009. Hero
“Damn it, you fucking...”
He vented his frustration nonstop, but the elf's hands busied themselves trimming the ingredients.
Washing them in water, slicing vegetables, mincing meat.
Then, suddenly, he stopped chopping.
“Haa...”
A sigh escaped him naturally.
Cooking was one thing, but having to build a fire on the barren third floor with no proper facilities made it all the more pathetic.
How the hell did I end up like this...
The Demon King had sworn by the canon. So he'd believed it. And the Demon King hadn't betrayed that faith.
At least everything he'd said was true. He'd just omitted the more crucial parts.
“That bastard.”
Do you even know who I am? Even the Elven wouldn't treat me like this.
What pissed him off even more was the nagging thought that this was still better than five years of slavery.
They say escape one goblin den and you fall into an ogre's...
Granada shook his head vigorously and refocused on the cooking.
He heated the iron pan, coated it with oil, added the minced meat, and once the fat rendered, tossed in the vegetables, stir-frying it all with spices.
A savory aroma wafted gently throughout the tower.
“Wow.”
At that moment, someone descended the stairs from the upper floor.
“Smells delicious!”
A human?
She looked about twenty, a pretty human girl. He wondered briefly why a human was in a Demon King's tower, then dismissed it.
Probably ended up in the same boat as me.
Tricked by the Demon King and turned into tower slave—no doubt about it.
“What're you making?”
She approached.
“Simple stir-fried meat.”
“Smells great.”
“Of course it does. Who do you think made it?”
Granada snorted and shrugged smugly.
“But I haven't seen you around. How'd you get here?”
“Similar to you.”
“So, kidnapped?”
“Not a slave?”
Their eyes met.
...Where do I know her from?
Snow-white skin, platinum hair, and amethyst eyes that glimmered faintly between—something memorable.
Where? Where have I seen her?
At that instant, something peeked out from behind her—a cluster of pure mana. A spirit.
Platinum hair, purple eyes. And a spirit.
The pieces clicked like a puzzle.
“...Crown Princess of Hildean?”
“You know me?”
“...This is insane!”
“Quiet.”
Just then, the Demon King descended. Granada shot to his feet and charged over.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Seems like you have.”
“Kidnapping Hildean's crown princess! What the hell is this?!”
“Oh, that.”
“That? Hildean's probably in an uproar! How do you plan to fend off heroes with nothing here?”
“I'll handle it. Just finish cooking.”
“So casual right now...”
“That's an order.”
“......”
Granada finished stir-frying the meat with a deadpan expression.
Then, he caught something odd he'd overlooked in his fixation.
...But why'd the crown princess come down from the fourth floor, not some prison?
Why was she sitting there so casually with a fork alongside the Demon King?
“Why?”
Their eyes met, and the princess smiled brightly. No matter how he looked at it, she didn't seem kidnapped.
He shot the Demon King a pleading glance full of questions.
“Doesn't matter. Escaping the tower's impossible anyway.”
“That's not the issue here.”
“She's cooperating, so I let her loose appropriately.”
“Let loose like this...”
The real problem lay with the princess, not the Demon King.
Even if Demon Kings were commonplace, and kidnappings often ended in ransom or hero rescues, this was the dynamic between kidnapper and victim.
That casual comfort, like it was her own home—no one could fake that.
Moments later, the food was ready, and Dark Elf Gordon joined them.
“That was amazing.”
The crown princess rubbed her full belly, scraping her plate clean. Her innocent cheer made Granada wonder if this was really a Demon King's tower or Hildean's royal palace.
“Now, down to business.”
At the Demon King's nod, Gordon dragged the princess upstairs.
“As you heard, she's Hildean's crown princess. How do you think Hildean will react?”
“Obviously, total chaos.”
Granada recalled a rumor from before his enslavement.
Hildean's first princess had exceptional talent—even as a child, she'd contracted spirits successfully, leaving the whole kingdom in awe.
With such a crown princess kidnapped, they'd be foaming at the mouth.
