Pitiful.

Demon Lord Taloth stared at his hand-picked ninety-nine demons. Due to the pitiful amount of soldiers he'd be allowed to bring through the Portal, he'd had to pick only demons he could trust, especially since Demon Prince Kabash had a hand in the planning of his transportation. With a grunt, he rubbed the token in his left clawed palm.

He didn't want to be killed by an infiltrator, after all. Normally, no being would try to murder him in his stronghold, but when demons left hell, the already lax rules became virtually non-existent. Usurpers usually rose up during campaigns on other worlds—demons looking to make their own name. Taloth would rather pick the weak demons who'd followed him before he'd turned Demon Lord than those who'd been merged into his army after his ascension.

Sabmire's toes, these lot aren't even worth of mentioning

Those who'd followed his journey from a lowly demon weren't the type of demons that someone of his stature should be using as a mini army, considering the army limit he had. At the same time, Taloth didn't believe that the numbers and their relative weak strength would matter all that much; he'd simply be required to build a base before bringing in more of his troops.

His orders had included that he'd be required to stay back at the miner's settlement where the portal was located, and he was also supposed to give a detailed report on the camp commander and how the day-to-day running of the camp went. An errand that Taloth highly believed was beneath him by all means, but his thoughts and feelings weren't considered in the decision. Demon Prince Kabash had given him the order, and there was nothing else he could do to contest that decision. That wasn't the only thing the Demon Prince had for him; Kabash had also handed him a token, one that had the Demon Prince's face on it—a hideous thing to look at no matter which medium he saw it in.

He grunted at the image that had been given to him. He'd thought about leaving the cursed item behind but had held onto it just in case he'd have need of it in the future.

Right now, he stared at his ninety-nine demons, as quiet as they waited for his words, as they waited for him to rouse them into battle, and that was what he'd do.

"Demons of the Seventh Hell, kneel before your lord!" Taloth said.

All ninety-nine demons immediately fell to their knees, regardless of their race, size, or color. As one, they waited for their lord to speak; his word was law to them.

"You march into a new world for me! You sharpen your claws for me, and you kill for me!" Taloth declared.

"Now I ask you, Demons of the Seventh Hell, will you die for me?" he asked.

Of course, it was a no-brainer question—any demon that would give a negative answer to the question would lose its life on the spot, and Taloth wouldn't even be the one to kill the said demon. The others around the defier would do so to showcase their loyalty to him.

"Yes, Lord Taloth!" the demons screamed in unison.

"I ask you Demons of the Seventh Hell once again, are you ready to die for your Lord?"

"Yes, Lord Taloth!"

"Now rise, my demons. Rise and prepare to serve me!"

The demons rose to their full heights, with most of them gathered in the Portal hall not reaching up to his chest, his growth spurt having been fueled by the Zarzu Elixir that had been gifted to him by Demon King Zephyr the VII.

"My Demons, prepare to CONQUER!"

Grunts, growls, shrieks, and screeches rang out in the hall as each demon showed their enthusiasm at his words. Taloth wasn't moved; until they returned from their conquest successful, their words did not mean a thing to him.

He raised up a fist, the action silencing the gathering of demons. They waited for him to utter the very words that would signal their exit from hell—the very word that would mark his first incursion as a Demon Lord.

"Activate the PORTAL!"

The growls, grunts, and shrieks that erupted at his words were muted by the overwhelming blue light that filled the Portal Room, the light forcing him to close his eyes as he felt his body vibrate unnaturally. His skin stretched in opposite ways until finally everything stopped.

Taloth opened his eyes to a new sight. Crimson sky had replaced the monotonous black of Hell, the air smelled strongly of wood and earth, and his feet found purchase on even dirt. He gazed around quickly, finally finding the missing piece of information he'd been looking for: right there before him was the dwarf he'd been told to keep an eye on—the camp commander.

The dwarf was so short that Taloth had missed him on his first glance; only a polite cough from the dwarf had alerted him to its presence. The Demon Lord felt a little disgruntled that he'd have to have a conversation with a creature that was well beneath him—both literally and figuratively.

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"Demon Lord Taloth, I presume?" The dwarf asked, to which he nodded in affirmative. "Welcome, we've been expecting you. As an honored guest of Relas Touch, our resources are available to you to help you build your base as fast as possible."

Taloth detected a bit of grumbling in the dwarf's tone, something he'd have killed the pesky creature on the spot for, but alas, he'd received direct orders not to harm the Camp Commander—just to observe the dwarf and the way he operated the camp, reporting back after a week on the information he'd been able to pry from the dwarf.

"As expected," Taloth rumbled.

The dwarf seemed to have a vein bulge at his words, but Taloth couldn't care less. This interaction was a farce, and both parties knew it. He didn't like the dwarf, and the dwarf didn't like him either; theirs was an alliance imposed on the pair by their higher-ups.

