Having contemplated the bleak prospects ahead, Murphy surveyed his surroundings and realized the problems plaguing the demon race could run far deeper than he initially thought.
The state of the grand hall spoke volumes: the Demon King's palace had devolved into what could only be described as a construction site. Murphy could scarcely imagine the current state of his domain.
As a pacifist, Murphy once harbored naive hopes of restoring the demon race to greatness. Now, his aspirations had been reduced to one simple goal: keeping his subordinates from starving to death would count as a success.
"I believe I have a general understanding of the situation now," Murphy said, his voice echoing across the decrepit hall. "Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Murphy. As of today, I am your new Demon King. Let's get along, shall we?
"Since you all serve as the lords of your respective clans, I trust each of you holds an indispensable position within the demon race. Now, please introduce yourselves. Share your names or something of that sort."
Murphy pointed to the ogre kneeling at the far edge of the group. "You there, let's start with you."
"Your Majesty, what is a name?" The ogre stared back at him, confusion etched across its face.
"Your Majesty, what is an introduction?" The gargoyle lord's two rows of eyes sparkled with a hunger for knowledge.
Your Majesty, what is a 'self'? The massive slime's amorphous body rippled and contorted as it conveyed its query. Despite the lack of words, every demon present understood its meaning.
"...What the hell?!" Murphy erupted after a brief silence. The demons in this world were, without a doubt, a catastrophic mess. And now, the unlucky soul burdened with the name Murphy was starting to feel like his misfortune was just beginning.
What need was there for heroes to challenge the demon race? At this rate, their own incompetence would drive them to extinction.
Murphy admitted that, for a fleeting moment, despair had taken hold of him. He even entertained the thought of abandoning his role as Demon King, discarding his cursed name, and starting over with a clean slate. But as he wavered between giving up and struggling onward, Ren Ping'an—the soul behind the new Demon King—resolved to see this through. Whether it was to avoid another untimely death, to become the world's ruler, or simply to inject some excitement into his otherwise mundane life, he decided to commit himself to the task.
Another factor weighed on his mind: the sheer mediocrity of the demon race. Their subpar capabilities dragged down the average level of intelligence and power in this otherworldly realm. Intrigued by this curious phenomenon, Murphy was eager to determine if this world was, in fact, a low-magic, low-intelligence society.
But for now, he needed to rally his subordinates.
"I swear upon the name of Mephisto Pheles, your Demon King!"
"I vow to lead you to victory! In return, I demand but one thing from all of you—my foolish demon subjects!" Murphy's [Pride] surged forth, compelling every demon lord to prostrate themselves once more. "And that is absolute obedience."
Murphy's long-awaited moment of establishing dominance had finally arrived, and it had gone off without a hitch—no minor nuisances dared to disrupt it.
The colorful slime on the throne collapsed into a puddle of goo once again. Murphy scooped it up, gathering the pieces in his hand before seating himself on the throne.
"You obey me, and I shall lead you to triumph. It's a fair deal. Rest assured, my pride will not permit me to break my word to mere ants."
Closing his eyes, Ren Ping'an allowed himself a moment of reflection. After delivering such a grand proclamation, he realized that the pride coursing through him was no longer just an act. The power of the Demon King surged within him, and the identity of Murphy felt less like a superficial title and more like an integral part of his being. Attributes that were once mere numbers on a stat sheet now melded with his essence. When he reopened his eyes, only the [Prideful] Demon King—Mephisto Pheles—remained.
"Rise, all of you. Saving this crumbling demon race will require our collective efforts."
Despite his newfound authority, Murphy disliked putting on airs. He quickly resumed a more approachable demeanor and shared his next intention: "But before anything else, I believe every creature deserves a name."
Fortunately, this world's rules didn't involve magical exhaustion or fainting spells when naming creatures. Unfortunately, Murphy was terrible at naming things, and the mere thought of it was already draining his mental energy.
He initially planned to name every demon himself, but with tens of thousands of them to account for, even assigning numerical identifiers would take decades.
There wasn't enough time! Murphy was desperate.
Thus, he issued his first decree as the new Demon King:
"All sentient demons must choose a name for themselves. Those who refuse are unworthy of being called demons."
With the aid of his powers, Murphy's command reached the consciousness of every demon under his rule.
At that moment, a humanoid demon lord rose to his feet. "Your Majesty, not all demons are so foolish as to lack names. Their ignorance stems from years of isolation from humanity and the absence of a ruler to guide them.
"As for my kind, we were fortunate to receive the favor of the previous Demon King. Among the demon clans, ours is the most cultured."
The demon shot a disdainful glance at the ogre lord, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips.
Murphy studied the demon before him: humanoid, youthful in appearance, with a handsome face. He wore a tattered suit, had small horns on his head, tiny wings at his waist, and a slender tail trailing behind him. No need to check the stats panel for confirmation.
"You're an incubus?"
"I am Tyre, the leader of the incubi, at your service."
"You're male?"
"As Your Majesty can plainly see."
"Are there no female incubi in this world?"
Tyre cast a puzzled look at Murphy, who seemed genuinely curious. "Your Majesty, of course there are male and female incubi. Otherwise, there would be no new generations."
Murphy realized he had been presumptuous and pressed on with another question. "You claim your clan has culture. Elaborate."
For the next ten minutes, Tyre detailed how the incubi had survived ninety years of peace. From the despair of a famine caused by a lack of human essence to their gradual transition to self-sufficiency—relying on their own or each other's essence—they had endured without compromising their dignity.
The new Demon King admired their resilience and immediately expressed a desire to visit their territory. "Once I've dealt with the matters at hand, I'll inspect the incubi's domain personally."
Murphy now fully understood the saying, "Toilet paper comes in many forms, and each roll is unique." Since the demon race varied so greatly across worlds, he knew it would be wise to survey his subjects before making any grand plans. This decision, he assured himself, was purely strategic—certainly not motivated by personal curiosity.
As Murphy's gaze swept across the room, he noticed the skeletal lord scribbling diligently on a piece of parchment, as if recording the day's events.
For a brief moment, Murphy's eyes grew misty. This was the second good thing to happen today, right after discovering the existence of female incubi.
In this cultural wasteland of a demon race, here was a rare scholar. The skeletal lord had seemed unremarkable until now, but he was clearly the most erudite figure for miles around.
Murphy approached and picked up the parchment, scanning its contents. His expression gradually twisted in disbelief.
"Why are you writing in the human common tongue?" he finally asked, after much hesitation.
"Your Majesty," the skeletal lord replied earnestly, "it stems from the education I received in life. Though my memories from that time are faint, I retained some knowledge of language and grammar.
"After my death and transformation into a skeleton, I discovered that no other demons could write in the demon language. Since assuming the role of secretary for the Demon Lords' Council, I have recorded everything in the human common tongue."
The skeleton's sincerity moved Murphy. It was ironic that the most cultured member of the demon race was a reanimated skeleton.
"You've done well. What is your name? If you lack one, I'll grant you one." Murphy, adhering to the universal rule that rarity commands value, was willing to tax his brain for this intellectual treasure.
"My name is Byron," the skeleton said, knocking on his hollow skull. "I've been dead so long that I've forgotten the rest."
"Never forget your name, Byron."
Murphy turned his attention to the other lords, determined not to appear overly partial to the incubi. He decided to first assess the state of each territory.
"Now, let's hear about the situation in each of your domains."