I Became the Master of the Weakest Demon King
I became the master of the weakest Demon King.
The game Evil Queen Maker was a raising simulation where your goal was to take the lowest-ranked young Demon King and nurture her into the greatest ruler of them all. It gained attention for its unusual concept of “raising a Demon King.”
Commercially, it was neither a massive hit nor a total flop—just moderately successful. But its meticulous world-building, compelling story, and faithful modernization of early-2000s simulation mechanics earned it tremendous praise from players who appreciated that style of game.
And I was one of those very fans.
Objectively speaking, I was the perfect example of a brainless loyal fanboy. I flooded communities with glowing praise posts, got into heated arguments with antis who mindlessly trashed the game, and defended it with ridiculous fervor. A real ride-or-die idiot.
Wait—didn’t I just call it a wonderful game? So why am I being so pessimistic now?
Because the game went to absolute shit.
You might wonder how a title that received such glowing reviews could collapse overnight. But games often tank after one bad update or a single disastrous management decision. Evil Queen Maker was the former.
Its sales had been average, but critical reception was excellent. So the developers confidently released a DLC less than a year after launch. That DLC was the problem.
Players like me who had been excited about the new content were left seething after seeing the added endings. In a raising simulation, the endings are everything. The whole point is to nurture a character and reach a satisfying conclusion.
So what happens when the most important part of the game—the endings—are complete nonsense or actively offensive to players?
The new endings were a disaster. Sure, a few were decent, but most were questionable at best. There was one where the character you raised betrayed the protagonist at the end. Another “sudden death” ending that triggered if you didn’t maintain certain health stats, ignoring every other condition. Endings that made you wonder why they were even included.
But the one that caused the biggest uproar was the ending where your character was defeated by an enemy Demon King and ended up living as his queen.
It was heavily laced with NTR elements—the kind that splits opinions violently, especially among those who hated it. The community exploded. Review scores that had comfortably sat in the high 80s plummeted below 60. The purchase page was flooded with negative reviews and profanity.
And yes, I was one of the people writing those scathing reviews.
I couldn’t stand it. The character I had poured my heart into raising, stolen by some enemy and forced to live happily with him? The curses flew out of me like water.
The same person who used to spam communities with praise for Evil Queen Maker had become its most dedicated anti.
And just moments ago, I had posted a review over ten thousand characters long on the store page.
“Haa…”
Only now did I feel the slightest bit of relief. Seriously, what were the devs thinking when they added that ending? There had to be an NTR-loving freak among the staff. I should smash their skulls with an axe…
That was when the notification pinged.
Someone had replied to the lengthy review I’d just posted.
“Huh?”
Assuming it was just another sympathetic comment, I tapped the notification without much thought—only to doubt my own eyes.
The developers, who had remained completely silent in the face of every negative review, had replied directly.
“What the hell?”
Stunned by the developers’ response, I was about to type another comment when an inexplicable light burst from my monitor.
The sudden radiance swallowed me whole.
“Huh?”
And then I regretted everything. Damn it, I really should have used an anti-glare monitor.
After being flashbanged by my own screen, I slowly regained my vision and looked around. The first word out of my mouth was a curse.
“Fuck. What the hell is this?”
I had no idea where I was. The only thing I could tell was that the gloomy, massive castle looming before me was definitely not part of reality.
I stared at the castle in mild disbelief, yet something about it felt strangely familiar. The situation itself felt… oddly recognizable.
I was certain I had never seen this castle in real life. And honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was in the real world anymore.
Had I passed out from rage at the developers’ reply? Was this a dream?
Thinking that it might be a dream reminded me of something. That castle…
“Ah. It’s the Demon King’s castle.”
Now I remembered. It was the main setting of Evil Queen Maker—the fortress where the protagonist and the character you raised lived together. The symbol engraved on those massive doors was a horse.
A few seconds later, the realization of what I had just said hit me like a truck.
“…Why is it right in front of me?”
Why was a castle from inside a game standing before my eyes?
