Book 1
Chapter 23: The Demon King Awakens: The Prophecy & The Platinum Assassin
The Scroll of Dreadful Marketing
The ruins of a roadside shrine groaned under the weight of centuries. Its pillars, half-melted by time and forgotten wars, leaned against one another like tired drunks trying to hold each other up. At its center, a solitary altar pulsed with a faint, weary light, its surface etched with script older than any kingdom.
The party had paused to rest after days of trudging south. Naturally, Ken discovered the single most important relic entirely by accident, stumbling against the ancient stone while attempting to strike a heroic pose.
With a grinding sigh of protest, the altar coughed up a brittle scroll wrapped in fraying platinum thread. The script ignited with a cold fire, and a voice echoed through the clearing with unbearable cosmic authority.
"When the Red Ash moon bleeds thrice, the Demon King shall awaken, and his shadow will fall across Zhilan. No soul shall escape the coming despair. But a single hope remains: one born of platinum, an assassin hidden in light, who alone can deliver the fatal account."
The words hung in the air, ringing inside their skulls like a tolling bell. The warmth of the southern day vanished, replaced by a sudden, unnatural chill. Even the squawking birds overhead fell silent, as if a celestial librarian had shushed them.
A faint, ethereal chime sounded—the unmistakable ker-ching of a cosmic cash register. Laluna's rune-nails flared with a searing, electric blue light.
"What was that?" Narutama asked, his hand instinctively going to his katana.
Laluna didn't look up, her eyes wide as she watched the glyphs on her nails scramble and reorganize themselves into a new, terrifying configuration. Her voice was a thin, horrified whisper.
"A… deposit. Or a withdrawal. It's hard to tell. The system just registered the prophecy's activation as a major transaction. The interest rates are… catastrophic."
She finally looked up, her face pale. "We've just been billed for the apocalypse."
Ken's eyes gleamed with instant recognition. He slapped a hand through his messy hair, striking a new pose. He even angled his head so the sun caught the strands, like a model waiting for applause.
"Obviously," he declared, chest puffed out, "this prophecy is about me. Platinum-born? Just look at this shine! It's practically a divine shampoo endorsement."
Naratuma didn't even blink. His jaw clenched tight, as though he were trying to swallow stones. "This… isn't about hair. It's about blood. Lineage. The Sanata clan records spoke of a sealed cycle. The Red Ash moon… my family has feared its return for generations."
Ken barely heard him. He was already busy adjusting his reflection in the polished surface of Ichiban's gauntlet.
---
Pigaro's Payment Plan
The wheezing Pegasus took a heavy step closer. His wings drooped, his eyes ancient and weary, though every other sentence was punctuated by an absurd, congested snort.
"Prophecies," Pigaro began, his voice thin and solemn, "are never about glory. They are about… repayment schedules." His nostrils flared like a broken accordion.
"Every promise in scripture comes with… interest. Heroes become martyrs. Victors inherit curses. Platinum-born assassins… may not live long enough to spend their wage."
His statement settled over the group, heavier and colder than the prophecy itself.
Fluffy tried to lighten the mood, scratching his chin with the end of his bow.
"Eh, repayment schedule or not, do you think the Demon King accepts coupons? I've got a whole stack of guild discount vouchers."
No one laughed. Not even Ken, though he attempted a chuckle before noticing the expectant dread on every face turned toward him.
"Wait, wait," Ken sputtered, finally catching on. "You're all looking at me? You think I'm this platinum-born assassin? That sounds… dangerous! And sweaty. Isn't there, like, a junior assassin intern we could just outsource this to?"
---
Whispers of the Clan
Narutama's silence was louder than any retort. His katana gave a faint twitch in its sheath, humming with some unspoken resonance. The samurai stared toward the horizon, his eyes dark with memory.
"My ancestors… they spoke of the Sanata debt. A sin left unpaid. A curse whispered from parent to child. If the Demon King rises, then…"
His voice faltered. He left the thought unfinished.
Laluna's rune-etched nails glimmered with legalese. She narrowed her sharp eyes. "Unspoken clauses in clan contracts. Hidden riders in ancestral oaths. It all fits. The Sanata line may be bound… not as heroes, but as collateral."
Ichiban broke the tension with a grunt that cracked like splitting stone.
"Collateral or not. If Demon King comes, I smash."
It was simple. Brutal. Almost comforting. But Narutama's gaze did not soften. He pressed a hand against the hilt of his blade. For the first time, the weight of leadership—not just loyalty—settled squarely on his shoulders.
---
Ken's Glorious Misinterpretation
Naturally, Ken chose this moment to twirl and flash a brilliant, empty grin.
"So, to summarize: Evil king rising, check. Platinum assassin destined to stop him, check—that's me, obviously. Imminent danger, check. But hey, danger just makes for better posters! We can market this. 'Ken Hanzori: Platinum Savior!' Can't you just imagine the crowd turnout?"
"I can imagine the funeral turnout," Laluna muttered under her breath.
"Don't be so negative!" Ken said, striking a pose. "We'll sell t-shirts that say: 'My friend faced the Demon King and all I got was this lousy tunic.' I'll sign them! It'll be huge!"
Pigaro snorted and let out another wheeze.
"You're joking, boy… but fate always keeps the receipts."
Fluffy cleared his throat, raising a hand like a bard requesting attention.
"So… uh… minor question. When this Demon King shows up, does anyone know if he, y'know, likes music? Because I only know five songs, and four of them are drinking ballads. The other one is about turnip prices."
Nobody responded (except Ichiban, who tried to smile but ended up baring his teeth like a wolf that had just remembered it was supposed to be friendly). The silence was so crushing that even Fluffy's bowstrings seemed to sag. He muttered to himself, "Guess that's a no on the drinking ballads, then."
---
The ground rumbled faintly then, a deep and distant shudder that seemed to echo the prophecy. High above,unseen by any mortal, a single star in the constellation of The Organizer winked out, as if a single Quid had been deducted from the cosmos's primary account.
Far below, buried in the warped southern roots of Zhilan, something ancient and hungry began to stir.
And for the first time since the Glitch Baby incident, the laughter in Ken's boasts rang a little thin, and a little hollow, against the coming dark.