The Demon Lord's Subordinates (3)
Neromeltia drew up her mana in preparation for the subordinate contracts. Above her head, a massive magic circle large enough to cover the entire podium took shape in the air, its intricate mana circuits etching themselves into existence. The operation of that immense power was saturated with the characteristic dark glow of Luina, greedily swallowing the surroundings and dyeing the entire training ground in her color.
The residents living beneath Luina could instantly grasp how powerful and majestic her Luina was. Orcs and ogres alike dropped to their knees in reverence at the sight of the Demon Lord’s majesty, something they were witnessing for the first time in their lives.
When Neromeltia swept her hand forward and scattered her mana, small magic circles began to rise over the chests of Beriberi, Oun, and Nella, who knelt before her. Each circle blazed with dazzling brilliance, and the Luina within them burned with such ferocity that it resembled a branding iron heated to a searing red—terrifying in its intensity.
For a fleeting moment, Neromeltia smiled bitterly at the thought that the subordinate contract might appear no different from stamping a slave’s brand. Most residents of Hemonigent harbored deep longing for the contract the Demon Lord bestowed. It was the glory of drawing closer to the exalted throne of the Demon Lord and serving at her side. It was the ambition to surpass the limits of one’s own race and obtain superior abilities. And it was the desire to escape the cycle that bound all living things and attain eternal life.
The contract was not omnipotent; it could not prevent death by accident or murder. Yet it undeniably extended one’s lifespan without limit. That was why the subordinate contract offered by the Demon Lord was a moment every being living under Luina dreamed of.
Still, Neromeltia considered it nothing more than a dream. There had once been someone who refused the contract with her: the creator of her exclusive maid, Beatrice the Magic Doll—the greatest magical engineer of Hemonigent and master craftsman of Ego Dolls, Ronald Guttman.
Because his existence was precious to her, Neromeltia had offered him the subordinate contract time and again as he aged ungracefully, yet he refused her hand every single time. Once, he had even grown somewhat angry. Back then, unable to understand him, Neromeltia had held him and earnestly asked for his reason. He had answered with equal gravity, and the two of them had clashed with genuine feeling.
“This is my life, my friend. I did not choose to be born, but the life I have built through my own sweat belongs solely to me. Therefore, the end of my life must also be mine.”
“Is a long life really so terrible!? Living long and enjoying things together is the best part!”
“Indeed, you understand well. You say ‘long’ rather than ‘eternally.’ If I formed a contract with you and gained infinite lifespan, what would happen? Could I become truly immortal? As a scholar, I admit the curiosity stirs, yet such an indefinite life is not possible, and in any case, I must decline. …Listen. Eternal lifespan is no different from being indefinitely deprived of the chance to choose one’s own final moment. I know you care for me, but the Demon Lord has the Demon Lord’s life, and a mere Demoniac engineer has a life suited to him.”
Neromeltia had wanted to argue further, but she had forced herself to swallow the words rising in her throat. He was not making this choice because he thought little of himself. She had reflected on her own rashness in trying to persuade him that eternal life suited even him, and had fallen silent once she understood his true intent.
“The freedom to choose the end of my own life is something I will not yield even to you, my dear friend. This belongs only to me. It is mine alone.”
He had been the most dignified and magnificent friend of all. In stark contrast to his frail appearance, his eyes had been full of vitality and energy, showing what a beautiful ending to life truly meant.
After a brief reminiscence, Neromeltia smiled at the fond memory, yet the emptiness of his absence weighed heavily on her. The grief that had surged when she faced Ronald’s aged corpse had never faded; it remained as a painful sense of loss that still tormented her heart.
As she recalled her memories with Ronald, another conversation surfaced—something Beatrice, his life’s masterpiece and daughter, had said just before today’s oath ceremony.
“Master, I recommend constructing a magic circle capable of reliably controlling your subordinates this time.”
“What do you mean? Control?”
“Please do not forget the traitor who drove you to death—the member of the Demon Lord’s elite guard, the Quartet, Gerdin Roman. Such a thing must never happen again.”
