042. Object of Suspicion
“...Twins?”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
Their hair colors and auras were different. But their overall features were strikingly similar.
“...No way. Are you the Demon King?”
Granada finally caught on, thanks to the familiar tone.
“You don’t recognize me even after seeing me?”
“Not even a little.”
How could he look like a Demon King? He seemed more like kin. His mana felt that pure.
“You’ve been out of touch for a while. What the hell have you been up to?”
Berge slumped into a chair without a word. With a flick of his eyes, Granada poured tea.
“The aroma’s lacking.”
“How good could mercenaries’ tea be?”
“Mercenaries, sure. But you’re an elf.”
“...Tch.”
A hidden stash of premium tea appeared. It was definitely more fragrant than before.
“What’s with this building?”
“Picked it up for the mercenary band’s use.”
“Sell it.”
“Pardon?”
“Won’t be coming back anytime soon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Join the hero expedition with the Red Falcon.”
“Wasn’t it canceled?”
“Just a change of target.”
“I heard Hillon Kargil can’t lead it.”
“A hero expedition isn’t a one-man show.”
“Would Hillon Kargil even agree? He’s not the type.”
“I’m giving him Drakson’s weakness.”
“...”
Granada’s expression shifted. It mirrored Hillon Kargil’s from the crystal orb, screaming Are you insane?
“...Aren’t you both Demon Kings?”
“Do humans fight each other just because they’re different races?”
“Touché. No argument there.”
Berge savored the tea. Sweet with a bitter aftertaste—not bad.
“Know anything about the heroes?”
“Enough, I’d say. Though they’re all spaced five years apart.”
“Rozel Charnt?”
“She was famous even five years ago.”
“From what I know, Rozel Charnt never beheaded a Demon King. Yet her name rang louder than Hillon Kargil’s.”
“Not all heroes build fame by slaying Demon Kings.”
Hero renown didn’t solely come from full hero expeditions. With too many heroes chasing few Demon Kings—only five left—most built it elsewhere: monster hunts, mercenary work on battlefields, or raiding tower sections with small strike teams.
“Especially her Red Flame strike team. They’re infamous.”
“Strike team?”
“If hero expeditions aim to topple Demon Kings, strike teams chase direct gains and glory.”
Not killing the Demon King or razing the tower—just climbing partway for resources and loot.
“Small elite groups to avoid provoking the Demon King. They never reach the top. Meeting one means game over.”
“Ah, so...”
Those damn bastards cherry-picked the tasty bits from my tower and screwed me over?
Berge ground his teeth.
Why had he only learned now about this systematic Demon King fleecing?
No wonder I died.
A sigh escaped him.
“...You okay?”
“No, so keep going.”
“Rozel Charnt started her rise conquering seven floors of the Lust Demon Tower.”
An eight-floor tower. She’d climbed right under the Demon King’s nose—and retreated.
“Unusual, but her boldness is legendary.”
“It works.”
“Pardon?”
They feared provoking the Demon King? Bullshit. He’d love it. Demon Kings would think she fled in terror.
“Trust me. Personal experience.”
“Experience? What—?”
“...Never mind. Anyway, Rozel Charnt.”
He’d clashed with her once before regression.
She’d reached floor fifteen, quit there, and he’d mocked her from the throne for settling.
Clueless that it was deliberate.
“Think she can take Drakson?”
“Can’t say for sure. Heroes are strong, but Demon Kings aren’t pushovers.”
“If Hillon Kargil joins?”
“Fills the gap. Better than now.”
“Gap?”
“Balaf Disrod joined with Rozel but suddenly quit. Ignored the Ormus buzz. Someone pulled strings.”
True hero expeditions didn’t limit top heroes to one, even with a leader. No Demon King fell to a solo act.
Past expeditions proved it, including the Lust one.
Elf hero Burtein Irzen and Ain Karai—bigger names than Hillon then, top-tier.
“Morale tanked. Hillon joining would help, like it or not. His fame’s real.”
“But Hillon came to my tower alone.”
“With Waton Colro, though short-staffed. Normal? No. But greed’s a helluva motivator.”
Granada figured the newbie Demon King tempted them to hog it all.
“And they paid for it.”
Granada cackled. Using him as a shield had carved an irreparable rift with Hillon.
“Get along. You’ll serve him again soon enough.”
Berge didn’t care about their grudge.
“...Ugh.”
“Anyway, I trust you’ll handle it.”
“Off again?”
“Golden Moon Merchant Guild next. Heard it’s thriving via Hillon, but seeing beats hearing.”
“Smart! Never trust that scammer!”
Granada’s shout faded as he leaped out the window.
What must a Demon King do to conquer the continent?
By the canon: erect a tower, kidnap princes or princesses.
The tower converts human fear, sorrow, rage, despair into magic points.
Or life force from slain heroes.
Invest points to ease dimensional interference on demons, summon Ma-gye troops, build legions.
Then, all-out war.
Ma-gye’s conquest playbook.
But Berge’s path diverged sharply.
Kidnap princesses, harvest negativity—same start. Then convert to money, not monsters or demons.
Money.
Useless metal scraps to demons, priceless to humans.
Human lives began and ended with it.
Proof? Hillon Kargil, famed hero, living testament.
