"Damn it! I'm not some kind of demon from hell—why did I end up with a name like this?"
Murphy couldn't help but question his luck. From now on, he resolved to avoid using his real name unless absolutely necessary. "Murphy" would suffice, even if it carried an air of misfortune. After all, a new life in a different world meant the rules of his former one should stay there, obediently bound to the past.
Thus, the newly crowned Demon King, Mephisto Feles, stepped into the shimmering portal opened by Anna. A dazzling burst of light later, he found himself seated upon the grand throne in the Demon King's palace within the demon realm. Wasting no time, he began inspecting the stats on the panel that had appeared before him.
Murphy was immediately overwhelmed by a sea of numbers: "9," "0," "MAX," and countless "Immunity" tags. Completely engrossed in the data, he also couldn't help but relish the soft sensation beneath him. With a sigh of satisfaction, he muttered, "So this is what it feels like to be a Demon King. The throne... truly fits the title."
But in the next moment, Murphy shot up like a spring and shouted, "What the hell is touching my ass!?"
The decrepit throne creaked as a squished, gradient-colored slime wobbled beneath him, struggling to reassemble itself. It extended slimy tendrils into every crevice of the throne, diligently cleaning as it went.
"It's... a cleaner? Well, at least the hygiene standards in this world aren't too bad." Murphy paused, his eyes narrowing. "Wait a second... Why is this chair so damn old?"
His brows furrowed as he noticed the faint scent of mildew assaulting his heightened demon senses. A sweeping glance around revealed an environment far removed from his expectations. Based on countless webnovels he'd read over the years, a Demon King's castle was supposed to be one of three things: grand and majestic, eerie and terrifying, or decadently indulgent with wine, feasts, and succubi.
This, however, was none of the above. Rust marred the grand chandelier hanging three stories above, the windows were either shattered or missing entirely, and the massive marble pillars were riddled with cracks. Everything beyond the throne was blanketed in a thick layer of dust.
And yet, the most egregious offense lay in the center of the cavernous hall: a crude, mismatched rectangular table awkwardly placed on the elaborate carpet that stretched from the throne to the hall's entrance. Its sheer presence transformed the grand, albeit dilapidated, palace into something resembling a condemned structure.
Around the table sat ten figures... no, ten creatures, ranging from a humble slime to a menacing vampire. Dozens of eyes bore into Murphy, their unrelenting stares making him feel distinctly uncomfortable—particularly the gargoyle's; its eyes were far too numerous for comfort.
The ten monstrous beings appeared to be in the middle of a meeting. Though Murphy was tempted to join them for a friendly chat, he knew that as the newly appointed Demon King, the first order of business was to establish dominance. This was, after all, the unspoken tradition of any protagonist's journey.
Murphy quickly assessed the gap between his current self and the image of an imposing, successful Demon King. The solution was clear: he needed a sacrificial pawn to make an example of.
A tense silence filled the hall. The prolonged staring contest left Murphy's eyes dry, so he decided to take the initiative.
Standing beside the throne, he cast a condescending, pitying gaze over the gathered demons—a look that would typically serve as both provocation and challenge in a society that revered strength.
Moments later, the ogre stood, his booming voice breaking the silence. "Who dares defile His Majesty's throne!?"
Murphy blinked. Huh. The local riffraff seemed oddly polite. Shouldn't this kind of taunt have them rushing to attack? What happened to the good old days of fiery tempers? This era truly was disappointing.
Realizing his intimidation tactics had flopped, Murphy shifted gears to plan B: building rapport.
With a beaming smile, he declared, "Greetings, everyone! I am your new Demon King. The heavens received the final transmission from the late king, and I've come to inherit the throne. Together, we will strive for greatness! As the saying goes, 'Our late king's work remains unfinished, and—'"
"But... you're clearly human," the gargoyle interjected, voicing the concern on everyone's minds.
Murphy had anticipated this. A Demon King needed some defining features—horns, a tail, maybe even wings. And while such traits could be conjured with skills, he knew that suddenly sprouting horns wouldn't inspire much confidence.
Instead, Murphy activated [Pride], letting the aura of one of the Seven Deadly Sins radiate outward. The oppressive force left no room for doubt. One by one, the demons fell to their knees. The skeletal lich groaned as its brittle bones creaked under the pressure, and the giant slime collapsed into a quivering puddle.
"All hail the Demon King! After forty years, the demon race is united once more!"
Murphy waved a hand dismissively. "Rise, all of you. Together, we shall... Wait. How many years?"
"Forty years!" they chorused without hesitation.
"And... what year is it now?" Murphy felt a sense of dread creeping in.
"It is the year 882 of the Pioneer Era!"
Murphy froze, his thoughts racing back to the crash course in otherworld history Anna had hastily given him.
---
"In 792 PE, the reigning Demon King and the Hero signed the Holy Peace Treaty, agreeing to a century of truce. In 842 PE, the Demon King, sensing his end was near, sent a desperate plea to the heavens for a successor."
"So... I'm being sent down in 842 PE, right?" Murphy had asked.
"Um... not exactly," Anna had admitted sheepishly. "The angel overseeing your department said that request was buried under paperwork for decades. It only surfaced recently, so here you are! Besides, time flows differently between realms. A few years' delay shouldn't matter. Good luck out there!"
Murphy returned to the present, his voice trembling. "So... the treaty only has ten years left?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty."
"And the previous Demon King has been dead for forty years?"
"Correct, Your Majesty." The demons' mournful tones suggested genuine respect for their former ruler.
Murphy clenched his teeth, cursing under his breath. "Damn that interworld transfer department! Forty years of delay!? Why not wait until the Hero is storming the gates to send me? With only ten years left, I'm just cannon fodder at this point!"
His fury simmered as he eyed the demons before him. These subordinates, worn and resigned, were clearly aware of their own shortcomings. In the face of an inevitable showdown with the Hero, they would be nothing more than fodder, each destined to buy time for their king's final stand.
Murphy sighed, slumping into the decrepit throne. The grim reality of his situation loomed large, yet he couldn't help but mutter sarcastically, "What a wonderful start to my reign."