To Taego Forest (1)
The banquet that had seemed as if it would never end finally drew to a close as dawn slowly crept across the sky, everyone sinking into a sweet, heavy sleep. Having reveled and drunk through the night, the day was officially declared a holiday. Aside from the essential personnel assigned to guard duty and meal preparation, everyone rested. Some returned home to sleep without a care, while others simply collapsed where they stood on the training grounds and fell into a deep slumber.
In the midst of all this, a small group resolutely entered the dining hall to take breakfast—the high-ranking officers of the Demon Lord’s army, led by Neromeltia.
“Heheung~ Heheheung~”
Lusteria hummed a cheerful little tune, her mood so bright that even the fatigue from the night’s delights had vanished completely. Her skin glowed, smooth and supple. She was blissfully happy to have experienced supreme pleasure so intense it nearly stole her mind, all from the touch of the master she loved more than anything in the world. As a succubus, she had also drawn a vast amount of vitality from their union, leaving her physical condition at its absolute peak.
Oun, whose powerful body had shrugged off the enormous quantity of alcohol he consumed, and Nellanella, who had enjoyed herself in moderation before getting proper rest, were both in excellent shape as well.
Crawford and Moka, who had exercised restraint from the beginning, had been forced to remain on duty until the banquet fully ended and thus had not slept. Still, neither suffered from any hangover. Moka was merely a little tired, while Crawford—bound by the subordinate contract with the Demon Lord—showed not the slightest trace of fatigue thanks to his exceptional physical abilities.
In contrast, Beriberi, an orc whose race possessed stronger bodies than demonians or humans yet could not match ogres in raw power, was staggering weakly beneath a considerable hangover and accumulated exhaustion. Being somewhat advanced in age only made matters worse, though the significant enhancement from his subordinate contract with Neromeltia allowed him to endure.
As for Artis, the goblin who had formed no such contract and possessed a frail frame to begin with, he was quite literally on death’s doorstep. Having tried to match the pace of the relatively sturdy Beriberi by drinking all night long, he was now experiencing the full horrors of both fatigue and hangover, his face the very picture of a man about to expire.
Even after vomiting five times before arriving at breakfast, his stomach continued to scream in protest. He writhed in searing pain, plagued by dizziness and chills.
Given that goblins were a fundamentally weak race and that Artis was already a decrepit fifty years old—the limit of a goblin’s natural lifespan—his condition was so severe it would not have been surprising if he drew his final breath at any moment.
“Are you in much pain?”
“Kuuuuurgh… Never in my life have I met a friend I clicked with so perfectly… I didn’t even consider my aged body… Kuuuurgh!! I have no excuse…!”
His body was utterly drained, hovering near death, yet the intermittent, violent dry heaves made the sight truly alarming.
Watching his critical state, Neromeltia let out a deep sigh and cast several spells upon him.
Cure
Recovery
Healing
Alcohol decomposition via Cure, fatigue restoration via Recovery, and physical healing via Healing. After only a few gestures from Neromeltia, Artis’s eyes flew wide as vitality flooded back into him.
“Ooooooh!! By the gods!! So this is the power of magic!! Thank you, Your Majesty the Demon Lord!”
“How pitiful that the Demon Lord must personally clean up her subordinate’s hangover. Truly lamentable.”
“Ohohoho! Please do not speak that way! Showing mercy to one’s subjects is also a ruler’s virtue! Even a lowly goblin would be moved to gratitude and repay such grace by working even harder!”
The goblin who had been groaning on the brink of death was nowhere to be seen. Artis had returned to his usual sly, mischievous self in an instant.
Finding the sight rather pleasant, Neromeltia enjoyed his smooth banter for a moment before suddenly shifting her gaze to Beriberi. He was not as bad off as Artis, yet he still looked far from well.
“…Shall I heal you as well?”
“Ugh! Ahem! If Your Majesty would grant me such grace…”
“Cure. Recovery. Healing. …Listen. Stop worrying about dignity, etiquette, or reading the room. If you want something, simply say so. I find the sight of you suffering in silence even more unpleasant.”
“Euhup! I am profoundly moved by Your Majesty’s benevolence! To personally care for your subjects with such compassion! If the humans have the Earth Goddess, then Hemonigent surely has the Goddess of Luina! Gahaha!!”
The orc who had been groaning and barely able to eat had vanished. Beriberi had swiftly regained his usual relaxed composure.
Looking at his well-trained physique, one would expect an orc lord to wield considerable martial might and physical ability. Yet the fact that a single night of heavy drinking could impair him this much suggested he could not yet exert transcendent power. Still, the subordinate contract he shared with Neromeltia would gradually make him stronger. Surpassing even the height of his former prime would be only a matter of time.
