The Demon Archduke's Business Meeting (2)
“You damn birdbrain!”
Dine drew her blazing Magical☆Iron Rod and thwacked Dunamis. The bird-man with a literal bird head choked and sputtered but shouted back defiantly.
“There are realms that wingless creatures can't comprehend! Get lost, you featherless freaks!”
Inian cautiously took a step back. She was suddenly starting to hate this place.
Sargasso closed his eyes as he surveyed the Ivory Tower's command center, now in utter chaos in an instant.
Splosh.
A high-viscosity liquid surged up from somewhere and encased Dunamis.
“Sargasso! Betraying me now?! Glubglub?!”
Sargasso had stuffed a water-made gag into Dunamis's beak as well. Only then did he lift his head and speak as if nothing had happened.
“Welcome to the Ivory Tower, stranger. I am Sargasso, the splendid Heavenly King who leads the Ivory Tower on behalf of the great Ebon.”
“Is it really being led, sawayo?”
It was a pointed remark. Sargasso casually shoved the water-bound Dunamis into a corner.
“Gaaah! Why?!”
“Yes, you've surely heard from Salamandine about our cause and goals. So you already know what we can offer you. Now tell us what you can offer us.”
Inian let out a confident huh and smirked. She raised her index finger and declared,
“Power, sawayo.”
Sargasso's eye twitched. To think she'd brim with such confidence in her own strength.
'I knew she wasn't ordinary from the moment the Mother Fairy intervened directly.'
With that level of self-assurance, she might be a heavyweight who carved out a massive power base even in the otherworld. Strong beings always wanted to flaunt their might, just like how spirits—now extinct on Earth—adorned themselves with titles like Spirit King or Spirit Duke.
“Do you hold any titles?”
“Archduke.”
An ominous rank. Sargasso gazed at Inian with deep respect.
“Are you on the Management Bureau's watchlist?”
Now it was Inian's turn to be impressed. He really did lead the Ivory Tower, just as he claimed.
'He must have that kind of experience and savvy.'
“My predecessor, maybe. But I've focused on internal affairs, so no clashes with the Bureau, sawayo.”
The truth was a bit different. His subordinates had handled most of Ramasht Holding's external ops—like the machine uprising he incited, the plague countermeasure he spearheaded, or that duel with him—because of internal headaches. But hey, quelling domestic woes counted as internal governance.
“Quite the unique temperament for a demon. No worries there, then.”
Salamandine shrugged, glancing between them.
'What's this Management Bureau?'
“Same for you, sawayo. Rare to know of the Bureau and dismiss it so casually. Even rarer if it's not arrogance but objective analysis, sawayo.”
“Hmph. Our real enemy is the Mother Fairy—why waste brain cells on dimensional trash?”
Salamandine reached out and poked Grata's side. The hulking Earth Heavenly King was so massive her arm barely reached his waist.
“Grata. What's the Management Bureau?”
“Ah, you still don't know...”
“?”
“Too bothersome to explain... Ask Sargasso after we're done.”
“Hey!”
The moment Dine flared up, Dunamis thrashed his wings with all his might, breaking free from the water chains and soaring up. The bird-man burst through the scattering spray and yelled in his hyper tone,
“Oh, you know the Management Bureau! As expected from someone with such refined beauty and intellect!”
“So what is it?”
Sargasso shoved Dunamis far away again and murmured lowly,
“They were once our allies. Not anymore.”
“...What, sawayo?”
Those sticklers had allied with extra-dimensional explorers? Inian's eyes narrowed. Sensing her curiosity—or suspicion—Sargasso rubbed his nape and replied,
“Our goal isn't crossing dimensional borders; it's searching for the missing who vanished outward. We could negotiate on that front.”
“Indeed, sawayo. True to a lazy bunch that doesn't meddle in domestic sabotage, sawayo.”
“Then we'll appoint you as our black magic consultant.”
Inian's face twisted. Black magic, of all things? Demons had that image, and she herself was versed in it... but she hated being lumped in with Raban.
“...Can't it just be magic consultant, sawayo?”
“Our sole magical pillar is always Lord Ebon.”
