Somebody is working hard (Pelrin POV)

Changing the name Demon Lord to Monster Lord since it makes more sense that the person who leads all monsters is the Monster Lord.

As the sun set over the horizon, the city itself was set alight in both passion and vice. The tapping of dice upon tables as drunken men and monsters gambled, the bellows of joy as two cage fighters clashed to relieve their bloodlust, and even the joyous singing of army chants as former enemies cavorted in the numerous pubs speckling the city, singing their army songs and joking about how they won the war. Men pushed carts around, the metal boxes filled with chilled treats to stave off the desert city’s heat, while others had carts laden with succulent meats slow roasted through the use of mundane means, the smokey cactus fumes imparting a distinct flavor found only in the city. Not even the fabled Company of Roses could resist partaking in the festivities, the sound of pewter mugs clanging against one another as the mercenaries played a variety of drinking games. It was always a sight to see when the Roses were celebrating, the vast cultural differences between the soldiers appearing when they were most ****.

The elves of Helveria had a traditional drinking game where the most **** of them was to compose a complex poem of the day’s events. If he is able to maintain a proper rhythm and adhere to the rules of Helverian poetry standards, everyone who listened must drink. It was a game played by the aristocracy to sharpen the minds even under pressure. Had the aristocracy seen the kobold on the table speaking flawless Helverian and singing a poem about the greatness of skorpion meat, they would have had the city cleansed. Had they seen the elven bowmen cheering on the kobold, they would have had the entire region turned to ash. At the neighboring table the Company's hellhounds were sitting alongside the dragonkin as they played a round of snapdragon.

The rules were simple. Both contestants would prepare large bowls of high proof spirits and dip a claw into them before setting them aflame. They would then grasp each other’s hands and have an arm wrestling match, with both sides trying to ignite the other’s bowl with their flaming hands. Whoever lost the arm wrestling match had to drink the burning liquor then and there. If neither side could win before the flames on their hands burnt out, then they both drank. In the center of the bar, an ogre, several beastkin, a centaur, and a human engaged in the time old goblin lifting contest.

Each of them would grab a female goblin and grope her until they were sufficiently stiffened. From there, they would set the goblin atop their shaft, supporting her lower body using only their manhood. Whomever could hold their goblin for the longest won the “pot” so to speak, claiming their competitor’s partner for the night. Competitors couldn’t directly touch each other, but they could still speak, leading to each man trying to get the other to laugh and break concentration. Numerous other bar games could be seen, each culture having a drastically different approach to enjoying inebriation as Pelrin sat at the bar sipping a cup of juice.

Normally, he would ban his men from such festivities when they were so close to conflict, but this was a special occasion. Olskroya was a place where all men would falter, and it was easier to let them cut loose while he was in control than let them roam around and cause havoc throughout the city. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and took out a metal tin, popping it open to display a variety of finely chopped herbs that had a dull green color speckled with brown. Shifting the herbs aside, he removed a thin slip of paper hidden underneath it and inspected it, confirming that it was still bone dry.

Taking out several leaves and a slip of paper, he rolled the herbs into the paper and licked the end, ensuring it didn’t unroll before placing it in his mouth. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small metal box and flicked it open, displaying a small oiled wick and a flint with a small metal wheel next to it. It vibrated gently in his hand, the contraption pulsing to every word the men spoke to the prostitutes.

“I can go all night babe.”

Shake

“I love you baby.”

Shake

“I’m hung like a centaur.”

Shake

Lie detecting artifacts were some of the rarest artifacts around. Most production classes found patronhood in the goddess of magic or smithing, both deities offering great boons to their worshippers for relatively little. Those who found patronhood in other deities were notorious for producing defective or subpar gear, leaving a scant few masters crafting artifacts that embodied other deities. Very few craftsmen in the world could craft such things, and of those few, a scant number would be willing to sell them to anyone but the worthiest of clients.

Walking outside, he shielded the small metal box from the wind with his hand as he fiddled with the wheel, striking the flint and igniting the wick. Holding the flame to the end of the rolled herbs, he ignited them before putting the contraption back into his pocket and tried to ignore its incessant vibrations. Taking a few puffs, he felt his blood and lungs pulse, the medicinal herbs improving his breathing and blood flow with each breath. As he let out a mouthful of smoke, memories flooded back as Pelrin remembered the day he stole one of Eren’s cigarettes and smoked it as a child.