The same held true for Oun and Nellanella, who had also formed the contract. Though they were currently in their prime, they would soon wield power even more transcendent than they possessed now.
The problem was Artis. At fifty, he had reached the limit of a goblin’s lifespan. He was old enough that, should he die at any moment, it could be called natural death from old age.
Knowing the situation was somewhat urgent, she had considered forming the subordinate contract with him during yesterday’s oath ceremony as well. However, her original plan had been to first let him achieve a clear merit so that she could establish his authority before everyone’s eyes—lest anyone dismiss him simply for being a goblin. She had therefore decided to postpone it a little longer, intending the contract as a device to further elevate his standing and be of greater help to him.
After Crawford’s meaningful report, however, she had revised her decision to delay the contract until his background became clearer.
Of course, her prediction carried considerable likelihood. If things were as Neromeltia expected, his secret society Utopia would be far from any real threat. Nevertheless, she had postponed the contract to eliminate even the slightest possible risk.
What concerned her was the worst-case scenario—that Artis might pass away before that suspicion was resolved. For his sake, the investigation into Utopia would need to be completed as quickly as possible.
“This is a stew simmered with rosemary, potatoes, and candied apple.”
The meal was comparatively light and clean. A touch of salt and the sweetness of candied apple created a deep, gentle flavor. Looking only at the ingredients, one might question whether it truly deserved to be called stew, but it seemed they had substituted potatoes for oily meat in consideration of everyone’s hangovers. A small amount of finely minced lean hind-leg meat from a big boar had been added to round out the dish, making the title of “stew” reasonably appropriate.
Moreover, every single ingredient appeared to be beneficial for hangovers and gentle on the internal organs.
Neromeltia was an existence that hangovers could not touch in the first place, and she had scarcely drunk at all. Even so, she found this thoughtful, systematic menu immensely pleasing and lifted her spoon with genuine delight.
Once the Demon Lord began to eat, the others followed suit.
Lusteria, who had been in perfect condition from the start, smiled brightly; the sweet stew clearly suited her tastes. Crawford, Oun, Nellanella, and Moka, none of whom were in poor shape, ate without hesitation. Beriberi and Artis, now restored by the Demon Lord’s grace, likewise enjoyed their meal happily.
Only one person could not even hold her spoon properly and simply sat there trembling.
“Lady Beatrice. Are you feeling unwell somewhere?”
“…Eut…! Haa… N-no, I am not……”
She appeared to be doing everything in her power to suppress her trembling in order to hide her abnormal condition. Yet the shaking was so pronounced and her reactions so suspicious that it was impossible to miss.
Nellanella, finding Beatrice’s highly unstable appearance both strange and worrying, had asked after her condition. Beatrice, however, merely denied it with an expression that suggested she was struggling to endure something nearly unbearable.
Since the person concerned refused to speak, Nellanella—who had no way of knowing the truth—tilted her head in puzzlement, then accepted Beatrice’s words at face value and returned her attention to her meal.
Neromeltia quietly observed Beatrice’s pitiful figure: unable to scoop even a single spoonful of stew, simply shivering in place. Like Nellanella, she withdrew her gaze and continued eating with perfect composure.
The training ground of Stony Fortress.
The long banquet that had stretched from the previous night into this morning had finally ended, leaving the temporary banquet hall feeling empty. The decorations remained, but everything was now in utter disarray.
In the middle of that messy open space, the Demon Lord and her executives had gathered.
“My lord. Are you truly certain you require no guide? If the presence of another would burden you, please at least take Ko along.”
“That one only knows how to nod his head. What are you even saying, Oun?”
“No… You said those of us in leadership positions have important duties and cannot go, and that the ogre scouts who know the location might be placed in danger, so…”
“Then why not simply suggest Assault Captain Hugo?”
“No… That fool is liable to rampage as he pleases, so…”
Hugo, the assault captain whose reputation had sunk so low that even Oun—the muscle-brained simpleton who only ever shouted about protein and muscles—refused to trust him, made one both curious and pitying about what sort of life he led.
At that moment Beriberi stepped past Oun and stood before the Demon Lord. With careful but elegantly archaic speech, he attempted to persuade her.
“I fully understand that each leader must remain available to command in case of emergency, and that a mere scout lacks sufficient ability and might fall into danger. Therefore, I offer this suggestion… What would you think of my younger sister?”
“Nellanella!?”
“Today is the day of rest granted by Your Majesty’s merciful decree. Everyone except those on guard and meal-preparation duty is resting, and the orc engineering corps has collapsed into sleep without even lighting their furnaces. No matter how vital the position of engineering captain may be, what duties could she possibly have on a day off?”
Neromeltia appeared somewhat flustered, yet her expression was tinged with a strange, expectant glow.
