Useful Dick Accounting (3)
At the foot of the pitch-black throne, dull without a trace of luster, something colorful lay placed there. He slowly crossed the grand hall toward the throne's dais.
Neatly arranged at the throne's base was a pretty bouquet of flowers. He bent down to pick it up. Not wildflowers—these looked like a mix bundled and sold at a flower shop. They seemed fresh, not long placed. The entrance wire mesh showed no signs of breach, the grand hall doors were shut tight. The Demon King's corpse was nowhere to be seen, yet here was a newly made bouquet... Whoever did it must've cleared the body away... In that case, shouldn't the memorial be at the burial site, not here?
He circled behind the throne, gripped the backrest with both hands, and wrenched it sideways with all his might, yanking it free. The throne came loose like a sword drawn from its sheath, heavy stone block attached to the base. He tossed it aside and peered into the gaping hole in the floor.
"Haha... would you look at this..."
Beneath the stone floor lay the Demon King. His neck had been severed by Bertrand's blade, yet the body sprawled under his feet was pristine, just as it had been in life. Hands folded neatly over the chest, eyes peacefully closed. All around him bloomed flowers in vivid colors, cradling the corpse. It was as if, on a warm spring day, he were simply napping in a thick flowerbed.
Dropping down for a closer look, the neck was indeed cleanly severed—just reattached like a body prepped for funeral rites after an accidental death. Curious, he reached out and touched the spot, jolting in surprise. Though cold, the Demon King's skin felt as soft and supple as that of the living.
Could he really be alive? But the Holy Sword showed no reaction, confirming he was dead. The corpses of the outer monsters had long rotted to mush, so how was this one so perfectly preserved? Being buried might explain it, but the flowers around him were far too vibrant. Dendrobium, poinsettia, phalaenopsis, and more—all winter bloomers. Cut stems wouldn't stay alive from winter till now... No way someone dug it up every time the flowers wilted to replace them.
Hmm... Maybe a preservation spell? But that would require a mage stationed right beside it. What the hell... Who went to such elaborate lengths to give the Demon King a proper send-off?
He climbed back up and stared down at the body for a while. The Demon King's face looked serene in sleep, sunlight streaming through the windows to bathe his form in light. A total asshole in life, but in death, he just seemed like an ordinary guy. Bertrand descended the dais, slung the discarded throne over his shoulder, and hauled it back. He fitted it precisely over the body once more. Source of all evil and slain by his own hand or not, he had no intention of desecrating the corpse.
That said... If it wasn't the Demon King, then who kept sending monsters to piss him off? He picked up a fallen flower from the base.
He hadn't found the culprit behind the monster attacks, but... flowers that didn't wilt without a spellcaster... This was something truly rare...? Looked like he needed to track down whoever made it.
Not far from the Demon King's Castle lay the small city of Sozar. Doomed to ruin due to its proximity to the castle, it had dramatically revived after the Demon King's death, thanks to a bizarre tourist draw. Open-top carriages touring the castle grounds had become wildly popular.
Even on the way into town, he passed carriages packed with tourists heading to the castle. Spotting the Hell Horse he rode, they cheered and waved, assuming it was part of the tour. He stashed the Hell Horse near the city and walked into the streets.
Statues of various monsters dotted the town, shops hawking monster masks and horned headbands. Tourists from across the kingdom browsed them; kids nagged parents for cute wooden monster figurines—simplified, adorable versions far from the real horrors. Some young men haggled street vendors for more accurate models. The vendors produced finely detailed ones from elsewhere. The men sifted through, seeking rarities for their collections.
He knew there was a solid niche of enthusiasts romanticizing monsters. Some were genuinely powerful and cool-looking, and dragons were famous in their own right. But precise, authentic models? Hard to come by. Anyone studying real monsters up close probably wasn't long for this world.
A group of elderly men eyed a mountain of "Uzgashi thigh bones" touted as aphrodisiacs. Total bullshit—just cow bones by size and shape. Uzgashi weren't even catchable in quantities to stack like that. Scams everywhere: weird amulets and powders to repel monsters, slime tanks claiming the goo could morph into any sex organ at will... Hell, if slimes could really do that, they'd be extinct already. Sharp business, though.
Asking around, he found a nearby flower shop. Late spring had it bursting with vibrant blooms, bees and butterflies fluttering amid them. Peering at the flowers, the female owner emerged.
"Welcome! Looking to buy some flowers?"
"Nah, it's about this." He thrust the bouquet forward. She eyed him oddly.
"What's this?"
"A bouquet."
"Sorry, but I'm married."
He stared blankly for a beat before explaining.
"Not that. Just checking if you remember who bought this bouquet."
"Oh...?! R-right, sure? Hehe... oh my..."
She squirmed, flustered. "Do you recall who bought it?"
"Well... so many customers come and go, hard to remember each one..."
No other settlements near the Demon King's Castle except this town. The next closest, Kernor, was nearly two days away. No reason to trek there for flowers when this place was right here. Anyone buying for the castle would've shopped locally.
"No regular customers buying flowers often?"
"Regulars? Hmm... not really...?"
She didn't know that either... This was getting tricky...
"How about someone buying large quantities of various flowers from last winter till now?"
"Hmm...?"
She crossed her arms, tilting her head in thought.
"Oh, right! Last winter, someone bought a ton of flowers all alone!"
"Yeah? Know who?"
"No idea, but it was a woman."
He got a detailed description: brown hair tied back, hooded... slightly annoyed expression... long skirt... Damn. Generic as hell—could be anyone.
"Hasn't come back since?"
"Nope, that was the last. Oh, wait!!"
She yelped as if struck by a crucial memory.
"She said she was from Kernor!!"
Kernor—a mid-sized city further west. So... Kernor... That woman must've built the grave and left the flowers. Head to Kernor, track her down. Problem: too ordinary to pinpoint easily. But at least he had a home base. Something would turn up there.
For now, before leaving... grab some food? Past lunchtime, stomach growling fiercely.
"Point me to a good eatery."
Caught off-guard by the pivot, she still recommended a spot. Bouquet in hand, he trudged there.
The flower shop owner's pick was a spot specializing in bœuf bourguignon—beef and veggies slow-stewed in wine. Normally made from cattle raised in the Bergen region, insanely pricey meat. Served with boiled potatoes, it was a killer delicacy. Not bad for a tourist trap in the middle of nowhere.
He stepped in; a server greeted him. "Here for a meal?"
"Yeah."
"Problem is... might be tough."
She explained: ingredients sold out, closing early for the day.
"Must be damn good if lunch wiped 'em out."
"No... the meat delivery today was all spoiled..."
"Ah, gotcha."
Weather was verging on hot; meat spoiled quick if neglected. Della had mentioned rotting stock in their warehouse yesterday too... Summer would be a headache. Undead soldiers didn't rot even in peak heat, shambling fine... Probably some special preservation on them.
Hmm... undead soldiers... He glanced at the perky bouquet in his hand, lost in thought.
The woman who made the Demon King's grave... unwilting flowers... undead soldiers... Threads connecting...
Grabbed a kebab from a stall claiming it was ground Tene Gano leg meat. Tasted exactly like pork, but the owner insisted he'd butchered it himself—whatever. No way he knew regular blades couldn't even scratch Tene Gano hide.
After scarfing it down and wiping his hands on his cloak, he mounted the Hell Horse. It bolted southwest toward Kernor at his command.