He remembered how angry Eren was, telling him that it was far healthier to just eat the herbs than smoke them, and that the momentary mood boost from smoking wasn’t worth the cost. He then said a sign of maturity and adulthood was ignoring peer pressure, and to just eat his greens instead of smoking them. It would have been a very convincing speech had Eren’s mouth not been occupied by a cigarette at the time. As he stood outside, Pelrin reached into his pocket and fiddled with his lighter, tracing the scratches and dents with his fingertips while he took a puff from his cigarette and enjoyed the one pleasure he still had in his life.

Inhaling once more, he let out one final puff from his cigarette, the blue wisps wrapping around him as he walked to a nearby garbage can and threw the cigarette butt away. Walking through the streets, he threw a quick glance to the city’s upper district, the region enclosed by a massive spiked fence and protected by a legion of guardsmen. As he walked, he couldn't help but notice the fist shaped dents in the gates, a reminder of Eren’s rampage in the upper district.

He jolted as a kitsune prostitute suddenly slapped his bottom, the trickster subtly sneaking her report for the day into his back pocket as she gave him some idle flirting. He wanted to scold her for giving her report in such a manner, but he could only **** a smile as he ignored his stinging ass cheeks. Leader or not, they still treated him like one of the guys. The fact that her report probably had a vast amount of intel only annoyed him. Even after he had left, the culture of the Roses was still intact. They messed around, were quite the partiers, and were ruthlessly efficient at their jobs. Most men had trouble thinking after intercourse, and would idly brag about how great they were with a little flirting. Some of his finest intel had been gathered using prostitutes, maids, and the like.

He continued to receive reports as he walked before finding himself standing before a sandstone building where moans could be heard emanating from within it. He’d tried to find an inn that didn’t serve as a glorified brothel, but it would be like him trying to find a brothel in Kolderia. Like all buildings in Olskroya, the walls were made of sandstone and masterfully crafted, the material both commonly found in the region and effective at insulating the walls to stave off the city’s intense heat. As soon as he grabbed the wooden door and threw it open, a blast of frigid air hit him as he entered the inn, the artifacts chilling the building easily keeping the intense desert heat at bay.

As he entered, 8 dark elves walked past him, each of them scantily clad in lingerie that left little to the imagination. Waving them all goodbye was a particularly tired looking beastkin, every inch of his body covered in kiss marks as he tried not to collapse from dehydration. Considering the virility of therionics, there was a fair chance all 8 of those elves were pregnant. As the beastkin’s sex haze wore off, he froze up as he realized Pelrin’s presence and raised his hand in a salute out of habit. Though the soldier’s form was impeccable, the fact that he was wearing only a towel made the entire affair more embarrassing for Pelrin than it was for the hapless soldier. It only worsened as the towel fell away, the beastkin stiffening in every definition of the word from terror as he saluted with another appendage.

“... At ease.” Pelrin said, walking past the trooper as he made his way to a doorway at the end of the hall. Opening the door, he found himself in a large, elaborately decorated room meant for two. The bed was stuffed with wool, giving it a splendid plushness rarely found in most beds while the desk was reinforced to hold at least 2 people at the same time. The walls were decorated with a variety of portraits of men and women in the midst of cohabitation, their faces completely neutral despite the debauched nature of their actions. As Pelrin entered, he could hear the air around him grow quieter, the change near imperceptible to all but the most discerning. Somebody was using wind magic to silence their footsteps.

Entering his room, he left the door open, listening closely as whoever was following him had a moment to walk in with him before closing the door. Taking a seat at the desk, he focused on the minor distortions in sound, his stalker peering over his shoulder and reading over the many documents he had filed away in neat stacks. Judging by the sound distortion, they were fixated on his logistical network papers, staring deeply at them and waiting patiently for him to begin going through them. Pelrin sighed, grabbing the stack and going through his logistics network. Normally, he’d dismember and interrogate anyone stalking him, but it was poor taste to harm your own client.

