The Demons' Playground

"What the hell did you snort this morning?"

"Hey. What the hell did you snort this morning?"

... Crack!

"Pfft!-"

"Heehee! Boss... hee hee hee!"

"Puhahaha!- Boss is hilarious!-"

"Kyahaha!-"

Big Daddy, who had just extended his hand to me with a stone-cold poker face moments ago. His expression hadn't changed yet, but veins were bulging on his forehead like something out of a cartoon.

The kids found my question hilarious—Jean and Pablo were clutching their stomachs laughing, and even Derek had stopped his muttering to cover his mouth and chuckle.

Hmm~ Maybe I had a knack for comedy in my past life? Should've aimed for comedian instead of actor as my career goal?

"... Do I look like some drug-peddling scum to you?"

"Family, right? Isn't that mafia? Ah! Maybe the word 'mafia' doesn't exist here? Anyway, it's a crime syndicate, yeah? A gang of hot-tempered bastards banding together, right?"

"Are you insulting my organization!!-- We collect protection money and smuggle booze in the city, but we don't touch drugs!!--"

"So yeah, conclusion: it's a crime syndicate~♪ Why get all worked up? One crook's the same as the next~♪"

"Uwaaaaaah!!!~~~"

Did I say something wrong? He doesn't deal drugs, so he's claiming we're ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at least a conscientious crime syndicate? Is this hypocrite for real?

Did I get it wrong?! I just hit him with some facts, and he's losing his shit. This guy's got a narrow mind too, huh? Looks like a suave middle-aged gentleman...

Eh~ tsk tsk tsk~♪ Looks can be deceiving!~♪

"... So... this North Continent is like Japan's Warring States period? A total free-for-all where criminals from other continents, rebels, heretics, demon contractors, black mages—all that scum forms crime syndicates and runs wild? And beastkin, dwarves, elves have their own factions popping up everywhere?"

"Warring States? No idea what that means, but if you're saying it's a chaotic continent where factions scrap over turf, yeah, that's spot on. This place is the [Playground of the 666 Demons]. They send their contractors here to fight it out, watch us squirm for survival like it's a colosseum show for their amusement."

"Damn... Dantalian. That fucking bastard. Wondered why it dragged me to the North Continent. So it could spectate me rolling in the mud here!"

"Whew~♪ Daring to curse the capricious Manbianja, Dantalian, even as a demon contractor yourself. Ha! You're one crazy son of a bitch."

"You think I'd feel good knowing the demon I contracted with is screwing me over behind my back?!"

"Didn't you sign the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠deal knowing the risks?"

"... Had no choice if I wanted to survive."

"... I see."

Did this guy have his own sob story? When I mentioned contracting Dantalian to survive, his smirk faded, like something clicked. He nodded, looking convinced.

The price of a demon contract—only fellow contractors would get it.

Anyway, from what he told me: After I blacked out from Rina's body blow yesterday, Estelle and Derek—who'd unleashed his hellhounds—emerged from the carriage. Then Allen revealed his demonic form and clashed with them.

At that point, his contracted blood demon, Glashalabolras, manifested by reshaping the blood gushing from Big Daddy's wounds.

The kids described it as a massive red skull made of blood with bat wings.

And the conversation that went down there, according to them...

A command from his Rank 25 archdemon couldn't be defied lightly—no matter how much of a contractor you were. Same as how I couldn't outright rebel against Dantalian, even when cursing it out.

To demons, we're just toys, spectators' entertainment. Bugs they could squash anytime they felt like it. That's our lot.

"You said Glashalabolras made a deal with Dantalian earlier? Know the details?"

"No clue. Ask your own demon if you're that curious."

"Like that bastard would spill honestly..."

"... You're ballsier than I thought. Never heard Dantalian called merciful..."

"I can curse it all I want—my business!"

"If you'd contracted Glashalabolras, you'd have exploded into a puddle of blood the second you badmouthed it."

"... Touchy demons, huh?"

"You're hopeless... Never mind. Talking's a waste. Maybe that's why the fickle Dantalian keeps you around—your madness? So, Actor... care to join forces?"

"Give me a day. Not my call alone."

"Fine. I'll hand over the annex—told my underlings, so no troublemaking."