According to Crawford, the traitor within the Demon Lord’s castle had been Gerdin Roman, one of the Quartet. Neromeltia had always suspected the greedy dwarf would eventually cause trouble, but she had never imagined he would betray them so thoroughly. The leader of the Quartet had insisted so strongly that she had granted him the subordinate contract and appointed him to the guard—an error that had led not only to Hemonigent’s fall but to the potential ruin of Terraris itself.
“In the magic circle for the contract, include a formula that makes the heart burst if they dare harbor ill will toward Master, or one that ruptures the brain the moment Master desires it…”
“Wait! Wait!! Could you please not say such terrifying things so casually with that pretty mouth of yours!?”
Neromeltia had been flustered by Beatrice’s dry expression as she spoke of catastrophe without hesitation, yet Beatrice had not yielded her gaze even at her master’s rebuke. Normally, Beatrice treated her master’s words as absolute law, so her unyielding stance made Neromeltia realize just how sincere she was.
“I beg you to install restrictive measures without fail. If this lowly doll has dared to discomfort the mind of the master who reigns above all things, you may take this insignificant life at any time and I will accept it gladly. Even if you trample, crush, and burn me in your anger, I will accept it with joy—but the sorrow of losing you is something I never wish to experience again. Please grant this humble servant’s plea.”
Faced with Beatrice’s strong will, Neromeltia could only tell her not to belittle herself. She had embraced her, calling her precious, yet had been unable to answer the core of Beatrice’s request. She had considered offering superficial comfort, but when she felt Beatrice’s tears falling onto her chest, she had simply held her in silence.
“Father and daughter are so different.”
The saying went “like father, like son,” but Neromeltia let out a small laugh at the absurd thought that perhaps it was different because it was a daughter. That hollow chuckle carried a trace of self-mockery.
Before long, the magic circle for the contract was complete, radiating an even more brilliant light than before. The smaller circles resting on each contractor’s chest sank into their bodies and settled over their hearts. The contract’s magic circle branded itself into their hearts like a searing mark, bringing considerable pain. Even Beriberi, Oun, and Nella—whose steadfast natures were widely acknowledged—broke into cold sweats and furrowed their brows deeply.
The three, their bodies tense with effort to endure the pain and teeth clenched, gradually regained expressions of relief. The massive magic circle filled with Luina’s dark light vanished from the sky, leaving only the circles imprinted on their hearts, still burning with light.
The intense glow of the heart-sealed circles spread throughout their bodies until their very existence seemed to become light itself, shining brilliantly. The overwhelming radiance of Luina that had blinded them gradually dimmed into a flickering lamp before slowly fading away.
Confirming that the subordinate contracts were complete, Neromeltia spoke softly to the contractors.
“I welcome you as the Demon Lord’s subordinates. Live freely until the final curtain falls upon the stage. That is my first command.”
After delivering her decree to those still dazed by the changes in their bodies, Neromeltia descended from the podium without lingering. At the base of the podium, Beatrice waited quietly for her master. Though she said nothing, she was clearly asking whether her plea had been granted.
“I’m sorry, Beatrice.”
Neromeltia passed her by without another word and disappeared. Beatrice watched her master’s retreating figure in silence, then murmured to herself with a bitter smile.
“As expected… one so full of compassion. You cannot bring yourself to do anything cruel.”
Beatrice quietly closed her eyes. From atop the podium came Oun’s booming roar, and the cheers of the crowd began to shake the surrounding area. Even as the thunderous roar of the masses grew deafening, Beatrice paid it no mind. Her ego operated solely for her master, and her mind output information only about her master.
“I will take on the dirty work myself. So that Master’s beautiful hands need never be stained with blood, I will stain my own if necessary. Even if my entire being is drenched in blood and soaked with the stench of it…”
Before long, Lusteria came running over with quick steps and cutely threw herself into Neromeltia’s arms. As if indulging a beloved daughter’s affection, Neromeltia stroked her with a gentle smile. Behind them roared the crowd’s cheers; in front, the love between master and servant. Standing alone in between, Beatrice regained her usual expressionless demeanor, quietly walked toward her master, and spoke a single vow.
“Everything is for Master’s sake.”