“They're probably commissioning the Hero Guild right now, assembling a massive hero party. Erjest Mountains will block the riffraff as a natural fortress, but Hildean's resolve won't stop there.”
Obvious.
“Surely you're not telling me to solo heroes.”
Granada grumbled curtly.
“Never planned to. Any hero entering the tower is game over already.”
“Then?”
“I'll send you back to Hotenwork.”
Granada nodded at the explanation that followed.
“So, you're having me stir up the human world in your stead.”
“In summary.”
“Join a group, gain power, buy info to track heroes, sabotage or delay them when possible?”
“Exactly. But first...”
The Demon King stood.
“I need to check your skills.”
Third floor.
Facing the Demon King on the empty stage of a floor with nothing and no one.
Berge had brought Granada to the tower for two reasons.
One: to prove he was the Demon King and earn trust.
The other: to accurately gauge his strength.
Cooking was just punishment for his arrogance—not the main goal.
“Long slave life, but your body's held up surprisingly well.”
“Not the body for kitchen work, at least.”
“Tasted good. You've got talent.”
“......”
Granada tried steering the topic.
“But this fight's unwinnable for me from the start, right?”
Even with the ambush, he'd already been schooled once. The gap was clear.
“I won't use one hand. That fair?”
“Not enough.”
“Bet on it. Win, and no forced respect. Treat you well as subordinate, not slave.”
“...No cooking orders either?”
“If you want.”
“I'll give it my all and blow your head off... sir!”
The elf and Demon King clashed.
Moments later.
“...I heard freshly summoned Demon Kings suffer extra from interference.”
“Think demons don't know what you do?”
Why else create the Demon King Academy, selecting only the elite? To ensure they wouldn't crumble easily even weakened by interference, maintaining baseline combat power in worst cases.
That's what made them Ma-gye's vanguard: Demon Kings.
“Got the gist.”
The Demon King casually lifted the fallen Granada.
“Let's head down.”
“An honor to see you again!”
Bark lit up at the familiar pair seeking him.
Names unknown, but the tycoon who spent like water and the elf slave he'd bought.
Was his face always like that?
Weirdly hazy, but he chalked it up to booze.
“I want to buy your time.”
The rich man spoke bluntly.
“Your entire mercenary band. One year to start.”
“Uh... what exactly for a full year?”
“Keep doing monster hunts like now. Promise no requests beyond your band's capacity.”
Bark pondered. The payout would be massive given the spending, but no free lunches in this world. Who could guarantee safety despite the confidence?
“Can't decide alone.”
Bark was Red Hawk's leader, but they kept things horizontal.
“Discuss it. I'll match the price.”
The twenty Red Hawk mercenaries conferred.
“Too suspicious.”
“Money's real, though. Turning down big coin ain't mercenary.”
“What'll he make us do?”
“No overreach—he said so. Spell it out in the contract, refuse if it's too much.”
“You trust that?”
Then, the tycoon plunked a heavy pouch on the table. Gold and silver coins spilled out, leaving mercenaries agape.
They exchanged glances and nodded.
“Deal.”
Too much to refuse.
“But conditions. If we deem it excessive, we can refuse—put it in writing. Objectively, matching our rank. And...”
“Fine.”
Bark listed terms; the tycoon accepted all.
“My condition, though.”
“What...?”
“Take Elf Granada as a member.”
“...Pardon?”
“Even nominally. He'll issue orders in my stead.”
Humans had hierarchies. And countless organizations.
Magic towers, Hero Guild, Mercenary Guild, Free Knights, Artisan Unions, Black Moon, etc.
Some tied to nations, some not.
Common thread: crowds breed power—even kings rivaled without crowns.
I planned to infiltrate one with my subordinate, erode from within.
One by one into my grasp, becoming the true black curtain mastering all.
First pick: Mercenary Guild.
Low quality but vast numbers rivaling groups.
Remarkable inclusivity, accepting anyone without prejudice.
A guild even kingdoms couldn't ignore lightly.
