The Demon King Always Wants to Surrender
Chapter 11
Mathematics and such could be set aside for now; food reserves were the urgent priority. Although Anomis felt from the bottom of his heart that he was an outsider, and would run away someday, and even if the sky fell there would still be Seleinu to hold it up… but, he couldn’t just watch someone starve to death and remain indifferent, right? This was just basic humanitarianism.
Based on this thinking, he relied on simple intuition to prioritize the upcoming actions:
- Short-term: Begging for food. Coordinating resources with other territories, including but not limited to purchasing, borrowing, and even begging. Because they simply couldn’t fill the huge gap needed by the dragon-people. One month was too short, neither enough time to wait for plants to recover nor for animals to grow.
- Medium-term: Recovery of farmland and crop cultivation. Although he wasn’t sure if the demon race had farmland, it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t – they could clear new land. This would determine whether there would be enough food to continue after half a year.
- Long-term: Family planning. The dragon-people were really too damn good at eating; if they kept reproducing, no amount of food would be enough. However, this could be postponed slightly, after all, if the first two items weren’t resolved, then there would be no need to consider this matter.
…When he thought about it carefully, it was entirely a problem with the dragon-people! Powerful combat ability and vigorous appetite – one could only say that if you wanted to gain certain benefits, you had to bear the accompanying drawbacks.
When he found Seleinu, the other was on the second-floor corridor of the library, conversing with several oddly-shaped subordinates. Of course, Anomis couldn’t have found his way there himself – he just happened to be picked up by the passing Miss White Bird and brought along. Seeing the Demon King arrive, several subordinates nodded in acknowledgment and left them space. Standing on the second floor looking down, Anomis noticed for the first time that the entire continent’s map was drawn on the ground floor hall’s surface. Giant white and black chess pieces were arranged on it, forming a strategic sandbox.
After hearing the Demon King’s thoughts, Seleinu tactfully expressed disagreement.
It was “disagreement,” not “opposition.” This wasn’t to say there was room for compromise, but rather that generally speaking, Seleinu wouldn’t directly oppose the Demon King. He said indirectly:
“Your Majesty, you may not yet fully understand those despicable and shameless things. Requesting food from them means exposing our weakness, which could very likely invite attacks.”
This made sense. Anomis humbly asked for advice:
“What’s your view?”
His heterochromatic eyes glowed slightly, exactly like a pack of wolves lying in wait before a hunt – it would surely be a hunt of tooth for tooth, eye for eye. Seleinu’s tone rose slightly, but he still maintained restraint:
“Attack them, then levy food. They were the first to betray the Demon King’s territory, refusing to respond to the summons to send troops. It’s only natural that they should be punished.”
Not a bad plan… like hell! This thinking was very demon-like! Anomis almost wanted to shake this warmonger vigorously.
‘Isn’t there a possibility that fighting would kill many people, and the reason we need food is precisely because we don’t want people to die?’
But he immediately began to reflect on himself. Careful, careful. Don’t use modern civilization’s thinking to harshly judge them again. Moreover, everything that exists must have a logically sound origin behind it. Seleinu would make such a judgment based on his experience of surviving as a demon on this land. On the contrary, his own thinking was naively groundless. But, did they really have to fight like this?
Seeing the Demon King fall silent, Seleinu thought he was afraid.
“No need to worry, leave everything to me to handle. Your Majesty need only stay in Terminus City, and I will personally offer victory to you.”
“No.”
Anomis suddenly raised his head, his scattered thoughts finally coalescing into a complete plan,
“If you really want to fight, then you should first beg… request resources from them.”
That was close – he almost said “beg for food.” Seleinu didn’t understand.
“Think about it from their perspective. If the neighboring territory was beaten half to death by the Empire, with only one month’s worth of food left and about to explode into famine. As a lord who wants to annex them, what would you do at this time?”
The demon immediately realized the key point: if it were him, he would wait for the other territory to truly erupt into famine, with most residents dead, then lead troops to attack and take it all in one strike. Waiting a bit wouldn’t hurt – demons mostly worshipped force and war, but they weren’t just brutes who only knew how to charge.
In other words, actively exposing the food shortage would instead secure at least one month of safe time. A month for their soldiers to catch their breath and recover somewhat.
The Demon King smiled with a bit of smugness, because he had found the greatest common ground between them.
“The two plans actually don’t contradict each other and can be carried out simultaneously.”
“First go ask for food, then prepare for war, and decide the next step based on the situation after a month.”
Even if they really reached the point of last resort, he could say he had tried his best.
“How about it, shall we reach a consensus?”
