Chapter 8

Chapter 8
## Chapter 8: A Century-Long Pact

Even though the chaos had largely been quelled, Hortonwork remained the primary threshold bordering the Forbidden Zone. The sounds of conflict were a daily reality as hordes of beasts constantly threw themselves against the defenses.

Because of this, the captive laborers funneled into Hortonwork were generally a rugged, battle-hardened lot, selected specifically for their high utility and physical prowess.

This context made sense of the current situation. The elf before them possessed a frame that was more than just toned; he was remarkably powerful in build.

“Is there something I can assist you with?”

A merchant, who had been busy scratching notes onto parchment at a corner table in the common area, noticed the newcomers and stood to greet them.

Following a brief exchange with the escort, the merchant rubbed his hands together, a greedy glimmer in his eyes.

“Haha, in the market for high-quality stock, are you? You’ve certainly found the right establishment. Perhaps a tour of the grounds first?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Berge moved forward with purposeful strides, coming to a halt directly in front of the metal enclosure containing the elf. Seeing him from a closer vantage point only heightened his interest.

“An elf! You certainly have a refined palate for such rarities!”

The trader’s grin widened with avarice.

Elves commanded a premium price. Their market value had reached astronomical levels ever since international treaties following the great racial conflicts had officially outlawed the trafficking of non-human species.

“He’s heavily restrained.”

“Well, elves are quite remarkable; standard bindings simply snap under their strength. This level of security is merely the baseline for such a creature.”

“He has fierce eyes.”

Berge did not look away from the captive.

The elf’s hair, once a vibrant emerald, was now clumped with grime and filth from long-term confinement. Yet, those jade-colored eyes burned with the intensity of a caged predator—a trait Berge found highly desirable. He was pleased to see that the spirit of the warrior remained unbroken despite the shackles.

He particularly noted the palpable hatred for humanity radiating from the man.

The only drawback was the heavy gag that rendered him silent.

“I wish to speak with him.”

“He’s quite feral, sir. Removing the muzzle could lead to an unfortunate incident…”

“And if it does?”

“Well…”

“Should the elf perish or cause a scene, I will accept full liability and complete the purchase regardless.”

“Oh, if you’re willing to guarantee the sale under those terms…”

“What is the asking price?”

“As you are aware, elves are not cheap. I was thinking four gold pieces—no, let’s say five.”

Berge produced a gold coin and flipped it into the air with a casual flick. The merchant snatched the shining metal from the sky and moved with sudden alacrity to unlock the cage.

“I’ll leave you to your chat!”

“The rest of you, leave.”

“I shall wait by the entrance,” the guide stated.

Bark and the merchant retreated. Alone now, Berge stepped into the confined space and allowed his demonic aura to bleed out.

“Mmph…!”

The elf’s pupils snapped wide. Even with his internal energy suppressed by the anti-magic cuffs, his race’s innate sensitivity to spiritual pressures made it impossible to ignore the presence of demonic power.

Berge reached out and unfastened the gag. The elf’s jaw hung slack, paralyzed by the realization of what stood before him.

“Do not attempt to bite your tongue. You will find your body refuses to move. Simply remain still and listen.”

The captive had no alternative but to comply.

“I have just acquired you for a significant sum. By all legal metrics, you are now my property.”

Veins throbbed in the elf’s eyes, which were now shot through with red. His jaw worked as if trying to force out a string of vitriol.

The words would not come.

“I can only imagine the depth of the resentment you harbor, being reduced to a slave by human hands and subjected to their petty cruelties.”

“I am offering you an alternative.”

“Do you wish to wither away in this freezing cage as a piece of inventory?”

“Or will you take my hand and claim your vengeance? I will provide the means for you to dismantle those who humiliated you and lead the human world to its downfall.”

“What is your choice?”

Silence followed, but the frantic movement of the elf’s eyes revealed a mind in total disarray.

“Give me a nod if you promise not to harm yourself, and I will release the pressure.”

The elf gave a sharp nod. Berge pulled back his dark energy, allowing the prisoner to draw a ragged breath.

“A demon… why would a demon come to me?”

