Thunder City, under the rule of Duke Campbell of the Kingdom of Lain, was as peaceful and bustling as ever.
Steam-belching ships moved back and forth across the harbor. Bare-chested laborers carried crates and bundles from the decks to markets or workshops. Every stall under the colorful dyed fabrics overflowed with oddities and curiosities.
All this prosperity, and the glory that came with it, could be credited to the man riding a tall warhorse, leading a squad of knights along the main street festooned with banners and lights.
His name was Aaron Campbell. Just from the name, one could tell he was the city's lord.
But there was more.
Beyond being a vassal of the King of Lain, he was also a Chosen of Saint Sice, known to the common folk as a hero.
Not long ago, the Demon King who had been wreaking havoc outside Thunder City had fallen to his sword.
At seventy years old, his courage and strength had not diminished one bit.
Many speculated that this esteemed Duke Campbell might have surpassed the Diamond rank entirely, stepping into the realm of Amethyst, or perhaps even Master level.
"Hail Saint Sice! Hail the Holy Light!"
"Long live Duke Campbell!"
"Long live the Grand Duchy!"
"Long live the Kingdom of Lain!"
Cheering, clapping, and whistles filled the air.
As the victorious heroes returned, boys and girls along the streets threw flowers into the air. Farmers and townsfolk shouted with all their might, faces red and throats hoarse.
Duke Campbell acknowledged the crowd with a slight nod, his sharp, distinguished face carrying a polite smile, strict yet gentle, like a stern father.
The citizens of Thunder City adored him.
Especially the devout followers of Saint Sice, who practically wanted to kiss his boots.
Yet not everyone was willing to credit all of Thunder City's prosperity to Duke Campbell and his knights.
In the corridors of City Hall, the portly mayor lit a cigarette and glared through the half-drawn curtains at the old yet handsome duke, jealousy written across his face.
"Look at these fools, so disgusting… as if the sun rises because a rooster crowed. Back in the First Era, there wasn't even a sun."
The mayor, feeling guilty for staring, quickly pulled the curtain shut.
A gentleman wearing a bowler hat smiled and spoke casually, as if in idle chat.
"You sound bitter."
His name was Yan Andes, a well-known merchant in Thunder City.
Just an hour ago, the city council had sought opinions on a controversial commercial tax proposal, mostly nitpicking punctuation and wording. His old friend, Mayor Mill, had just finished brushing off protests from shopkeepers, farmers, and ship captains. Yan, meanwhile, had been the one being brushed off.
"Bitter? Don't make me laugh."
Mayor Mill grumbled at his friend's teasing.
"I'm not bitter. Thunder City has always been like this since Isaac's time, and it was even more interesting back then. But we never thanked our lord for feeding us. We fought in the swamps against lizardmen, clawing enormous estates from their jaws! That's how Thunder City became what it is today!"
"But no one lived through that, right?" Yan offered a gentle reassurance and then stopped him, saying, "Alright, let's drop it. You don't want some passerby overhearing and mistakenly calling you a heretic, do you?"
Heretic.
The term referred to anyone who worshipped gods other than Saint Sice, whether ancient gods of the First Era or the forbidden Isaac.
The mayor flinched at the remark.
Whether he truly believed in Saint Sice or not, he had to appear devout.
Though it wasn't entirely an act he still prayed and donated.
Seeing his friend calm down, Yan spoke slowly, "At least he did defeat the Demon King. I don't see any issues with him ruling."
"There's a problem," Mill shook his head, sighing. "With the Demon King gone, its territory will vanish soon, adventurers will lose work, and then taverns and blacksmiths will suffer. I've calculated it. We'll lose at least a quarter of our income, maybe more."
Thunder City thrived on adventurers drawn to its dungeons, not on the lord's idle knights.
Compared to the flashy Trident Knights, the dungeons were the city's true feature, luring wide-eyed teenagers from the countryside in droves.
