"Run that by me again—what is this thing?" Murphy asked incredulously, scrutinizing the creature beside him.
"It's a pale tuber, Your Majesty," replied the undead lord, his tempo unfazed by the Demon Lord's interrogation.
At the moment, Murphy, having reached the barren hills bordering the miasma swamp's experimental fields, was holding a peculiar crop and questioning Lord Bacon, the front-facing undead figure.
Bacon stood a touch taller than Murphy. His threadbare clothes barely clung to a frame of similarly ragged pale skin, exuding death itself, underlain by crumbling flesh and parched blood—practically falling apart at the seams.
Truth be told, all undead looked the part: half-dead, dragging bodies, no, corpses, nowhere near sprightly, eternally stuck completing whatever tasks they fancied or were commanded to do—like farming.
Since arriving in this realm, Murphy had swiftly issued an edict, enlisting undead and goblins to cultivate crops.
Yet, on the sterile soil of the barren hills, few ordinary crops would thrive, while the swamp's toxicity seemed a tad... excessive. Thus, after much scouting, the first demon trial farm was established right where both territories met.
Now, upon discovering ripe crops, Murphy wanted answers—but...
"This is indeed a pale tuber."
As if fearing disbelief, Bacon reaffirmed through his decomposing cheeks.
Murphy eyed the sinewy, monstrous tuber in hand, recalling the rounded, somewhat adorable, and edible crops he'd seen in the City of Gath. It was tough to reconcile that image with this abomination.
Glancing back at the purplish-black shimmer of the fields, he questioned the tuber's edibility.
As if sensing Murphy's scrutiny, the tuber seemed to come alive, emitting a toxic presence unique to its kind.
Murphy rose, tuber in hand, and presented it to Byron.
"Fancy a taste?"
His question was flippant.
"At once, Your Majesty." Byron took the tuber, motioning to bite.
[Hold on!]
A voice of urgency echoed in everyone's minds.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
"Brue?" Murphy uttered, puzzled.
"Your Majesty, it's me." Byron's mouth didn't move, yet sound emerged from his throat.
"Your Majesty, did you command Byron to taste this?" inquired the voice, now ventriloquizing through Byron's vocal cords.
"Yes, what seems to be the problem?"
"If you wish for Byron to sample it, then please allow me..." Before finishing, Brue disentangled from Byron, leaving behind a skeleton baring nothing but bone.
"Byron, if you would be so kind."
On this rare gathering of lower-tier demon lords, the three others watched intently as Byron moved to chomp on the sinister tuber.
"Crunch, crunch."
The crisp gnawing noise escaped the gaps of Byron's exposed teeth.
Then, a negligible issue dawned upon the demon assembly—Byron was but a skeleton.
"Clatter."
Without a swallowing mechanism, the tuber fell from Byron's jaw to the ground.
The moment grew rather awkward.
"Reporting to Your Majesty, it's not poisonous," Byron declared, deadpan, despite the obvious lie spilling from his eye sockets.
Murphy was momentarily at a loss for words, sometimes forgetting that Byron's true form wasn't the dependable uncle, but, in fact, a bleached skeleton.
"My oversight," Murphy conceded, scanning the group. "Who else dares to try?"
Certainly, slimes, goblins, and undead differed from skeletons, possessing at the very least basic digestive faculties.
But faced with the menacing crop, trepidation stirred in their hearts. Yet, loyalty to their Demon Lord quickly overcame their timid hesitations.
Lord Bacon the undead, and Bart the goblin chief prostrated themselves, eagerly volunteering, whilst the slime flattened in agreement.
Murphy was pleased with their response. As they rose, he noted, "I’m mindful that this tuber's toxicity isn’t insignificant. To burden one lord alone could be damaging."
Concentrating, he conjured invisible daggers, slicing off the portion gnawed by Byron, then severed it midair into equal thirds before the three lords.
Channeling his inner Fruit Ninja, Murphy said earnestly, "Each have a taste. A third of the toxicity should be bearable, with presumably no serious consequences."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," the lords chorused, then devoured their share of the tuber.
In less than a quarter hour, all three demon lords were dead.
---
"Ahh, well..."
Rubbing his forehead, Murphy surveyed the three lifeless bodies splayed out before him, rueing his hasty decision.
In truth, he’d taken every precaution with the trials. The victorious tuber, having outlived its peers, flaunted its toxicity. But just how potent could a [Toxic] label be? Murphy had no way of knowing, and tasting it himself would be pointless; this thing surely lacked the prowess to poison a level 100 Demon Lord.
Monitoring changes, Murphy had even summoned their stats for observation, noting any anomalies post-consumption.
Initially, following their tuber feast, the lords seemed fine, both in movement and on their status panels.
Perhaps owing to the slime's potent digestion, Brue manifested a translucent poisoning symbol and his health depleted gradually—a sign of manageable toxicity. The others soon displayed a similar mild debuff before, in a blink, their life bars plummeted, reducing them to mere corpses at Murphy's feet.
Turning to the equally stunned Byron, Murphy queried, "Catch what happened?"
"I'm dreadfully sorry, Your Majesty," Byron bowed low. "I too am at a loss as to their cause of demise."
"No matter; it seems I'm on detective duty," Murphy mused, hand on chin, imagining himself donning a deerstalker hat, Sherlock-style, deducing clues to unravel mysteries.
Maybe invent a detective moniker? Murphy's thoughts drifted off, entertainingly so.