The meeting was still fresh in everyone's mind when the Vampire Lord slinked toward Luceris one evening, a hesitant look on his pale, handsome face.
Luceris, lounging on a throne made of conjured obsidian with a cup of water that sparkled like fine wine, arched one golden eyebrow.
"Well, well, Grand Duke Number One. What's this? Come to bite me? Or complain about baths again?"
The Vampire Lord cleared his throat. "...My name is Veylen."
"Veylen," Luceris repeated, rolling the syllables lazily. "Pretty name. Doesn't suit you. You're too mopey. You need something like 'Count Emo the Third.'"
Veylen's jaw twitched, but he pressed on. "I… I heard you can cook food."
Luceris blinked. Then he barked a laugh so loud it startled a pair of imps standing guard. "Wait, wait, wait—you? A vampire? Cooked food?!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach. "Pfft—what kind of fake vampire are you? Shouldn't you be guzzling blood out of crystal goblets while brooding at the moon?"
Veylen flushed pale crimson. "I can drink blood just fine! But… sometimes… roasted meat smells good."
Luceris clapped his hands like he'd just discovered the funniest joke in the universe. "Oh, this is too rich. A vampire with a taste for barbecue! Do you also like garlic bread, hmm? Should I sprinkle some holy water on your steak for seasoning?"
The Dark Elf Lord, seated nearby, actually choked on his wine trying not to laugh.
Veylen's lips curled, fangs glinting. "Mock me all you want, but I'll have you know—when blood is scarce, one must adapt. At least I don't faint at the sight of rare meat like some merfolk."
Luceris flicked his tail irritably. "Excuse you! I only faint when the cooking is bad. And unlike you, I actually have taste buds."
"Then prove it," Veylen challenged. "Cook for me."
The room hushed.
Luceris narrowed his golden eyes, then smirked slowly. "Fine. But when you swoon over my cuisine like a maiden in love, don't blame me if your entire reputation as 'Scary Vampire Lord' collapses overnight."
Luceris didn't actually have a kitchen. Or utensils. Or pans. So, naturally, he bullied the dwarves into forging him a set overnight. Within hours, he had a gleaming stove powered by volcanic stone, polished pots, and knives sharp enough to slice through a wyvern's hide.
"Behold," he announced grandly the next day as lords, demons, and curious minor races gathered. "The birth of Demon Realm cuisine. Step one: fire."
The crowd gasped as Luceris conjured boiling water with a flick of his wrist, flames roaring beneath the pot. Then, with the flair of a showman, he tossed in spices he'd bullied druids into providing, strips of beast meat, and—because he couldn't resist—some seaweed.
The aroma spread quickly, rich and mouthwatering. Demons who'd only ever eaten raw flesh and half-charred bones nearly fainted at the scent.
Veylen leaned forward despite himself, red eyes gleaming.
Luceris caught the look and smirked. "Careful, Grand Duke. You're drooling. Very dignified."
"I am not—" Veylen snapped, but his hand twitched toward the steaming pot.
When Luceris finally served the dish, a rich stew glistening in bowls, the hall went silent. The first brave demon tasted—and promptly screamed.
"DELICIOUS!"
Chaos erupted. Demons shoved, roared, fought tooth and claw to get a taste. Even the Dark Elf abandoned his cool dignity, clutching a bowl like a starving child.
And Veylen? He sipped delicately, then froze. His eyes widened. For a moment, he looked almost… human.
"…It's good," he whispered.
Luceris leaned back, smirking. "And thus, ladies and gentlemen, the Vampire Lord has officially been exposed as a fake vampire. Write it down in history: the day of the stew scandal."
The demons cheered, stuffing their mouths. Veylen buried his face in his bowl, muttering threats that no one took seriously.
Meanwhile, the dwarves had gone absolutely berserk with Luceris's infrastructure projects.
Within a month, where once had been barren wasteland now stood the Imperial Demonic Palace—a structure of obsidian, enchanted steel, and dark crystal that shimmered like liquid night. Towers twisted into the sky, glowing faintly with runes, while bridges spanned rivers Luceris had conjured with hydro-magic.
The dwarves had outdone themselves. Every hall was a blend of brutal beauty and terrifying elegance: marble floors inlaid with veins of ruby, chandeliers that dripped molten light, and walls etched with murals depicting Luceris dramatically conquering the Demon Realm (the dwarves insisted on "historical accuracy," which apparently meant painting him with exaggerated muscles and a heroic jawline).
Luceris almost cried when he saw the bathrooms—gleaming tubs, steaming hot water on demand, even polished mirrors. "My babies," he whispered reverently. "Civilization has arrived."
The palace became the envy of all demonkind. Not just beautiful, but dangerous: secret corridors, trap-filled dungeons, and defensive enchantments that could vaporize intruders in seconds.
Naturally, Luceris immediately began demanding more.
"Next project," Luceris declared at the weekly council meeting. "Imperial City. The capital. I want twelve districts, broad streets, a marketplace, schools, theaters, and public baths. Yes, baths everywhere. If one demon smells bad, I'll personally scrub them."
The lords groaned. The dwarves cackled with excitement.
"And while you're at it," Luceris continued, "build me twelve satellite cities, one in each territory. Trade routes connecting all of them. Paved roads. Bridges. If I stub my toe on a rock while traveling, heads will roll."
Within weeks, the sound of construction echoed across the realm. Dwarves hammered, elves planted, druids grew, and Luceris oversaw everything like a tyrannical interior designer. He rejected bricks for being "too drab," redesigned districts because "the feng shui is offensive," and once made an ogre cry by demanding he re-polish a statue "until it sparkles enough to blind me."
But the results were undeniable: in just three months, the Demon Empire's skeleton took shape.
Of course, Luceris quickly realized that ruling millions of demons was not something even an SSS-level brain could handle alone.
"This paperwork is breeding," he groaned one night, staring at towers of scrolls. "It's multiplying when I'm not looking. I swear I killed that pile yesterday."
So, he invented departments.
Department of Defense: Run by the Dark Elf (who Luceris nicknamed "Edgy McSwordface").
Department of Resources: Handed to the dwarves, naturally.
Department of Agriculture: Druids, under strict orders not to grow "mood moss" that turned people into poets.
Department of Education: Moon Elves, who were promptly buried under demon children.
Department of Hygiene: Personally overseen by Luceris, because no one could be trusted with soap distribution.
Department of Trade: Run by succubi, since Luceris declared them "the only ones with enough charm to negotiate without stabbing someone."
He even invented the position of Imperial Butler, filling the palace with immaculately dressed demons whose sole job was to scurry after him with towels, pens, or occasionally cookies.
Luceris sighed happily one afternoon as three butlers fanned him while he signed decrees. "Now this," he said, "is how a king should live."
By the end of the third month, the Demon Realm had transformed.
Where once there was only chaos and despair, now stood the beginnings of an empire: roads, cities, schools, farms, laws, and a palace that glittered like a jewel. Demons no longer fought daily for scraps; they farmed, traded, even bathed (grudgingly).
The lords complained constantly, but not one dared rebel after watching Luceris drown a wyvern in midair just to "make a point about punctuality."
As for Luceris himself, he reclined on his throne, golden eyes gleaming, a smug smile curling his lips.
"Look at that," he said, gesturing grandly at the reports of order and prosperity. "From fish-boy to Demon King to Demon CEO. I don't just conquer—I franchise."
The council groaned in unison.
Luceris laughed, tail flicking lazily. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're already tired. This is just the beginning."