Chapter 20

Chapter 20
## Chapter 20: Can I Trust Her?

“You are requesting that I accept you as my subordinates?”

Creatures of the wild possess their own structured existence, governed strictly by the law of the jungle. Although they had split from the lineage of magical beasts and partially evaded the heavy taint of the Demon Realm, they still carried the primal instincts of their forebears.

Life was a cycle of conflict and exertion. They were either the hunters or the hunted. To endure, they were forced to battle and refine their strength. Yet, ironically, no lineage had a hierarchy as transparent as that of the monsters or magical beasts.

In the natural order, Orcs were inferior to Trolls.
Orcs could not overcome Yetis.
Orcs were no match for Ogres.
Orcs stood no chance against Basilisks, Cockatrices, Gargoyles, or Wyverns.

The Orc species maintained the largest population among the demonic races due to their prolific breeding, but their biological ceilings were punishingly low. Being both weak and abundant, they were even treated with contempt by the human race.

Naturally, there were internal rankings. Frost Orcs sat at the apex of their kind; if they assembled even in modest numbers, they could bring down an Ogre. Humans did not dismiss them lightly. However, strength is relative. In the brutal wilderness of the Erjest Mountains, Frost Orcs were merely ordinary. They occupied the bottom rung of the local ecosystem.

To survive, they were willing to do anything. The spiritual herb represented such a desperate measure—it was their singular hope for transcending their natural limitations.

“So, you had the audacity to defy the Demon King’s decree and refuse the herb? And now you expect my sympathy?”

Berge chuckled dryly. Did these fools truly grasp the weight of their words?

“We do not seek sympathy. Those who defied you paid the price for their ignorance. We only ask that you acknowledge our tribe is of a different caliber.”

“For your sake, I hope so. If you were like the others, you wouldn’t have the breath to speak in my presence.”

The orcs shuddered as a faint wave of murderous intent washed over them.

“How did you know I was coming?”

“Word reached us recently that the Fierce Wind Tribe was annihilated. They coveted the spiritual herb and met their end at Your Majesty’s hand.”

“And then?”

“We understood that Your Majesty sought the spiritual herb. Our tribe discovered another and realized you would eventually seek us out. Therefore, we relocated the entire tribe and waited for your arrival.”

“You stayed near the tower, yet you never approached it?”

“We presumed such an intrusion would be unwelcome…”

They were observant. Had they approached the tower and caused a disturbance, Berge would have decapitated them without a second thought.

“We move that you graciously accept us as your familiars.”

“Please, take us in!”

The Frost Orcs pressed their foreheads against the ground once more.

“Identify yourself.”

“I am Krutu, chieftain of the Red Frost Tribe.”

“State your numbers.”

“We are 153. Half are trained warriors.”

Berge fell into a deep silence. This occurrence wasn’t entirely unprecedented. Among the more sapient monsters capable of human speech, some would occasionally volunteer to serve as a Demon King’s familiar. It was a proven method for shattering racial boundaries. By internalizing the demonic essence of the Demon King and the tower, they could transcend to a higher state of being. Effectively, it was a restoration of their ancestral form, an allure they could not resist.

Were Frost Orcs inherently valuable? No. The interest lay solely in Krutu. Most were labeled monsters not just because of their magical origins, but because they lacked intellect and lived by raw impulse. They were difficult to communicate with and lacked the essence of sentient beings.

If every orc possessed Krutu’s clarity, humans would likely categorize them as heteromorphs or demons rather than mere monsters. Furthermore, the energy emanating from Krutu was fundamentally different from his kin. This individual had already taken a step forward.

“You consumed the spiritual herb.”

“I did. Long ago, my sire preserved one, and by fortune, I was allowed to ingest it.”

“Very well. I accept your proposal.”

“We are grateful!”

“Restrain your joy.”

