The Demon King' Chapter 128: The Death of Glair

I opened my eyes. That hay again. That cursed barn again.

Only this ti, an impressive brown stain adorned the dry grass by my side—my own blood. The sun had long since set, leaving behind only cold shadows and a hollow, echoing void in my stomach.

I stood up, staggering. My legs felt like they belonged to soone else, but my instincts were functioning perfectly. The horses in the stalls, catching sight of , began to back away with frightened, raspy breaths.

I wanted only one thing. To eat.

A chicken ran past. I didn't even think. My hand shot forward on its own; a short, fierce burst of fla erupted from my palm.

PSHEW.

The chicken was roasted mid-air. I tore into the hot at, ignoring the feathers. A second one happened to be nearby and t the sa fate.

The barn door was locked from the outside. No windows, no cracks—just a wooden box. As I was debating whether or not to simply kick the wall down, the bolt rattled from the outside.

— "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! YOU ATE GLAIR?!"

The Demon of Poverty stood on the threshold. He looked... neat. Far too neat.

— "Who the hell is Glair?" I muttered, wiping grease from my face.

— "AND ROSMARINDA TOO?!" He collapsed to his knees, staring at the feathers at my feet. "Monster! No, you are a true monster! I had such plans for them... breeding, eggs, hosteading..."

I looked at him like he was an idiot.

— "You had plans for dinner, not breeding. Just take

to the house."

We stepped out of the barn. Instead of the old shack I expected to see, a respectable building lood ahead. Three stories, massive stonework, a wide porch. It was practically a palace, just without the flags.

We climbed the steps. The hallway floor was laid with heavy stone slabs. Expensive, simple, reliable.

— "Take off your shoes," Poverty snapped as I crossed the threshold into the entryway.

— "What?"

— "I read it in your books: this is what civilized people do to avoid bringing filth inside. Take them off."

I obediently pulled off my shoes, feeling the cold stone against my soles. To the right—a bathroom; to the left—the kitchen. The scent of sothing edible drifted from the kitchen. I headed that way, but the Demon of War blocked my path.

She was standing at the stove, stirring sothing in a cauldron. She looked... strange. Her extra limbs were gone, and her skin had turned an almost human shade.

— "YOU." She poked

with a ladle. "You're supposedly human, yet you have no manners. Wash your hands. Now."

— "Since when did you all turn into aristocrats?" I protested. "And where are your extra combat-arms, War?"

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— "Mira ordered us to 'blend in'," she said. "We are respectable residents now. Go wash up; you sll like a scorched chicken coop."

I went to the bathroom. There, I discovered a strange device: an iron tap that produced a stream of water when turned. Where it ca from was a mystery, but the progress pleased .

After my ablutions, Poverty led

to the second floor.

— "Your room."

It was huge. Far too spacious. For furniture, there was only a bed and an empty wardrobe. Nothing extra—just the way I like it.

— "We’re on the third floor," the demon tossed over his shoulder before leaving.

I collapsed onto the bed. The springs didn't even creak—quality. In my head, the sparks of mory regarding fires and volcanoes were slowly fading.

House. Kitchen. Clean sheets. The bed was soft, and that settled the matter.

I closed my eyes and plunged into the dark.

I was woken up at the crack of dawn.

— "What? Where?" I tried to burrow into my pillow, but I was unceremoniously shaken out of sleep.

The Demon of Poverty stood before the bed, clutching a stack of paper.

— "I read in this book..." he began with terrifying enthusiasm.

— "What book?"

He shoved a tattered volu under my nose: Farming for Dummies. Next to it lay two others: History of an Ordinary Plowman and so treatise on the life of the "average human."

— "According to the instructions," the demon lectured, "we must feed the horses, walk the cows, clean the manure out of the barn... oh, and plow the field so the wheat grows. There’s a whole list, Zenhald. Get up; the work won't do itself."

I looked at him. — "Do you actually like this?"

— "Very much," he answered seriously. "All of this... is new. Studying the lifestyle of pathetic creatures is a quite fascinating experience."

We went down to the kitchen. There existed a loud banging, sound of tal warping. Demon of war was trying to cook sothing, but, based on the cooking pot she was using, she was loosing that battle.

— "AND WHY SHOULD I BE THE ONE DOING THIS?!" she roared.

— "It’s written in the book," Poverty didn't even flinch, "that the female sex in human society usually manages the kitchen. Division of labor."

In response, a heavy wooden ladle flew at Poverty's head. There was a dry crack—the wood shattered into splinters, leaving not a scratch on the demon.

— "Well," Poverty sighed. "Now we need another ladle."

— "Alright, stop," I sat at the table, trying to quell the buzzing in my head. "Enough with the dosticity. Tell

properly what happened. We were going to the City of Alchemists, and then—a blank. A void."

The Demon of War shot

a heavy look.

— "You really don't rember anything? You beca... a true monster, Greg. I don't know what you did to that Fire Demon—whether you consud him or simply erased him—but after that, you lost it."

— "Mira touched your forehead, and you turned into sothing," Poverty picked up. "You created a goddamn volcano. Summoned stone titans. By our estimates, you dismantled an entire state. The death toll there is in the thousands, and considering the ash and lava—the consequences will kill tens of thousands more. You simply wiped that region off the map."

I froze. — "And... where are we now?"

— "You were blacked out for three days," War stepped closer. "For three days, Mira's sword was stuck in your chest. During that ti, we managed to cross the borders of two nations. Mira bought this farm so you could recover."

She sniffed. — "Your eyes are different again. And you sll like... nothing. The Void. Are you even actually human?"

I moved to a sofa in the corner of the kitchen.

— "We have more important problems than geopolitics," I grumbled. "For example: what are we going to eat? I’m starving."

War slamd a plate of so grey sludge in front of .

— "The book said: 'Potato Soup'. But I didn't understand what to do with them, so I just boiled them as they were."

I looked into the plate. Whole tubers were floating in murky water. In their skins. With dirt still on them.

Well, in principle, it wasn't critical. Vitamins and all that. I scooped up a spoonful.

— "Is there any salt?"

— "What salt?" War frowned. "What for?"

— "Well... it's a flavor enhancer. To make food pleasurable."

— "Is food supposed to be tasty?" she interrupted . "It's just fuel. A waste of ti on aningless sensations."

I sighed and buried my face in the plate.

— "You guys are such bores. Demons, masters, kings... you're all the sa. Just give

normal food, and maybe I’ll stop destroying kingdoms."

But there was no salt. Only unpeeled potatoes crunching between my teeth.