Praise Me More, Demon Lord!Chapter 15: "The Difficulty Spike is Unreasonable, Demon Lord-sama!"
The journey back to the Castle of the Cinders was supposed to be a victory lap. It was supposed to be a quiet, dignified procession where Valdred could brood majestically out the window and Elara could catch up on her sleep.
Instead, the inside of the Black Carriage resembled a nursery for a particularly violent poltergeist.
"Get it off," Valdred said. His voice was flat, devoid of hope.
Bon-Bon, the baby Undead God, was currently clamped onto Valdred's left pauldrons. The skeletal lizard had decided that the Demon Lord's shoulder armor was the perfect combination of hard, shiny, and chewable.
Crunch. Crunch.
"He's teething," Elara murmured from the opposite bench. She was wrapped in a spare cloak Valdred had produced from a dimensional pocket, looking like a weary burrito. Her glasses were sliding down her nose, and she was drifting in and out of consciousness. "Babies need to chew. It strengthens their jaw muscles."
"He is chewing on Divinity-Forged Steel," Valdred pointed out, trying to gently pry the lizard off without losing a finger. "He is going to ruin his teeth. Or my armor. Likely both."
"Meep," Bon-Bon said, letting go of the armor and dropping into Valdred's lap. The creature looked up with empty eye sockets that somehow conveyed immense affection. It curled into a ball, rattling like a bag of dice, and instantly fell asleep.
Valdred stared at the ball of bones in his lap. He sighed, a sound that seemed to deflate his entire posture. He didn't move him. He just rested one hand on the creature's skull to keep it steady as the carriage bumped over a pothole.
"The world feels... different," Elara noted, looking out the window.
The landscape of the West was usually a comforting palette of grey and black. But now, there was a strange, vibrating intensity to the air. The clouds moved faster. The lightning was a sharper shade of violet. Even the dead trees seemed to be leaning aggressively toward the road.
"Nightmare Mode," Valdred grumbled. "The Arbiter's final announcement. I do not know what it entails, but I sense a shift in the mana density. It is... thicker."
"Thicker mana means stronger monsters," Elara yawned, shifting in her seat. "And stronger monsters mean more loot, but also more paperwork for the adventurer guild insurance claims. Lilith is going to have a stroke."
"Lilith is a Succubus," Valdred corrected. "They do not have strokes. They just get migraine auras that cause nearby glass to shatter."
The carriage slowed. They were approaching the main gate of the Castle.
Usually, the gate was guarded by two lazy skeletons named Bob and Steve. Today, however, the gate was a war zone.
Bob and Steve were currently engaging in a frantic duel with a squirrel.
"Is that..." Elara squinted. "Is that a squirrel?"
"It is," Valdred confirmed, his eyes narrowing.
The squirrel was glowing red. It moved with the speed of a ninja. It dodged Steve's rusty spear, ran up the shaft, and drop-kicked Bob's skull off his shoulders.
POW.
"RETREAT!" Steve's skull screamed from the ground. "IT HAS A HIT BOX THE SIZE OF A PIXEL!"
Valdred flicked his finger. A bolt of black lightning shot from the carriage window, vaporizing the squirrel instantly.
"Level 50 Squirrel," Valdred muttered, reading the fading mana signature. "That is absurd. Yesterday, the squirrels were Level 1."
"Nightmare Mode," Elara groaned, pulling the cloak over her head. "Even the rodents are grinding XP. Home sweet home."
The Great Hall of the castle was in chaos.
Minions were running everywhere. Imps were carrying stacks of files that were on fire. A slime was stuck to the ceiling, raining acid on the rug.
Lilith, Valdred's head secretary (and Elara's rival for administrative dominance), stood in the center of the room. She looked exhausted. Her wings were drooping, and she was holding a coffee mug that said "I Hate Mondays" in abyssal runes.
"Lord Valdred!" Lilith gasped as the double doors swung open. She dropped the mug. It didn't break; it bounced. The floor was now elastic for some reason. "You have returned! Thank the Dark Gods!"
