Chapter 11
Unbelievable. A demon… doing room service?
Kyria stopped fooling around and sat quietly while Gaul cleaned.
When Gaul swiped the table with his finger, a thick layer of dust came off. He cursed under his breath.
“Tch, damn it.”
Then he whistled loudly with his fingers.
In a burst of black fire, a giant three-headed dog appeared—the Hellhound, Cerberus, Gaul’s loyal monster.
Kyria froze. She had read about this beast before. An S-rank monster, extremely dangerous.
“Gaul, sir! Did you call me? Should I kill this human?” the three heads growled, showing sharp fangs. Fire flickered between their teeth.
Gaul tossed a rag at him.
“Clean.”
“…This human’s room? Are you serious?”
“Got a problem with that?”
“…As you command.”
So Gaul used wind magic to blow the dust out the window, and Cerberus started wiping the floor with his paws.
Scrub, scrub.
All three heads glared at Kyria while growling and spitting small flames, but they still cleaned diligently. The cleaning wasn’t great—but better than nothing.
When they finished, Gaul asked,
“So, what exactly did the duke say about me?”
“Oh, you mean the two things he thinks are disappointing about you?” Kyria replied, carefully picking her words. She needed to poke just the right spot.
“One, you always stop talking halfway. And two… you don’t follow orders properly.”
“What!? That’s nonsense!” Gaul’s face twisted with anger.
“I swear on the Duke’s name, no one obeys him more than I do! Not even that priest brat! I’m more loyal!”
“Grrr!” Cerberus growled in agreement.
Kyria quickly tried to calm them down.
“Of course, of course. But… maybe the duke just doesn’t fully trust you yet. It’s not about loyalty—it’s about trust.”
“That… that’s…”
Gaul faltered, unable to deny it.
Kyria gave him a knowing nod.
“I get it. You’re a demon, he’s human. Of course it’s hard for him to trust you. You can’t even ask anyone for help. Doing it alone must be tough.”
Gaul froze. His red eyes wavered, no longer hostile but uncertain.
Now was the time.
“Don’t you want to earn the Duke’s trust?”
His tail shot straight up like an exclamation mark. Even his horns twitched.
“So let’s make an alliance.”
“What nonsense!”
“If you join hands with me, you will gain his trust.”
Gaul looked at her, shocked.
“I can live here peacefully, and you’ll finally get the recognition you want. We both win. What do you say?”
For a moment, he seemed tempted. But then his expression twisted with rage.
Dark magic seeped from his body, shaking the furniture.
Kyria held her breath.
Gaul pointed at her.
“Human, you are at the very bottom of the hierarchy.”
Cerberus’s eyes flashed dangerously.
“An alliance? With someone who just plays with weeds?”
In his mind, demons healed through power, not plants. To him, Kyria’s skills were laughable, even insulting.
He growled.
“How dare you mock me, a warrior of the Hellhound clan. If you think you’re strong, prove it. Otherwise—I’ll make you crawl out yourself.”
With that, Gaul and Cerberus stormed out.
The dark energy faded, and the room stopped shaking.
Kyria gasped for breath, then remembered the duke’s advice:
“There are only two ways to live peacefully with monsters or demons. One—form an alliance. Two…”
Since the first had failed, the second option remained:
“Establish dominance.”
Meanwhile, in the capital, the editorial office of From the Grave to the Cradle was in chaos.
Sales had dropped sharply ever since Medeia’s column was put on hold.
Readers who loved mocking her had gone quiet. But so had the money.
Then came the real headache—the fan called “Forest Keeper.”
Whenever Medeia was insulted, he sent in ridiculously long letters defending her. And not just letters—he also sent massive donations, secretly supporting both Medeia and the publisher.
Today, he sent over a hundred pages demanding to know what had happened to Medeia.
The editor groaned. “If I say I don’t know, he’ll probably send 200 pages next time…”
He began carefully writing a reply, sweating more than when he used to write punishment reports as a trainee.
The staff whispered among themselves.
“Why did Medeia stop writing anyway? Did she quit poison research?”
The editor froze. Just the thought made him break into a cold sweat.
If Medeia really gave up, their magazine would collapse.
Back in the duke’s castle, Kyria sat writing letters.
One for her father, one for her brother Lian.
As she struggled with what to call her father—“Father” or “Count”—she noticed the little bluebird in her bag.
“Oh… the magic courier bird from Forest Keeper.”
She still hadn’t replied to him either.
“Guess I’ll have to now…” she muttered, picking up her pen.
But suddenly—
Scrraaape.
A loud dragging sound came from behind her.
Kyria turned—and froze.
Cerberus was dragging her entire bed out of the room.
“Wha—what are you doing!?”
“Taking tribute,” the three heads barked proudly.
“Tribute…?”
“Yes. You’re at the lowest rank. The lowest must pay tribute to the higher ones.”
“…Seriously?”
Kyria protested, “I never agreed to that! Put my bed back!”
The hellhound growled, black magic flaring around him.
Then—fwoosh!—he spat out a torrent of black flames, blocking the door.
Kyria screamed, pressed against the wall, as the monstrous dog slowly stalked toward her.
“W-wait! What are you doing all of a sudden!?”
