Chapter 10: Luplettas, the Village Teeming with Strangers
Luplettas was a village swarming with unfamiliar faces. Geographically, the Demon Realm lay just a short distance to the north, while the border was mere moments away to the south, making it a prime transit hub. Beyond that, its fame for dried goods and sausages drew endless love from adventurers and soldiers alike.
With so many people passing through, a plethora of equipment vendors had set up shop as well. Some browsed swords, spears, and axes, while others sought armor to protect their bodies. Sure, frugal types covered only the essentials in the name of thrift, but the state-sponsored soldiers and knights were wrapped head to toe in gleaming plate, a stark contrast.
Kudbeka took in the lively scene as he strolled slowly. He knew better than to draw attention near the Hero, so with his cloak pulled low, he began hunting for a gift for his master, Lobelia Yuris. Thinking of his amnesiac lady made his heart ache, but her innate kindness—worrying about others like this—brought a natural smile to his face. When she'd first awakened and asked his name, of all things, how could he not be moved? Her continued care only deepened his unwavering loyalty.
Still, Lobelia Yuris in her memory-lost state had one glaring flaw: she couldn't use magic. Kudbeka, already aware of this, hummed thoughtfully before an idea struck. He made a beeline for a weapon shop.
Creak. Pushing open the door, Kudbeka cleared his throat and scanned the interior.
"What're you after, big guy? Greatsword?" The shopkeeper rubbed his nose, eyeing Kudbeka up and down. Even with magic altering his appearance, Kudbeka's massive frame screamed mercenary. The shabby cloak over a pristine suit only amplified the rough impression.
But Kudbeka wasn't here for blades. He wanted a staff.
"No, sir. Got any staves I could see?" He shook his head politely at the shopkeeper's assumption.
This was for Lobelia—a staff to let her wield magic. He had a hunch why she couldn't cast, but without it, she was little more than a fragile girl. She needed this.
"...A staff?" The shopkeeper furrowed his brow, pulling a rolled cloth from a drawer. He unfurled it across the table with a rustle, revealing a lineup of staves nestled inside. They clinked softly as he laid them out one by one, neat and orderly, then beckoned Kudbeka over.
"Here you go. Cheapest first, priciest last. Take a look and pick."
The shopkeeper knew better than to oversell—staves were personal. A cheap one might sing in skilled hands; an expensive one could flop with the wrong mage. Price wasn't everything.
Kudbeka, well-versed himself, simply hefted each one, testing with a flicker of mana. Efficiency and conductivity? Useless for Lobelia right now. She suffered mana starvation. What she needed was simple: a staff strong in absorption and emission, one that could draw and unleash ambient mana.
He knew the wood type perfectly. After sampling a few, he selected one—decently priced, not too cheap.
"This one."
"Got it. Need a leather case for storage?"
"Yes, make it a good one."
With the staff chosen, Kudbeka added wrapping leather for presentation. As the shopkeeper bustled about, Kudbeka eyed nearby weapons. Mages often carried backups for emergencies. His gaze lingered on daggers—maybe one for Lobelia. But even a small blade was solid iron; her slender arms might struggle. He hummed, torn on whether to buy.
Then the door creaked open. The shopkeeper glanced up mid-prep and murmured a greeting.
"What can I get ya?"
"......"
A man in a white cloak embroidered with gold thread. Hooded deep like Kudbeka, but this garb was unmistakable. The Hero. He growled low like a wolf honing its fangs for vengeance, silent at first. Then, glancing sidelong at Kudbeka, he spoke carefully.
"Mind if I see under that hood?"
The shopkeeper sensed the tension, handed over the package silently, and backed off.
Kudbeka clocked the voice's owner and sighed inwardly, gauging the Hero's stance behind him. No winning that fight. Resigned, he slowly raised a hand and lowered his hood.
Dark blond hair spilled free. Turning, his crimson eyes met the Hero's. Black-haired and red-eyed by nature, but disguised as human now—no easy giveaway.
