Lucrast stared at the carriage trudging through the streets. The night wasn’t deep, and plenty of commuters were on the roads. Most were from the caravan, trying to find a safe place to sleep before selling their goods at dawn break. Spices being the endangered commodity in the capital, many nobles would pay a hefty price, whether stolen or legitimate.

He had seen this scene countless times in the memories of the mage, but nothing came close to seeing everything move. The buildings glowered in shades of the flambeau erected outside each facility, but the encroaching darkness had engulfed most of the city. The roads climbed to the palace of the Sovereign in the distance, the silver gleaming arrows at the battlements keeping demonized wings at bay.

He moved his stiff joints and covered his head with the cowl before strolling the busy streets. The horn on his head had seeped in, and he had worn a worn-out garb that encased most of his body, with threadbare dark trousers that reached his feet. Straw sandals decked his naked feet, stark pain in his head yet to dissipate. He hadn’t quite recovered from the summoning. It would take more than just walking around to completely materialize in the realm, and not having his mage was hurting him in multiple ways. Then again, Cairan had done his job, and he was grateful for it.

He walked through the streets, searching for an inn to spend the night. He had enough finances to spare as the mage had prepared enough for him. People nudged him aside on his walk and hurled fervent curses to his glare. The world had changed, perhaps too much for his taste, but it would learn to cover before the demons again.

Inn for a night or two: PELANGE

The wooden inn signboard appeared before him, and he stared at the name viciously. Humans were using the Daem familial name in a trifling manner. Even though Pelange was an outcast family in the demon realm, this was unbearable.

Lucrast pushed open the door and entered the rundown establishment. Circular tables loomed in the hall, completely occupied with men and women in traveler’s garb. They carried cloth bags that were piled up beside every table. The clamor of the room sounded alien to him yet familiar at the same time. Conflicting memories could kill him in battles, but he had time to get accustomed to them.

The innkeeper glanced at him as the bells at the entrance chimed, and so did most of the eyes in the room follow. Lucrast was huge, so he had expected eyes to follow him as long as he remained in the human kingdom. He didn’t mind, though, not until he saw the man beside the innkeeper. The reverence on the face of the man was unmistakable, soon replaced by relief. Lucrast glanced at the metal hoop around his neck.

Holy Girdles.

The memories told him the obvious.

“Room for one,” Lucrast placed three bronze coins on the counter before the innkeeper as the lesser Daem moved to serve the fresh guests on the tables.

“You need food, lad?” The owner asked, chewing something in his mouth. His grey teeth had innumerable cracks filled with soot.

“I’m good,” Lucrast calmed his nerves and tried to speak like a normal traveler. Words sounded alien to his ears, and so did the language. His tone sounded brash and rude despite him trying his best. His haughtiness would land him in trouble should he fess up his inner rage. He was weak, probably the weakest brawler in the inn despite his magic, so he needed to tune in to the ways of humans before recruiting his Daems.

“The second floor, third room from the right,” the innkeeper handed him a key bent unevenly throughout its length. “Ignore the screams you hear, lad. You know how those mercenaries are. Women, demons, all are the same to them.”

Lucrast raised his eye in question when the bells at the entrance chimed, and silhouettes decked in silver armor walked in through the door. Lucrast flinched at the sight of the metal in the faint illumination of the room but maintained a nonchalant expression. He hadn’t recovered enough to stare at silver. The shield in their free hand had the insignia of Sovereign, a raven with angelic wings. Spears poked out through the top of the shield.

“Knights of Valor,” the innkeeper sighed as another silhouette dressed in robes of nobility entered the inn.

The innkeeper hurried out of his encampment and bowed respectfully to the man at the lead. “Greetings, the high priest. What brings you to my humble abode?”

“One of our summoned demons escaped to this part of the city. This is the only running tavern this late at night, so it must be hiding somewhere here.”

“There are only my demons here, Sire. I bought them legally, and they serve my customers to the best of their abilities.”

“Guards,” The high priest flicked his robe and pointed to the occupied tables. “Search every one of them. They must have either a travel pass or the insignia of Sovereign. If they don’t, arrest both the innkeeper and the outlaws. Only honest business can rid this town of outlaws, and I suppose you are one… .”

“Ruland, High Priest,” the man prostrated, but Lucrast felt the fear of the man seeping out. Sure enough, he wasn’t an honest businessman.

Lucrast removed his travel pass, and his eye followed a woman inching closer to the wall in fear. He sighed, pulled a second travel pass from his leather pochette, and threw it into her hands. The Daem looked at him in surprise before acknowledging his presence and settled down at the nearest rundown table.

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The search for the escaped Daem continued, much to the displeasure of the bystanders, but no one opposed the Knights of Valor. At least none were upfront about them. Lucrast had gotten used to the gleam of the silver by the time one of the knights reached him, so he flashed his travel pass and walked to the stairs, ignoring the commotion that followed when a few mercenaries didn’t have an identification.

The woman followed him with her stolen garbs that didn’t fit her and her bleeding legs. It was a surprise that she could escape the scrutiny of the guards. Lucrast didn’t push her away. A four-horned Daem was equivalent to a thousand five-horned ones, and the others in the inn had at least eight horns. He needed a few companions until he found his brethren.

Humans hadn’t summoned Lebravonichs since the Epoch of Mercy, the beginning of human dominance, but the other races left much unsaid—particularly the Immortal Sorcerers of Cain. They were his best bet at finding his brethren or possibly freeing them from eternal sleep.

