CHAPTER 111: A MOST UNREASONABLE DEMAND

I stared at the scene before me.

A seething, jealous elf. A bored, sadistic queen. A confused, angry beast. A suicidal, dramatic idiot.

And a twelve-year-old Dwarf who had just, with a single, simple demand, thrown my entire command structure into chaos.

I was a degenerate circus clown, performing a high-wire act over a pit of very angry, very pointy monsters.

My mind raced.

This was a test. A brilliant, vicious, and exquisitely cruel test.

If I chose Isabelle, I would be publicly declaring her as my most trusted, my most beloved. I would be confirming Chloe’s deepest, most paranoid fears. The quiet cold war between them would become a very loud, very hot war. And my private chambers would likely become a beautifully decorated, blood-soaked warzone.

If I chose Chloe, I would be insulting Isabelle, my decorated commander, my First Sword, the woman who had just achieved a divine evolution. I would be telling her that a created monster, a subordinate born of my own power, was more important to me than she was.

I couldn’t win.

It was a perfect, beautiful, and utterly inescapable trap.

Unless...

Unless I didn’t play the game at all.

Unless I flipped the whole damn board over.

I looked at Kevin, who was still kneeling, his eyes shining with a terrifying, cult-like devotion.

He was an idiot. An embarrassing, cape-wearing, monologue-loving idiot.

He was also the perfect solution.

"You are right, Saburo," I said, using his real name for the first time. The name that was, to my eternal shame, my handle on {Laplace}.

The effect was instantaneous. Kevin’s eyes widened, a look of pure, ecstatic shock on his face. He had been seen. He had been acknowledged.

"My Lord?" he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Your loyalty is... commendable," I said, choosing my words with the care of a bomb disposal expert. "Your devotion is a shining example to us all. You are, without a doubt, my most... treasured... aide."

The words felt like ash in my mouth.

"It is you," I declared, my voice booming with a false sincerity that deserved an award, "who shall bear the honor of this pledge!"

I turned to the Dwarf Queen, my expression a mask of kingly authority. "My most trusted advisor will wear the collar. These are my terms."

The chaos subsided.

Chloe looked momentarily confused, then relieved. The threat of the human had been neutralized, replaced by an idiot she could easily manipulate.

Isabelle looked... disappointed, but also understanding. It was a political move. A compromise. She was a commander; she understood the necessity of sacrifice. Even if the sacrifice was someone else’s dignity.

Akira, the Dwarf Queen, looked at Kevin, then at me, then back at Kevin. A flicker of grudging respect entered her golden eyes. She had set a trap, and I had wriggled out of it in the most ridiculous, unexpected way possible.

"Fine," she grumbled. "The pretty boy wears the jewelry. But the terms are absolute. You break your promise to my people, he dies. Horribly."

"I have no intention of breaking it," I said smoothly. "Now, let’s finalize the details."

I spent the next ten minutes in a grueling, back-and-forth negotiation, hammering out the exact wording of the pledge. I questioned every comma, every clause, ensuring there were no loopholes, no hidden traps.

Finally, the collar was placed around Kevin’s neck. He looked like he had just won the lottery.

"Before we finalize this," I said, holding up a hand. "There is one last thing."

I looked at Akira, a slow, predatory smile on my face.

"You have a significant amount of Creation Points remaining, do you not?" I purred. "It would be a shame for them to go to waste when your domain is absorbed."

Her eyes widened as she realized what I was about to do.

"Use them," I commanded. "Perform one last Subordinate Creation. A Dwarf Lord. The best you can make."

With a pained, furious expression, she did as I commanded.

A pillar of earthy, golden light erupted from the ground. From it, a new dwarf emerged. He was a mountain of muscle and beard, his eyes burning with a fiery, loyal light.

"Abel," Akira said, her voice heavy with resignation. "This is your new master. Lord Ragnar Vhagar. Swear your fealty to him."

The newly created Dwarf Lord looked at me, then at his creator. With a deep, rumbling sound, he knelt. "I swear my axe to Lord Ragnar," he boomed.