“Make it necromancy consultant instead, sawayo. Black mages are too vicious and prickly; I don't wanna tangle with that, sawayo.”
“Is that so? Understood. We'll take your measurements and issue a uniform...”
An entry process brimming with everyday vibes, utterly at odds with an evil organization. For a split second, Inian wondered if the Ivory Tower was just a theme park franchise.
“?”
Dine looked equally puzzled.
“We have uniforms?”
“...Why'd you think I bother wearing a suit in human form?”
“Why didn't we get any?!”
“I gave them! You burned yours, Grata shredded his, and Dunamis complained the wing slits were too tight and never wore his!”
“Haha, what are you saying? Sargasso, I'm always a gentleman who follows the dress code.”
Dunamis had escaped again at some point, now decked out in a black-based tuxedo. With a mask tailored to his beak, he looked like a medieval plague doctor—green wings poking out notwithstanding.
“Now! Let me take your measurements! Starting with the wing slits?”
“...I'll take the uniform later, sawayo.”
Inian vented her disgust at the clingy Dunamis and her fury at Grata—who wouldn't even twitch despite Sargasso asking him to hold the bird-brain down, claiming “Earth element's low; I'm drained.”
Raban nodded along to her passionate rant.
“Wow, you're popular. Must be the glow-up? Same with the kids at school—popularity you never got in the demon realm. Happy, Your Grace?”
“Wanna get wrecked right now, sawayo?”
Raban chuckled once, then sobered up. Time for the serious talk.
“This Ebon guy—does he seem strong?”
“Only saw a statue; how should I know, sawayo? Even that had a hood, so no clue if he's ripped or not, sawayo.”
“You asking about a mage's muscle density? You saw the otherworld structure where the Ivory Tower sits, right? No way you came just to dodge that feather-licker.”
Inian almost snapped that mages don't need muscles but gave up. The guy casually used body mods for superhuman strength, hypertrophying or shrinking parts at will. He was the type to wrestle lava-devouring sheep—Class-1 hazards—barehanded. As if he'd listen to scolding.
She sighed and recalled the Ivory Tower's setup. A barrier stabilized by four homunculi cores. Intricate inner/outer isolation with outward scrying. Endless attribute accumulation just from the homunculi in place. All that combined...
“A hair below your final armament, sawayo.”
“Really?”
Tch. Inian inwardly clicked her tongue. Sharp as ever at downplaying her own power.
“Two moves below. Any more would be underestimating, sawayo.”
“No, not that.”
Raban licked his parched lips. A sign of nerves. Inian felt a bad vibe.
“Don't tell me you didn't bring it, sawayo? Or just no mana to summon?”
“No mana to summon...”
Raban trailed off uncertainly—a rare sight, signaling real trouble.
“The mana I paid you built up fast for the scale, right?”
“Yes, sawayo.”
“I even extracted and handed over the mana from my artifacts.”
Inian gaped in shock. He'd crippled his mage's last bastion out of sheer greed—...not surprising. Raban's head was always off. What shocked her was,
“Wasn't the dimensional gate proxy contract based on you ceding half-ownership of those artifacts, sawayo?”
“Didn't say they'd be intact.”
The black mage's demonic nature—selling depreciated junk at full price, depreciation be damned.
“You filthy black magic scum! I'll kill you, sawayo!”
Meanwhile, the mascots—using the dorm building owner's privileges to monitor CCTV (they knew to wield civilization's tools to avoid suspicion from those in the know about magic!)—ignored the dorm's living noise.
The reason was simple.
It was confirmed as Raban's hobby: sharing food. Most peer counselors like Nai Hyun got his grub, and it sometimes reached mascots via magical girls.
Steadily giving stuff just because he'd bumped into someone? Hard to call it anything but a hobby.
Raban's hobbies were frequently witnessed otherwise too: brewing homemade herbal tea for peer counselors, namul from weird wild greens. Magi Black raved about the bizarrely perfect sesame oil aroma.
***
“Yes, Chairman Charles. I'll begin the task you assigned shortly.”
The masked man had arrived at Hikarius Airport.