Familiars typically drew demonic energy through the tower, consuming it steadily like a human drawing a wage. Monsters sought this pact for that very reason, but Berge, currently lacking a surplus of demonic energy, had no desire to support the entire tribe.

“I will only bind you as my personal familiar.”

He was looking at the grander strategy.

—

“…So this is the place.”

Krutu looked around in awe as he stepped into the tower.

“A Frost Orc this time?” Gordon remarked, spotting the newcomer.

“Who is he?”

“My second-in-command, Gordon.”

“It is an honor, Sir Gordon. I am Krutu, leader of the Red Frost clan.”

Gordon blinked, surprised by the orc’s refined manner of speaking.

“An orc…” Gordon muttered. The orcs he had encountered previously were incapable of such eloquent speech.

“You will be my first official familiar since my arrival in Aren.”

“…You are most welcome,” Gordon added. A normal monster was a relief. Not a royal captive or a dwarven craftsman, but a genuine monster. Gordon had no reason to complain, though his opinion wouldn’t have changed Berge’s mind regardless.

“But… why is there a dwarf in this tower?” Krutu asked, his eyes drifting toward Roger’s back. The dwarf was currently preoccupied, oblivious to the world as he tinkered with traps.

“Is that a problem?”

“No. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, considering you also travel with a human woman.”

“Listen closely. I had no immediate plans to take on familiars. To be precise, I had decided against it.”

Demonic energy was a finite resource, and Berge didn’t want to squander it on mediocre orcs.

“You are the sole reason I reconsidered.”

“I am deeply honored.”

Berge saw potential in Krutu, and by extension, the Red Frost Tribe.

“However, I will not station you within the tower.”

“…Am I to be separate?”

“Quite. I will take you as my familiar, and you will govern the tribe that follows you. You are to remain in the snowfields with your people.”

Orcs were creatures meant for the hunt, roaring as they sprinted across open plains. Confining them to the narrow corridors of a tower was inefficient, even if demonic energy wasn’t an issue. This was why orcs were rarely chosen as familiars by other Demon Kings.

“You have survived the Erjest for a long time.”

“We have spent generations traversing the peaks, hunting and being hunted.”

“Then you are intimately familiar with the mountain’s terrain and the territories of other beasts?”

Krutu nodded firmly at the questions. “I am.”

“Through you, I see a specific future.”

Berge’s expression shifted to one of intense satisfaction. It wasn’t hyperbole. He could already envision the Frost Orcs leaping across the crags, their roars echoing as they intercepted the hero’s party. The image of mountain beasts, lured by the orcs, charging through the snow at the heroes was a delightful prospect.

“Take this.”

He produced the Hyacinth. It had lost its pristine, icy clarity and was now saturated with the heavy, dark essence of the Demon Realm.

“My servants must reflect my own stature.”

“They must stand at my back and uphold my cause.”

“They must crush those who oppose me.”

“They must be prepared to sacrifice their lives for my sake.”

“If you can do this, then I shall grant you this gift.”

“Ah.”

Krutu dropped to his knees, bowing low. He raised his arms to receive the corrupted Hyacinth with trembling reverence.

“This is the greatest honor…!”

Berge placed a hand upon the orc’s head.

> **SYSTEM NOTIFICATION**
> [Do you wish to designate Frost Orc Krutu as your familiar?]
> [1000pt of demonic energy will be utilized.]

It was a steep cost, which confirmed the orc’s worth. Demonic energy flooded the space as a slave brand was carved into Krutu’s very soul. The latent energy within the orc was pulled toward the tower’s core, awakening his true nature. Black horns emerged from his head, and his skin thickened into a tough, gray hide.

*Krrruuurrr—*

His eyes transitioned to a deep black. On his chest, a small black dragon sigil—the mark of Berge—began to glow. Krutu shuddered, overwhelmed by the sensation.

“My master… your orders.”

“Go. Expand your tribe. Subjugate and absorb other clans to increase your strength. Wait for the signal.”

