"...And that's the gist of it. Based on the fundamental laws governing this world, our bodies contain..." Byron, the resurrected "scholar," spoke earnestly as the setting sun cast its golden light through the windows of the Demon King's palace. He was recounting his experiences to the other lords, his expression serious.
The succubus, vampire, and werewolf lords all nodded in understanding, while the slime, undead, and goblin lords were on the verge of dozing off, clearly lost.
Murphy sighed and took over. "Let me simplify it for you. I need to make things happen. Making things happen requires money. We don't have money. But that's not a problem—if I kill each of you once, we'll have money. I'll resurrect you afterward, of course. The only downside is that you'll each lose five levels. But honestly, I don't think that's a big deal. You lot haven't fought in ages, and you won't be fighting anytime soon either. The only catch? Each of you can only drop gold once." His gaze swept the room. "Anyone still confused?"
The lords all nodded vigorously, heaping praises upon Murphy's brilliance. The ogre lord, in particular, thumped his chest and earnestly suggested that the Demon King kill him multiple times to maximize their earnings—clearly, he was in that peculiar stage of understanding where he grasped the words but not quite the implications.
Murphy wasn't too concerned about whether they truly understood or not. As far as he was concerned, obedient demons were good demons. The lords obediently followed him to the treasury, a vast chamber as barren as a skull, and lined up in ascending order of level.
And so began the grand assembly-line operation. Murphy started with the lower-tiered lords—the slimes, goblins, and undead in their twenties and thirties—before moving on to the ogres, gargoyles, and wraiths in their fifties and sixties, and finally, the elite succubi, vampires, and werewolves in their eighties and nineties. His magic-infused dagger worked tirelessly, its blade nearly dulling from the relentless use.
The demons did not disappoint. With each felled lord, the gold they dropped increased, the equipment they yielded grew in quality, and by the time they staggered out of the treasury in a weakened daze, their first words were invariably: "Your Majesty... what just happened?"
Murphy, now in high spirits, counted his spoils. By his estimates, he had amassed wealth on par with the richest human kingdoms. But with sudden wealth came new challenges—after decades of peace, freshly minted coins would be a dead giveaway. If he wanted to fly under the radar and build his strength undisturbed, he would need to employ an age-old trick of antique dealers—distressing.
"Every skill has its place," he mused. Activating [Minor Decay], he watched as the pristine gold took on the patina of time, its luster fading into the illusion of decades-old currency. The results were seamless. If he could bring this skill back to his previous world, last week's trinkets could easily pass for artifacts from the Shang and Zhou dynasties. It would be an absolute nightmare for archaeologists.
His gaze shifted to the mountain of loot—armor, weapons, and accessories stacked high. The sheer quantity and increasing quality were enough to outfit a small band of heroes from level one to their final confrontation with him.
That's when Murphy realized something.
He had just stolen an entire hero party's destiny.
In games and strange alternate worlds alike, nothing was more infuriating than a boss that dropped no loot. If war resumed before he found a way to resolve the conflict, his subordinates would end up as little more than farming material for the heroes.
As he pondered the future, something tugged at the hem of his robe. He glanced down to see a color-shifting slime—the custodian of the treasury. The place had been so empty before today that it had been left to consume dust for sustenance. Knowing this, Murphy had placed it here before his grand culling, ensuring at least one creature could feed on the accumulated grime.
The slime wobbled and then spit out a softly glowing crystal.
Murphy picked it up and immediately sensed the remnants of another Demon King's will. The light within was nearly extinguished. He swiftly extended his consciousness into the crystal and was met with the sight of a hunched figure.
"You have arrived too late," the spectral voice rasped. "Perhaps something went wrong. Regardless, I have little time left. Before I fade completely, you may ask three questions."
Murphy briefly considered asking whether leaving the crystal untouched would preserve the former king's consciousness indefinitely. But that would count as a question, and given the sunk cost, he decided to proceed more wisely.
"First question: Are heroes really that powerful?"
"They are. As a Demon King, you should already understand your limits. But heroes seem to defy those limits. Be cautious."
Murphy frowned. Overpowered heroes—suspicious. He would need to be extra vigilant in his plans.
"Second question: Have our people always been this... dim?"
The ghostly figure chuckled. "Yes. Even in my time, they often drove me to the brink of madness. Give orders—don't waste breath explaining them."
Murphy smirked. "Good advice. I've only been here two days, and I've already made peace with that reality." He paused before asking his final question. "Third question: Why were you so partial to the succubi?"
The spectral figure coughed. "Oh? Did that cheeky brat Tell tell you? How indiscreet. I'm a native-born demon. I favored the succubi because before I became Demon King, I was one myself. That child hasn't changed—always scheming. I wonder if his sister is still as charming as she was back then..."
The old king chuckled weakly. "Well, my time is up. The future of demonkind is in your hands now."
Murphy nodded. "Thank you for your wisdom. I'll take it from here."
The shadowy figure grew fainter, its voice barely audible through the veil of oblivion.
"Young one... is your gift [Lust]?"
Murphy sighed. "No luck. I drew [Pride] instead."
"Ah... neither did I. What a shame..."
Murphy blinked. What kind of conversation was this?
A chuckle drifted from the void. "Are you thinking poorly of me?"
Murphy hesitated. Was he reading my mind?
"Don't be like that. When I died, I wasn't much older than you. Farewell, young king."
With that, the crystal in Murphy's hand dimmed completely, becoming nothing more than an ordinary rock. He stared at it, muttering, "Is [Lust] really that rare? Damn it."
Stepping out of the treasury, he found his weary, half-collapsed lords still standing respectfully, awaiting his orders. Lifting the crystal for all to see, he announced, "This is the essence of the previous Demon King's will. We had our final conversation. By the customs of my old world, this marks my official coronation. I hope we can foster a more relaxed relationship moving forward. No need for excessive formalities."
He approached the succubus lord. "Tell, you'll be the one to safeguard this. The old Demon King mentioned you."
Tell's eyes widened in disbelief. "Your Majesty, what did he say about me?"
Murphy stroked his chin thoughtfully. "He said you were a good kid—just a little devious."
Tell's expression twitched. A stifled snicker broke the silence, and soon, the halls of the treasury rang with suppressed laughter.
The mood was light, the air filled with mirth. For the first time in decades, the Demon King's palace felt... alive.