"Report," Valdred commanded, striding into the room with Bon-Bon still asleep in his arms.
Lilith stared at the baby bone lizard. "My Lord... is that... did you adopt a dog?"
"It is a god," Valdred said stiffly. "Long story. Report on the castle status."
Lilith took a deep breath. She pulled out a scroll that was so long it rolled across the floor and out the door.
"Since the sky turned green three hours ago," Lilith recited rapidly, "the following anomalies have occurred:
The castle moat has turned into lava. The crocodiles are very confused but are adapting.
The kitchen rats have formed a union and are demanding better cheese. They are armed with toothpicks that deal bleed damage.
The gravity in the East Wing keeps fluctuating. The maids are currently stuck on the ceiling.
And the coffee machine is now sentient and refuses to brew anything unless we solve a riddle."
Valdred pinched the bridge of his nose. "And the external threats?"
"The forest creates new monsters every ten minutes," Lilith said. "We have locked the gates. We are currently under siege by a flock of pigeons that breathe fire."
"Nightmare Mode," Elara said, stepping out from behind Valdred. She looked ragged, her coat ruined, her hair a mess, but her eyes were sharp. "It's a global difficulty spike. It scales everything up. We need to patch the security protocols."
Lilith looked at Elara. For once, she didn't sneer. She looked at the bloodstained shirt and the sheer exhaustion radiating from the human.
"You look terrible," Lilith said bluntly.
"I fought a Titan," Elara replied, adjusting her glasses. "And I won. Is the bathwater hot?"
"The water heater is a Fire Elemental now," Lilith shrugged. "So yes. Very hot. Try not to anger it."
"I'm going to go pass out in the tub," Elara announced. "Valdred, you handle the baby. Lilith, tell the kitchen rats I'll negotiate their contract in the morning. If they stab anyone, no cheddar for a month."
"Understood," Lilith jotted it down.
Elara turned to leave, but Valdred caught her arm. His grip was gentle.
"Elara," he said softly.
She looked up. "Yeah, Boss?"
"Thank you," Valdred said. He didn't say what for. He didn't need to. It was for the strategy. For the blood. For the megaphone. For staying.
Elara smiled. It was a tired, genuine smile that lit up the gloomy hall. "You're welcome. Try not to let Bon-Bon eat the throne."
She walked away, heading for the sanctuary of the bathhouse.
Valdred watched her go until she turned the corner. Then he looked down at the baby god in his arms. Bon-Bon opened one eye socket.
"Meep?"
"Do not get comfortable," Valdred told the lizard. "We have work to do. And you are going to help me intimidate the kitchen rats."
An hour later, Elara was submerged up to her chin in steaming water. The bathhouse of the Castle was magnificent—black marble, gold fixtures, and a view of the volcanic peaks (which were currently erupting with blue fire, thanks to Nightmare Mode).
The water was infused with Lavender Bath Salts of Chill, a rare item she had expensed months ago.
"Oh, sweet inventory management," Elara sighed, closing her eyes. "This is the only validation I need."
"Excuse me," said the water faucet.
Elara opened one eye. The brass faucet, shaped like a gargoyle, was looking at her.
"Yes?" Elara asked politely.
"Would you like more hot water? Or perhaps a jet stream?" the faucet asked. "I require a sacrifice of one copper coin for premium service."
"Microtransactions?" Elara groaned. "Nightmare Mode introduced microtransactions to my bath?"
"Inflation comes for us all, madam," the faucet replied apologetically.
Elara flicked a copper coin from the pile of clothes on the floor into the faucet's mouth.
"Premium bubbles, please."
"Excellent choice."
The bath exploded with foam. Elara sank back down. Even in a world gone mad, you could still buy comfort.
She thought about the last twenty-four hours. The tournament. The betrayal. The loyalty. Valdred catching the necro-bolt. Valdred holding her.
Her face flushed, and it wasn't from the heat of the water.
