In the conference chamber inlaid with black stone and ancient cactus bones, the Demon King sat upon the highest throne, a trembling curtain of flesh behind him — as if breathing. His voice echoed, deep and slow, thickening the very air.
Demon King:
"Recently, across the territory, the number of monsters has been rising uncontrollably. Some of them... when slain, burst open to reveal larvae inside."
"I want an explanation."
From the right side of the table, Zegram, Captain of Squad 6 – the Infernal Insect Clan, stood up. His four arms folded in penance, and the light caught on the fractured carapace of his body, glinting with each breath.
Zegram:
"Your Majesty… it is my fault."
"For the past fifty years, our kind has grown beyond control. As you know, my species is not born like ordinary creatures… each one, upon emerging, seeks a living host — usually a wild monster — to parasitize, burrowing into its will and turning it into a puppet of instinct."
"Most of the monsters near our territory… are our descendants."
"But… this explosive growth… is beyond even my control. Something… is stirring beneath the earth."
A brief silence fell.
Durge, Captain of Squad 5 – the Lich, spoke up, his voice like a low echo rising from a tomb.
Durge:
"Your Majesty… five out of ten border villages have been ravaged and devoured by the monsters. No bodies remain. Only bite marks, and blood soaked deep into the ground."
The Demon King nodded. His voice held no anger — only the cold acceptance of a being who had lived too long.
Demon King:
"Then this is our opportunity. The army needs real combat."
"Each of you — each Captain — will be assigned a region. Slay the beasts, purge the land, and discover where they are coming from."
"Zegram, you have no objection, do you?"
Zegram:
"…I obey. Even if I must burn my entire brood to ash."
The Demon King was silent for a moment, then slowly rose from his throne. All the Captains instinctively raised their heads — reacting not to authority, but to the presence withdrawing from the throne.
Demon King:
"Now, for the true reason behind this meeting…"
"I will be leaving for a time."
An invisible tremor rippled through the air. A few eyes widened. Some wings fluttered. Roots along the walls trembled out of rhythm. Even Durge tilted his skull slightly — the only expression of shock a skeleton could offer.
Sary, who had been silent since the start of the meeting, sat still — his smoke-gray eyes reflecting the darklight lamps without a flicker. But inside, a thought whispered:
> (…Leaving? Isn't this too sudden?)
The Demon King turned to the left side of the table — where Sary sat alone like a block of ice.
Demon King:
"Therefore, I shall entrust Sary – Captain of Squad One – with command… during my absence."
The room froze. All eyes turned to Sary. Not one dared to object.
Not out of obedience.
But out of fear.
Sary's aura did not flare. Yet it pressed like a silent gravity — cracking the stone beneath his seat, and stilling the darklight lantern above, as if something had just strangled its flame.
> (…Again. Why does it always have to be me…)
Sary thought.
(…I just want to live in peace. If they find out the truth… it's all over.)
But his face showed nothing. Cold. Pale. Ashen eyes like still water. A death god's unmoving mask.
The other eight Captains lowered their heads. Not a word of protest. Not a whisper of slander.
As the meeting concluded, the cold chamber slowly emptied. Heavy footsteps faded into the stone corridors. Just before silence returned, the Demon King's voice rang out — as if he had been waiting:
Demon King:
"Sary. Come to my office."
Not an order. Not a request. Just a statement.
But none within a thousand miles would dare disobey.
---
The Demon King's office stood at the top of the Tower of Truth — where wind did not blow, and the windows were trembling panes of congealed blood. Bone pillars held up the ceiling where ancient contracts hung suspended like corpses on drying racks.
Sary stood before the desk. His ash-gray eyes were blank, but inside his chest, his heartbeat pounded like a dying war drum.
The Demon King did not look up, still flipping through papers stained with dried blood. His voice came deep and low, like a sound echoing from the rift between two worlds.
Demon King:
"Do you know… why I chose you?"
Sary (flatly):
"Why?"
The Demon King lifted his gaze. In his ink-black eyes, a fleeting glint — cold, unreadable.
Demon King:
"Because I trust no one else.
The Captains… bear grudges, rivalries, hatred. If I had picked one of them to command in my absence… the order I built would crumble."
"But you're different. You're balance. You're the blade that walks the edge."
"They fear you… but don't know why."
"That is the only kind of power that can rule a pack of wolves."
Sary said nothing.
> (Me? Balance? I don't even know if I'll be alive tomorrow…)
Sary:
"How long will you be gone?"
The Demon King gave a dry laugh. Not one of amusement, but the cold insight of one who has lived too long.
Demon King:
"When I finish dealing with this pile of rotten paperwork. I'll be gone… around eight years. Maybe sooner."
Then he leaned back and sighed.
"Ah… tomorrow you'll lead a small unit to the Western Wastes. Eradicate the monsters breeding there.
Sometimes… the mind needs relief, don't you think?
You haven't killed anything in decades."
Sary remained silent. The words echoed in his head:
> "Relief for the mind…"
> (If I go there, I'll die. Those beasts are insane. And I… I can't even control my body when my power breaks loose. Death is certain.)
As he left the office, each step on the stone floor rang through the endless corridor. Every slab bore the name of someone who had once betrayed.
Sary walked slowly. The wind did not blow.
But the collar of his cloak still fluttered — as if something was breathing behind him.
> (I have to leave this place…
Tonight… before dawn, I'll disappear.)