Hero Verilrude Anemos stared, then ground his teeth.
"You know me, don't you?"
Kudbeka replied calmly to the rumbling tone. "Can't say I do. First time meeting, perhaps? Some noble?"
Verilrude had already sized him up: shabby cloak hiding a suit far too refined. Half-convinced already.
"Noble..." The word drew bitter tears in his mind. Remembering his fiancée, Cecilia Lamiris, he gnashed his teeth and exhaled like a sigh. "Not anymore. No reason to be."
His original plan—slay the Demon King, claim peace, marry into the Lamiris house as reward, live quietly with Cecilia—had crumbled. He'd let his state-issued soldiers die, lost the Demon King, lost Cecilia. No status left. Only revenge remained.
Thus, he loathed magic beasts. Vowed to kill the Demon King, tear him apart. His instincts screamed this suspicious man, aura so akin despite the looks, was the one.
Kudbeka noted the probing stare, kept his face neutral, and replied sadly. "That's a shame. Something happened, I take it."
"Aye. Won't need this speech anymore, either."
That refined, deferential noble's tone—forced to match Cecilia's station, now a hollow echo of lost worth. He laughed emptily, then activated his hero power. With a flick, he hurled the dagger hidden in his cloak.
Kudbeka snatched a display dagger in response, countering swiftly.
"You demon bastard! Think you fooled my eyes?!"
Pr pristine suit under ragged cloak. The chill aura like the Demon King's castle. Demonic presence subtle to most, but screaming not human to him. Every hint—the repulsive build—stoked the Hero's rage.
The shop shattered in the clash, roof blown off, chaos erupting.
*
How long had I slept? Exhaustion weighed me down. This body was so frail—I felt it anew. Rubbing my eyes as I sat up, my blurry vision finally cleared. The perk of a small frame? Not needing much food. But the downsides outnumbered them: huge breasts on a tiny, weak build. The worst.
No escaping that fatal flaw. Irritation bubbled up. And where was Kudbeka?
I swept back the tickling black strands and shook my head. How did anyone manage hair this long alone? Kudbeka combed and untangled it for me, barely keeping it tidy. Impressive, really.
Hmm. Nodding to myself, a fleeting thought froze me solid.
Black hair?
Trembling, I grabbed a lock down to my waist. Pitch black. No way. Fingers fumbling to my forehead, I felt the hidden horns resurface—like they'd never left.
The hard, tactile proof.
"...Kudbeka?"
Did his magic fade when he got too far? He had the key, so no one's coming in—but in a crowded place like this, losing the disguise unnerved me. Just being a demon, the Demon King, could mean persecution, death. A chill ran down my spine.
Swallowing hard, I slid back under the covers. No one but Kudbeka would come, but anxiety's endless—once it starts, you brace for everything.
Scary. Something happen to Kudbeka? Just distance breaking the spell? Or no need to maintain it? He didn't abandon me, right?
Negative spiral draining me. I shook my head, nodding forcibly for positivity. He said a gift—wonder what? Fugitive life needs a cloak? Or weapons, since I have none? Weapon sounds good. Fantasy world—dagger at least. Never needed a real blade back home; no license, no reason. Wooden swords? Never even that.
Romantic, though. Giggling at the fantasy, happiness bloomed. In grim reality, dreaming sweet futures was drug-like bliss.
What could it be? Kudbeka's thoughtful—he'd pick something essential. Taking time to get it?
A knock interrupted. Kudbeka? But he never makes me open the door.
Knock knock.
Not Kudbeka—he has the key.
Bang bang! Violent pounding.
Something's wrong. Gripping shaking shoulders, I called cautiously.
"...Wh-who is it? Innkeeper?"
Please just the innkeeper. Squinting at the door, silence fell beyond.
Wrong room? Bang! No time—the door splintered. Beyond stood a man in luxurious white cloak with gold embroidery. And his face was murderously furious.
"...You fucking bitch."
Oh, shit. I'm screwed.