"Excellent," I said. "Now, Akira. The surrender."

She closed her eyes. "I, Akira, the Anvil of Hakui, surrender my domain to the Tyrant of Aethelburg."

The familiar lurch, the wave of energy, washed over us. The unification had begun.

I had won.

I had my forge. I had my craftsmen. I had a new, powerful subordinate.

And I had, through a combination of brilliant improvisation and sheer, dumb luck, managed to avoid a catastrophic, relationship-ending meltdown.

For now.

I looked at Isabelle. I looked at Chloe. The daggers were still in their eyes. The cold war was far from over.

This was going to be a long, long ride home.

----------------------

The plan was set.

My new grand strategy, a glorious pivot from mindless conquest to a slightly more mindful, nation-building conquest, was in motion.

The hunt for the Dwarf King of Hakui was on.

But first, there were... administrative matters to attend to.

My kingdom was a well-oiled machine of death and destruction, but even the most efficient machines required maintenance.

And my own, personal machine required a very specific, very enjoyable kind of stress relief.

The Crystal Spire’s private chambers were a significant upgrade from my old, musty stone bedroom in the original dungeon.

The walls were carved from a single, continuous piece of smoky quartz, and the bed was a massive, circular affair with sheets made of what felt like woven moonlight.

It was a proper king’s bed.

And I was making proper use of it.

Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow, was a storm of silent, passionate intensity.

Her twilight-hued skin was slick with a fine sheen of sweat, her silver hair a wild tangle across the dark sheets.

Her amethyst eyes, usually so cool and composed, were wide with a raw, desperate pleasure that was for me, and me alone.

This was the real prize of being a king.

Not the power.

Not the territory.

But this.

This quiet, stolen moment of absolute, soul-crushing pleasure with a woman who would die for me, kill for me, and suck my demonic cock like it held the secrets to the universe.

"My Lord," she gasped, her voice a breathless whisper against my skin.

"I... I am yours. Completely."

"I know," I replied, my voice a low, satisfied growl.

I was about to lead her to another, even more spectacular climax, to make her scream my name in a way that would probably crack the very crystals of the spire, when it happened.

A frantic, high-pitched buzzing sound echoed from the corner of the room.

My concentration shattered.

The perfect, beautiful moment of demonic coitus was ruined.

"What in the nine hells is that?" I snarled, my good mood evaporating like a puddle in a heatwave.

Chloe froze, a look of pure, murderous rage flashing in her eyes.

Someone had dared to interrupt her time with her Lord.

Someone was about to have a very, very bad day.

The buzzing continued, insistent and deeply, profoundly annoying.

It was coming from a small, crystal comms device on the nightstand.

A direct, emergency line to Pixia.

I let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"This had better be important," I growled, disentangling myself from Chloe’s very disappointed limbs.

"If this is about the goblins unionizing again, I’m going to turn our entire library into toilet paper."

I snatched the device.

"What?!" I barked into it.

"My Lord!" Pixia’s voice, a frantic, high-pitched squeak of pure panic, erupted from the speaker.

"An urgent intelligence update! A critical development in the Dwarf King situation!"

I sat up, my post-coital languor vanishing in an instant.

"Report."

"I have been monitoring the {Laplace} forums, as you commanded," she stammered.

"A new thread has just appeared in the Upper-Class Lounge. It is... alarming."

I gestured for her to continue, my mind already racing.

"It is a post from a user named ’Golem-Master’," she explained.

"He has issued a... a ’Proclamation of Protection’ over the Dwarf King of Hakui."

I stared at the comms device.

"A what?"

"A Proclamation of Protection, my Lord! It is a high-level System function, a formal declaration that one Demon King is taking another under their wing! It is a public statement to all other members of {Laplace} that the Dwarf King is now a vassal of the Golem-Master! To attack him would be to declare war on them both!"

A cold, furious anger began to bubble in my chest.

I had been outmaneuvered.

Someone else, one of the other thirty-seven sharks in the dark water, had gotten to him first.

"This ’Golem-Master’," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.

"Who is he?"

"His real name is unknown, my Lord," Pixia replied.