Chapter 116: The White devil's beach part 2
The sun continued to beat down on the private island, casting a shimmering glow over the thousands of white-haired figures that populated the shore. To any outsider, it would look like a scene from a beautiful nightmare—a paradise populated by the harbingers of the end.
Leornars took a slow sip of his coffee, the bitter warmth a stark contrast to the salty sea breeze.
"Lord Leornars," Stacian said, her newly white hair fluttering in the wind. She looked out at the horizon where the blue of the ocean met the blue of the sky. "The Holy Kingdom's decree... they are calling you a King of Devils. Does it bother you?"
Leornars watched as two undeads tried to build a sandcastle, only for it to be washed away by a wave as they laughed. They stared at the wet sand in what looked like existential dread.
"Names are just labels used by the weak to categorize things they're afraid of," Leornars said calmly. "If they need me to be a devil to justify their own failures, let them. It doesn't change the taste of this coffee or this cool breeze"
'You're helping, Althelia. Truly,' Leornars thought dryly.
On the court, the game had escalated. Zaryter had joined in, and the "volleyball"—which was actually a reinforced leather sphere—was now moving at speeds that broke the sound barrier.
"MY TURN!" Zaryter roared leaping into the air.
BOOM!
He spiked the ball. It didn't just hit the sand; it created a small crater. The shockwave sprayed sand over Ayesha, who was still floating peacefully nearby. She wiped a clump of wet sand off her purple swimsuit, her eyes glowing with a dangerous violet light.
"Zaryter..." Ayesha whispered, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "If you get sand in my wine again, I will turn your marrow into lead."
Zaryter froze, his hands still in the air. "Uh... it was a tactical strike?"
"No murder," Leornars called out again, his voice echoing with an authority that caused every undead on the beach to go still for a split second.
Salene, who had been about to finally crush that crab with a rock, slowly put the rock down. She looked at the crab, then at Leornars, and gave a tiny, disappointed pout then looked to see a panther and smiled sadistically rushing to it with a rock .
As the sun began to dip lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, Stacian suddenly stood up. Her eyes narrowed as she looked toward the edge of the island's magical barrier.
"Lord Leornars. We have a guest. Or rather... a messenger."
Leornars didn't look up from his fire. "From the Holy Kingdom?"
"No," Stacian said, her white hair shifting slightly back toward blue at the tips. "It's a diplomatic vessel from the Dirrium Kingdom. It seems they didn't get the memo that we were on vacation."
Leornars sighed, setting his coffee cup down on the sand. "I suppose the 'White Devil' doesn't get days off."
He stood up, brushing the sand off his white shirt. His long hair was still held perfectly in place by Stacian's pin. He looked at his thousands of subordinates—the pale, red-eyed army that the world feared.
"Stacian," Leornars said.
"Yes, My Lord?"
"Tell them I'm not interested in any political or economical management with Dirrium."
Stacian smiled—a sharp, beautiful expression. "Understood. I shall inform them that the Devil is currently... Not interested."
The Grand Cathedral of Rurva usually smelled of expensive incense and ancient stone. Today, however, it smelled of high blood pressure and sheer, unadulterated saltiness.
Father Ezekiel slammed a report down onto the stone table so hard the candles jumped.
"He is doing what?"
Father Grant, who had been trying to maintain his image of "calm intellectual superiority," looked like he had just sucked on a lemon. He adjusted his spectacles, staring at the magical scrying report with a twitching eye.
"A... vacation, Ezekiel. Our spies—the ones who haven't been turned into mindless thralls yet—report that the White Devil has occupied a private island."
"A vacation?" Ezekiel's voice reached a pitch that could crack glass. "We have declared a Holy Decree! I have spent three nights writing the 'Litany of the Damned'! I have mobilized the Inquisition! The world is supposed to be trembling in its boots, and he is... what? Working on a tan?"
"He isn't even wearing armor," Father Gerald added, his voice hollow as he leaned over the report. "He's wearing... white linen. And black slippers. He appears to be making coffee over a campfire."
The silence in the room was heavy.
"Is that... is that a volleyball?" Grant whispered, pointing at a blurry image in the report. "Is that the dragonian Zaryter hitting a ball over a net?"
"It's a mockery!" Ezekiel roared, his face turning a shade of purple that matched Ayesha's swimsuit. "This is a direct insult to the Holy Kingdom! We call him a devil, and he responds by taking a nap on a beach! Does he have no respect for the gravity of being an international threat?"
"Look at this page," Gerald pointed to a second report. "One of our scouts tried to approach the perimeter with a formal declaration of war. He was stopped by a woman in a blue swimsuit—presumably Stacian Von Gremohiah—who told him, and I quote: 'The Lord is currently busy with a coconut. Come back when the sun is less nice.'"
Ezekiel grabbed a decorative golden chalice and looked like he wanted to hurl it through the stained-glass window. "A COCONUT? I AM PREPARING THE END OF THE WORLD, AND HE IS BUSY WITH A FRUIT?"
"To be fair," Grant muttered, rubbing his temples, "it's a very high-quality beach. The sand is quite pristine."
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE SAND!" Ezekiel screamed. "Issue another decree! Tell the people he is... he is performing a dark ritual! Yes! A ritual to summon a sea kraken! We cannot let the public find out the 'Great Enemy' is currently buried up to his neck in sand by a group of skeletons!"
"Actually," Gerald whispered, looking at the latest update, "the skeletons look alot more human , they can talk and even play. They just finished a sandcastle. It's... it's actually quite architecturally impressive. It has a moat."
Ezekiel let out a strangled sound, collapsed into his velvet chair, and covered his face with his hands. "I hate him. I hate him so much."