Grabbing his disciple by the scruff of the neck, Murphy descended slowly from the clouds in a flying state, finally landing on the ground
After unilaterally agreeing, Murphy had grabbed his disciple and taken off at dawn, flying non-stop for five hours at a pace Pepe could handle, heading slightly northwest. He finally achieved the feat of traversing the Western Territory without touching the ground, appearing in the unmanaged Stucar Plains region a thousand miles away.
Well, he couldn't teleport to an unfamiliar place precisely, even if he'd seen a map. Murphy was confident in his own body, but not so much about Pepe's.
If he teleported recklessly, Pepe might get stuck in a wall or something, leading to unforeseen changes. Better not risk it.
From their viewpoint, the distant military camp was just a cluster of tiny black dots, so Murphy wasn't worried about being spotted by the Western or Northern armies unless they had scouts or mages specialized in visual perception.
Pepe's legs were still a bit wobbly after the landing. With his hit points, he probably could've survived a direct fall from that height, but kids will be kids – all bravado on the outside, butterflies on the inside.
"Are we there yet?" Pepe asked, gasping as he clung to Murphy's robes.
"Yup, this is the Stucar Plains, or the Stucar Wasteland if you prefer. Basically, a chunk of no man's land – call it what you want." Murphy pretended not to notice Pepe's distress. "Were you scared? Can you still walk?"
The girl gritted her teeth. "Y-Yeah!"
"I can't." Murphy plopped down on the scattered stones.
Before Pepe could react, Murphy yanked her down by her robes so she was sitting too.
"Disciple, do you know how to market a completely new product, like our firearms?" Murphy asked mysteriously.
"Um...just show it to them, I guess? Whether they buy it or not is up to them. Of course, I'm not talking about using violence," Pepe replied.
"Well, your master has a special perspective to share – perceived value." Murphy winked. "Do you know what's different about these firearms we plan to sell in the West compared to the ones the Skeleton Guards are equipped with?"
"I noticed these guns have strange symbols and patterns engraved on the barrels and grips."
"Correct, good observation." Murphy nodded approvingly – the kid was quite perceptive.
"Master, what do those symbols and patterns mean?"
"How should I know?" Murphy shrugged. "I just doodled them randomly."
"So they don't make the guns more accurate?"
"Not at all." The devious Demon Lord grinned. "Their only purpose is to make the guns more expensive to sell."
"But some of those symbols do have magical meanings..."
"So what? There aren't any magic circuits in the guns, so even if they're covered in symbols, there won't be a shred of magic flowing through them." Murphy came clean about his con.
He continued coaxing, "Do you remember how I referred to firearms?"
"New-style magic devices."
"Exactly, magic devices. In all my descriptions, I classified firearms as magic devices, with the difference being that they don't require the user to channel magic power..." Murphy glanced at his disciple, "...or life force."
"So firearms become special magic devices. Even if they fall into the hands of someone knowledgeable about magic, they'll first try to decipher the mysterious symbols on the barrel and grip, study how they might ignite and conduct magic, how they gather surrounding stray magic from nothing..."
"They won't even consider that the real importance lies in the mechanical structure and gunpowder. By the time they figure that out and start researching mechanics and gunpowder composition, we'll..."
"...have a more advanced version ready," Pepe finished.
"Smart pupil." Murphy nodded approvingly. "Today, your master is in a good mood, so let me teach you the second tenet of successful wizardry – maintain an aura of mystery."
After donning a mysterious black hooded cloak, Murphy did the same for Pepe with a smaller one, and the two continued towards the camp looking like a pair of slowly moving black mushrooms.
At the camp entrance, two crossed spears blocked Murphy's path. Well, it made sense – no sane guard would just let two hooded strangers wander into their camp.
Murphy lowered his hood, looked at the guards, and they stared back sternly. No choice then. Murphy thumped his chest with his fist. "The West shall prevail! Long live the Duke!"
The secret code phrase specific to the Reed County and the Western Territory came tumbling awkwardly from Murphy's lips. He felt like he'd lost a piece of his soul.
"Ah, honored guests from afar! My apologies, sirs, for the rude welcome. How may I be of service?" The guard's demeanor changed instantly from icy to obsequiously friendly as the crossed spears went upright again.
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It's gone, it's all gone, Murphy lamented inwardly – what little gravitas and mystique he'd had was now dissipated along with that humiliating passphrase.
He didn't know which lunatic came up with that shameful code, but in that moment, Murphy wanted nothing more than to march past Alaric, summarily fire that person, and send them to hard labor on the plantations of the Barren Hills.
Still, one had to maintain basic courtesy. "I wish to see His Grace the Duke."
"Please wait here, sir. I'll have you announced." The guards exchanged a glance, one staying on alert while the other hurried into the camp.
Murphy and Pepe waited quietly at the entrance.
A tiny voice piped up, "Master, you looked so serious when you said the code phrase."
"Please, just don't talk," Murphy muttered, immensely grateful there weren't any demihumans around to witness this.
Shortly after, accompanied by the clanking of armor, a squad of soldiers jogged in tight formation from deep within the camp to greet Murphy and his companion.
The soldiers were an imposing bunch – tall and powerfully built, tightly wrapped in chain mail and full white plate armor that only exposed a narrow slit for vision, in stark contrast to the open-faced guards at the entrance. Each had a massive sword nearly as tall as themselves strapped to their backs.
Murphy eyed the intimidating squad politely. "I take it this is the famed Western Forbidden Guard, Your Highnesses' elite forces? You must have given my subordinate quite a fright to render her speechless."
