Murphy and Tyre are eating and drinking on the main street of Whitewolf Fort under the pretense of gathering intelligence.. Compared to the Demons, the humans sure knew how to live, their cuisine was nothing short of a gastronomic adventure.
To avoid Tyre's constant questioning about everything and anything, Murphy passed along his language comprehension skills. An exchange of power that brought forth a long-lost peace.
In Murphy's eyes, Tyre finally acted his age. Life in Sleepy Hollow was calm and balanced, but as the demons hadn't established clear societal roles yet, life could be a tad monotonous. He mused as he yanked Tyre from the precipice of a food coma, dragging him to a marketplace full of potential intel.
Following the intel dive, Murphy discovered Count Byron was buying their beast skins for a surprisingly higher price than the marketplace norm. Counting past investments, Murphy couldn't help but feel an inkling of suspicion, especially remembering the cunning smirk of that old man. Murphy considered the possibility of an oversight or the after-effects of pulling off a great performance. Having this Reed family crest certainly tipped the scales of expectation. The simple appearance of this Reed family seemed mysteriously complex.
Keeping a mental note about the Reed family and Byron, Murphy planned his next excursion into the human kingdom, all while flipping coins like a royal at the marketplace. Street food vendors became Tyre's sole spectator, his vigilance about managing money seemed to have been tossed out the window.
As the sun bade goodbye, Murphy and Tyre explored almost every nook of White Wolf City, even heading to the church of the Goddess of Victory to acquire holy sacraments. Their new stagecoach brought forth the joy of silent travel, opposed to the clunking and grating of their previous vehicle.
Just as they were about to return and collect their due rewards, Tyre stopped, his gaze piercing the deep end of the adjacent alleyway. Catching his attention, Murphy followed his gaze landing upon a seedy red signboard that read: Demon's Delight.
Murphy swiftly shielded Tyre's view, steering his look away from the sight, "Not for young eyes, Tyre." Despite his worldly experience, the shock might've gotten to Murphy after all. The red-lit districts of this otherworld were quite the sight. Tyre seemed rooted in place, "Cousin...I want to see."
Knowing, the crowd was getting wary, Murphy attempted to dissuade him stating the dangers of such places. Tyre remained adamant, curiously asking whether real demons operated in the establishment.
Following a quick explanation about Pizza and Burgers, the duo pushed past the doors of the 'Demon's Delight' with Murphy trying to suppress his anxiety with a casual hum.
After their thorough inspection, the duo discovered no demons. Much to their dismay, the Demon's Delight was quite the misnomer. A mere tavern catchily named to attract customers. A decade-old joint, rarely did patrons directly inquire about demons. The tavern roared with laughter as the duo dunked their sorrows in dark beer, slipping out with both their pride and robes a tad bit damp.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
They reached the castle at dusk. Under Byron's warm reception, decided to recuperate for the evening before setting off tomorrow, the entirety of their goods conspicuously absent, tucked away in their new stagecoach.
In the afterglow of a well-dined evening, Murphy seized the opportunity to glance at the map of the human kingdom against a mildly tipsy Count Byron. As a Demon Lord capable of flight, the terrain of the world didn't rile much curiosity in him. He was more intrigued by the balance of power within the human kingdom. But old Baker, unaware of Murphy's true identity, assumed, quite like any other aristocrat, knew the distribution of nobles. His request for a map simply made him appear humbly on a quest to comprehend the intricate topography of the southwestern regions of the kingdom.
Thus, under the pretense of studying the southwestern relief, Murphy meticulously perused the massive parchment for an hour. Once he was convinced that Count Byron wasn't nursing any suspicions, he delicately hinted at the need to requisition a map illustrating the power distributions. As the map unfurled, a third of the place was labelled under Count Reed's dominion.
In an instant, everything became clear for Murphy. The overly-affectionate posture of old Baker, that blatant wooing was an undeniable sign of an inferior being trying to make amends with the up-and-coming bloodline. The reality, of course, was the old man had no clue that he was but a phantasm.
Murphy could barely contain his laughter as he memorized the power distribution in the southwestern region before signaling his intention to retire for the day. The ever-accommodating Baker had no qualms about it, and with a round of courtesies, Murphy made his way back to his guest room to rest.
As dawn seeped through the morning sky the following day, the city gates opened, the fresh stagecoach carrying Murphy and company pulled out of White Wolf City after bidding farewell to the Viscount's family. A few miles off the city, Tyre, glancing at the trailing forest, quietly murmured, "Cousin, we have a tail." Murphy had trained Tyre to use coded language, which made little sense to the Young Demon, but he obediently used them in communication.
Murphy, engrossed in a crystal mine, remarked, "Viscount's got a roving eye. Byron, drive towards the trees, let's give him a scare." Murphy felt the presence of a living entity hiding within the shadows of the trees, obviously oblivious to his own exposure.
With his inferiors standing by, Murphy helmed the stagecoach, his back faced towards the observer while he hoisted the crystal piece overhead, channeling immense energy into it. His other hand traced an intricate teleportation circle under the guise of his silhouette. As the crystal particle transformed into dust, unable to contain the charged energy, the teleportation circle activated. The trio, the horses, the stagecoach all disappeared in a flurry of light. By the time the 'tail' emerged from the foliage and reached the teleportation spot, it was too late.
...
"What? They have a teleportation gemstone?" Count Baker's shock was indelible. "Tell no one of this! Remember, not a soul!" After assuring no leaks, he paced anxiously in his study, his mind in turmoil.
"That's a teleportation gemstone, engraved with a Level 60 teleportation spell, capable of transport to preset coordinates, it's a stratagem of magic tools.. Is he warning me? Is he hinting at a power superior to Count Reed supporting the smuggling? Is Reed just a pawn? But who is pulling the strings? The duo is not to be underestimated, potentially Level 15 or higher. Even I would struggle against them.." Baker, self-proclaimed seer of it all, felt unprecedented pressure, enduring a night of restless contemplation.