I didn’t want to believe it, but anyone even slightly familiar with modern media would understand the situation immediately. And so did I.
I desperately didn’t want to accept it, but the odds that my conclusion was wrong were lower than the odds that the horse emblem on the castle wall was actually a deer.
“This is so fucked…”
I was inside the game.
Once I realized that, I immediately regretted what I had done just before coming here—that stupid, long-winded negative review. Maybe if I had only written 5,700 characters instead of 10,000, I wouldn’t have been dragged in.
I slightly regretted that decision and began thinking about how to get back.
In novels and comics, there’s usually a way to return to reality in these situations. The protagonist then suffers through all sorts of hardships to find it. A classic cliché.
The problem was that I was now the one who had to live through it…
‘Now that I think about it…’
Right before I was pulled into this world, the developers had left a reply. They said something like… “Then why don’t you try creating a better ending yourself?”
“…Do I have to see the ending?”
Even after realizing I was inside the game world, I still didn’t know what I needed to do to reach an ending. The reason was simple: I had no idea who I was supposed to be.
I was a hardcore player who had seen every ending in Evil Queen Maker—except for those garbage ones from the DLC. Yet I couldn’t figure out what role I had been inserted as.
“I don’t even recognize this body.”
I had caught a glimpse of my face and figure reflected in the iron bars surrounding the castle. It wasn’t any character I knew. At first I thought it might be someone added in the DLC, but I had played the DLC too. I wasn’t the type to criticize something I hadn’t even tried. I played it first, then ripped it to shreds.
I had no memory of ever seeing a character like this.
While I was feeling puzzled, a familiar face appeared beyond the bars. He didn’t know me, but I knew him very well.
‘That’s Kain?’
Kain. He was a supporting character who helped the protagonist in Evil Queen Maker. He served as the head butler of the Demon King’s castle.
“Hmm?”
It seemed he had noticed me. His gaze turned in my direction, sharp enough to jog a memory I hadn’t yet considered.
‘Ah.’
Right. To him, I must look like some suspicious stranger loitering in front of the castle.
Thinking that, I quickly averted my eyes and tried to slip away. Kain was set up as a veteran even within the Demon King’s castle. Even if he wasn’t a combat specialist, getting caught by him now would put my life in danger. Running was the smart move.
But what Kain said next was completely unexpected.
“Oh my, isn’t that Sir Nahen?”
“……Pardon?”
Nahen? Who the hell was that?
I searched my memory, but nothing came up. Among the more than fifty ending routes in Evil Queen Maker, not a single one featured a character named Nahen.
What kind of character was this?
“I apologize for keeping such an esteemed guest waiting outside for so long. Please, come in. The Demon King is waiting for you in the audience chamber.”
“Huh?”
That line… was far too familiar.
I had never heard the name Nahen before, but I knew those words by heart. Of course I did—it was the very first line Kain spoke to the player at the start of the game.
I stood there in a daze until Kain tilted his head, looking concerned.
“Is something the matter, Sir Nahen? Are you feeling unwell?”
“Ah, no… I’m fine.”
I said I was fine, but my mind was in complete chaos. The shock was a lot to take in.
So the name Nahen referred to me.
“Please come inside, Sir Nahen.”
And this situation was telling me that the character named Nahen was the player-controlled mentor of the Demon King.
In most raising simulation games, the mentor or parent figure—the one actually doing the raising—isn’t shown on screen. It helps players immerse themselves more deeply in the role. Evil Queen Maker followed that rule faithfully. In the story, the playable character was only ever referred to by the archaic titles “Teacher” or “Royal Preceptor.”
Not only was their appearance never shown, their name was never revealed either. That was why I hadn’t recognized myself. I wasn’t one of the developers; there was no way I could have known unreleased setting details.
Anyway, that wasn’t what mattered right now.
If I was the playable character—the mentor of the Demon King—then…
“I never imagined anyone would still be willing to teach our Demon King. I cannot express how grateful I am.”
Did that mean I had to teach the Demon King myself?