They either returned with valuable treasures or ended up trapped, their luck having run out.
An invasion from Hell? Who cared about that? Thunder City wasn't anywhere near the frontlines of the Ostrean Empire.
If anything, Mill secretly wished he could raise a succubus for fun.
But now the Demon King was dead. Wealthy and skilled adventurers would soon flock to the next city with a dungeon. Those without funds to travel could become a source of trouble.
"They'll have to adapt to a new way of life," Yan said softly. "No one can live forever in the past, not even you or me."
"Let's hope so."
Mill sighed, staring at the ceiling.
"Wouldn't it be great if there was a well-behaved Demon King? One who stayed underground on schedule, us going down on odd days, them on even."
Or better yet, never come up at all.
Even if you conquered Thunder City, you couldn't hold it anyway.
"The seventh day everyone rests, right?"
Yan chuckled.
"Then that's not a Demon King."
Adventurers pursued dungeons for faith, glory, leveling up, and favor from Saint Sice.
Rationally, the Demon King would have its own motives. Invading the surface was not a casual hobby.
Mill knew he sounded foolish, and sighed again.
"True enough."
Sometimes he wondered how Thunder City would look today if the Isaac dynasty had survived. But such thoughts were only idle speculation.
After all, even history he knew might not be the closest to the truth.
On the other side, the knights' procession had passed through the main street, followed by a troop of conscripted soldiers carrying heavy rifles.
Unlike the lord's standing army, these men were mostly farmers, miners, or dockworkers, assembling only when needed.
Though the cheers were for the lord and his knights, marching on the petals that had once fallen on the Chosen's shoulders was an honor for ordinary men.
At least, their pride was genuine.
Some rejoiced, others fretted.
As the torch-bearing unit marched past, the nearby tavern roared with noise, the chatter as high-pitched as sparrows in the eaves.
The tavern, called The Sword and Broken Blade, got its name from a sword once hung above the door.
It had been stolen, and a broken one replaced it. Rumor had it the original owner died in a dungeon.
Though the name was ominous, the tavern's proximity to the Adventurers' Guild made it a natural gathering place for idle adventurers.
It became a de facto hub for socializing, matchmaking, and sharing gray-market tasks that couldn't be officially registered.
Although it was barely noon, many adventurers crowded in, bored and frustrated by the lack of dungeon contracts following the Demon King's defeat.
Some, drunk and loud, shouted recklessly.
Perhaps this was what Professor Ernos meant: even without interference, humans can sell their souls to demons, often without realizing it.
"Damned Campbell family! Why did that idiot kill the Demon King! He doesn't understand what a hard-working, useless Demon King meant to Thunder City!"
A battle-axe wielder slammed his oak mug on the table, spittle flying several feet.
His archer companion quickly tried to calm him.
"But he fought back… if the lord let him live, the taxes from the citizens would be wasted!"
"That's exactly the problem!" the axe-wielder shouted, face red and veins bulging. "If he cared about his people, he'd have cut down the Demon King's minions and then… let the Demon King live!"
His friend quickly restrained him.
"Are you crazy?"
In the land blessed by the Holy Light, suggesting mercy for a Demon King could lead to righteous violence from fanatical believers.
Luckily, these were adventurers, and most ignored the outburst, even agreeing with the sentiment.
After all, dungeons produced gleaming magic crystals and treasures impossible to find aboveground.
Not gold mines, but something infinitely more precious belonging to anyone brave enough to dream.
Many admitted, in their hearts, they were just jealous.
If given the chance to slay a Demon King themselves, they would rush forward without hesitation.
After all, it was an opportunity for divine favor!
Duke Campbell, already a Chosen, might not care, but for adventurers stuck at their limits, this was one of the few ways to progress.
And they wanted it desperately.
While the crowd argued, hardly anyone noticed a handsome young man enter the tavern and sit near the door.
No one could have guessed that the "special reward" they all dreamed of was sitting right beside them.