Of course, only the exceptionally perceptive Artis and Moka noticed the true nature of that anticipation. The others simply assumed the Demon Lord was worried for Nellanella’s safety.
Beriberi, seeing only a benevolent ruler concerned for her subordinate’s well-being, had no inkling that she was eyeing his sister with ulterior motives. He therefore pressed his opinion more forcefully.
“‘Become a noble lady in a dress! If you dislike that, become a gallant knight!’ I taught her that this was the duty of nobility. My sister has since acquired martial prowess capable of rivaling even my own—the strongest among orcs. Though she enjoys crafting things and therefore commands the engineering corps, Nellanella is nonetheless an unmatched powerhouse. At the very least, she will not present any unsightly, helpless figure in the face of danger!”
“Even so, she is your precious younger sister…”
“Duty as nobility takes precedence over personal affection! That is the fate of those who stand above the people!”
“I-is that so? For me it’s happy… I mean… I’m glad… It is good, but…”
Overwhelmed by Beriberi’s passionate insistence, Neromeltia nodded in acceptance.
Delighted by the Demon Lord’s positive response, Beriberi joyfully ordered Nellanella to arm herself quickly and prepare her belongings.
Since the decision had been made without once asking Nellanella’s opinion, Neromeltia briefly worried how the girl might react. Yet Nellanella did not seem displeased; she ran toward her quarters with a faintly flushed face, allowing Neromeltia to breathe easy.
Beriberi, busy pouring forth praise for his sister’s abilities out of pure joy that she could be of service to the revered Demon Lord, remained unaware that Neromeltia had only pretended reluctance while inwardly cheering with delight.
In truth, most of the others were equally ignorant of Neromeltia’s true feelings. Since the only two who had noticed kept silent, the matter passed without incident. Moka merely stared at the Demon Lord with an indifferent gaze, while Artis—struck by sudden inspiration—pulled a small piece of paper from his robe and busily worked his pen across it.
“Waaaaaaaaah!!!”
“How is it? Does it feel good?”
“It’s the best, Your Majesty!! This is my first time flying in the sky! It feels so wonderful!!!”
Nellanella’s eyes sparkled like stars as she beamed with an innocent smile. She was currently nestled in Neromeltia’s arms, soaring through the high heavens.
Her pure, radiant joy—forgetting even her usual stiff, military speech in the thrill of her first flight—struck a deep, moving chord in Neromeltia’s heart.
In truth, before departure she had cast a purification spell to protect Nellanella from atmospheric contamination. She could have cast flight magic as well. Although it would have required Neromeltia’s ongoing control, Nellanella would have been able to fly on her own.
Nevertheless, she had deliberately omitted the flight magic and chosen to hold the girl in her arms. The reason was obvious: Neromeltia harbored other intentions.
She’s so cute and beautiful, and pure and energetic too…! How utterly lovable!!!
Holding Nellanella close, Neromeltia savored the electric thrill of their healthy bodies pressed together. Her eyes drank in the girl’s pure charm.
Nellanella, suspecting nothing of the kind Demon Lord and utterly captivated by the wonder of flight, had no idea that the hands embracing her were gently caressing the sides of her breasts and her firm thighs. She remained blissfully unaware that Neromeltia’s eyes burned with dark, hungry desire as they gazed upon her.
While the two of them each enjoyed their own form of happiness, Lusteria—who followed behind—watched the seemingly harmonious pair with a touched expression and a warm, gentle smile.
To Lusteria’s pure eyes, it was impossible to imagine anything vulgar or lewd. The scene before her appeared only as a romantic flight between a benevolent Demon Lord and an innocent young lady.
And while the three ahead each felt happiness for their own reasons, Beatrice flew at the very rear of the formation. Far from maintaining a straight path, she could not even keep her balance. She wobbled dangerously, lurching again and again.
Anyone who turned to look at her would have immediately noticed the extreme tremors wracking her body. She appeared to be desperately enduring something nearly unbearable. Her right hand was clenched tightly against her chest as she hung her head low. Her left hand subtly rubbed her lower abdomen and the secret place beneath it. Every so often her body would twitch violently. Intermittent moans and ragged breaths escaped her.
Her attractive thirty-denier white stockings were soaked through with the transparent fluid that ran down her thighs from beneath her skirt. The liquid not only drenched her thighs and stockings but continued downward, soaking her black shoes and falling in endless droplets toward the distant ground far below.
“…Kh… Huuu…!”
Beatrice somehow suppressed the moans that kept rising within her, enduring with all her strength. Occasionally her lips would part as though she wished to convey something to her master, only for her to hang her head again and resume her desperate struggle against the torment.
Whether her master knew of her suffering or not, Neromeltia heartlessly refused to spare her even a single glance. She looked only at the pure young lady rejoicing in her embrace.