In the past few days, Lord Demon King, finding himself with free time, seemed to have discovered a new pastime. He had even neglected to squish Slime around. Given Murphy's demonic constitution theoretically allowed him not to eat, drink, or sleep, he had spent the last few days feverishly transcribing the entirety of the battle-hardened page-turner he once read, Bring back the "fast food culture" of the otherworld.
Only once he actually got to writing did Murphy realize that even derivative storytelling was no easy task. For instance, he needed to replace references to things non-existent in this world with forms that the inhabitants could understand—phrases like "the War God calls forth ten thousand soldiers with a phone" had to become "the Grand Knight summons ten thousand retainers with a spell of sending." Besides this, some of the protagonist's actions needed tweaking to suit the contemporary palate of his readership.
After a few days of rapid writing, Murphy completed his first work of derivative fiction. Binding it into a book, he signed the pen name “Humble Hero” on the title page—a humorous choice since the arrogant Demon King was neither humble nor heroic. With his name in print, Murphy lounged on his throne, leisurely admiring his own magnum opus.
It was then Murphy received an alert from the spectral mark situated in the barren hills: the merchants had appeared on the horizon.
The small ghost had been given the task of informing him the moment the traders entered view. Murphy needed to teleport to the site of the goods exchange before they arrived; excessive use of the teleportation spell, disguised as the traces of a high-end magical device, would soon arouse suspicion among the merchants—after all, even the wealthiest noble couldn't afford to use teleport crystals like tossing pebbles in the street.
Through a flash of light, Murphy, disguised with a predesigned skeletal mask, appeared inside the trade hut he and the Goblins had constructed. The little ghost had been waiting for some time and now pointed towards the approaching dust cloud, remarking, “Your Majesty, they seem to have come as a group. This doesn't bode well.”
Normally, each smuggler had their control over different regions, and logically, those closer to demon territories would be the first to arrive. However, this convergent approach signaled a bit of fear had crept into their hearts, prompting clandestine arrangements among them.
As the dust cloud cast by the incoming caravans grew larger, a party of over a dozen traders eventually pulled up at the trading shack, constructed since they last departed. Spotting the new edifice, they approached Murphy, their faces breaking into grateful smiles.
Murphy looked down at the assemblage, their carts brimming with sacks of raw crystal ores. By the rules he’d established, traders had to come in person to the desolate hills, and in a bid to maximize their haul, many had their wagons specially enlarged. Viewing their avaricious eyes, Murphy felt a satisfying thrill—greed was welcome, indifference was not.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The traders stilled their wagons and caught their breath before Murphy began with exaggerated cordiality, “Delighted to see you all, no one missing—that’s good. Shows there's not a single coward among you.”
“Lord, you jest—were we cowards, how could we dare serve under you?”
Murphy’s gaze fell on the speaker, the chubby man he’d once hoisted by the hair, “Hmm, there’s sense in that. Stay brave—that’s my hope.”
Pointing to the specter, Murphy said, “As the representative responsible for our transactions, I have many affairs to attend to, so I can’t be present for all our dealings. This is the first, hence my presence to assess everyone’s conduct. He will handle all subsequent transactions with you.”
“Rest assured, this specter has entered into an agreement with us—what he speaks, consider as coming from my own lips.”
Their concerns allayed, the merchants politely nodded to the ghost, scaring the poor, nearly humanless spirit into retreating.
“I know what you've been awaiting. So, let’s get on with it—begin the first exchange.”
Merchants climbed back onto their carts, revealing the glitter-less shine of the raw crystal ores in the burlap sacks.
Once the trained Goblins verified the goods and signaled Murphy and the ghost, Murphy declared, “The average market price for a piece of raw crystal ore in the kingdom is four silver coins. You’ve all heeded my first bit of advice, bringing such loads, and I won’t be paying standard prices. Five silver coins per ore—I’ll buy it all. Let’s proceed to the accounts. Afterward, I'll offer something intriguing to purchase. I hope you've also taken my second advice to heart and brought enough funds.”
With remarkable enthusiasm at Murphy’s speech, the traders eagerly assisted the Goblins in tallying up the total value of the crystal ores.
For a moment, the thirst for riches broke through the barriers of language and trepidation towards demonkind; the merchants almost wished the Goblins could morph into their own sharp accountants, hastening the task so they could see this ‘interesting something’.
About ten minutes later, the Goblins wrapped up their counting with stunning efficiency—to Murphy’s audible admiration.
Amid the traders’ greed and anticipation, Murphy produced a small wooden box, opening it to reveal a colorless crystal inside.
As the traders crowded to view the crystal, they found nothing particularly special. Though colorless crystals were somewhat rare, they were not highly sought-after gems, certainly not worth the effort to transport back. Attempts to hide their disappointment failed, a tinge of gloom creeping onto their faces.
Witnessing it all, Murphy reassured them with a smile, "I know you're raring to go, but please, hold your horses. Do any of you know how to wield magic or channel spiritual energy? If so, take this crystal and try it out."
Eyebrows raised round the circle, a sturdy merchant stepped forward, “Hope you won't mock me, my lord. I'm versed in the little fireball spell and can muster a bit of magic.”
The strapping trader took the crystal and funneled magic into its core. As the light intensified and the crystal filled with energy, an image projected above:
With the lively croon of a succubus setting the tone, five well-dressed lady succubi began twirling in a dance the traders had never seen before. Even the high-society regulars among them had witnessed nothing quite like it. The succubi were comely, poised, and pure of gaze—in fact, they stood shoulder to shoulder with the finest noble ladies. Their spirited dance movements were transfixing, the accompanying tune blissfully relaxing.
All present stood silently captivated, feasting on this once-in-a-lifetime spectacle. As the enchanting music died down, the succubi exited the dance floor in a refined ballet, and the projection waned—leaving the tradesfolk completely enchanted.