There was no law stating the battle against heroes had to happen within the tower walls. Weakening them during their ascent would make the final confrontation much simpler.

“As you command.”

The creature, now partially restored to its demonic form, bowed with a loyalty that radiated from the depths of its spirit.

—

**[182pt]**

He was completely broke.

Berge couldn’t suppress a weary sigh. In his life before the regression, he had been a figure of immense power. He had abducted royalty, slaughtered countless heroes, and decimated human armies. His name was a curse whispered across the land, and the collective fear and hatred of humanity provided him with an endless supply of points. He used to have hundreds of thousands at his disposal.

“…And yet, I still met my end.”

Notoriety brought power, but it also bred an equal number of enemies. Heroes had laid siege to his tower daily. He had summoned expensive magical beasts to greet them, only for his summons to be slaughtered.

“I was a fool to think I was winning back then.”

Every wave of heroes drained his resources. When some escaped, Berge had mocked them as cowards, never bothering to hunt them down. He saw them as nothing more than persistent pests, never realizing it was all a calculated play.

He let out a short, bitter laugh. The dormant rage etched into his soul began to stir.

‘Still, I have laid the necessary groundwork for now.’

He had robbed the humans of their spoils to create internal friction. He had stationed the Frost Orcs in the mountains. The first floor was armed with magic cannons. And most importantly, the princess they intended to rescue would be their greatest enemy.

‘While they are distracted by her…’

He would personally strike them when their guard was down. That would be the true climax. Berge found himself hoping the heroes would make it to the fourth floor; the thought of their bewildered expressions was intoxicating.

“…Are you occupied?”

The door creaked open, and Ernyan peered inside.

“What do you want?”

“I tried knocking, but there was no response…”

“I asked for your business.”

“Gordon mentioned you were looking for me.”

“Ah.”

Right. Berge searched his belongings and retrieved a piece of fruit—one of the specimens guarded by the Red Frost Tribe. It was called Aroje. Unlike the Hyacinth, this grew from a tree.

“The tower will eventually corrupt this with demonic energy. You should eat it now.”

“Thank you! And… um…”

“Speak.”

“You mentioned you wanted me to intercept the hero myself?”

“Correct.”

“Is there a specific way you want me to handle it?”

Berge remained silent, trying to gauge her perspective.

“I mean, you must have a plan, right? It’s better if I know the details.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so enthusiastic about the task.”

“I’ve been compensated, so I should perform my duties well. That’s only fair.”

Berge wondered if human concepts of fairness even applied to demons. Regardless, if she was willing to work, he wasn’t going to complain.

“You won’t be able to defeat Hillun Kagil in a direct fight. But you can certainly create a distraction.”

“Oh, like a honey trap? I can do that.” She winked playfully.

“……”

“…Not that?” She looked visibly disappointed.

“Any tactic is fine, provided you make it undeniably clear that you are his enemy. He won’t be expecting the princess he came to save to attack him.”

“And then Your Majesty hits him while he’s confused.”

“Precisely.”

“In that case…” Ernyan tapped her chin, her eyes lighting up. “What if I introduce myself as your loyal subordinate? That would be a huge shock, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I’ll give it some more thought and let you know if I come up with something even better.”

Berge watched her leave, looking strangely joyful. He couldn’t wrap his head around her behavior, so he stopped trying. You couldn’t apply logic to an eccentric woman.

“Do as you please.”

He dismissed her with a wave. She left with a bright smile.

‘Can I actually trust her?’

The doubt lingered, but the wheels were already in motion. Berge turned his attention back to his own strength. He took a root of the tainted Hyacinth from his stores, placed it in his mouth, and began to chew. The dark energy dissolved, racing through his veins.

His pupils bled into total darkness.

—

“We have reached Hottenwalk. The mountain ascent begins shortly.”

Time continued its march, and finally, the party led by the hero Hillun arrived at the Demon King’s doorstep.