He worked in silence, going over his logistical lines and noting where things were most strained. To his dismay, every route was already over capacity, each improperly calculated number a reminder of Pelrin’s inability to match up with Eren’s genius. Eren was an unparalleled genius in combat and logistics. He could get more done more accurately working a single night in his Domain than a hundred trained specialists could in a month. Even during the war’s worst years, the Roses always had supplies to spare and were better equipped than any other army. Under Pelrin’s command, however, their supplies were merely on par with other nations. Nobody ever starved, but they were never capable of celebrating at the level Eren did on a monthly basis. Just when he was on the verge of scrapping his papers and redoing his supply network from scratch a distorted voice came to him as the light in the room dimmed, his client making their presence known to him.

“Pelrin.” The voice sounded like somebody was scraping metal together, the tone neither male nor female. The fact that they could manipulate the wind to muffle their presence and maintain a light spell for invisibility at the same time was a testament to their focus and skill. The shadows continued to coalesce, forming a single, amorphous blob laden with bloodshot eyes that stared at him. It was a very good attempt at intimidation, but Pelrin was not one to panic over a few eyes.

“I’d have set out tea if I knew you’d be coming.” Pelrin said idly, treating the moment with the same mundanity as a surprise inspection. “I assume this isn’t a social call.” He noted, the amorphous blob visibly shifting before his eyes, proof that they were not as focused as usual.

"Did you get the gloves?" It asked, the eyes darting around the room as though searching for something. Reaching into his coat, Pelrin removed a single, leather glove encrusted with blue gems. A faint, otherworldly aura emanated from it as his client's many eyes focused on the glove. The emblem of a hammer could be seen on the palm of the gloves, signifying the original god associated with the artifact.

"Prove this is real." His client said, a soft clink of glass on wood as Pelrin glanced over, finding a clear glass of water standing atop it. Just from sitting near it, he could tell it was a supersaturated solution of brine, the salt almost on the verge of precipitating out on its own. Donning the glove, he placed his hand into the water and channeled magic power into the glove, the artifact coming to life as he spoke.

"Salt." He said as he felt the glove become heavier, white crystals forming around it as the salt dissolved in the water crystallized around his fingers. Withdrawing his fingers, he let the salt pour out from his hands, the white crystals dry as a bone as he proved the Gloves of Purification were indeed legitimate. The gloves were a powerful tool capable of purifying anything. Salt from water, gold from mud, and so forth. He could only find one of the gloves, but the contract specified that he needed only one. Handing the glove over to his client, he watched as one of the tentacles shifted to a mouth, snatching the glove away before he heard another question.

“The weapon. When will it be done?” His client asked as goosebumps ran down his back, their voice like a siren’s shriek. The contract was simple: acquire several artifacts from Kolderia, protect his client, construct a weapon to his client’s specifications, and protect them until the year’s end. He didn’t even need to consult his notes to give an answer to the question.

“On time. You will have it with 2 days to spare on our contract.” He answered, the illusion before him fading for a brief second as he saw the faintest outline of a woman hugging herself. Sensing the distortion, his client returned to its black, amorphous blob form. The eyes doubled in size, tentacles extending out to and glaring at him from every angle as they tried to make him shrink or cower. Instead, he remained still, giving no attention to the rapidly mutating illusion before him.

“I need it within 7 days.” His client demanded, their voice now a low, animalistic growl. And as usual, he did not react to the failed attempt at intimidation.

“Contract states I had 2 months or less to complete it. I have 15 days left.” Pelrin answered succinctly, reaching to a sheet of paper to remind his client of their deal, only to have it burst into flames in his hand. “I hope you realize this does not change anything.” He said, unafraid of any little tricks his client could pull.

“You have the manpower and resources to accelerate production. Cut off shipments to Kolderia, Leyahi, and Ortuga’s warehouses, redirect all the copper equipment to Olskroya. I will pay for your losses and an extra 20% as a convenience fee.” His client demanded, their strategy borderline insane to even entertain. Cutting off supply shipments to major supply depots would cause him trouble for future jobs, it would cause his men to lose faith in his leadership, and increasing their shipments into Olskroya would garner the attention of unwanted pests. The arch-imago, hero of the hunt, and Varrick were in the city no doubt pursuing him and his client. He doubted those three could track him, but he knew full well that Belsach was fully capable of exploiting the slightest mistake.

