Following a series of amicable negotiations, the development and mass production of the newly devised "useless" crystal were entrusted entirely to Tyre and the succubi under his command. Despite their apparent idleness and the regrettable loss of their ancestral trade, the succubi had managed to preserve their craft of item enchantment. Nearly every succubus possessed the ability to conjure up dubious magical trinkets by hand.
Thus, only one problem remained: a lack of raw materials.
"Your Majesty, raw crystal ore is found exclusively in human territories."
It was the dead of night when an elderly succubus, his vigor undiminished by age, remarked that the last time he had laid eyes on crystal ore was two centuries ago, back when he had roamed the world in his youth.
"You all heard that, didn't you?" Murphy turned to the gathered demon lords, hastily assembled in the succubi's square. "We have no choice. If we want to make those crystals, we need to head into human lands."
The lords exchanged hushed whispers, their discussion culminating in a singularly unhelpful conclusion: Human territory is dangerous.
Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, they began enthusiastically nominating themselves for the expedition, their fervor reaching such absurd heights that Murphy felt both gratified and exasperated. Watching these creatures fall over themselves in their eagerness, he couldn't help but wonder—had none of them looked in a mirror before volunteering to stroll into human civilization?
"Enough, settle down." Murphy raised a hand to silence the raucous crowd. "I'll go personally, and I'll take two companions with me."
Silence hung in the air for a brief moment—before the frenzied marketplace atmosphere returned in full force.
"Before you start throwing yourselves at the opportunity, perhaps take a moment to consider whether you actually look human."
Murphy could feel his blood pressure rising.
"You. You. And you." He pointed at a goblin, an undead, and an ogre. "Do you honestly think you could pass for human? Out."
His gaze swept toward a gargoyle and a ghost. "Are you trying to get us all killed from sheer terror? Out."
Then, he turned to the vampires. "I'll be traveling by day."
And finally, the werewolves. "The full moon is in two days."
In the end, the finalists were a succubus, a skeleton, and a slime lord. The others, upon realizing they had been eliminated, loudly accused Murphy of rigging the selection process. While no one objected to the succubus, given their ability to disguise themselves, they couldn't fathom why a skeleton and a slime had made the cut.
To their confusion, Murphy cheerfully unveiled his latest stroke of genius: cosplaying as a human.
A skeleton was just a set of bones. A slime was merely a mass of fluid. But if a high-level slime enveloped a high-level skeleton and altered its color to mimic human flesh—well, wasn't that essentially a walking, talking human?
Theoretically.
Slimes were known to dissolve anything too weak encased within them, meaning a sufficiently strong skeleton was necessary. Likewise, the ability to shift coloration required the slime to be of considerable rank. Naturally, this led to the only viable pairing: the ever-overlooked Slime Lord, Blue, and the skeletal warrior Byron. With some deliberation, they agreed that Byron would have control over their synthetic human.
A few practice attempts later, their creation had already improved—at the very least, Byron's bones no longer punctured the slime casing with every step. However, a new problem soon arose.
"Hey. Hey. Look at me. Do my eyes grow on the sides of my mouth?"
Murphy shuddered at the uncanny sight before him. A grotesque attempt at a human form, its face shifting in ways that defied natural anatomy. The soulless eyes, a poor imitation of real ones, slowly oozed downward, as if melting toward the colorless lips.
For a brief moment, Murphy felt a chill crawl up his spine—his mind flashing back to horror works from his past life, grotesque abominations that had haunted his nightmares. The Uncanny Valley was real, and it was terrifying.
Leaving the vampires and werewolves to oversee further refinements of the "Slime-Skeleton Homunculus," Murphy turned his attention to Tyre. There were still matters to discuss concerning their journey to human lands. As for the other demon lords who had yet to receive assignments, Murphy permitted them to sit in as spectators, hoping they might absorb some useful knowledge for once.
Back in the succubi's council chamber, Murphy withdrew a battered golden emblem. A bear's face was intricately carved into the surface, marred by a deep blade scar that only made it appear more menacing.
"This was among Byron's loot," Murphy mused, turning the emblem over in his hands. "It's not just some low-tier trinket—it's his former family crest. Something called the Reed family. Do you recognize it?"
Tyre took the emblem, scrutinized it, and shook his head. "Never heard of them."
"Figures. No matter—we can investigate along the way." Murphy wasn't particularly disappointed. He absentmindedly twirled the emblem between his fingers. "For a green-tier accessory, it offers significantly better stats than usual. My years of gaming experience tell me this thing isn't ordinary. If it had fallen into the hands of a fresh adventurer, it might've even triggered a hidden quest. But for now… this little secret is mine."
Tyre, perplexed by Murphy's choice of words, chose not to press the matter. Instead, he retrieved a wrinkled leather map and carefully spread it across the table.
As dim candlelight flickered against the aged parchment, a group of demon lords leaned in, their collective heads blocking out most of the illumination. Murphy briefly entertained the notion that they resembled a band of novice tomb raiders, fumbling through their first heist.
With a wave of his hand, Murphy conjured an eerie light orb. Unlike standard illumination spells, his radiated a faint chill.
Under its ghostly glow, he studied the map, gaining his first real understanding of this world's geography.
Humans, as ever, held the central stage in the grand narrative of existence. Their kingdom occupied the heart of the known world, while the demon territories sprawled to its southwest. A narrow border separated the two factions, an uneasy truce forged from past conflicts.
Curiously, the map lacked details beyond the human lands, offering no indication of what lay beyond the distant seas.
Following a great war ninety years prior, human lands had undergone a complete redistribution, leaving the demon lords woefully uninformed about the current state of human affairs.
As in many adventure stories, the difficulty of venturing through demon lands mirrored that of a leveling system. The lowest-tier monster territories—such as the Miasma Swamp, the Goblin Badlands, and the Lightless Necropolis—formed the borderlands between humans and demons. Further in lay the mid-tier monster domains, with the Royal Court nestled at the heart of it all, protected by the strongest among them.
A hero's journey was simple: climb the ranks, conquer the trials, and face the final boss.
Murphy compared the map to a certain soul-crushing tower defense game from his past, marveling at how merciful this world was to its heroes. He wasn't sure who had a hollower skull—Byron, or whatever poor fool had designed this world's straight-line difficulty curve.
Now, Murphy faced a decision: which low-tier monster land would serve as their gateway to the human world?
The Miasma Swamp, with its perpetual poison fog, was immediately ruled out.
That left the Goblin Badlands and the Lightless Necropolis—neither of which inspired much confidence. The Necropolis exuded an aura of death, inflicting a persistent debuff on the living, while the Badlands, well… suffered from reputation issues.
Just as he was weighing his options, hurried footsteps approached.
Moments later, a breathless goblin scout burst into the chamber.
"Boss! We caught one—a knight! A female knight!"