Chapter 3: The Subordinate and the Scheme
The tactical overview lay spread across the immense desk, its intricate lines and strategic annotations now serving as perverse blueprint for his own survival. The two-month window, a stark, terrifying countdown, pulsed in his mind. He wasn't just the Demon King; he was a man with meta-knowledge, a cynical observer now thrust onto the stage he had merely read about. The hero, the heroines, the academy – all pieces in a game he was suddenly forced to play, with his very existence as the ultimate stake.
His crimson eyes, no longer wide with panic but narrowed with a chilling calculation, swept across the documents. He needed to find the Demon King's most trusted subordinate. The novel had mentioned a few key figures in the Demon King's inner circle, but only one possessed the absolute loyalty and strategic mind necessary to comprehend, let alone execute, the radical shift in plans he envisioned. That was Lilith, the Shadow Hand, the Demon King's spymaster and chief strategist.
He pushed away from the desk, the heavy, dark wood groaning faintly under his touch. The air in the study, thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint, metallic tang of demonic magic, seemed to cling to him. He moved with a new purpose, his strides confident, the heavy robes of bruised plum and black flowing around him like liquid shadow. He was still adapting to the sheer power humming beneath his skin, the effortless grace of this formidable body, but the urgency of his situation superseded any lingering discomfort.
He exited the study, stepping back into the vast, echoing silence of the throne room. The colossal, jagged throne, a monument to dark power, seemed to loom over him, a silent, menacing promise of his inherited role. He ignored it, his gaze sweeping the ornate hall, searching for any sign of life, any indication of where his subordinate might be found. The rhythmic clang from the castle's depths, the sound of a colossal hammer striking an anvil, continued its steady, relentless rhythm, a grim soundtrack to his new reality.
He chose a path to the right, leading down a grand, sweeping staircase that descended into deeper levels of the castle. The steps, carved from the same dark, veined marble as the walls, were wide and shallow, designed for beings of immense stature or for grand, ceremonial processions. Tall, narrow windows, set high in the walls of the stairwell, were covered with grilles of twisted, dark iron, allowing only slivers of faint, greenish light to penetrate, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air like tiny, lost souls. The air grew cooler, heavier, as he descended, carrying a stronger scent of damp stone and something metallic, like ancient blood.
The staircase opened into another vast corridor, but this one felt different. Less ceremonial, more functional. The walls were still of dark stone, but less ornate, and the flickering green torches were more numerous, casting a brighter, albeit still eerie, light. He passed what looked like barracks, their heavy, iron-bound doors shut tight, and the occasional glimpse through an open archway revealed training grounds with crude, heavy weapons racks and practice dummies made of dark, hardened leather. The distant clang of the anvil grew louder here, indicating he was moving towards the castle's industrial or military heart.
He continued, his senses alert. He could feel the faint, almost imperceptible vibrations of activity beneath the stone floor, a low thrum that suggested a bustling, if silent, underworld. He passed a few lesser demons, hulking figures with rough, scaled skin and glowing eyes, who immediately dropped to one knee, bowing their horned heads in deferential silence as he approached. Their movements were slow, almost sluggish, their faces etched with a mix of fear and reverence. He simply nodded, a subtle inclination of his head that felt instinctively regal, and continued on, not breaking his stride. He had no time for pleasantries, nor did he know how to engage in them with these creatures.
Finally, he reached a section of the corridor that branched off into a narrower, less imposing passage. This passage was still made of dark stone, but the air here felt different—sharper, colder, tinged with the scent of arcane reagents and something subtly metallic, like freshly honed steel. He could hear the faint, rhythmic scratching of a quill on parchment, and a low, melodic hum that vibrated the very air.
He followed the sound to a heavy, unadorned iron door, set into the wall. Unlike the other ornate entrances, this one was simple, functional, almost unassuming. He pushed it open.
The room beyond was a stark contrast to the grandiosity of the upper levels. It was a chamber of focused, meticulous work. Walls were lined with shelves overflowing with scrolls, ancient tomes, and strange, glowing crystals. A large, circular table of polished black stone dominated the center, covered with maps, astrological charts, and intricate diagrams. Several quill pens lay scattered amidst inkwells of various dark hues. The light here was brighter, emanating from a large, glowing orb suspended from the ceiling by chains of dark iron, casting a cool, blue-white luminescence that made the crimson and black of his robes seem even more vibrant.
Seated at the table, hunched over a particularly large, unfurled map, was a figure. She was slender, almost delicate, yet radiated an aura of sharp intelligence and quiet power. Her skin was a pale, almost ethereal grey, contrasting with the stark black of her tightly braided hair, which was pulled back from a high, intelligent forehead and secured with a single, intricate silver clasp shaped like a coiled serpent. Her facial features were finely chiseled, with high cheekbones and a narrow, aristocratic nose. Her lips were thin, unsmiling, but her eyes—those were what truly captured his attention. They were a vivid, startling gold, like molten metal, and they were currently fixed with intense concentration on the map before her. She wore simple, form-fitting robes of dark grey, unadorned save for a silver brooch at her collar, shaped like a stylized raven. This was Lilith.
