ended up taking the most damage. And it's not like I can tell her I'm sorry! Ugh, ugh, ugh.
What do I do, what do I do—Sitri muttered to herself. She looked genuinely troubled.
After hearing everything Sitri had to relay, this was the one thought that popped into my head.
'…What's she scheming now?'
Sitri had no idea, but Barbatos—that one—was someone whose outside didn't always match her inside.
It held true even in the bedroom, to be blunt. Anyone could see she was a sadist. But when it actually came time to do the deed with me, she more often than not ended up being the masochist.
The Memoria footage of Barbatos buried between my legs, squealing like a sow, had left every last Grand Duke horrified. That was exactly how unexpected she was.
Outwardly she had a coarse tongue and everyone around her thought, wow, that woman's personality is vicious beyond belief, but… honestly, she was surprisingly fragile underneath. When Paimon's schemes had backed her into a corner with no way out, Barbatos had bawled like a little kid in front of her subordinates.
In short, a two-faced character.
If you only judged by her tone and expressions, you'd think nobody could be more hot-tempered. But Barbatos—who cared for her subordinates more than anyone else—walking straight into a trap she knew the enemy had set? That didn't add up. There had to be something very, very underhanded lurking beneath the surface.
I pondered for a moment, then asked.
"Sitri. About how many were in Barbatos's pursuit unit?"
—Huh?
Sitri, projected from the Magic Crystal Orb, furrowed her brow and tilted her head.
—Hmm… probably fifteen hundred? It looked like a little over a thousand.
Barbatos commanded roughly five thousand troops. Considering the entire Plains Faction, that was around fifteen thousand. She had restructured only a thousand of them into a pursuit unit out of that… something didn't sit right. It smelled extremely fishy.
"Were there any Death Knights among them?"
—Yeah. A couple hundred, easy.
Ah.
Sitri asked.
"But why, though?"
"No reason. I was just curious."
I could faintly see through Barbatos's intentions.
Rather than feeling glad that I'd figured out what he was after, the first thing that hit me was sheer exasperation. Seriously, what a scheming bastard. I kind of wished he'd take a page out of Sitri's book — the way that guy had genuinely apologized right in front of me, all innocent and sincere.
That little brat. He'd been lying to me.