(Azazel POV)
Watching Enril's orc-demon subordinate looming over the strange little creature beside Arthur, I found myself furrowing my brow.
At first glance, the goblin did seem either very brave… or very stupid.
Yet something felt off.
'Hmm…' I narrowed my eyes. 'Now that I really look at him… I've never seen a goblin quite like that before.'
His posture was calm, unnaturally so. Not a twitch of fear, not even a blink. Most goblins would've already bolted or groveled. But this one? He stood like a wise old scholar, unmoved, even while a beast of muscle towered over him.
'He doesn't act like a goblin… and he certainly doesn't sound like one either.'
I wondered if he was a hybrid. There were occasional tales of goblins mating with other races, though rare. But even then… this presence, this composure — it didn't add up.
He reminded me of that old demon sage I once met in the Nether Realm… but even the sage didn't carry this kind of strange aura. And those eyes — sharp, ancient, like they had seen centuries pass.
Yet… his magical energy was almost nonexistent. Odd.
Even stranger — Arthur. He stood there, watching the scene with a faint smile, like he was in on a private joke. No concern, no tension. If anything, he looked amused.
'For someone bringing that creature with him… shouldn't he be a little worried?'
That's when the little creature finally spoke.
"Hmm… another soul shackled by anger and pride," he said softly, but his voice carried in the hall. "Pity. The bigger the body, the smaller the patience…"
A wave of chuckles spread through the guests.
Even I couldn't stop myself from letting out a low laugh. He was sharp-tongued, that was for sure. But still… facing a raging orc-demon with just wit?
I was beginning to worry for him. Charm wouldn't stop a charging beast.
The orc-demon snarled. His grip on his glass tightened, cracking it slightly.
"You little—"
I decided to step in.
"Ahem," I cleared my throat. "Gentlemen, this is a royal gathering — not an arena. Let's not ruin the event over some banter."
But just as I was about to say more, Enril cut in smoothly, his voice laced with self-righteous irritation.
"Your Highness Azazel," he said, turning to me with that forced courteous smile, "I'm afraid it's not just banter. That goblin clearly insulted me and my most loyal guard. He's already disrupted the mood of this celebration meant to welcome me."
He paused, eyes sharp with arrogance. "Surely, such an insult can't go unanswered. Please — allow my guard to teach him a little lesson in respect."
I sighed internally, feeling both irritated and speechless.
'So this is how you want to play it, Enril…?'
---
(3rd Person POV)
Arthur smiled inwardly. The thought of Enril believing his bulky orc-demon subordinate could harm Yoda was nothing short of laughable. 'He really thinks that brute can lay a finger on him? Ridiculous.'
His eyes shifted subtly toward his father, King Luke. Interestingly, the king didn't appear the least bit concerned about the situation. He simply sat, watching Yoda and the orc-demon with vague curiosity, as if it were nothing more than a side act at a banquet.
'So even Father won't step in…' Arthur mused. 'Well then, looks like no one's stopping that orc-demon from embarrassing himself.'
What Arthur didn't know was that Luke had his own thoughts. He was watching this unfold deliberately, hoping the orc-demon would make a move — so he could play the savior and "rescue" Yoda. If he could step in at the right moment and protect what Arthur clearly valued, perhaps he could gain his "son's" favor again.
'A perfect opportunity,' Luke thought. 'Save the little creature, win a little goodwill… and then I'll have the leverage to ask Arthur for what I really want.'
Meanwhile, Apollonia, watching the tension rise, instinctively took a step forward, her expression uneasy. She was about to speak up — but Arthur gently held her wrist, a subtle gesture that said clearly, "Don't interfere."
Firfel looked equally concerned. "Are you seriously going to let Yoda get hurt?"
Arthur simply smiled. "Just watch. He won't be harmed."
Firfel's brows furrowed, but something about his relaxed tone settled her nerves. If anything, it confirmed her growing suspicion — Yoda wasn't just a quirky little companion with sharp words. There was something far more dangerous beneath that quiet presence.
Across the room, Yoda raised his head slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Hmm… teach me a lesson, you wish?" he said, voice light and dry with sarcasm. "For many years I have wandered, seeking wisdom… but rarely does it come from fists and fangs."
The orc-demon snarled. His knuckles cracked, eyes flashing with fury. He turned toward Enril, seeking approval.