"Stupid Demon Lord," she whispered to the bubbles. "Making me feel things. I'm supposed to be a professional consultant."
She splashed water on her face.
"He's just grateful," she told herself. "Just... highly loyal. That's all. It's a good employer-employee relationship."
Knock. Knock.
"Elara?" Valdred's voice came from the other side of the heavy door.
Elara froze. She sank lower in the bubbles until only her nose and glasses were visible. "I'm decent! Sort of! What do you want?"
"I have brought... a replacement," Valdred said. "For the coat."
"Oh." Elara blinked. "Just leave it by the door."
"I cannot," Valdred said. "It is... heavy."
"Heavy?" Elara frowned. She wrapped a massive towel around herself and cracked the door open.
Valdred stood there. He was no longer in his armor. He wore a simple black tunic and trousers, looking strangely domestic, except for the baby bone lizard clinging to his head like a hat.
In his hands, he held a coat.
It wasn't just a coat. It was a masterpiece. It was made of a material that seemed to absorb the light—midnight blue velvet reinforced with mithril thread. The buttons were black pearls. The collar was lined with silver fur (hopefully synthetic, or from a monster that deserved it).
"I had this in the vault," Valdred said, looking slightly embarrassed. "It was... intended for a high-ranking general. But I never found one worthy."
He held it out.
"It has +50 Fire Resistance, Auto-Repair, and endless pockets," Valdred listed the stats. "Also, it is stain resistant."
Elara took the coat. The fabric felt cool and powerful against her fingers. It was infinitely better than her old uniform.
"Valdred," Elara whispered. "This is... legendary gear."
"It suits you," Valdred said simply. "You are the General of my Logistics. You should dress the part."
Bon-Bon leaned down from Valdred's head and licked Elara's nose. It felt like dry bone scraping skin.
"Also," Valdred added, "Bon-Bon ate your shoes. I will replace those tomorrow."
Elara laughed. She couldn't help it. "Thanks, Boss. It's perfect."
"Rest," Valdred commanded. "We have a Council meeting in one hour. Grog has learned how to use the Communication Crystal, and he will not stop sending emojis."
"Emojis?"
"He draws faces on rocks and holds them up to the screen," Valdred explained wearily. "It is very distracting."
The Council Room was dark, lit only by the glowing blue light of the massive crystal slab in the center of the table. Valdred sat at the head, wearing his new 'Dad' persona (tunic + lizard). Elara, wearing her magnificent new coat, sat at his right hand, looking sharp and refreshed.
On the screen, the faces of the other Demon Lords flickered.
Grog occupied the top left quadrant. He was covered in green blood.
"GROG FIGHT BIG BEETLE!" Grog shouted, holding up a rock with a smiley face drawn in blood. "NIGHTMARE MODE FUN! EVERYTHING TRY TO KILL GROG! GROG NEVER BORED!"
"Glad you're enjoying yourself, Grog," Elara said, taking notes. "Status of the Northern Borders?"
"BORDERS GONE!" Grog laughed. "MOUNTAINS MOVED! GROG NOW LIVE ON ISLAND! VERY NICE VIEW!"
"Geography shift," Elara noted. "Okay. Malacor?"
Malacor, the Lich King, occupied the top right. He looked miserable. He was sitting in a library that was currently on fire.
"This is intolerable," Malacor whined. "My skeletons have unionized. They are demanding dental plans. They don't even have gums! And the magic density is interfering with my Wi-Fi orb."
"Adapt, Malacor," Valdred said coldly. "You are an Arch-Lich. Control your minions."
"I tried!" Malacor shrieked. "But the rats! They have tiny crossbows!"
"Vex?" Elara turned to the bottom quadrant.
Lady Vex was sitting in a bubbling mud bath, wearing cucumber slices on her eyes. Behind her, a massive tentacled monster was smashing a building. She ignored it.
"Darling," Vex drawled. "The inflation is dreadful. The price of souls has skyrocketed. And my succubi are complaining that the heroes are too high-level to seduce. They just want to speed-run the dungeons."