Berge trusted money, acted boldly: borrow vast sums from the False Demon King, pour into guilds.
Thus, Golden Moon had to succeed.
“Welcome.”
Iasin Kingdom. Secret meeting in Aman Katrashu’s room, now heir to Golden Moon.
“Call me Fail.”
Berge tossed out a fake name.
“Yes, Lord Fail.”
“Guild looks massive.”
“Not bias—fading or not, it’s solid inside.”
Decline stemmed from an eight-year-old trade flop.
A do-or-die caravan failed, debts uprooted foundations.
Still wheezing years later; without Berge’s cash, longer.
“Thank you.”
“Thanks?”
“Part of my rebellion was hating to inherit a sinking ship.”
Who’d want guildmaster just to pay debts? Wayward path made sense.
“I hate empty thanks. Would you betray humans for me?”
“I’m your loyal servant already. Saved my life, bloomed my future—what can’t I do?”
“So, for the money.”
“...That obvious?”
Aman chuckled awkwardly.
“Can’t deny money helped, but loyalty to you? Unshaken.”
“Can’t shake. Try, and die.”
“...Hic!”
“Confident?”
“In...?”
“Won’t blow my money.”
“Executives are capable. Kept it afloat under debt mountains—proof enough?”
“You’re calling yourself incompetent.”
“...”
Then.
A hum from his chest. Berge beckoned silently.
“...Yes, sir. We’ll clear out.”
The host slunk away, red-faced.
“Important?”
“Speak.”
“...!”
Couldn’t ignore that.
“Not for comms. Want to meet. Tower okay?”
Perfect timing. Something to test.
“You’re late.”
“Had business.”
Golden Moon to Erjest Tower took time, even via gate.
Entering Frost Demon Tower, Reina greeted on floor one.
Berge spread his arms dramatically.
“Notice anything different?”
“...Joking? Same as before. Interference down a speck, barely.”
Reina tilted her head.
Good.
Even a Demon King missed the phoenix power. He’d sealed the second heart tight. Mana strained more, but worth it.
“Y-You...!”
“How dare you scheme against the Demon King...!”
Demons glared, mistaking his gaze for advances.
“Turning this lady into a thug? Show our guest respect.”
“...”
Demons bowed, cowed.
“Out.”
“Demon King...!”
She blocked followers at the office door, cold-eyed.
The old demon’s pleading gaze through the crack nearly teary.
“Too harsh on your vassals?”
Granada would’ve flipped.
“They deserve worse. They sinned against this lady.”
“Sinned?”
“...None of your concern.”
Tea?
She pivoted topics.
“Anything.”
“Candy?”
“Nah.”
Soon, she brewed by hand. Pulled candy from her mouth, dunked it in.
Catching Berge’s stare, she averted eyes.
“...Habit. Respect it.”
“Like sweets?”
“Think this lady childish too?”
“Dunno.”
Reina Sordain childish? Never crossed his mind, past or present.
Surprising, though.
No real ties before. Rare meetings: stiff, regal queen.
Arrogant Berge then? Mutual disdain.
“Demons can like sweets too.”
Her excuses sparked whimsy.
“Like booze?”
“This lady dislikes bitter.”
“Childish, then.”
“...!”
Her pupils dilated in deep betrayal.
“Off track. So, Drakson?”
“...Said a high demon invaded his domain.”
Topic shift: composure returned.
“And killed his prince.”
High demon. Seemed more plausible than a dwarf princess.
“Believe it?”
“Nonsense, obviously.”
“Nonsense?”
“Demon Kings don’t invade others’ turf. Canon and ancient taboo. Breaking it’s as bad as ditching canon.”
Questioning her? Insult.
She crunched candy.
“Sounds like he suspects me.”
Demon Kings revered canon. Alein’s bent rules for the world, but lines held.
Except regression-glitched hothead Berge.
“At first.”
“Not now?”
“Everyone knows you lack high demons. Least suspect? You.”
No Demon King would imagine one leaving their tower for another’s turf.
Not her. Not demons in disguise.
“So, he’s lying?”
“Yes. Classic coward shifting blame. How’s he even a Demon King? Pathetic.”
“Really think that?”
Reina blinked at his question.
“What?”
“If true, you wouldn’t call me.”
“...Sharp as ever, top graduate.”
“Thanks.”
“Outliers like you aside, most follow canon. Taboos too. This lady assumes all Alein Demon Kings do.”
But.
She hedged.
“If—if Drakson’s right. Culprit’s Jason.”
“Evidence?”
“None.”
Berge frowned at baseless surety.
“Only Jason fits.”
Peak insight into Jason Cockmondo’s rep among Demon Kings.
“Once a sinner, always. Drakson’s tower this time; mine next? This lady won’t stand it.”
Demon Kings loathed turf invasions. Hated uninvited demons—unlike heroes.
“If he sends demons to this lady’s domain? No mercy. Must prepare tighter.”
“So?”
“Join this lady.”
“Why trust me?”
“Don’t. Trust your isolation. No one around.”
Zero chance you’re guilty.
Her gaze: pure, emotionless.
Reina extended a hand.
Flawlessly pale, pristine.
So...
She’d frame Jason herself?
Berge smiled, gripped it. No reason not to.
But full alliance never sparked.
Bad news arrived.