Most of the high priests were said to be the descendants of these sorcerers, according to the memories, but Lucrast begged to differ. Every being on this land has an aptitude for magic. But it is often below the threshold, and most of them cannot evoke a single spell throughout their lifetime. Exceptions arise among these, and that’s how high priests are born. The misconstrued common knowledge had forced people to accept high priests as divine beings. Lucrast was least interested in correcting the notion.

“My Daem,” the woman curtsied respectfully. “This servant is eternally grateful for your aid.”

“Refrain from giving out my identity,” Lucrast waved at her impatiently and struggled to insert the uneven key into the single keyhole.

“How shall I address you, My Daem?” The woman didn’t raise her head as she softly held Lucrast’s hand and took the key.

Lucrast released the key and watched her unlock the door blithely. She was used to this world, he thought and pushed the door open. “Lucrast is my name in the realm. Henceforth, you shall treat me as a fellow human, not your master.”

The woman raised her head and slammed the door shut. “Damn! I was getting tired of the ceremonies. Higher Daems or not, everyone should be treated equally!"

Lucrast started her, flabbergasted, as she pushed him aside and collapsed on the only cot in the room. He cleared his throat and placed his pochette on the nightstand beside the cot. The Daems could see at night without any aid, so he didn’t bother lighting the candle lamp on the stand.

“So, you got summoned too?” The woman crossed her legs on the bed, soiling the sheets with her blood. He wouldn’t sleep for the night, so he didn’t reprimand her.

Lucrast glanced around the room and settled down on the windowsill. The Knights dragged a few mercenaries, the innkeeper, and his bound demons through the streets. The weak preyed upon the strong. Lucrast knew the universal law, yet he was enraged. Daems were no better than slaves in the kingdom.

“That’s a daily occurrence,” the woman came beside him and peered outside through the oak windows. “We are fodder for humans. Daems have become human playthings since the Lebravonich Empire disappeared from the realm. You wouldn’t believe it, but the Sovereign summoned a two-horned Daem last fortnight. The celebration was nauseating. They slaughtered eighteen five-horned Daems as a sacrifice to their gods. I was on an errand for my previous owner when this heartrending news spread throughout the realm." She paused, studying his face before continuing, "How many horns do you have? Three, two?”

Lucrast didn’t reply; instead stared at the battlement in the distance. The lost empire of Lebravonich lay beyond the gates that safeguarded the capital. He had to leave, and fast. Before, the two-horned slave of their kind sensed his presence. Lucrast could hide his presence as long as he wanted, but he didn’t want to take risks. Today’s summoning would have unmistakably given him away if his whole being had materialized in this realm.

“How shall I address you?”

“Bulivalct Veluriaro,” the woman said her Daem name without hesitation. “Don’t worry. Most humans know it already. You can call me Val.”

“Who is your mage?” Lucrast asked, pushing her hand away from his chest. “And stop touching me. I warrant respect from you when we are away from public eyes.”

“As you wish,” she reluctantly stepped back and settled on the bed. “A high priest who met a sudden death right after summoning me. The other priests didn’t get a chance to bind me.”

“How long till you disappear?” Lucrast asked.

“No idea. Next time someone calls my name, I’m out of here.”

Lucrast pondered for a while and stared at the woman. She hardly reached his chin, and her dingy, tattered clothes exposed the scars on her stomach. The blood on her feet had dried out, but the deep gashes were evident. He doubted she could be useful, but perhaps the information she had would help him in the future. If it didn’t, he could send her back to their realm. What he needed now the most was information about the world beyond the walls. And Cairan’s memories didn’t have it, for he was an exiled prince.

“Do you want to serve me?”

“In bed?” She stood up with a smile and almost jumped on him when Lucrast pressed the weight of his palms on her head. “Don’t be such a meanie. It’s very rare that we lower demons get to taste such good quality meat.”

Lucrast pressed her temple with his free hand and glared at Val. She would be groveling before him if he were the Walklucrast of the past.

“Do you want to serve me?” Lucrast asked again, his voice screeching in the ears of lower Daems. It was painful, he knew, but he needed absolute obedience from those under him.

Val recoiled a couple of steps and collapsed on the soot covered floor. “This… servant… does.” Her playfulness had vanished almost instantly.

“I bestow upon you, Garuvalc Zearkerich, the name that you shall never utter in front of others. You are free from your bindings as of this day, but you shall serve your best as my retainer.”

She stared at him, horrified and elated at the same time. “A Lebravonich! You fucking prick! Took you long enough to save us!”

Lucrast cleared his throat and pulled her up. The Daem was crying, perhaps tears of joy or of pain at being ordained. He released her as soon as the red miasma that had condensed over her body seeped inside. One horn on her head disappeared, but Val was too occupied in snorting to care. He hadn’t expected the Daem to become stronger. This was his luck, nonetheless. A stronger retainer meant a stronger monarch. And he needed all the strength he could gather at the moment.

“My Daem,” Val genuflected, this time in utter reverence after she wiped her tears. “This servant promises to repay your grace by serving you for eternity.”

“Rise, noble Zearkerich. You would see the worst of hell should you disappoint me.”

“Yes, My Daem,” She stood up and stared at him, confused. “What is my name now? Garuvalc… Val? Oh wow! You got a great naming sense, Lucrast.”

Lucrast sighed as he stared at the lesser Daem. Modern Daems were weird.