Above all, a den of money-mad fools.
Plus, convenient familiar mercs and band.
“...Agreed.”
Bark nodded after huddling.
“We don't take newbies lightly, but as a client? Doable.”
He approached Granada.
“Looking forward to working together.”
“Same.”
Bowing to his recent slave irked, but money ruled.
“To join, need the mercenary exam, though...”
Bark tilted his head.
“Where'd you get hit?”
Why the black eyes like a raccoon's ass?
Granada didn't answer.
That day, Granada passed the Mercenary Guild exam, got his advanced badge, and joined Red Hawk.
His rage-fueled black eyes on the exam proctors? Minor hiccup.
And at the welcome party for Granada, the mercenaries got their first commission from Berge.
“First job. You heard Hildean's crown princess was kidnapped recently. Find out which heroes Hildean commissioned.”
“Why...”
“Pays.”
“Ah.”
Heroes drew attention and cash. Fund them, snag tower loot if they nab the Demon King.
Perfectly plausible for mercs seeing Berge as a tycoon.
“But we're small-time. Better commission the info guild...”
Thud.
Money pouch dropped.
“Do it.”
“Right away!”
“Also, dig on Hildean princesses.”
“Why...”
If she doesn't pan out, return the first and nab the thirteenth.
He'd bluffed strong before her, but single points of failure sucked. Couldn't say it straight.
Crafting another excuse annoyed him.
“Hear reasons or take the cash?”
“Cash!”
Mercenaries' eyes gleamed greedy.
Berge confirmed once more: in this world, money was humans' faith.
Knight Cooltan instructed his soldiers.
“Surround the hotel. Let no rat escape.”
Dozens encircled as he ascended with two aides.
“Up top.”
The hotelier, prepped with an official writ, guided him.
“Status?”
“Enjoying drinks.”
“Women on both sides again, huh.”
“......”
Cleared corridors—no people, thanks to staff. They reached the top floor.
The special VIP room's door opened—for elite guests only.
Boozy haze and steamy heat hit nose and cheeks.
Crunch.
Stepped on shattered bottle shards. Soggy carpet squelched.
Cooltan silently opened a window. Cold wind cooled the air.
“...What.”
“Oh my.”
The heat-flushed man opened bleary eyes, voice slurred. Women flanking him trembled.
“Long time, Hero.”
“Knight Cooltan?”
“You ladies, out.”
The women staggered away. The man scowled, buzz killed.
“What's this?”
“Royal decree.”
“...The crown princess.”
“Other heroes fear Erjest. Only you can slay that arrogant Demon King and rescue Her Highness.”
“Erjest Mountains scare me too.”
“Funny talk from the hero who beheaded the Lust Demon King. Who else dares climb Erjest for her? Not fear—laziness.”
“If I refuse?”
“Hero, sir—Hildean's crown princess kidnapped. You know her importance to us.”
Cooltan met the hero's eyes.
“Not a request. A royal command.”
Heroes held vast rights—and duties.
Kings overlooked excesses, but crises brought edicts forcing action.
Heroes could refuse, but turning a kingdom hostile? Self-inflicted fallout.
“You can refuse. But no more Hildean ops. Hero of Hildean becoming its top scum? Troublesome for you.”
Rustle.
Cooltan proffered the decree.
“Take it.”
“Even so, solo's impossible.”
“You'll command all Hildean heroes. Local Hero Guild pledges full support.”
They had no choice either.
“Kingdom spares no aid; rewards beyond imagination.”
“His Majesty's bleeding bad.”
“She's that vital. Fleeing? Give up. Hotel's surrounded—if a soldier's hurt mid-duty, we get justification.”
“You'd go that far?”
“Won't leave unscathed. Not just me. Social death too.”
“Checkmate.”
The hero smiled bitterly. Should've bolted Hildean sooner; outskirts bred complacency.
“I'll take it.”
He snatched the decree.
“Great hero, please save Hildean's foundation.”
The knight bowed.