Her quill scratched rhythmically across the parchment, the only sound in the room other than the faint hum of the glowing orb. She didn't look up immediately, her focus absolute.
He cleared his throat. The sound, deeper and more resonant than he was used to, echoed slightly in the quiet room.
Lilith's golden eyes snapped up, instantly losing their scholarly intensity and widening almost imperceptibly. Her slender body stiffened, and her quill clattered against the table. She rose swiftly, a movement of surprising grace and speed, and dropped to one knee, her head bowed low, her black hair falling forward like a curtain.
"My King," her voice was low, smooth, devoid of emotion, yet tinged with an underlying tremor of reverence. "Forgive my inattention. I did not hear your approach."
He felt a strange surge of authority, a natural response to her immediate deference. It was unsettling, yet also… empowering. "Rise, Lilith," he commanded, the words feeling foreign on his tongue, yet perfectly natural in this body.
She rose, her golden eyes, now devoid of fear but filled with an intense, questioning scrutiny, met his. She was searching his face, he realized, looking for something. The original Demon King's usual coldness, perhaps? His customary imperiousness? He maintained a neutral, almost bored expression, a trick he'd perfected in his previous life for poker games.
"We need to speak," he began, his voice calm, measured. "In private. And what I am about to tell you… it must remain between us. Utterly."
Lilith's golden eyes flickered, a hint of surprise in their depths. The Demon King rarely used such a tone, nor did he usually seek out private counsel in such a manner. She merely inclined her head. "As you command, My King. The chamber is secure." She gestured vaguely around the room.
He walked to the large table, placing his hands flat on the cool, polished stone surface, leaning slightly. He looked directly into her golden eyes, his crimson gaze unwavering. He had to make her believe this was his strategic genius.
"Lilith," he began, choosing his words carefully, his voice a low, resonant hum. "I have had a revelation. A deeper understanding of the human hero's true weakness, and the path to our ultimate victory."
Her eyes widened, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her usually impassive features. Her thin lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but no sound emerged. She remained frozen, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on his, waiting.
"The original plan," he continued, gesturing vaguely towards the maps on the table, "the grand war, the direct confrontation… it is flawed. It leads to ruin. To my ruin. To our ruin. I have seen it." He paused, letting the weight of that statement sink in, allowing her to interpret "seen it" as a profound demonic insight.
"The hero, young and still developing his powers, is shielded by a powerful, unseen guardian in his early days. An ancient oath protects him from direct, early elimination. Any frontal assault now, any attempt to simply crush him, would be suicidal. It would be walking into an ambush we cannot perceive, against a protector whose abilities are formidable and hidden." He spoke with absolute conviction, drawing on his knowledge of the novel's lore as if it were his own strategic analysis. "No, direct confrontation is out. It is too risky, too crude, too likely to lead to the very outcome we seek to avoid."
He straightened, his new height making him seem even more imposing. "My plan is different. It is subtle. It is insidious. I will not meet the hero on the battlefield. I will meet him where his future is forged. I will infiltrate the human academy."
Lilith stared at him, her golden eyes unblinking. The air in the room crackled with unspoken tension. He could see the conflict in her gaze – the ingrained loyalty to the Demon King she knew, battling with the sheer audacity of this new strategy. Her thin lips pressed into a tight line.
"You speak of… infiltration," she said slowly, her voice regaining some of its usual composure, though still tinged with disbelief. "Of manipulation on a scale… unheard of for a being of your power, My King."
"Precisely," he affirmed, a cold smile touching his lips. "I will assume a disguise that no one will recognize – a handsome, unassuming boy. I will enter their ranks. And I will turn every single one of his destined heroines to my side. They will fall madly in love with me, so completely that when the time comes, they will choose me over him, without hesitation."
He saw a flicker of something almost like admiration in Lilith's eyes, quickly suppressed. This was a scheme worthy of the Demon King, even if it was born of a human mind. The sheer audacity, the depth of psychological warfare, was undeniably compelling.
"Your task, Lilith," he stated, his voice firm, "is to maintain the illusion. The demon forces will continue their 'preparations' for the grand war, as originally planned. No major offensives, no unnecessary risks. You will manage the castle, the forces, and ensure that when the time comes for the hero and his party to reach this throne room, they find it empty, as per my ultimate design. The grand war will culminate, but not as they expect. It will be a hollow victory for them, a stage for my true triumph."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over her, a silent challenge. "Do you understand? Do you accept this… new path?"
Lilith remained silent for a long moment, her golden eyes fixed on his, searching, analyzing. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her thin lips. It was a chilling smile, devoid of warmth, but filled with a keen, strategic intelligence.
"My King," she said, her voice now clear and strong, "if this is your newfound insight… then this is the most brilliant, most terrifying strategy I have ever witnessed. It is… audacious. And it is the only path to true victory, to avoiding the humiliation you described." She dropped to one knee once more, her head bowed, but this time, there was a new quality to her deference. It was not just loyalty, but a profound, almost zealous, respect for his cunning. "I understand. And I accept. Your will shall be done."
He nodded, a sense of grim satisfaction settling over him. The first piece was in place. The game had truly begun.