008. The 100-Year Contract
Even though it had stabilized somewhat, Hotenwork was still the front line facing the forbidden zone. Monsters poured in day after day, sparking battles without end.
Naturally, the slaves gathering in Hotenwork were mostly rough types with exceptional combat prowess, a perfect match for the town's brutal efficiency.
Perhaps because of that, the elf was somewhat muscular. No—extremely muscular.
“How did you end up here?”
A merchant scribbling away at documents on a desk in one corner spotted them and approached.
After exchanging a few words with the guide, he rubbed his palms together with a grin.
“Haha, looking for some prime slaves, eh? You've come to the right place. Care to browse first?”
“No need.”
Berge strode forward with heavy steps and stopped before the iron bars caging the elf. Up close, he liked it even more.
“An elf! You've got an eye for elves!”
The merchant flashed a greedy smile.
Elves were pricey. Ever since the war with other races ended and slavery of non-humans was officially banned, their value had only skyrocketed.
“Thorough setup.”
“Ah, elves are just too capable—ordinary shackles snap like twigs. This is standard fare.”
“Sharp eyes.”
Berge's gaze stayed locked on the elf.
His once-vibrant green hair was matted and filthy from neglect, but those jade-green pupils burned like a enraged beast's, and Berge approved. Even shackled limb to limb, it hadn't lost its fire.
Especially the raw fury toward humans.
The only downside: the gag keeping its mouth shut.
“I want to talk to it.”
“Rough customer. Take off the gag, and there could be trouble...”
“What if that's fine?”
“Even then...”
“If it dies or causes issues, I'll take full responsibility and buy it anyway.”
“Ah, well, if you're sure...”
“How much?”
“As you know, elves don't come cheap. Four gold coins—no, make it five.”
Berge pulled out a gold coin and flicked it lightly. The merchant snatched the gleaming prize and eagerly unlocked the cage door.
“Enjoy your chat!”
“You, out.”
“I'll wait outside.”
Bark and the merchant vanished. Berge stepped inside and unleashed his demonic energy.
“Mmgh...!”
The elf's pupils dilated wide. Mana restraints or not, elves were the most attuned to energies among all non-humans—they couldn't miss demonic qi.
He removed the gag. The elf's jaw hung slack, unable to close.
“You can't bite your tongue. Can't move, either. So give up and listen.”
No choices for the elf.
“I just paid fair price for you. You're mine now—my slave.”
Blood vessels bulged in its eyes. The quivering muzzle looked ready to unleash a torrent of curses.
But it couldn't.
“Turned into a slave by human hands, enduring every humiliation—I figure your rage runs deep.”
“I'll give you a shot.”
“Rot away your days in this cold cage as a slave?”
“Or grab my hand and get revenge. I'll help you rip the limbs off those who did this to you, bring humanity crashing down.”
“Well?”
No reply. But those trembling pupils screamed inner turmoil.
“Won't bite your tongue? I'll lift the spell. Nod if you agree.”
The elf nodded. Berge withdrew his demonic energy; it gasped for air.
“Demon... why a demon after me?”
“Just answer.”
“Demon deals always come with hellish strings.”
“I'm different. Serve me loyally. Fifty years—exactly fifty—as my faithful subordinate. Then freedom. Deal?”
Fifty years wasn't an eternity for an elf; not a bad offer, Berge figured.
“Believe a demon who lies for breakfast?”
“The deal itself doesn't repulse you, though.”
“Five years as human chattel. Humiliations enough to make death tempting—not once or twice.”
Years of festering hatred had reached the point of no return.
“If I could shred them with my own hands, I'd sell my soul to the devil himself.”
The elf snarled, fury boiling over. The thick killing intent prickled the skin like needles.
“But can't trust a demon?”
“Elf proverb: Better befriend a dwarf than trust a demon.”
“Demons have one too: Mid-world races—humans hardest to trust, elves most bullheaded.”
Elves loathed demons more than any race, or so it was said. Partly true, but not some holy duty to guard the world.
The World Tree they revered propped up the world itself. Demons sought to topple that world.
“Won't lay a finger on the World Tree while you're in my service.”
“Said you can't trust my word. Why's a demon begging an elf, anyway?”
Right in the sore spot.
“I swear on the Demon King's Canon and the great Mahwang. Won't break a single promise.”
“...!”
Canon and Mahwang were life itself to demons—blind faith, guarded like their own hides.
Alein's natives knew that devotion all too well.
“In return, swear your faithful service—on the World Tree.”
This was why Berge picked an elf over a human for his key cog.
Humans offered no reliable leash. Elves? Crystal clear.
Their parent tree: World Tree oath.
Not mere faith—a direct mana bind.
Breakers lost the forest's blessing.
For elves, that was torment worse than death.
Trustworthy.
“Well?”
“...Cunning demon.”
The elf muttered.
“Irresistible offer.”
Berge extended his hand. The elf grasped it.
“Name.”
“Granada of the Maple Tribe. The oath—before the Demon King who sent you, in his presence.”
“Then now's the time. I'm that Demon King.”
“...?”
The merchant gleefully pocketed the gold coins. Beside him, the guide and Bark swallowed hard.
Kuhuhu, what a mark.
Official ban made elves rarer, pricier.
But quality varied wildly. Females outpriced males; young beat old.
This elf's problem? Untamable. Five years on, unbroken, still cursing humans—no takers. Tried biting its tongue constantly; hence the gag.
Even if pretty female, maybe worth it for other uses—but no dice. Kept only because discarding cost too much. Zero market value.
Yet shelled out five golds. Never dreamed it'd bite on the inflated ask.
“Bark, the guy you brought?”
“Yes.”
“Fancy merchant? Big merc band?”
To him, only two reasons to buy an elf way out here: some rich weirdo's kink, or combat fodder.
