Chapter 7: Wandering - Kudbeka, the Loyal Servant to His Master
When I opened my eyes in Lobelia's body and told him I remembered nothing, Kudbeka greeted me with a smile, as if he understood everything. That smile belonged entirely to Lobelia, not me.
I couldn't shake the creeping fear that if he sensed something other than Lobelia inside me, his terrifying power would turn against me. I have to act like Lobelia. I am Lobelia. I didn't want to die again. Even if this wasn't my body, even if it was that of a hopelessly weak little girl, I wanted to live. No matter how burdensome and exhausting it was to inhabit this body after years as a man, I thrashed desperately to survive.
This Demon Lord body couldn't cast a single spell, left with only enough strength to lose to a child. I had no choice but to rely on Kudbeka. And above all, I wanted to avoid being exposed as not Lobelia and killed by him.
But I wanted to escape this situation too. Kudbeka's massive frame climbed onto the bed, and even with my small Lobelia body taking up space, there was still plenty of room. The bed was spacious, but my mind was far from at ease.
Sure, my body was female now, but my soul was male. I felt no lust toward him. In fact, it would be weird if I did. But separately from that, I couldn't help the fear that made my heart tremble involuntarily.
Fleeing was one thing, but I never imagined we'd be pressed this close. If Kudbeka was as honest as he seemed, he wouldn't get any closer. I glanced at him sidelong. Since saying, "Then good night," he'd lain there rigidly still. Was he asleep, or just lying with his eyes closed? Staring at the man frozen like a corpse, I wondered if I could really let my guard down and sleep.
I knew he was trustworthy, at least in my head. But my heart kept fretting that he might kill me at any moment, that this body was too fragile. I hesitated despite myself.
If I'd inherited even a fragment of Lobelia's memories, maybe I could've trusted him fully—or not. "Ugh."
Was I more distraught because I'd heard the hero was already marching on the Demon King's Castle to kill me? If the gods had to reincarnate me, why not as a poor human, something I was used to? Why this?
A groan escaped me, laced with irritation and anxiety. Then a gentle voice came from beside me.
"Are you worried, my lady?"
It wasn't the voice of someone just woken. Had he been lying there with his eyes closed the whole time?
"Can't sleep because of me?"
"No, my lady. I don't sleep to begin with."
"I see."
Were there demons who didn't need sleep? I felt like I could drop off if I just shoved aside my anxiety. I almost wished I didn't sleep either. Then I could stay vigilant with my eyes open, watching him.
Of course, even if I stayed alert, if he suddenly turned malicious, I had no way to stop him. Here I was, powerless and fretting uselessly. What a joke I was.
As I wallowed in self-mockery, Kudbeka shifted slightly, turning his body toward me.
"Kudbeka?"
His hand rose over my body. His log-like arm settled over my collarbone, its weight immense. For a split second, I thought, This is it? My jumbled mind barely sorted itself as I called his name in a whimper. He replied softly, without a hint of ulterior motive.
"Yes, my lady. I know you're anxious. Who wouldn't be, with someone out there hunting you down?"
Relief washed over me as I realized it wasn't lust driving him. I let out a breath. But his lips moved again, signaling the conversation was just beginning.
"You can sleep easy. I don't sleep, so I'll wake you if anything happens."
He seemed to think my sleeplessness stemmed from fear of death. It's because of you. With your huge build and arms like tree trunks right next to me, of course I'm scared stiff. But hearing his noble words, I felt like the villain for doubting him.
No, from the start, Lobelia might trust him implicitly, but I'd only just met him. Without power, what if he killed me to steal the Demon Lord's throne? What if he lusted after this powerless girl's body? Those fears were inevitable. And as a former human, my view of demons wasn't exactly rosy.
Of course, now I was a demon. Doubting my own kind so readily wasn't a good habit. I'd have to live among demons from now on, shunned by humans. What an absurd story.
A hollow chuckle escaped me—pfft. To cover the sudden laugh, I simply thanked him.
"Thanks for worrying about me, Kudbeka."
"It's nothing."
He replied as if his loyalty was the most natural thing, urging me to rest easy. Suddenly comforted by his words, I felt foolish for worrying so much. Maybe I could trust Kudbeka a bit more. He was more devoted than I'd thought, and it made me curious about Lobelia—what kind of life had she lived to earn such loyalty?
Lost in those thoughts, I finally drifted off.
"Awake now?"
As I yawned and slowly sat up with a groan, Kudbeka's voice came from beside me. He was already dressed impeccably, preparing his cloak as if ready to leave. Rubbing my eyes, I saw he'd finished gearing up.
"...Yeah."
Come to think of it, he'd said he didn't sleep. I took in the sight briefly, yawned again, then followed suit, grabbing my clothes.
My steps wobbled from the weight of my chest as I asked Kudbeka to cast his cleaning spell. With a snap of his fingers, I dressed and prepared to head out. Pulling my cloak low, I swallowed hard, realizing that leaving this inn meant resuming our hidden life, slinking away from prying eyes.
