The One Who Mocks the King

The instant Wrath conceded defeat, the wager-victory messages cascaded up before Raon's eyes.

A thrill surged through him as his stats climbed, and a smile had just touched his lips when a second message appeared.

The second reward was a title whose name suited him perfectly.

"Just who in the hell named a title something that absurd?"

Wrath's face twisted with irritation.

"This King does not approve!"

I don't know who named it, but I know exactly whose fault it is that it exists.

Raon gave a short laugh and pulled up the title's description.

A crimson gleam kindled in Raon's eyes as he read the title's effect.

Now this… this is useful.

There was no law that said an enemy could only ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ever be subdued by fighting. A title that sharpened his powers of persuasion was more than welcome. Wrath and Sloth had already appeared; there was no reason another Demon King might not follow. In a crisis like that, this title's ability could make all the difference.

It would work on the Family Head, too.

If it could take effect even on a martial artist at Glenn's level, the title was going to be useful in more ways than one.

"Hmph."

Wrath snorted the moment he finished reading the description.

"Does this King look like he would fall for some paltry title like that? Persuading this King is an impossibility."

I can already do that.

All he had to do was mention apple meat pie or mint chocolate and talking Wrath around was as easy as breathing.

"This King is a being of lofty dignity. He does not heed the words of others! Raising your stats would have been far better than a title like that—"

Ah, don't worry about it.

"What?"

They're about to go up anyway.

Raon smiled faintly and pointed at the third message rising into view.

The six-win streak had lifted three of his stats by two points each.

I hit the jackpot today.

The all-stat increase alone was nine, and every individual attribute had climbed by two or three points on top of that. He had never gained this many stats at once since the day he first acquired the system.

"Oho. Just how many stats did you gain today?"

Hard to say. Counting it all as all-stat points, it comes to about eleven.

"Eleven? Did you say eleven?"

Wrath's frost-wreathed hands began to tremble like aspen leaves.

"Damn it all! Those eleven points—every last one of them was wrung from This King's own flesh!"

Well, yeah. Probably.

Raon nodded, perfectly calm.

"You bled Sloth dry, then you stripped This King for parts—you spine-breaking little leech!"

Come to think of it, what's this?

Sloth's name had jogged his memory. He lifted his wrist and pointed at the black flower bracelet.

"And why, pray, would This King tell you that?"

Wrath stared down at the bracelet for a long moment, then snorted.

"Figure it out yourself. This King is under no obligation to explain it to you."

Judging by that reaction, you don't know either.

Raon smirked and shrugged.

For a Demon King, there sure is a lot you don't know.

"W-what arrant nonsense. There exists nothing in this world that This King does not know!"

Then what is it?

"This King already said he has no intention of telling you."

Which means you don't know.

"You weasel-tongued little—!"

Wrath finally unleashed the rage he had been holding back. Overwhelming frost and wrath erupted together, stabbing through Raon's entire body like a thicket of needles.

A piercing ring split the air inside his skull. The twenty-five points of Wrath lodged in his soul stirred with it, and began to gnaw at flesh and spirit from within.

Th-this is… actually pretty—

Raon bowed his head, his hands shaking.

"When Sloth came calling, the fifteen points of Wrath had not yet properly melted into your soul. You could not even command ten of the fifteen."

Wrath hauled up a still vaster tide of fury and crushed down on him from every direction.

"But now the full twenty-five have awakened! This King shall devour your flesh here and now!"

You're the one who's badly mistaken.

Raon clenched his teeth and ignited the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and Glacia at the same time. Aura thick with volcanic heat raced through his mana circuits and melted the invading frost, while Glacia's walls of ice rose to bar the rage clawing into his mind.

And that was not all. The caliber of his soul—tempered by enduring Sloth's pressure and Wrath's interference—surged up and simply crushed the swelling tide of fury back down.

"H-how…"

I didn't take your Wrath without thinking it through.

Raon swept the sweat from his brow and smiled.

I was certain I would grow stronger than whatever I absorbed from you.

He had proposed the bargain in the first place because he had been confident he could endure even fifteen points of Wrath. Between the Ring of Fire, the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, and Glacia, Wrath's assault had been pared down to something he could actually withstand. At this level, he could hold out as long as he needed to.

"That cannot be!"

Wrath refused to yield, pouring still more power into the assault—but Raon answered by drawing up even greater aura and an even higher caliber of soul, shielding both mind and body.

The contest of strength between man and Demon King ground on for some thirty minutes before a blue window rose in front of Raon's eyes.

A message confirming he had weathered the interference. The second one today.

Is it my birthday or something?

"Goddaaaaamn it!"

Raon was still smiling at a thoroughly sulking Wrath when the door to his quarters opened and Dorian came in.

"Ah—!"

Dorian took one look at a perfectly composed Raon, his mouth falling open, and rushed to the bedside.

"You're awake!"

He planted his hands on the edge of the bed, eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Is your body all right?"

"I'm fine."

Raon rolled his shoulders and nodded. Fine was an understatement. He was in the best condition of his life.

