Chapter 121
Belzerion’s face twisted in rage.
“A mere human…!”
Meanwhile, the mood of the demons shifted sharply.
“Wait—so it takes ten times the wine to make a single glass of that liquor?”
“And on top of that, it needs special skill. No wonder you can’t just make it anywhere.”
“It’s not just stronger—this is something different.”
Ariella’s words had transformed the image of brandy.
It wasn’t cheap alcohol anymore—it was like the essence of wine, stripped of the unnecessary, leaving only the finest part.
And nobles loved that kind of framing. Something rare, refined, concentrated.
“Good. The tide’s turning in our favor.”
But Ariella didn’t stop there.
“If brandy-making was really so simple, the North would’ve commercialized it long ago. Why didn’t they?”
She let the question hang before answering it herself.
“Because the quality couldn’t keep up. They couldn’t hold that delicate line between aroma and taste.”
“……!”
“Control of temperature, timing, the subtle balance of removing impurities—all of that demands skill. And skill has golden value.”
Her eyes swept across the gathered demons.
“You are connoisseurs. Lovers of fine things. I trust you’ll recognize the worth of this drink as well.”
The crowd stirred again.
The dismissive tone toward “cheap wine” was gone.
“She’s right—the North could never make this.”
“Only the South. A rare drink, unique to them.”
“And who knows when another shipment will come?”
“Exactly. This is the first cargo ship in centuries.”
In trade, value wasn’t just about quality. Scarcity mattered just as much.
Yes, one hundred bottles had been opened tonight. But who could say when, or if, more would arrive? Miss it now, and it might be gone for centuries.
That thought flickered through every mind.
Belzerion, however, was seething.
“Idiots. Their ears flap like flags just because a human flaps her tongue!”
He had meant to bury the brandy’s reputation before it threatened his wine business. Instead, he had practically handed Ariella the perfect stage.
And worse—he couldn’t back down now.
Not just for profit, but for pride.
If word spread that a noble of his standing had been humiliated by a human, he’d never live it down.
Belzerion forced a calm smile.
“Clever words. Is that how you’ve survived in the Demon Realm? Tricks of the tongue?”
“Hey!”
Ludwig surged forward, hand twitching toward his sword.
Ariella caught his arm, stopping him with a sharp look. Not yet.
Belzerion pressed on, his smirk widening.
“But something strikes me as odd. Lord Ludwig, the Demon King, is right here. And yet… he says nothing. The others who came on your ship, just as silent. As if everything is left to this human.”
He paused, mock surprise flashing across his face.
“Ah yes, I heard the rumors. They call her their captain, don’t they?”
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
The tale of the voyage had already spread—how the human girl had given orders, even with a Demon King aboard.
“How bizarre. A Demon King, master of all aboard, but the ship itself under human command?”
He tilted his chin, eyes gleaming with malice.
“Freedom-loving though the South may be, isn’t this going too far? It looks almost as if a mere human contract-holder has climbed above her lord.”
Ariella froze.
It was a sharp blow. He wasn’t just insulting her—he was striking at the order of power itself.
In the North, a contract-holder was supposed to advise, nothing more. For one to command—to act like the true ruler—was an outrage.
The demons muttered:
“If that’s true…”
“Then Ludwig’s land has lost all order.”
This wasn’t just about trade anymore. In the North, such disorder was a scandal—a stain.
Belzerion drove the blade deeper.
“You traveled here to peddle goods. I’ll admit your effort. One must eat, after all. But really… products from a land already broken, with its hierarchy in ruins?”
He gave an exaggerated sigh, then his gaze sharpened.
“Ludwig’s domain is a failed one. That much is clear.”
Then his voice dripped venom.
“And as for you…” He turned his eyes back to Ariella. “Humans are failures by nature, aren’t they? Short lives, weak magic, fragile bodies. No wonder you can only cling to stronger beings.”
He flicked a glance at Schwarz, smirking.
“And that little dance with our host earlier? Quite the performance. I see how you catch a Demon King’s eye. Perhaps survival comes easier with charm than skill.”
“—What?”
“Don’t misunderstand. It’s simply the best tactic a lesser species could hope for.”
The crowd gasped at the brazenness.
Belzerion had shifted the argument—away from wine and trade, down into the mud of bloodlines and race.
It was an old trick: if you can’t win clean, drag your opponent into the dirt.
And some demons were starting to nod.
Belzerion’s grin widened.
But then—
Schiiiing!
A steel whisper split the air.
Ludwig had drawn his blade, its edge now poised beneath Belzerion’s throat.
The hall froze.
“I know your kind too well,” Ludwig growled, voice sharp with bloodlust.
“You dress it up as justice. As duty. But it’s always the same—you just want to protect your own little pile.”
Belzerion’s expression didn’t waver. “My lord Ludwig, what do you mean?”
“You want proof?” Ludwig’s lip curled. “We had one just like you in my domain. A leech. Always preaching about order and duty. You know how he ended? I took his head and burned his bones to ash.”
The air grew thick with killing intent.
Belzerion’s tone dropped, hard and cold.
“Careful. You may be a Demon King, but I too am the head of a house older than your realm itself.”
The tension snapped tight.
“Insult me, and you insult my bloodline. Insult my house, and you insult all of the North.”
“Then you’d better fight as well as you talk.” Ludwig bared his teeth in a savage grin.
“Do I take this as a challenge?”
“Of course.”
He laughed, eager. Ludwig had always lived this way—his wandering years filled with fights to the death, never backing down once.
This time, though, it wasn’t his pride on the line. It was Ariella’s. That was why his sword was already drawn.
“Step outside. I’ll carve you up, then burn what’s left.”
Ariella’s mind spun. He’s changed. He used to strike before saying this much. At least now he’s holding back for the place we’re in.
Belzerion raised his aura, his robes snapping in the force of it.
Ariella was about to step between them when another voice rang out.
“Enough.”
Schwarz.
All eyes turned to him. Ariella exhaled in relief.
Finally. He’ll stop this.
He was the host, after all. The master of this hall. He wouldn’t allow blood to stain his feast.
Or so she thought.
“Everyone here saw it. One party issued a duel, the other accepted. In my presence, as lord of this castle.”
Ariella’s eyes widened. Wait—what?
Schwarz’s tone was grave, like a judge declaring sentence.
“Thus, the terms are met.”
Whispers broke out.
“No way—does that mean…?”
“With the Demon King as witness, that duel is binding law.”
Before Ariella could piece it together, Schwarz’s voice rang again, final and sharp:
“As lord of this land, I declare: under the ancient law of the North, the victor of this duel may claim the right of possession. Both parties will submit, before day’s end, the chosen stake in writing.”
Ariella’s jaw dropped.
Wait—what?!