Enril gave a dismissive nod. "Wilbert, go ahead. Just don't kill him — we don't want blood on the carpets."
Wilbert bared his jagged teeth in a wide grin. "Understood, Your Highness."
The crowd leaned in. Some smirked in amusement, others looked genuinely concerned. Apollonia, Azazel, and Firfel watched anxiously. Lucy, Arnold, and Bobby looked smug, waiting for a spectacle.
Lucy turned to Arthur with a sly smile. "You really won't stop that brute?"
Arthur just sipped his wine and replied calmly, "That burly fool couldn't hurt him even if he tried."
"Mm… let's see," Lucy said smugly.
Wilbert stepped forward, raising his hand. "Sharp Nail!" His fingernails extended with a sharp glint, glowing faintly with martial energy. With a roar, he lunged at Yoda in a powerful slash—
But Yoda didn't move.
Just as Wilbert's clawed strike came down—
Yoda shifted his foot barely an inch. His small figure twisted elegantly to the side, completely evading the attack with an effortless grace that left no room for error.
Wilbert's blow hit nothing but air.
Before the orc-demon could recover, Yoda's hand flicked upward.
CRACK.
Wilbert's massive body jolted, his arm twisted and his wrist snapped in a blur. He didn't even register the pain before Yoda's other hand shot forward — not in a punch, but a subtle movement that struck precisely at his pressure points.
A breath later, Wilbert dropped to the floor, face-first.
Silence.
The entire hall was frozen.
The burly orc-demon — a warrior known for brute strength and ferocity — had been effortlessly disabled by a creature not even half his size.
Gasps spread across the room.
Lucy's smile froze.
Arnold and Bobby exchanged baffled glances.
Apollonia blinked in disbelief. Firfel covered her lips. Even Azazel couldn't hide the flicker of astonishment in his eyes.
Enril's expression twisted, the veins in his neck visibly throbbing. "What… what just happened…?"
And then — Yoda dusted his robe and glanced toward Wilbert's unconscious form.
"Lacking patience. Poor reflexes. Too loud," he said calmly. "Train more… speak less."
A moment passed.
And then — applause. It began softly, then rippled across the hall.
Arthur merely chuckled as he raised his glass.
King Luke watched everything unfold, eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of disbelief in his gaze. He stared at Yoda, processing what just happened.
'This little creature… he's a master in martial arts?'
He never expected that kind of strength from such a small, odd-looking being. For a moment, even he was thrown off — before regaining his composure and adjusting his posture as if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, Lucy's eyes sparkled — not with admiration, but greed. She looked at Yoda like one would look at a rare treasure.
"Arthur," she said, leaning toward him slightly, "I'm willing to offer money for that little goblin."
Arthur chuckled. "I don't need money, Lucy."
Lucy blinked, then clicked her tongue softly. 'Right… I forgot. He's the last person who'd care about a few million.'
But she wasn't done. She gestured toward a particular group across the room — Morningstar's top celebrities, all seated together in a glamorous section separated from the nobles and politicians.
"Then how about this — pick any celebrity you want. I'll have them transferred to your agency, free of charge. All I want is the little goblin."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, casting a glance at the celebrity section. His eyes lingered for a moment on one particular young demon — a sharply dressed, soft-featured figure with striking features. He bore a striking resemblance to someone from Arthur's previous life.
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. "Sorry," he said flatly. "That little goblin isn't for sale. He's not merchandise. He's a person."
Lucy scoffed, lips curling. "Tsk."
Arthur's gaze shifted back to the celebrities. "But… I could buy your talent. Not for a trade — just because I can." He smiled faintly. "Like I said, I don't lack money."
Lucy tilted her head. "Oh? Someone caught your attention?"
Arthur nodded subtly. "You could say that."
Her eyes followed his gaze. "That one?" she asked, tone suddenly cooler.
Arthur nodded again. "Yes."
Lucy frowned slightly. "Him? Hmph. That kid's a waste. Can't act to save his life, even with his family name. He's from the Jackson line, but no spark in him. I've tried pushing him, but he's dead weight in my agency."
Arthur kept smiling. "Then you won't mind if I take him off your hands."
Lucy studied him for a second, trying to figure out what Arthur saw in the boy. "He's yours. Just don't blame me when he flops."
Arthur's smile widened. "We'll see."