"Whew. Thank goodness. Really."

"How long was I out?"

"Today makes three days."

Dorian let out a long breath and straightened up.

"You should wash up first. Drink some water, and have some soup!"

As he spoke he reached into his Belly Pouch and produced a washbasin, a flask of water, and a bowl of soup, setting them all out on the round table.

"Why are you carrying a washbasin around? And why is there soup in there…"

"I didn't know when you'd wake up."

Dorian gave a sheepish little laugh, filled the basin with wash water, and poured a cup from the flask.

"Thanks."

Raon smiled faintly and walked over to the table. Knowing Dorian had been hauling all of this around for his sake sent a quiet warmth through his chest.

"I'll go report to the Commander!"

"Huh? Wait—"

He had been about to ask what there was to report, but Dorian was already gone.

"In a hurry, aren't we."

Raon clicked his tongue and finished washing. He rinsed his mouth, then took a spoonful of the soup, which was thick with finely chopped vegetables.

The flavor was outstanding—nutty and clean at once. The vegetables still had their bite, which made eating it a genuine pleasure.

"Yua made this."

It was soup from a proper recipe. Dorian hadn't cooked it. Yua must have prepared it and sent it along.

"Indeed. One can taste the pineapple girl's heart in every spoonful."

Wrath, who had been sulking only a moment ago, had already drifted over and was smacking his lips. Truly, he was the easiest Demon King in existence.

"Craft worthy of This King's own handmaiden. What are you doing? Why have you stopped eating?"

"Hah…"

Raon shook his head at Wrath's muttering and finished what was left of the soup. He had been hungry, yes, but it was simply that good, and it went down in easy, eager swallows.

He had the bowl clean in no time. He was just reaching for the water when the door opened again and Dorian came back in.

"You've already finished?"

Dorian grinned at the empty bowl and cup.

"I was hungry."

And a certain glutton was nagging me the whole time.

Raon glanced at Wrath and let out a low sigh. He had given it a great deal of thought, and he was increasingly convinced that Wrath was not a gourmet at all—just a bottomless eater who happened to like food.

"The Commander said he wants to see your face. Do you think you can go?"

"If he's calling, I go."

It was a summons from the Lord of Habun Castle. Refusing was not an option.

And I need to explain what happened anyway.

They were bound to ask how he had sent Sloth away. It was a conversation he would have to have sooner or later. He had already prepared his excuse, so going now was no problem.

"Humans are suspicious creatures by nature. This King is rather curious to see how they will receive you."

Wrath patted his belly and grinned, as if hoping for a disaster.

What you're hoping for isn't going to happen, so stay out of it.

Raon shoved the clinging Wrath aside, pulled on his coat, and stood.

"Let's go."

"Ah? Lord Raon!"

"He's up!"

"Lord Raon! Are you all right?"

The moment Raon stepped out of his quarters, the scouts came crowding in to ask after him. Their eyes were wet with unconcealed worry.

"I'm fine. Fully recovered."

"Hah. That's a relief."

"We were truly worried."

He smiled and waved them off, and the scouts exhaled as one. It was not only the scouts. Everyone he met on the way to headquarters fussed over him to a degree that was almost uncomfortable.

The way they look at me has changed quite a bit.

If they had regarded him as a hero before, they now seemed to look at him as something uncomfortably close to a god—embarrassing as it was to put it that way. On top of that, people who had always spoken to him casually had suddenly switched to formal address.

What's going on?

Gratitude for saving their lives he understood. The sudden formality was strange. Something else was at work here.

He was still turning it over when he arrived in front of headquarters, and a single word drifted out to meet him.

Zieghart.

A word that should never have been spoken here.

"Dorian?"

"Ah. Yes…"

Dorian, who had clearly already known, scratched the back of his head.

"Our identities have been revealed. The Commander told them himself."

"I figured as much."

The scale of what had happened had been far too large to keep covering with a mercenary cover story.

"So everyone knows?"

"Yes. But you don't need to worry. It wasn't we who gave ourselves away."

"I know. It's just…"

He shook his head, a faintly bitter look crossing his face.

"People aren't going to come up to us as easily as they used to."

"That's actually for a different reason."

"A different reason?"

"Ah—we should go up first."

Dorian flinched, then pointed at the headquarters building directly ahead.

"All right."

Raon nodded and climbed to the headquarters conference room. Contrary to his expectations, it was not only Milland and Terian waiting there. The room was packed with officers. Everyone who was not out on a mission or standing watch seemed to have gathered.

Raon swept their faces one by one and let out a quiet breath of relief.

They're all alive.

He had worried that something might have gone wrong, but fortunately no one looked seriously hurt.

"Do not play the saint."

Wrath settled onto the top of his head with a cold little laugh.

"Even if you saved them, these humans will fear a man who may now be bound to the demon race. You would do well to worry about yourself."

Maybe.