"Listen to me," Valdred's voice dropped, silencing the chaos. Even Bon-Bon stopped chewing on Valdred's ear.
"We are the Council of the Black Sun," Valdred stated. "The world has changed. The difficulty has risen. But we are the difficulty."
He leaned forward.
"Nightmare Mode does not mean we hide. It means we grind. We will fortify our domains. We will level up our minions. And we will make sure that when the Heroes come... they find a challenge they cannot overcome."
"Yes!" Grog cheered. "GRIND!"
"Fine," Vex sighed. "I suppose I can upgrade the torture chambers."
"I will negotiate with the rats," Malacor wept.
"Good," Valdred nodded. "Elara has prepared a syllabus for your training."
"A what?" Vex asked.
Elara slapped a stack of papers onto the table. "I've drafted a Five-Year Quarterly Improvement Plan. We're going to optimize your dungeon layouts, streamline your loot tables, and implement a standardized HR policy for minions to prevent unionization."
The Demon Lords stared at her in horror.
"HR?" Malacor whispered. "That is truly evil."
"We start Monday," Elara grinned, her glasses glinting. "Don't be late."
She cut the connection. The crystal went dark.
"You enjoy that too much," Valdred observed.
"I love organization," Elara admitted. "It soothes the soul."
Suddenly, the castle shook. A deep, resonant boom echoed from the front gates. It wasn't an attack. It was a knock. A very polite, very loud knock.
Valdred stood up, hand going to Night-Eater. Bon-Bon woke up and hissed.
"Another Raid Boss?" Elara asked, grabbing her wand.
"No," Valdred said, sensing the aura. "It is not hostile. But it is... powerful."
They walked to the Great Hall. The doors were vibrating.
"OPEN UP!" a voice boomed from outside. It sounded like a fanfare of trumpets converted into speech. "POSTAL SERVICE! PRIORITY DELIVERY FOR THE SLAYER OF TYPHON!"
Valdred motioned for the minions to stand back. He waved his hand, and the massive iron doors creaked open.
Standing there was a figure clad in golden armor so bright it hurt to look at. He had six wings made of light. He was holding a small, brown cardboard box.
It was an Angel. A Seraphim, to be exact. Level 99.
"Delivery for Valdred, Tyrant of the Cinders?" the Angel asked, checking a clipboard.
"I am he," Valdred said, wary. "Since when do Angels deliver mail?"
"Since Nightmare Mode," the Angel sighed, rolling his eyes. "The regular couriers keep getting eaten by the wyverns. We had to step in. Sign here, please."
Valdred signed the clipboard with a confused frown. The Angel handed him the box, flapped his wings, and shot into the sky like a rocket, breaking the sound barrier.
"What is it?" Elara asked, staring at the box.
Valdred carried it to the table. He cut the tape with a claw.
Inside, resting on a bed of packing peanuts, was a single, sleek black card. It looked like a credit card, but it pulsed with ominous energy.
Valdred picked it up.
"What does it say?"
Valdred read the gold embossed letters.
"INVITATION: The Nightmare Summit."
"To the Administrator of the West."
"Congratulations on unlocking the End Game. You are cordially invited to meet the System Administrators."
"Location: The Tower of Babel. Date: Yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Elara asked. "We missed it?"
"Time flows differently in the Tower," Valdred muttered. He flipped the card.
On the back, there was a handwritten note in red ink:
"Bring the baby. We need to verify its license."
Valdred looked at Bon-Bon. Bon-Bon let out a small burp of green fire.
"System Administrators," Valdred said darkly. "The Gods who created the rules."
"And they want to see us," Elara realized. "Because we broke the game."
"We didn't break it," Valdred smirked, placing the card in his pocket. "We just started playing for real."
He turned to Elara.
"Pack your bags, General. We are going on a business trip."
"Can I at least finish my bath first?" Elara pleaded.
"Five minutes," Valdred granted. "Then we conquer the System."