“Just give me your answer.”

“The bargains of demons always carry a ruinous price tag.”

“I am an exception. I require only your absolute dedication. Fifty years. Serve me faithfully for exactly half a century, and at the end of that term, your freedom is guaranteed. Do we have an agreement?”

Fifty years was a mere blink in the lifespan of an elf—Berge considered this an incredibly generous proposal.

“You expect me to place my faith in a demon? You people lie as naturally as you draw breath.”

“You don’t sound as though you’re actually rejecting the terms.”

“I have spent five years as a human’s plaything. The number of times I wished for the release of death is beyond counting.”

The years of accumulated spite had reached a boiling point.

“If I could personally slaughter those responsible, I would gladly hand my soul to the lord of the abyss.”

The elf hissed, his voice a low snarl of fury. The murderous intent rolling off him was sharp enough to prick the skin.

“Yet your hesitation stems from my nature as a demon?”

“There is an old elven proverb: It is safer to trust a dwarf with your gold than a demon with your life.”

“We have a saying of our own: Of all the inhabitants of the Middle Realm, humans are the most treacherous, but elves are the most pig-headed.”

It was common knowledge that elves harbored a deeper loathing for demons than almost any other race. This wasn’t merely a matter of morality; it was existential.

The World Tree, which the elves worshipped as the pillar of existence, was exactly what the demons sought to uproot in their quest to destabilize the realm.

“I pledge not to interfere with the World Tree during the duration of your service.”

“I’ve told you, your word means nothing to me. Why would a demon even bother reaching out to one of my kind?”

He had touched upon the core of the matter.

“I swear upon the Standard and the glory of the Great Demon Emperor that I shall uphold my end of this bargain.”

“…!”

To a demon, the Standard and their Emperor were the twin pillars of their existence. It was a fanatical devotion that superseded even their own lives.

The people of Aren were well aware that a demon would sooner die than violate an oath sworn on those two things.

“In exchange, you will swear your total allegiance to me—upon the World Tree.”

This was the reason Berge preferred an elf over a human for this role.

Unlike humans, who were difficult to truly bind without constant oversight, elves had a definitive mechanism for loyalty.

An oath sworn to their progenitor tree was more than just a religious gesture; it was a metaphysical binding of their mana.

To break such a vow meant being severed from the forest’s grace.

For an elf, losing that connection was a fate far more agonizing than execution.

It was the ultimate collateral.

“What say you?”

“…You are a true devil,” the elf whispered.

“An offer I cannot walk away from.”

Berge held out his hand, and the elf reached out to grip it firmly.

“Tell me your name.”

“I am Granada of the Maple Clan. I shall swear my life to the Demon King who sent you here.”

“Then swear it now. For I am that Demon King.”

“…?”

—

The merchant was in high spirits as he counted the gold. Nearby, the escort and Bark watched with bated breath.

‘Hehe, what an absolute moron.’

Since the trade of elves was technically illegal, their scarcity usually meant high profits. They were always a luxury item.

However, value was subjective. Females usually fetched a higher price than males, and youth was prized over age.

This particular elf had a glaring flaw: he was untamable. Five years of captivity had done nothing to break his will, and he spent every waking moment cursing his captors. He was a liability. They had to keep him gagged constantly to prevent him from committing suicide by biting his tongue.

Had he been a beautiful female, someone might have endured the trouble for the sake of aesthetics. But as he was, the merchant viewed him as a drain on resources—valueless stock.

And yet, this stranger had just handed over five gold coins without a second thought. The merchant couldn’t believe his luck in offloading the “defective” product at such an inflated price.

“Bark, where did you find this guy?”

“I just did my job.”

“Is he some wealthy merchant prince? Or a representative of a top-tier mercenary group?”

In the merchant’s experience, only two types of people came looking for elves in a place like this.

Those looking to fulfill the specific whims of a degenerate noble, or those looking for an elite bodyguard.

“I was hired for a task. I’m not at liberty to discuss my employer’s business.”

“Come now, we’ve worked together before. No need for the professional act.”