What would we do while staying at other inns? I had no purpose. If I just kept fleeing to prolong my life, would I be a fugitive forever? Did that mean wandering endlessly without a home?
No. After escaping, I needed a place to settle. I had no idea about Demon Lord responsibilities, and I could hardly claim the right after abandoning the demons and fleeing the black lands. But still, I wanted to live my life.
Wandering aimlessly would only destabilize my future. I had to choose something. If I went after killing the hero, regardless of feasibility, the world would tremble in fear. Humans would grow even warier of demons, and I'd make more enemies.
But if I didn't kill him, he'd come for me. Could I negotiate? Unlikely. Even as Demon Lord, they'd enslave demons but never spare me. A sigh escaped.
Thinking about the future, I still couldn't grasp a goal. I'd never realized how vague "living" could feel.
"Kudbeka."
"Yes, my lady."
"What should we do?"
No need to agonize alone. I had Kudbeka—we could discuss and decide together. He hummed thoughtfully before speaking.
"Flee far to another country, find a home, and live there."
"..."
"If we befriend the locals, they'll accept us as one of their own."
Would that work? Could we start anew that way? As I pondered, Kudbeka offered another option while we walked slowly from the inn. He spoke softly, for my ears only.
"The other way is for me to pretend to be the Demon Lord."
What?
"Then when they defeat me easily, won't they relax? Thinking they've vanquished the Demon Lord."
"No."
Not worth considering.
"I won't hear of it."
Our self-respect and Demon Lord duties were already cast aside as we fled alone. Sacrificing Kudbeka too just to save myself? What would I do left alone? Without him, I'd be just a powerless little girl. A weak girl. How could I survive this harsh world solo? This disguise magic was his doing—without him, I'd be exposed as a demon instantly and couldn't wander freely.
I turned away, groaning in refusal. He placed a hand atop my head.
"Then shall we flee to another country?"
"...Yeah."
I knew fleeing wouldn't be easy, but I hadn't expected it to torment me like this. Still, grateful he didn't push bad ideas and followed my choice, I trailed carefully behind him.
I hated how fragile I was now, resenting my utter dependence on him. If only I'd had his massive body, I wouldn't be a burden. If I could use magic, I wouldn't face this hardship.
Why this small, powerless girl's form—big chest aside? I'd never wished for this. It was agony.
*
One day since departing the Demon King's Castle. A distant journey for most, but the hero had pierced through to reach it.
Normally, this pace was impossible. Soldiers protected the hero as they advanced slowly. But with his army annihilated early, he had no reason to dawdle under their shield. He barreled through hordes of magic beasts alone.
Thus, he arrived swiftly—but in ruins. His body was battered. One might expect exhaustion, but he ground his teeth harder.
With magic, he cleansed the blood from his navy-blue hair, like the night sky. Catching his breath, he gazed at the Demon King's Castle.
Vast gardens, a massive, ominous mansion. The more Verilrude thought of its master, the more rage boiled within.
How many humans had died for this? The Demon Lord's mere existence sowed human fear. It was evil incarnate. Existing was evil; everything it did was evil. It mustn't exist—and if it did, it had to be set right.
Verilrude Anemos. That was his bestowed mission, his duty.
Gritting his teeth, he adjusted the sword at his waist, gripped his spear, and stepped inside.
The entry revealed a vast, empty space—like a training ground or arena. As if the building held nothing at all.
"...?"
Verilrude narrowed his eyes at the unease, scanning around. Some trick, he thought, heightening his guard and advancing slowly.
How far did he go? Then, high stairs appeared—and atop them sat a figure. A hulking man. Verilrude realized only one being belonged there, assuming his stance: ready to hurl his spear, then swing his blade.
As he tensed, predicting moves with a scowl, sudden applause echoed.
Clap, clap, clap.
The seated figure spoke.
"Have you finished all preparations? Mourned those you sent ahead, bid farewell to loved ones, reunited enough with the longed-for? Shed all regrets? No regrets in life?"
The hero answered with silence.
"Then tell me, fool who wastes his life for others—do you truly believe you're right?"
No response deserved. Words from demons, let alone their pinnacle the Demon Lord, held no value to hear, answer, or ponder. Selfish wretches harming other races—none worse.
Verilrude clenched his jaw, advanced, and hurled his gripped spear. Drawing his sword in a flash with a harsh scraaaape, he kicked off the ground.
But he froze mid-stride, staring blankly, dazed and forlorn at the empty chair.
The spear, aimed true at the head, dispersed like illusion the instant it "hit"—never there to begin with. Thought stalled, Verilrude stared at the spot he'd believed held the Demon Lord.
"What the..."
To reach here, countless comrades died. Endless pain, endless death.
"What the..."
And at the end, he'd thought he'd cornered the Demon Lord.
Stepping over those deaths, those lives as footholds.
"What the hell—how far will you mock me...!!"
Only to find the Demon Lord had fled, leaving an illusion. Veins bulging in his neck, the hero knelt in futility, sobbing alone.