“How much will it take to speed up production?” His client asked, the distortion in their voice doing nothing to hide their fear. Pelrin didn’t detect it in their tone, but he knew something was forcing them to push back their timeline. It mattered little to him. They had a contract, and he would abide by it.

“If you wanted it earlier, you should have established the contract. I will not change our agreed to terms because you are impatient.” He answered before sighing. “And our contract states I will protect you. Even Mathias would be hard pressed to fight everyone in this city.” He said, knowing full well just what scared his client.

Varrick and the rest of his party were in town. Isoldi and the current heroes of Magic and Justice were on their way. There was even talk Mathias may be arriving, and Pelrin knew that he was not an enemy to be taken lightly. Of all the humans in the world, only Mathias could say he reached Eren’s strength. Even so, Olskroya left everyone at a tier 4 class’ strength, and even Mathias would grow tired with enough fighting. Given enough time and men, anyone would collapse. Despite his reassurance, his client was not convinced in the slightest, speaking once more.

“What if I can offer you something greater than wealth to accelerate development?” The voice that came out wasn’t a distorted mess, nor was it the growl of an animal’s. The voice Pelrin heard was a woman’s voice, a deep, sultry tone that he was well acquainted with. It was a voice he thought he’d never hear again. As if sensing his break in composure, the shadows slowly fell away to display a lone woman standing before him, clad in loose silken robes that came from the northern archipelago. 13 fluffy tails fluttered behind the woman as though each one were a sentient being, the white fur almost glowing underneath the light. Her eyes were a solid amber color while her skin was whiter than porcelain and devoid of even the slightest blemish. Her face, however, was what drew Pelrin’s eyes as the taciturn leader of the mercenary band winced, face to face with a ghost. She spoke, the wind magic no longer distorting her voice as she spoke.

“Proof that you’ll be helping Eren if you help me.” She answered, the air around her shifting as Pelrin felt his heart rate accelerate. Normally, he would have dismissed such a trick as another illusion, a failed attempt at convincing him to swing one way or another. It was only when he thought back to Kolderia that he hesitated. She had made a beeline to Citrinas, a highly illogical action that risked delaying their escape long enough for Harvin and Mathias to arrive. Furthermore, her presence, her aura, it was undoubtedly Tristiana, yet something else at the same time.

“... Explain.” Pelrin commanded, his skin crawling as a lifetime of training fought against his own emotions. He’d sworn to Eren that he would put the Roses’ interest above anyone else’s, that he would protect his comrades to the end. This deal was the worst deal in history. His men would be at risk, the new troopers who never even met Eren would be in danger, and the Roses would lose their prestige from a cataclysmic failure as terrible as this.

“I can’t tell you anything. Just know that if you don’t finish that machine, Eren’s going to be trapped in a fate worse than ****.” Tristiana answered as Pelrin reached to his pocket, praying his lighter responded. It remained dormant, proof of Tristiana’s honesty. He wanted to say no, but he reached into his pocket and traced his lighter, the emblem of a rose carved into the metal tool dancing across his fingertips as he fought to stifle his memories.

It was the day Eren became hero of the Hearth. He had taken Varrick, Mathias, Isoldi, and Daria as his companions. Pelrin felt hurt that he was not on the list at first. He felt as though he were less than the others, that for all his effort he was just nothing more than a lowly ****. He remembered being dumbfounded when Eren told him he was going to lead the Roses in his stead. He remembered having to sit down when Eren handed him his personal lighter as a reward for his loyalty and willpower.

And he remembered how hard he cried when Eren told him how proud he was.

“The contract will be revised.” He said, deciding his fate as he took out a blank piece of parchment and a quill, writing as he spoke. “We will complete the weapon to your timeline, but I have several conditions.” He said as the kitsune watched him, her amber eyes focusing on each letter he wrote.

“The first condition is that while we are negotiating, you are not to use any illusions to deceive me.” He said, waiting before Tristiana nodded to pen the demand in ink.