The squad leader unlatched and removed his helmet, cradling it as he made a courteous beckoning gesture for them to follow inside. He was a middle-aged man with a neat brush of golden curls and a closely trimmed mustache that had started growing out somewhat.
"You jest, sir," the man replied good-naturedly as they entered. "We merely invited Lord Albert to observe a routine training exercise – no intention to frighten. If you'd also like to watch, I can arrange it promptly."
"Haha, you have a sense of humor, General...?" Murphy played along, privately finding this dance tiresome.
"Eric. Eric Arwin."
"Murphy."
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Murphy. I'm honored to receive one of Count Reed's most accomplished mages."
"General Arwin flatters me. The honor is mine to be greeted personally by the Crown Prince and Commander of the Forbidden Guard."
Amidst this pageantry of polite banter, Murphy and Pepe were ushered into the command tent.
Inside, they were seated while everyone else remained standing except for an elderly man occupying the main seat and an unfamiliar middle-aged man beside him. Upon their announced entry, the old man opened his narrowed eyes, surveying Murphy and Pepe with an overwhelming aura of authority.
Murphy was utterly unfazed, taking the opportunity to discreetly open the Western Duke's information pane:
[Name: Grey Alwyn
Race: Human
Level: 80 (Human Lord)
Class: War Knight
...]
Well, well. This old codger was actually level 80 – off the charts for a human. Murphy mentally calculated that while Duke Arwin appeared around Seth's age, Seth could only muster around level 30 at his peak efforts.
Sure, Seth wasn't solely focused on training, but this level displayed the Duke's formidable talents.
Of course, the old man was unaware Murphy could see his stats. Rather, he seemed mildly surprised at this young visitor who dared meet his gaze. Once they were seated, he cleared his throat. "Since you come from Count Reed's territory, I suppose some things ought to be made clear to this old man?"
Murphy glanced from the Duke to the watchful Eric by the entrance. You see how much more forthright your dad is being? What's your deal, man?
The unnamed middle-aged man by the door received an inexplicable look from Murphy but showed no signs of offense, instead regarding the visitor with keen interest.
Murphy took a breath and launched into his spiel. "Your Grace jests – the Western Territory and Count Reed's lands have been steadfast allies for a hundred years. The West has provided us with incalculable aid" – none, really – "in the past. Now, in your hour of peril, assisting our dear friend and ally is the least we can do."
"So Count Reed sides with me, then?" the Duke probed.
Murphy's tack shifted suddenly. "But with the Sacred Peace Accord nearing its end and demihumans abroad growing restless, we cannot bear to see the good people of the Heracles Kingdom embroiled in needless internal strife at such a critical juncture."
The Duke's eyes bulged in outrage. "Cannot bear it? Then perhaps I should remove Count Reed from the historical record!"
"Ahem, well, after much thought, the Count feels he cannot afford to lose the West as an ally," Murphy backpedaled smoothly. "Thus, he has agreed to provide you and the Western Territory with any aid required, be it supplies, provisions... He merely hopes Your Grace will stay your hand and permit the civilians to reap their imminent harvests unobstructed."
The old Duke had never really pinned much hope on conscripting Reed's now diminished territory anyway, so he nodded. "This Seth lad has the right idea. Very well."
He exchanged a glance with Eric, who clapped, prompting the sound of retreating footsteps outside the tent.
Staying in character, Murphy feigned a small start – rather overdone compared to Pepe's relatively understated reaction.
"Welcome aboard," the Duke said genially. "Allow me to introduce Lord Royce here, an envoy from the Northern Territory."
The unfamiliar middle-aged man smiled politely. "Royce, of the Northern Capital, a diplomatic officer serving under the Northern Duke."
"Murphy, a mage and advisor hailing from the City of Gath in Count Reed's territory," Murphy responded in kind.
"Now that we're all acquainted, I'll get to the point – our formal operations commence tomorrow. I hope to have your full cooperation in greeting the dawn of war." The Duke made it clear they weren't leaving anytime soon.
The nonchalant Demon Lord agreed readily, "As you wish, Your Grace."
Pepe tugged Murphy's robes, whispering, "But I thought we came to sell stuff?"
Murphy looked down at her innocent face. "No rush, no rush. Offering aid in one's time of need always trumps piling it on. He's overconfident for now, so let's string him along a bit."
Pepe nodded, seemingly grasping the intent if not the subtleties, and fell silent.
That afternoon, Murphy was invited to observe another training exercise by the Forbidden Guard.
To further placate his new "ally," Murphy and Royce were given prime viewing spots to witness a thousand-strong unit unleashing synchronized sword strikes at distant targets, prompting Murphy to lament that even the Emissaries weren't quite this theatrical.
---
Meanwhile, at another camp in the unmanaged Stucar Plains region:
Charlie, a diplomatic officer serving under Duke Arwin of the West, was weathering a harsh test of endurance against the biting winds and snow.
The Northern Duke, clad in a heavy fur cloak, guzzled from a mug of potent spirits, roaring with laughter as he watched vague humanoid shapes materialize and dissipate in the blinding blizzard across the training grounds.
"Well, diplomat?" he boomed at the shivering Charlie. "What do you make of my Northern line element mages? Think they can best your vaunted Southern Forbidden Guard?"
Flecks of snow pelted Charlie's face, melting in the stinging gale. Despite his runny nose and watering eyes, the diplomat refused to yield ground.
"You jest, Your Grace. While well-drilled, your line mages are no match for the battle-hardened elite of the West..."
"Harrumph!" The burly Duke slammed back his mug, wiping his mouth uncouthly with his sleeve. "My lads will taste blood soon enough, worry not – though it shan't be yours from the West this time..."