Looking at those eyes bright with joy, Seleinu’s surprise was beyond words. He actually hadn’t intended to let a human meddle in demon affairs – being a good mascot would be fine. He knew that humans had the habit of keeping fluffy little pets over there. He didn’t understand it, but learning to keep one was acceptable too. But this human always broke Seleinu’s preconceptions step by step with his actions. Opposing the Empire’s canonical slander, using the Empire’s internal strife to make them retreat, kneeling down to embrace demon children… and it was precisely this last act that made Seleinu unable to refuse his requests.
Seleinu exerted great effort to suppress the curve at the corner of his mouth,
“I’ll go draft the diplomatic documents.”
This was an agreement.
Since Anomis was illiterate, he didn’t know what Seleinu wrote; since he was also a human disguised as the Demon King, he couldn’t shamelessly ask either.
If he could understand at this time, he would definitely shout: “What the hell are you writing!” Then slap the parchment to the ground and stomp on it several times. Because what Seleinu wrote was actually more like a call to arms, roughly meaning: The Demon King has returned to his position, you rebellious traitors should quickly surrender, offer tribute, and pray for His Majesty’s mercy! He was really super arrogant…
However, being illiterate was being illiterate. The Demon King was in a good mood, picked up the quill pen, and signed the first demon word he had learned that Tyr had excitedly shown him these past few days – Anomis.
After the Demon King left, Seleinu placed the signed parchment on the table to dry, six copies in total, which would be sent to other demon Archdukes through special channels. As for how many replies there would be, only heaven knew.
“Wow, such ugly handwriting.”
A soft female voice came from above. Seleinu looked up and saw White Bird hanging upside down from the ceiling chandelier, holding a black soft-leather notebook in her arms.
This couldn’t really be considered slander, after all, Anomis had never held a quill pen before, so writing poorly was normal. Moreover, he was imitating Tyr’s kind of beginner’s crooked handwriting… But Seleinu still instinctively defended the Demon King,
“His Majesty is a pragmatist and won’t waste time on such things.”
Meaning the writing just needed to be legible; whether it looked good wasn’t important.
White Bird descended like a fluffy cloud. Her feathers brushed through the air over the parchment, hovering over the undried signature,
“Even the typos are exactly like a child’s.”
The mistakes were completely identical to where Tyr had written incorrectly. She laughed softly,
“Are you really sure this is our Lord Demon King?”
Seleinu understood the subtext and reminded:
“Don’t do unnecessary things.”
“I’m not that idiot Ovilia. I won’t leave traces.”
“Ovicollar.”
Seleinu warned.
“Wow, so fierce.”
White Bird retreated, raising her wings in surrender,
“If you say so, then so be it.”
Having once again confirmed that Anomis was the Demon King, White Bird hugged the soft-leather notebook in her arms tightly. It was left with her, the librarian, by the previous Demon King, who had solemnly told her: only the Demon King had the right to open it. White Bird had always been waiting for the day when Seleinu would become the Demon King. She had thought she would have the chance to personally hand it to him. Because she felt that Seleinu, more than anyone, was qualified to inherit this relic.
But never mind. The eyes hidden behind the bird-beak mask blinked once. This would be just the right opportunity to confirm whether their Demon King could read or not.
***
Having finished begging for food, Anomis hadn’t yet figured out where to start next when Tyr brought back another piece of information: the translation of the ring’s inscription.
In class, White Bird told Tyr that this was ancient Elvish, used to summon messengers. Making messengers was also simple: sacrifice an animal’s life as the price, grant the spirit a corresponding form, and thus sign a messenger contract. Usually, multiple mediums would be made from the sacrificed animal’s bones, so that holders could summon messengers and communicate through the mediums. She also specifically pointed out: Demons or humans can both be used to make messengers!
This sounded very sinister, making Anomis even less willing to use it…
But a sudden thought struck him: since he was already begging from the demons, adding one more target to beg from seemed… harmless? Although he didn’t think humans would help demons, trying cost nothing. If he didn’t attempt all possibilities, he wouldn’t forgive himself.
Taking advantage of the deep night when no one was around, Anomis forced himself to overcome his psychological resistance and put on the ring. Thinking about it, he still couldn’t help but complain: this ring was too big for the middle finger but wouldn’t fit on the thumb, which was really annoying. Those plots in movies and TV shows where everyone fights over it and finally the protagonist grabs the ring and puts it on were indeed unreliable.
The inscription’s content was very simple: Speak my name to summon my form, my name is Archangel of Death— “Gabriel.” The Demon King softly chanted its name.
Nothing happened. Wordless embarrassment stretched on as if for a century. The Demon King silently took off the ring and set it aside, covering his face in shame. Good thing no one saw this chuunibyou scene. Did it need something like magic power? But he seemed not to have any.
A loud bang interrupted his thoughts as a white figure crashed into the window. Anomis hesitated somewhat, but the white thing seemed to have knocked itself unconscious and fallen into the courtyard. Could this be it? Thinking about it, this couldn’t be discovered by the guards – it would be impossible to explain. So he rushed out quickly— Then executed a feint, rushing back to grab the ring and stuff it in his pocket, before rushing out quickly again.