“I accept.” She said, remaining as a kitsune as Pelrin wrote.

“My second demand is that you are to ensure that the completion of this contract will end in the health and happiness of Eren Elwood, also known as the Hero of the Hearth. He cannot be under any mind control or deceived by you, anyone affiliated with you in any way, or anyone you know that is not actively hostile to you.” He continued as Tristiana shook her head.

“He will not be happy when we succeed. But he will be thankful to both of us.” Tristiana said as Pelrin nodded, taking in her words and revising the contract.

“Then he must be healthy and mentally sound.” He said as Tristiana nodded, allowing him to draft the next portion.

“I accept.” As he finished the second condition, he mulled over his final demand, wondering whether he was truly making the right choice. Perhaps this would doom them all, but he needed to know. Gathering his willpower, he looked to Tristiana.

“The third condition is that you are to listen to me ask two questions. You may ignore them, or you may answer them at your discretion. You may not leave until I’ve asked.” He said as Tristiana frowned at the odd demand. She wasn't compelled to answer? Seeing no harm in it, she nodded one final time. Drafting up the contract, he signed it before handing the ink quill to Tristiana as she placed her name next to his. Setting the contract aside, he looked her in the eyes and asked his first question.

“Can you tell me what it is you're trying to do?" He asked, his eyes focused on every detail of Tristiana to read her. She was a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve, so there was a chance he could identify something just by asking and reading her body language. To his dismay, there was no visible change as she spoke, the hero likely expecting him to ask this question.

"No." Tristiana answered succinctly. "Your second question?" She asked, almost impatiently. Pelrin's mouth became dry as he debated whether or not he should even ask. He desperately wanted to know, but at the same time, if his theory was right, then he'd be in more trouble than ever. Unable to resist, he asked his second question.

“Is the thing you’re fighting an entity with perception abilities similar to the goddess of Beauty?” It was faster than the blink of an eye and the movement was a tenth of a millimeter, but he saw it. Had he not been actively looking for it, he would have missed it.

She flinched.

She flinched as though she’d been struck across the face, the mere statement of perception causing her body to instinctively tense up. The goddess of Beauty’s Blessing was called Beholder. Her worshippers gained a holy, purifying aura and enhanced strength based on the affection they received. It was for that reason the heroes of Beauty were known for either their appearance or of their noble deeds. It was a powerful ability that could make Beauty one of the strongest heroes around, limited only by the fact that it was restricted to line of sight. Fog, smoke, or even a dust cloud would seal off Beholder. It was this restriction that made Beholder a high risk ability.

The fact that Tristiana reacted to his question meant this was another ability that activated based on perception. What worried him was that they were alone, in a room secured by his men in a city ruled by the goddess of Equality. They were in the safest place on the planet, yet she was still afraid of even stating this malevolent entity existed. It ultimately meant one thing.

This entity doesn’t need anything like line of sight to grow stronger from perception considering she’s so skittish even now. Perhaps this entity merely needs to have someone acknowledge its existence to grow in power, that fame or infamy will bolster its strength. The mere act of asking for aid would only worsen the situation. I should have held my tongue, but it is too late now.

“With this, our business is concluded.” Pelrin said, forcing back the urge to laugh sardonically at himself. He’d believed that he’d become a true man, that becoming the leader of the Roses and maintaining their fame as the greatest was proof he’d finally become the leader he dreamed of. Yet, even now, he knew he was just a brat causing trouble for Eren to solve. Tristiana nodded, her figure fading away like a mirage as she left the room in silence, leaving Pelrin to optimize logistics to complete the weapon she demanded of him.

Going over the blueprints one more time, he couldn’t help but wonder just what he was looking at. He knew it was a weapon of some sort, but he couldn’t understand how exactly it was supposed to function. Why did she need so much copper wiring? Then there were the strange antennae like implements that attached to the thing, and the amount of metal she was importing. Her demands became even more confusing when she demanded each piece of metal be struck by an electricity spell. The weapon was the size of a room and too heavy to be of any use in combat. The more he looked at the odd contraption, the more confused he became before shaking his head and putting his trust in the resurrected hero and in Eren.