Chapter 69
It wasn’t a dream.
Staring down at the thin, watery gruel in his bowl, Lokum felt the truth sink in.
It wasn’t a dream? This is real?
The nightmare of today continued.
Sitting on the dirt floor with no chairs in sight, Lokum shoveled food into his mouth as fast as he could.
The menu was always the same: a piece of hard, black bread and a bowl of chicken broth.
But it wasn’t made from good meat. It was a pot of scraps — chicken heads, feet, bones, innards — the parts demons normally threw away as trash.
Yet even that, Lokum and the other slaves devoured as if starved.
They cracked chicken heads open, scraped them with their tongues, and snapped the spines to suck out the marrow.
They had to eat as much as possible now.
After breakfast, they wouldn’t get food again until evening.
How hard will today be?
Even then, surviving until dinner was exhausting enough to feel like torture.
“Work shift’s starting! Get your lazy asses up, now!”
Not long after breakfast began, the overseer barged in, barking orders.
He threatened that anyone who failed to meet their daily quota wouldn’t eat tonight — and everyone would get whipped.
Slaves hurriedly emptied their bowls before they were taken away, then staggered to their feet.
Like prisoners walking to the gallows, they followed the overseer.
CLANG! CLANG!
Lokum and the other slaves’ job was to clear the wasteland and turn it into farmland.
Each carried pickaxes and shovels, breaking rocks under the scorching sun.
“Huff… huff…”
How many hours had passed?
Lokum’s breathing grew ragged, his vision spinning.
Is this even land worth farming?
As he dug out stones, other slaves hauled them away nonstop.
Beside him, a man muttered.
“Damn, that stubborn bastard finally left.”
It was the same man who had woken Lokum up this morning.
He’d been captured before Lokum, and while Lokum vaguely remembered his story, it sounded like mostly bluffing.
“Hey, take it easy while he’s gone. Break your back like that and you won’t last.”
The man himself was only pretending to swing the pickaxe, saving his strength.
“…”
Lokum didn’t answer, but he loosened his grip.
Just a bit of relief felt like a blessing.
Everyone here was a demon — every single slave.
The overseers knew demon stamina well, which was why they gave no real breaks.
But not dying and not suffering were two very different things.
“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here like this?”
Lokum murmured when he could finally breathe.
The man snorted.
“Dunno. Maybe when the Demon King dies?”
Lokum muttered the name of the Demon King he’d never even seen.
“Delac…”
Delac wasn’t his Demon King before.
Lokum used to live in another Demon King’s territory.
He’d only ended up here after being kidnapped and enslaved.
Made into Delac’s property.
That bastard.
As noon approached, the sun’s heat grew harsher, scorching their skin.
Hunger made it even worse.
Even as a slave, Lokum’s presence here contributed to the size of the sun above.
Whether slave or free citizen, anyone who stayed in a Demon King’s land long enough was counted as part of its population.
And more population meant a larger sun, and more power for Delac.
The man gave a dry, bitter laugh.
“Crazy, isn’t it? Instead of luring citizens with better lives, he just kidnaps people and works them to the bone. A real ‘creative’ solution.”
Lokum clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
“I won’t live like this forever. I will escape.”
The man shook his head.
“You’d better figure out that thing around your neck first.”
Both of them had already seen what happened to slaves who tried to escape.
The iron collars around their necks were artifacts once supplied by the Fedwick Trading Company.
Delac himself had placed a curse on each one.
The moment a slave tried to flee, the curse would activate.
What followed was a slow, agonizing death.
“Aaagh! Spare me! Please… someone… spare me…!”
The screams from that day still echoed in Lokum’s ears.
“Hey!”
His companion’s sharp warning snapped him back to reality.
“The overseer’s coming back. Damn spineless bastard.”
The man swung his pickaxe harder, pretending to work diligently.
Lokum straightened his back under the pretense of stretching, stealing a brief moment to rest before the overseer arrived.
CLANG!
The sun’s blinding glare stabbed at his eyes, making them water.
But instead of looking away, he stared straight up.
That oppressive sun pressing down on him… Lokum hated it with every fiber of his being.
The Demon King Delac’s office.
“Hmm…”
Sitting on a throne plated with gold, Delac muttered.
“She should’ve contacted me by now. Helene… surely she’s arrived already?”
He glanced at the clock.
Beside him, a woman tried to soothe him.
“Don’t worry so much. I’m sure she made it safely.”
Delac’s massive body looked like an overinflated balloon, stuffed with fat until his skin stretched tight, as if it might split at any moment.
His throne was clearly custom-made. It could probably seat a behemoth.
The demon woman sat on the armrest, leaning lightly against Delac’s enormous side.
Their size difference was tenfold, at least.
Delac caressed her cheek fondly.
“Right, Kiren?”
Delac was greedy, but also deeply suspicious of everyone. Everyone except Kiren.
Relaxing back in his throne, he listened as she murmured softly.
“I’m more worried about Helene’s mission. She’s such a gentle soul… I’m afraid it might affect her performance.”
She was criticizing his daughter in front of him — a daughter who wasn’t even related by blood.
Delac gave Kiren a sideways glance.
“Is that so?”
He rubbed his “chin,” or rather, the folds where his neck and face met, as if stroking an invisible jaw.
“She’s still my daughter. She’ll manage this much.”
“I hope so…”
“Kiren.”
“Yes?”
Delac’s voice carried thinly veiled irritation.
“I’ve noticed you tend to judge Helene rather harshly.”
A subtle warning.
For a split second, something flickered in Kiren’s expression, but it was quickly hidden behind a bright, charming smile.
Snuggling closer to the massive Demon King, she purred,
“Forgive me if I upset you. I only said it out of concern.”
“…”
Delac didn’t respond immediately, unusual for him.
So Kiren doubled down, sliding off the armrest and settling directly onto his enormous lap, smiling sweetly as she changed the subject.
“If Helene pulls this off, Lord Ludvig’s lands will be yours, won’t they?”
Delac’s lips finally curved into a faint grin.
“That’s the plan.”
“This castle will become even more splendid then! Just imagining it makes me happy.”
The office around them was already dazzling — nearly everything was gilded, studded with jewels, or made of rare beast hides.
Delac’s wealth had skyrocketed only in the past few decades, ever since Kiren initiated the secret slave trade.
“With this as a stepping stone, you’ll gain more power, more riches, more land than anyone.”
“Of course.”
“As you should. A Demon King like you deserves nothing less.”
Delac’s gaze swept over his gaudy office — gold-plated floors, ebony furniture, a lapis-inlaid table, sofas of manticore hide.
Once, these luxuries had satisfied him. Now, they felt lacking.
Even their skyrocketing income had begun to plateau, irritating him.
“We need more farmland to increase harvests. I should have a word with the overseers about their progress.”
“Lazy slaves, that’s the problem. No wonder the land-clearing’s so slow.”
Kiren deftly redirected his anger toward the slaves, and Delac seemed content with that.
Then she asked lightly,
“Helene volunteered for this mission, didn’t she? To go as the envoy?”