The supposedly grand Archangel of Death turned out to be a bird. It was a giant eagle-falcon with a wingspan exceeding three meters, having gray and white feathers like arrow tail feathers, fallen among white flowers where it really wasn’t easy to spot. It was so big that Anomis could only drag it back, with the bird’s head bumping on the stairs, finally hitting the door frame with a thud before entering the room.
A metal message tube was tied to the bird’s claws. Inside the tube was a parchment covered with writing.
“…”
Only now did the Demon King remember that he was illiterate. Regardless of what the hero had written to him… how was he supposed to write a letter begging for food?
Anomis used more brain power this day than in the entire past week combined. He didn’t know human potential could be squeezed like this. After brief consideration, a brilliant idea surfaced.
This was why Tyr, who had been sleeping soundly, was suddenly dragged from bed by His Majesty the Demon King. As an attendant, he slept in the small room next to the Demon King’s bedroom, where he could be called at any time.
“Wake up, wake up.”
The lowered voice buzzed above,
“Get up quickly, how can someone your age sleep!”
Tyr waved his hands irritably and squinted to discover it was His Majesty calling him, instantly becoming wide awake.
“Your… Your Majesty…?”
“Can you write human script?”
Anomis got straight to the point. After all, it made sense that the Demon King wouldn’t know human writing.
“?”
“Can you or can’t you!”
“I can! I can! Mama taught me a little!”
Though she didn’t know much either.
“Good.”
In the pitch-black night, the Demon King’s eyes were bright and spirited.
“Help me write a letter.”
The following was a composition assignment: You are Li Hua, an evil demon. You have a human friend. Recently your family suffered a disaster and your economic situation isn’t very good, so you need to borrow some food from your friend. Please write a letter of approximately three hundred words on this theme.
In the Demon King’s bedroom, Anomis filled the wall lamp with oil, making the room bright. Tyr carefully glanced at the scary big bird while writing the letter… Oops! He wrote a wrong character! He guiltily crossed it out. But His Majesty didn’t seem to mind, even nodding approvingly. Encouraged, Tyr put all his energy into continuing to write…
Food? How do you write this word? Never mind, close enough should work, it should be understandable, right? His handwriting had been praised by the priest: “You write very well, don’t write anymore.”
Through the long night, one dared to write and one dared to send. If either had asked Seleinu or Marta, such an absurd thing wouldn’t have happened. One could only say this was probably what they called an excellent matching mechanism…
***
Corpses were piled into a small mountain in the center of the banquet hall. Noah sat on top of the small mountain, wiping the blood-stained sword blade. Blood had soaked his golden hair and half his formal wear. He chose this position because there was nowhere else to step – fresh blood filled the marble floor tiles, each step splashing sticky sounds.
This was Pannonia, a border province of the Empire. In the Holy Empire, there were two ways to appoint provincial governors: one was dispatch by the Senate, such provinces being called Senatorial provinces; the other was direct appointment by the imperial family, called Imperial provinces. Pannonia belonged to the latter, its governor having been directly appointed by the First Prince. So they couldn’t understand why Pannonia’s governor would choose to betray the First Prince, first pretending to open the borders to welcome the exhausted army, then luring high-ranking officers to the banquet hall, planning to catch them all when their guard was down.
But this no longer mattered. Noah didn’t care what dead people thought. Augustus didn’t care either.
Suddenly, this blood-stained hero seemed to sense something, put down his cross sword, and raised his right arm. Shadows fell heavily, and the Archangel of Death with gray-white plumage landed on his arm, its wings enormous like the incarnation of death itself, mercilessly shrouding over the many corpses. However, that handsome eagle head seemed somewhat… swollen?
Noah took the parchment from the message tube. The Archangel of Death screeched,
“Payment! Payment!”
The voice was strange, somewhere between human and non-human, indescribably stiff and terrifying. Noah had been thinking the Demon King finally knew to reply, but hearing the Archangel of Death’s complaint, he couldn’t help asking:
“Didn’t the Demon King pay you?”
“No! No!”
The eagle-falcon became even more furious. According to the Second Law of Magic, every casting of magic must pay spirits a corresponding price, and summoning messengers followed the same rule. It was hard not to suspect that the Demon King had deliberately defaulted on the payment. Noah shook his head,
“Everything in this banquet hall, you can take it all.”
He waved his hand, and the Archangel of Death soared up, letting out a sharp shriek as it swooped down.
Against the background sound of the eagle tearing at corpses, Noah wiped his hands clean and unfolded the parchment, then slowly formed a question mark. The content was as follows: Human friend, you good! Hungry hungry, food food!