“…”

“Fine, keep your secrets. Either way, I’m rid of that headache. Though, I suspect your boss won’t have his new toy for long. The moment that gag is removed, the elf will kill himself.”

“You knew that and still took the money?”

“He told me he didn’t care. The gold is already in my pocket.”

The merchant shrugged, feeling a sense of relief. The source of his recent stress was as good as dead, and he was significantly wealthier for it.

“If you ever need more inventory, come find me. I’ll give you a special rate…”

The door groaned open. The “sucker” stepped out slowly. The merchant adopted his most sycophantic expression and moved toward him.

“Is the business concluded? How was the conversation…?”

His words died in his throat as he looked behind the man. There stood the elf. Instead of being a corpse on the floor of the cage, he was walking freely, following the man with a steady gait.

“Keep your eyes down, you gluttonous pig, before I decide to tear you limb from limb.”

The elf’s snarl proved his spirit was very much alive.

“Impressive. I’ll get the branding iron for the slave mark.”

The merchant forced himself to remain composed, his mind racing to understand how the elf had been subdued.

“No need for that.”

“I beg your pardon? But without the magical seal…”

There would be no way to control him.

The seal was more than a brand; it was a complex spell that prevented the slave from harming their master and allowed the owner to inflict paralyzing pain at will.

“I will manage any difficulties myself.”

“As you wish.”

“We’re leaving.”

“Right away!”

Bark followed quickly. As they climbed back toward the surface, the various spectators and guards stared in disbelief.

The “untamable” elf had actually been sold.

‘How did he break him so fast?’

Bark was intimately familiar with that elf; he had been part of the mercenary team called in to beat the creature into submission during several failed escape attempts.

The elf was legendary among the local slavers for being impossible to domesticate.

Everyone assumed he would only leave his cage in a pine box.

“Your services are no longer required.”

“Ah, understood.”

Berge gave a small flick of his fingers. A silver coin spun through the air and landed perfectly in Bark’s hand.

“You performed better than I anticipated. A gratuity.”

“Much appreciated, sir!”

“How long do you intend to remain in this city?”

“Until a better contract takes me elsewhere.”

“Good. I may have need of you again.”

“Just ask for Bark at the Red Hawk Mercenary Corps or the guild hall! I’m your man!”

Bark watched them go, silently hoping for another encounter with such a high-paying client.

—

The Demon King’s first act of “ownership” was to buy the elf a meal.

Having survived on the bare minimum for years, the elf ate until he was stuffed, leaning back with a look of genuine satisfaction for the first time in memory.

“Is your fortress truly at the peak of the Erjest Mountains?”

“You are remarkably skeptical.”

“You should be thankful I didn’t try to bash your head in when you claimed to be a Demon King.”

To an elf, the idea of a Demon King strolling into a back-alley slave market to go shopping was patently absurd.

Nevertheless, he followed along because the man had promised to provide undeniable proof once they reached the tower.

And he had sworn it on the Standard.

“Make sure you remember your side of the deal. If you really are who you say, the term isn’t fifty years—it’s a hundred as collateral for the doubt.”

“An elf’s word is his bond. I am not like a demon.”

‘How tedious.’

The constant verbal jabs were starting to grate. Berge considered if a physical correction was in order.

The Demon King briefly toyed with the idea but dismissed it. Once they reached the tower, the elf would be falling over himself to apologize. It was worth waiting for that transformation.

In the meantime, Granada found this particular demon to be an anomaly.

‘A demon looking to recruit other races…’

Typically, demons were solitary or stuck to their own kind. It was logical—they were the aggressors in this world, and the locals were their prey. There was no room for trust between them.

“This path doesn’t lead toward the peaks…”

The man who called himself Berge—his superior for the next century—was heading deeper into the commercial district.

“The marketplace. There is no food at the tower.”

“…?”

‘The market?’

An instinctive shiver traveled down the elf’s spine.

The man claimed to be a Demon King. Even if he were just a common demon, the behavior was bizarre.

In his hundred-plus years of life, Granada had never heard of a demon doing the weekly grocery shopping.

Why would a denizen of a dark tower be browsing human stalls for produce?

