Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was no surprise to either Albedo or Demiurge that the guests arrived first. ‘Even humans have the sense to know that they must arrive before the master of their estate.’ Albedo reluctantly acknowledged their sense of propriety. Praising humans was a very rare thing for her, she could think of only three or four that ever merited a favorable word.

  But every now and then they showed some inkling of understanding of the order of things, even if only among themselves. She and Demiurge, like the other servants, took position along the far wall and watched as the procession of guests took up places one by one in front of various ornately carved chairs that were roughly on par in quality with the worst trash drops in Nazarick’s inventory.

  But good enough for humans at least.

  The servants in the great hall were few in number, five male, five female with more outside the doors to act as replacements for those within who had to leave to fetch this or that. There were twenty-nine guests present and standing in front of their chairs, waiting on the Queen and the guest of honor, all in the fine formal attire that Demiurge appreciated on a fundamental level.

  ‘At least they know how to dress themselves. Even if their attempts pale in comparison to what we have on hand for ourselves…’ Demiurge thought, but he took more note of the enchantments than on the fashion. Antipoison resistance was the most common enchantment his demonic eyes could spot.

  ‘Filth. Imagine having so little trust in your own comrades that you need clothing that provides resistance to poison!’ It was enough to make his hands tense with disgust that he was fortunately able to hide by keeping them behind his back. Other enchantments included antimagic resistance or enhancements to speed or agility, magic meant to help them survive, evade, and escape.

  ‘They are dining with their own Queen, and still they think only of themselves…’ He thought this each time he observed one of the attendees… until he came to the last of them.

  A man of substantial muscle, on par with the man of the Kingdom Lord Ainz had tried once to recruit. His clothing was enchanted with resistance to both poison and magic… but nothing else. ‘Is it not his?’ Demiurge wondered, and caught sight of the calloused hands… ‘Wait, is this the one My Lord was traveling with?’ It seemed probable, and he quickly filled in the gaps.

  ‘He is a guest because of his service… I will evaluate him later.’ Demiurge put that one out of mind, mostly, but one eye at least was on the human who kept his maker company, idly wondering whether reward or punishment suited him better.

  “Announcing Her Majesty, Queen Draudillon Oriculus!” A herald at the door called out, and those at the table faced the door and bowed. “And our guest of honor, her betrothed, “Ulbert Alain Odle the champion ‘Game Changer!’” The herald’s call sent shockwaves through both Demiurge and Albedo, their bodies would have trembled if they had not become like stone statues, disbelieving and for the first time in their collective lives… caught completely off their guard.

  ‘Betrothed?! That’s not possible!’ Demiurge wasn’t sure if he should cringe or cry or rage, ‘Alright so she’s not fully human, and… a supreme being can have whatever they like out of this pathetic world… but to take one of them as something other than a plaything?!’

  For Albedo, it was no better. ‘It’s an insult to Nazarick! To the Supreme Being, Lord Ainz, our glorious Momonga… It would be one thing to take her as a plaything to be devoured, to be consumed, or even as a plaything to be toyed with and tossed aside when she breaks… but… this?! This?!’ And too, she could not help the personal thought…

  ‘How could she sleep with a Supreme being before me?!’ Albedo cried out in her head, she wanted to pull and tug at her hair, to yank it out so that the pain of doing so might distract her from her distress at the sudden and unexpected news.

  And yet their bodies showed none of their distress, watching the back of what had to be their Supreme Lord in a human shape, seated at the right hand of the Queen. From where the Guardians stood, they were sight unseen, but it couldn’t last long. Sooner or later, either during the meal or after… ‘So many questions… so much to say…’ Demiurge tried to order his mind, his thoughts, to bring back the sense of centered self that he always possessed while in the presence of his father, his maker, the gifter of every trait that Demiurge treasured in himself. ‘So what if he claims the body of a Queen… it is an easy way to gain a kingdom intact. She will die in time and he is immortal… and even my creator is not Lord Ainz… Lord Ulbert always was prone to taking more direct action, lacking in the same subtlety as the leader of the Forty-One.’