Already, Taloth's ire was beginning to build up at the sight and mannerisms of the creature before him. The subtle jabs the dwarf had been leaving in his words had not gone unnoticed by him. Ordinarily, Taloth wouldn't take such slight lightly; any creature that sought to toy with him would have its skull crushed by his foot.

Taloth grunted at the thought. This dwarf might survive the week, but he wasn't sure that it'd survive the month with both of them sharing an island. The Demon Lord was certain that he'd be able to find a loophole that'd let him kill the insolent dwarf. Maybe he wouldn't even kill the dwarf, just maim him and send him back to lead his camp.

"Well then, follow me. We've prepared dwellings for you and your ilk," the dwarf said through gritted teeth.

Taloth let out a bloodthirsty grin at the dwarf's words. Fear was the dominant reaction on the faces of the five others that had accompanied the dwarf to welcome him into the camp. The dwarf, on the other hand, seemed like he was doing his best not to attack the Demon Lord with his warhammer that was way too big for the dwarf's small stature.

"Lead the way," Taloth said haughtily.

Of course, he'd have loved to fight the dwarf right there and then, but duty held him in check just as it did the dwarf. The creature huffed at his words, mumbling something under its breath before turning to lead the way. Taloth couldn't hear what the dwarf had said because it was too short, and so if it didn't speak up, he'd be unable to piece together what had been said.

Taloth looked back to confirm that his demons were intact and only began walking when he confirmed that they were. As low as he was on troops at the moment, he couldn't risk losing any of them. More importantly, he wondered where exactly the little pest that had destroyed his first camp was; his spiritual tracker had it somewhere close by. He'd have to pay the creature a brief visit and take the heart of the creature and any others around. Taloth pushed the thought into the back of his mind—he still had to settle in here before he started delivering vengeance to the creature who deserved it, but for now, he had a duty to perform.

---

Camp Commander Sarion grumbled inwardly at the attitude of the Demon Lord. Sure, he was a lot taller than him, but that was no reason for the demon to look down on him. He led the way to his office with anger boiling inside of him; the demon had publicly spoken to him like he was nothing but a messenger, and while it wasn't so far from the truth when one thought about it, at the moment Sarion was the Camp Commander, the highest Relas Touch representative on this world, and a Demon Lord had seen it fit to mess with him.

The thoughts made him seethe. Sarion was level 33 and the demon was level 41, and while the difference in level was worth a mention, he still felt like he could take on the demon. The ninety-nine other demons behind it were going to be an issue of their own, and so he'd held himself back—barely. The order from above to welcome the demons with open arms had also done a chest load of good for the demons.

Wait, I don't even have to do this.

"Nikit, show the demons to their dwellings. Send in Palvo and Gagoro on your way there," Sarion ordered.

"Yes, sir," the gremlin said. "Please follow me."

Sarion watched the Demon Lord closely, his grip tightening around his hammer as he hoped—nay, prayed—that the demon would give him a reason to attack, but the cunning creature didn't. With an impassive face as though it didn't care who led the way to the dwelling, the demon followed his head supervisor—the gremlin. The four others followed the gremlin, keeping a wide berth between them and the other demons who'd been unnaturally quiet since they'd arrived.

The demons were of all shapes and sizes; some had wings, some had horns, and some didn't have anything special about them, but the one thing that all demons had in common was that they were ugly—the kind of ugly that would make a dwarf lose interest in drinking ale.

Hopefully, I don't see any of those faces in my dreams.

With a sigh of disappointment at the fact that the Demon Lord hadn't given him a reason to attack, Commander Sarion made his way into his office, closing the door behind him. Sure, the demons coming into his camp left him quite annoyed, but at the same time, their presence in the camp would only intensify the feeling of unrest the miners had begun exhibiting in recent days.

He'd promised them a battle, and he was yet to deliver. Even if it was only one native inhabitant he'd find on the island, he'd fight it in front of his people, using it as a spectacle to cool down their temper. But in the meantime, he had to find the native inhabitant that had escaped after killing his people, else he feared that the miners would unleash their bloodlust on the demons, and he wasn't quite sure the miners would be able to handle the consequences of such an action. With bated breath, Sarion relaxed in his chair; just like his desk, the frame of the chair had been made from barbil wood. Expensive but yet worth every single coin he'd spent on the piece of furniture. He let his mind wander until he heard a knock.

Finally.

"Come in," Sarion ordered.

He watched with a stoic face as the pair stepped into his office—one a dwarf and the other a gremlin. The pair were both rangers who'd defied that path to become miners, but right now Sarion didn't need miners; he needed rangers.

"Camp Commander, ye called for us?" the dwarf said.

"I did. Find me the native inhabitant that killed our brothers," Sarion said. "Scour the entire island if you have to, but neither of you should return until you have information on the creature. Dismissed."

"Sir, yes sir!" the pair said in unison.

Sarion watched the pair leave with a blank expression; the conversation had been short and straight to the point, just how he liked it. The creature wouldn't escape the pair, and that was something Sarion would bet his life on.

Soon, I'll smash your head with my hammer.