"Thanks a bunch!~"

Archdemons seemed awfully petty. With the full picture from Big Daddy and the kids, I asked for a day. This affected all our fates—not a solo decision. I had the kids summon the Romaani tribe, Tucker's family, and Malcolm's.

"... That's the rundown on the North Continent and our situation. What do you all think?"

"Hmm... Never imagined so many other demon contractors here."

"Romaani live as wanderers, but... is that mandatory?"

"It's our tradition? We roam the vast lands, believing the earth itself is our home. Some do settle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like other races... but honestly, no idea what to do now."

"Defying tradition's tough, sure. But gotta survive first, right? You said some do settle—Central Continent's brewing war too, so seriously consider it."

"Understood, Actor."

"Tucker, Malcolm—what about you?"

"We'll settle here, start fresh."

"Yeah. Nowhere else to go anyway."

"Big Daddy says as long as you pay protection like to the Colorado count, no trouble. He's the city's real boss—think of it as taxes to his family instead."

"“Got it.”"

"Boss. Us?"

"What about us?"

"Sis follows Boss."

... Tucker's and Malcolm's families settle in the city. Romaani undecided. Left with us... Ally with Big Daddy's family? Crime syndicates never end well—modern or past. Reality ain't a mob flick. I have past-life memories, fine—but the kids are all under 10. Dragging them into this syndicate warzone right?

Ally with Big Daddy, but beg him to let the others live normal lives. Demon contractor offering help? No reason to deny a small favor.

Monster-fied but still kids under 10. Poor things suffered hellish pain from a cruel world and indifferent gods. Let them have normal lives now...

"Boss. You ain't ditching us alone, right? Sis'd be sad."

"Huh? Estelle sis?"

"Seriously~ Doesn't our boss trust his sisters' power?"

"Rina sis?!"

"Boss! You said before—you dealt with the demon to save us?"

"Jean's right! Our lives are tied to yours now."

"*%$#&§ªº$&@..."

"Yeah! Yeah! Boss is the youngest here! Leave it to your big bros!"

"You brats! To me, you're all kids?! I'm 6, but actually... um..."

???

'Actually got past-life memories!'—they'd call me nuts?

No way they'd believe it. Big Daddy treating me like a psycho might be the sane reaction. Earth had frauds and weirdos claiming reincarnation—got laughed off every time. Better keep quiet.

"Hoo!~ Follow me? Where to, even?"

"““Obvious—you'll trail the shady uncle!-””"

"Hey? You kids study mind-reading or what?"

They nailed my thoughts. Meeting over. Romaani eventually chose settling with us—Central or North Continent, nomad life was suicide. One wrong move: enslaved or drafted to war. No choice.

That night, dinner done, we visited Big Daddy, accepted his offer. Partners, not subordinates. We move on our terms—no orders, even from the city boss! He knew our power—no point antagonizing. Equal partners it was.

"... No going back to normal life forever now."

"Contracted with demons? Your fates were sealed, Actor."

Partners—allies, really—me and Big Daddy hit his underling's bar. I nursed warm milk (bartender heard '6 years old,' skipped the booze...) while chatting.

Annoying. Back in the day, I'd booze with clients at bars for business... Booze right there, can't touch it!

"Hey. What're you thinking?"

"Gimme a real drink? Quit babying me."

"In your dreams!~♪ Under-10 brat wants booze?"

"Tch! Stingy bastards... Anyway, fate's sealed? Bullshit. Big Daddy, fate can change. Pissing and moaning won't help. If fate can't be altered, you ain't living! Teaming with you's fine... but what're you using us for?"

"War games."

"What?"

"Think you can escape their grasp? Told you: North Continent exists for the 666 demons' fun. We're chess pieces on their board. To fulfill Glashalabolras, I gotta spill endless blood. Blood needs conflict. Same for you other contractors."

"Tch! Gotta peel faces for Dantalian's quota... That's why it shipped us here! Endless wars make this perfect face-harvesting turf—unlike peaceful continents!"

"But watch out. Beyond us, tons of contractors— even unnamed demons'. Don't underestimate 'em. We kill each ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠other for demons' entertainment."

..."

"Tomorrow, I'll set up your new digs. Got [someone to introduce] too."

"Hm? Who?"

"Grumpy bastard. He'll help you out."

No clue who Big Daddy meant, but please—someone saner than this prick. Grumpy? How bad could it be!