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Little by little, the swift mind of the demon pieced together his reasoning and rationalizations while he prepared himself to greet his father at long last… all he had to do was wait for his chance.

  To his right, Albedo at least, was more focused upon listening for the discussions at hand, than she was on the things that outraged her, or so it seemed to his eyes. ‘She is not our Overseer for nothing.’ Demiurge thought, and that in and of itself was a point of pride, ‘I am glad I was created by Lord Ulbert, but I will admit, she is fortunate to have been created by Lord Tabula Smaragdina… I’m sure that now, looking at and seeing my Lord return… it’s all she can do to imagine the joy of finding her own creator coming next…’ It was enough to move his heart to pity for his comrade, and he privately resolved to do something pleasant for her at his next opportunity.

  Cerebrate watched his party move away to eat their meal. It wasn’t much, just a short distance, a few feet extra from him than they were from each other.

  ‘How did I never notice that before?’ He asked himself.

  ‘Because you’re so stupid you didn’t realize how much you sicken them. You turn their meals to ash in their mouths…’ The critical voice in his head clawed at him as it had on the day his reputation first began its steep decline.

  Over and over he’d told himself it didn’t matter, that he cared very little or not at all for the judgements of fools and peasants. But he couldn’t forget the days when he’d first gained the name, ‘Fierce Flash’.

  The cheers, the renown, women who were drawn to either strength or wealth or status… all went heavy lidded and flirted with him. Nobles invited him to dine at their estates to regale them with tales of their heroism. Every hearth was warm, and when he recruited both his ranger and his mage, their eyes were filled with wonder that he should have chosen to elevate them above their comrades to form the greatest adamantite team in the Draconic Kingdom.

  ‘Turning down all those women, and not a few men, even gave me a boost to my reputation… I was nearly a saint…’ He thought of those golden days while he spooned watery soup into his mouth, their travel rations were spartan now, but it made the old days shine all the brighter in the eyes of his memories.

  The thin, salty stuff was the sort that iron rank adventurers ate until they got gold rank and could afford more filling rations, but it was now all they could risk buying… or at least, all he could afford. And it was the responsibility of the team leader to pay for rations.

  ‘If I hadn’t gotten caught…’ He cursed the day he’d fallen asleep drunk, and the young boy ran weeping out of the house…

  From there Cerebrate’s reputation was shattered completely, the rumors spread from village to village, and the young children spoke of him in the same way, some, he knew for a fact were lying. But when there were enough he knew were telling the truth… ‘The invitations stopped, the lovers of strength and wealth looked at me with revulsion… the beastmen were supposed to be my chance to come back from all that! To start over! To be a hero again!’ He would have thrown his bowl down to shatter in the dust if there hadn’t been some soup to lick clean.

  ‘Nobody would ever give someone like you a second chance… they may use you while they need you, but they preferred a literal demon to you, didn’t they? He was better than you at everything that made you special, and now where do you stand… do you really think you’ll ever rise again? You should just lie down. Lie down and die. You’ll be better off, everybody will be better off. At least if you just disappear you can leave a mystery behind.’

  Cerebrate clenched his teeth, his tense hands shattered the bowl as he tightened his grip, and the fragments of wood fell into the dirt, the little bit of soup remaining, spilled into the dirt, and some of it got into the remnants of the bowl itself, tainting any wet salty drops with soil. He looked at his comrades when they turned their eyes toward the noise he made.

  They quickly tilted their bowls up, and drained the last of their rations. ‘They’d rather you eat dirt, than share with you. You’ve got nobody. Go on, lick it clean anyway, you’re pathetic… so pathetic… pa-thet-ic…’ The piercing doubts sent waves and waves of misery crashing over his heart like the waves of a mighty storm.

  “I’m turning in.” He snarled at the pair, and stormed off to his bedroll, cursing himself and the bowl he left shattered on the ground, leaving them to stare dumbfounded at his retreating back.

  As he laid down, he checked his pocket, his last gold piece was still there. ‘At least I have that much going for me.’ Cerebrate thought, and closed his eyes to dream only nightmares.