“…Are you truly a Demon King?”

“Your lack of faith is becoming repetitive.”

“Can you blame me?!”

Ignoring the suspicious glares, the Demon King proceeded to purchase more than ten large sacks of various food items.

Only after he had stowed them away in a pocket dimension did a look of contentment return to his face.

“Right. Let us depart.”

They slipped past the city watch and scaled the outer walls with silent precision.

“The Erjest range is crawling with high-level threats. How do you plan to bypass them?”

The elf voiced his concern as the slopes grew steeper.

“By acting like a Demon King.”

The meaning of the short answer became clear almost instantly.

The monsters weren’t attacking.

Instead of lunging at them, the creatures of the mountain scrambled to get out of their way the moment Berge came into view.

‘He’s already subjugated the entire mountain?’

Granada felt a lump form in his throat. Perhaps he really was the Demon King. If all the beasts of Erjest were under his thumb…

‘This is a catastrophe waiting to happen.’

He might be looking at the most powerful demonic entity to ever set foot on Aren.

“We have arrived. My sanctum.”

Even as they approached the secluded valley and saw the tower—which was a modest five stories tall—the elf remained in awe of the control Berge exerted over the mountain.

But then they entered the ground floor.

Then the second.

Then the third.

“…By the Tree.”

He gasped, but not out of admiration. He finally understood why the Demon King had to buy his own groceries and go to the slave market alone.

“There is absolutely nothing here.”

The legendary tower of a Demon King was a hollow shell.

“I prefer a minimalist aesthetic. There is a certain grace in an empty room.”

“If you get any more minimalist, the walls will disappear.”

“But I have a loyal servant to tend to my needs for the next hundred years. Surely that is enough?”

The mocking smile Berge gave him made the elf flinch. The proof was there; the way the tower hummed in response to Berge’s presence confirmed his identity.

The contract was sealed.

But.

“This is a total fraud! I’ve been swindled!”

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

Everyone knew what a Demon King’s tower was supposed to look like.

The first floor should have minor monsters and cunning traps. The middle floors should house elite guardians. The upper levels should be filled with demon warriors. And at the top, the King should sit upon a throne of gold and bone, waiting to mock any heroes who dared enter.

And there should be a royal captive to rescue.

The details changed, but the structure was universal.

Granada had imagined himself rising through the ranks of a dark army to exact his revenge.

He hadn’t signed up for a vacant lot.

In that heartbeat—

*Thud!*

A massive hand clamped around Granada’s neck.

“Guh…!”

He was hoisted into the air by a strength he couldn’t hope to match. His face turned a deep shade of crimson as he struggled for air.

He tried to summon his internal mana.

“My patience has reached its limit.”

A wave of demonic energy surged out, snuffing out the elf’s mana like a candle in a gale.

The killing intent was icy and absolute. The elf felt the full weight of the Demon King’s power pressing down on him.

“You will honor your oath, elf.”

“T-this is a scam! No tower looks like this!”

“I never described the interior to you.”

“I should have known better than to believe a demon’s tongue!”

“Regret is a useless emotion once the contract is signed.”

It was too late. Granada was trapped within the Demon King’s sovereign territory. He had two choices: death, or a century of service. At least the latter offered a chance for vengeance.

The disappointment of the empty tower remained, but the display of power on the mountain was still a fresh memory.

“…I shall serve.”

He reaffirmed the vow to the World Tree. The mana in his heart solidified the connection. If he strayed now, he would be spiritually hollowed out.

“Excellent.”

The Demon King smiled and dropped a heavy sack of groceries at the elf’s feet.

“Get to work. Prepare a meal.”

“…?”

The elf stared at the vegetables in a daze. Then, indignation flared.

“I am a high-born elf! I was a leader among my people…!”

“And currently, you are a very noisy servant.”

“You spent five gold coins just to get a cook?!”

“Not specifically.”

The Demon King rested his head on his hand.

“But for the time being, just do as you’re told.”

It wasn’t a punishment for the complaining.

It was simply that no one in the tower had the slightest clue how to prepare a decent meal.

At least, that was the Demon King’s current dilemma.