Raon nodded. Thinking back on the people he had met in his previous life, it was more than possible. Wrath, however, was making a fundamental mistake. Raon had not saved these people because he expected anything of them. He had simply wanted them to live. He had expected nothing, and so there was nothing to be disappointed by.

"I present myself to the Commander."

Raon set his thoughts in order and bowed to Milland.

"Good to see you on your feet. Sit."

"Yes, sir."

Following Milland's gesture, he took the chair at the center of the table.

"I thought recovering would take you a good long while. And here you are, stronger again."

Milland looked him over from head to toe and let out a dry laugh.

"Any number of geniuses have come here to train. I have never seen one grow as fast as you."

"I was lucky."

"It isn't luck. That's will. That's skill. At this rate I'll be the one standing in your shadow before long."

Milland waved the idea off as if it were nonsense. The other officers smiled with him.

"Seeing you fully recovered makes this easier to say."

He leaned his torso in toward the table.

"How did you send that monster back?"

"Mm…"

Raon dipped his chin by the smallest fraction, just enough that no one would notice.

Here it comes.

It was the question he had known was inevitable. And he already had an answer prepared.

"This King is rather curious what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠excuse you will offer. These people already know Sloth is of the demon race, after all."

Wrath snickered, thoroughly entertained.

"I…"

"Hold. I asked the question, but you need not answer it."

Just as Raon was about to deliver the excuse he had prepared, Milland raised a hand.

"Everyone in this room knows that thing was a demon. A monster on the level of a Demon King. To send it back, you made a bargain."

"That's correct."

As expected, they had already grasped the rough shape of the truth.

"A demon of that caliber would want only one thing. Your soul, and your body."

"Mm…?"

Milland's response had veered so far from what Raon had expected that his answer came a beat late.

"I knew it!"

"So that's how it was."

"Raon…"

They took his silence for confirmation. Milland and the officers bit down hard on their lips.

"Th-this is taking a very strange turn…"

Wrath's raised brows twitched with unease.

"You really are something else…"

"Sir? That's not— I was— huh?"

Raon tried, belatedly, to get his prepared excuse out, but Milland was already on his feet. Every officer in the room rose with him.

"Thank you! Raon!"

"Thank you!"

Milland and the officers bent at the waist together and bowed their heads.

"Uh…"

"Hah?"

Raon and Wrath both stared, eyes wide, at the sudden and solemn show of respect.

"Why are you all…"

He understood they were grateful he had saved them, but the courtesy felt excessive. And he still had not said a word.

"You need say nothing more."

"That's right. We know well enough that a bargain with a demon is not something a man can easily speak of."

Milland and Terian shook their heads at the same time.

"You staked your soul and your body in a bargain with that demon."

"What are they talking about?! This one never staked his flesh or his soul on anything!"

Wrath's mouth fell open in sheer disbelief.

"We are not fools. We know your most precious things have been placed in that demon's hands as collateral."

"That's right."

"While we lay unconscious, we learned everything Lord Raon suffered alone."

"Lord Raon…"

At Terian's words, grief and awe welled up in every officer's eyes.

"These people really are fools, aren't they?"

Wrath wrinkled his nose at the way the situation was unfolding.

"I honor the sacrifice of the soul you offered to save Habun Castle. Raon Zieghart."

"We have incurred a debt we can never repay in this lifetime."

"Thank you, Lord Raon!"

The officers clenched their fists, their eyes dark with sorrow. A few of them were blinking back tears.

"What deranged nonsense is this?! The one who handed over a soul was not this swindler—it was that idiotic sleepyhead!"

Wrath bellowed and started pounding on Milland's close-cropped head.

"A Demon King got his spine wrung out by a human! The souls that were sucked dry were This King's and that moronic Sloth's, not this one's!"

They could not hear a word of it, but Wrath shrieked anyway, circling over the officers' heads.

"There is a saying on the battlefield. Sword for sword. Blood for blood. And life for life."

An almost sacred light gathered in Milland's eyes.

"You gave your soul and your body to a Demon King to save us. Then we must offer something worthy of that in return."

"Of course."

"It could not be otherwise!"

The officers nodded in firm agreement.

"Gaaah! This King will choke on it! This one swindled a Demon King and walked away with nothing but profit! Come to your senses!"

Wrath screamed and thrashed, but the courtesy and reverence directed at Raon did not so much as flicker.

"It feels as though a sweet potato has been jammed down This King's throat. If This King could speak but a single word, he would gladly surrender a piece of his soul! Please! Just one word!"

He dragged his palms down his face until it stretched and howled as if he were dying.

Milland and the officers came around the table and took their places directly in front of Raon.

A heavy thud rolled through the room. They struck the left side of their chests, over the heart, with their right fists, and stood tall. It was the highest honor and the highest praise the battlefield had to give.

"Ah…"

Raon swallowed dryly. The gravity in every pair of eyes sent a shiver racing down ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his spine.

"Nngh…"

Wrath, by contrast, sagged like a punctured balloon and shook his head in slow, wretched disbelief.

"What a fucked-up world this is. Let This King die. Yes. Death would be preferable to witnessing this farce…"