“Commission job. Client's identity's confidential.”
“C'mon, we're not strangers—loosen up.”
“...”
“Tch, whatever. Sold the dud. But pity—you won't keep that elf. Gag off, tongue gone.”
“Knew that and went ahead?”
“They said no issue. Got my advance.”
The merchant shrugged breezily. Felt great. Tormentor dead, pockets full.
“Need more slaves later? Hit me up. I'll hook you up proper...”
The door creaked open. The mark emerged slowly. Merchant rubbed hands, sidled up.
“All done? Talk go well...?”
His eyes flicked behind. There—calmly following. The elf that should've been tongue-chewed corpse on the cage floor.
“Eyes down, you pig. Before I rip you apart.”
Still snarling—temper alive.
“Excellent. I'll stamp the seal.”
Merchant powered through with inhuman poise.
“Don't need it.”
“Eh? But no slave seal...”
...and trouble brews.
Slave seals weren't mere brands—magic arrays barring harm to owners. Chant inflicted pain.
“I'll handle trouble.”
“Understood.”
“Let's go.”
“Right!”
Bark hustled after. Topsides, all eyes locked on them.
Amazed: an elf sold.
How'd he tame it?
Bark knew it—suppressed its riotous escape bid with other mercs before.
Feral beyond taming. Slaver legend: unsellable, only exit via corpse...
“Mission over.”
“Ah, yes.”
Berge snapped fingers. Silver coin settled neatly on Bark's palm.
“Exceeded expectations. Tip.”
“Thank you!”
“Sticking around town long?”
“No major snags, yeah.”
“Perfect. I'll drop by.”
“Anytime—Bark or Red Hawk Mercs at the guild!”
Bark prayed the big spender returned.
Demon King's first move: buy food.
The elf, scraping by on scraps, gorged at last and patted its full belly contentedly.
“Tower really atop Erjest Mountains?”
“Doubts galore.”
“Grateful I didn't deck you for the Demon King claim.”
To Granada, a Demon King slum-shopping for slaves? Absurd.
Still tagging along: he'd prove it with the tower. Confident enough.
On the Canon, no less.
“You keep promises. Real Demon King? Not fifty—double the years as stake.”
“Elves honor their word. Unlike demons.”
Getting under my skin.
Constant jabs—liver must be swollen. Few punches to start?
Demon King mulled, then shook his head. Tail-tuck the instant they hit the tower; savoring that was its own fun.
Meanwhile, Granada found this demon odd.
A demon conscripting outsiders...
Demons trusted none but kin. Invaders versus Alein's invaded—distrust inevitable.
“This isn't toward the mountains...”
Berge—fifty-year master-to-be—veered elsewhere.
“Market. Tower's got zero grub.”
“...?”
Market?
Instinct chilled his spine.
Self-proclaimed Demon King. Lie or not, demon confirmed.
Century-plus life, Granada never heard demons market-hunting. Tower-dwellers hitting human bazaars? Why?
“...Legit Demon King?”
“Doubts on overdrive.”
“With reason!”
Suspicious glare be damned—Demon King scooped ten-plus ingredient bundles.
Shoved 'em in subspace, grinned satisfied.
“Now we go.”
Evaded sentries, vaulted walls stealthily.
“Erjest crawls with monsters. How up?”
Long-bottled doubt spilled.
“Demon King way.”
Cryptic. Meaning dawned quick.
Monsters ignore us.
Sighted, they shied away—no charge. Obvious implication.
Mountain's his turf?
Swallowed dry. Maybe real. No—Erjest teemed. All under thumb?
Cataclysm.
Strongest Demon King Alein's ever seen, perhaps.
“Here. My tower.”
Deep in obscure ravine, squat five-story thing—still bought it. Domain shock lingered.
But door one creaked open.
Past floor two.
Up to three.
“...My god.”
Fresh shock. Why slum for him, stock groceries? Crystal now.
“Nothing here?”
Fabled Demon King tower: barren void.
“I prefer spartan. Beauty in blank space.”
“Spartan twice, tower vanishes.”
“A faithful slave for hundred years? Plenty.”
Sinister smirk quaked Granada. Proven Demon King. Barren, yet tower welcomed owner.
His promise turn.
But.
“Scam! Total fraud!”
Couldn't swallow.
Demon King towers followed blueprint.
One: weak fiends, traps. Higher: tougher beasts, demon welcomes, peak: Demon King enthroned golden, stern to heroes.
Climax: rescue caged royalty.
Details tweaked by tower or king, but skeleton same.
Granada craved that. Ex-elf elite—figured exec rank, human payback.
Not this dream-dead husk.
That instant—
Boom!
Vice-grip seized Granada's throat.
“Guh...!”
Immense force flushed his face. Choked, he thrashed.
Summoned mana.
“Mercy ends.”
Demonic qi shredded mana like glass.
Icy murderlust. Body screamed: Demon King.
“Honor it, elf.”
“Fraud! Never heard of this tower!”
“Never claimed otherwise.”
“Knew demons can't trust!”
“Regret's eternally tardy.”
Too late. Deep in domain, solo escape nil. Life forfeit or century slave? Obvious. Revenge possible even.
Tower jolt brutal; mountain aura lingered fierce.
“...I'll serve.”
Swore on mighty World Tree. Heart-mana forged chain. Breach? Blessings stripped.
“Good.”
Demon King beamed. Tossed village bundle.
“Cook, then.”
“...?”
Granada blanked. Then raged.
“Noble elf here! Elven elite...!”
“Impudent slave now.”
“Order me to cook?”
“Not quite.”
Demon King chin-propped.
“Just shut it.”
Not mountain-nag payback.
Tower simply lacked any cook-worthy lifeform.
Demon King reckoned.