The nineteen passionate bandits, plus the prone Lightbulb, making twenty in total, with forty eyes all bore down on Murphy, consumed by fear, powerless to do anything but tremble and whimper for help.
Looking around, Murphy addressed the group: "I believe this is your first time participating in our pro bono blood donation drive. Some discomfort is to be expected—just take deep breaths. Admittedly, I'm a bit green at organizing these things, which is why you've ended up in such a state. My apologies." With that, Murphy gave a deep bow.
"Oh, and I haven't properly introduced myself. The full name's Murphy Ferrers, the newly minted Demon Lord of the demonic race." Upon hearing this, the bandits on the ground mustered every ounce of strength they had to writhe even more vigorously but, much like the silkworms Murphy recalled from a barbecue place in his former life, they remained helplessly grounded.
"But fear not, gentlefolk, for I am a war-weary Demon Lord; a lover of peace, I've never taken a human life, nor do I intend to. In my eyes, humans and demons should live in harmony, without internal strife," Murphy preached, nearly believing his own sincerity.
Tears flowed from the bandits' eyes as they emitted sounds of agreement with Murphy's speech.
"As a price for learning my identity, however, you will shortly be converted into skeletons to serve in my ranks. If anyone objects, blink now."
In that moment, desperate to cling to life by any means, the fast-fading bandits engaged in a fierce struggle with their own reflexes to keep their eyes wide open.
Five minutes later, Murphy nodded with satisfaction at the ragged bandits on the verge of collapse, "Well done, everyone. The demonic ranks could use individuals with your resolve."
Ominous magical energy surged from within Murphy, temporarily transforming the forest into a corner of the No-Light Graveyard, complete with the scent of death.
"Embrace this gift, become one with the demonic race, and join the glorious evolution," Murphy announced.
One by one, the bandits felt their warmth ebb away, leaving them in the chill of their own demise. Flesh, organs, and muscles decomposed before their eyes, leaving behind skeletal remains. Moments later, wisps of soulfire flickered to life in their eye sockets, and nineteen new skeletons joined the ranks of the undead.
The newborn creatures, just roused from oblivion, were devoid of thought, acting purely on instinct, one of which was to obey a more powerful entity.
The skeletons swayed hazily before Murphy, who turned to Byron and mused, "Ever heard of power leveling?"
---
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"Hey, hey, hey, don't give me that look—I'm not fibbing!"
Murphy patted a stunned Lightbulb on the face, not exactly gently.
"Everything I said was the truth. I am a Demon Lord, and I haven't killed a soul. They volunteered to become my minions."
"I, a Demon Lord, have only punished my subordinates—it's a family matter, nothing to do with humans. Am I right?"
"Besides, those nineteen skeletons were snuffed out by my underlings, so what's it got to do with me?"
"So, don't fret. Take a deep breath and answer my questions, got it? If you cooperate, I promise you a fitting end."
---
After the interrogation, Lightbulb set off on his next journey, eternally grateful.
"Feeling full?" Murphy asked Byron and Brue with a chuckle.
Including Lightbulb, the twenty newly spawned skeletons were now part of Byron, boosting him up a level, leaving him refreshed and revitalized.
Each skeleton had a slightly whiter bone among their remains—a coveted item among humans, believed to be the essence of a skeleton, and the preferred choice for curing hidden ailments. Murphy kept these twenty white bones as proof of their encounter with skeletons. The rest were left for Brue to digest, ensuring the day’s events would remain their secret.
The interrogation revealed that the twenty had been bandits in the duke's northern territories. This year, the duke had decided to clamp down on banditry, and outnumbered, they had fled south to Count Reed's domain. To their amazement, they found that robberies went unchecked here.
Like rats falling into a rice bin, they grew increasingly brazen, escalating from theft to also assaulting and then raiding villages.
Today, they had been "hard at work" when the girl managed to slip out of her bonds, thinking to escape and find help.
While the bandits found her plan wildly optimistic, that didn't mean they were willing to let her go. Wounded from the chase, the girl had been hiding in the woods, playing a game of cat and mouse with her pursuers.
That's when Murphy and company had stumbled upon the scene.
As for the Duck Voice's mention of a cult, Murphy's curiosity was piqued. After grilling Lightbulb, he learned the man only had vague knowledge of a nameless cult that arose roughly a hundred years ago. They had claimed the goddess was dead and organized several brutal blood sacrifices before being nearly wiped out by the kingdom's finest and the cathedral's holy knights. Only a few stragglers managed to cling to existence until now.
"All this roughly a hundred years ago? That was one problematic era," Murphy mused to himself.
Just then, Buster barked at Murphy, signaling that the girl had awoken.
"...Thank you for saving me..." The girl's voice trembled, "Please, I'm begging you, save the people in our village."
After her plea, she braced herself for death, waiting with closed eyes. A few seconds later, she furrowed her brow in confusion. Why didn't it hurt?
"We patched you up with a really expensive healing potion," Murphy lied effortlessly. "So hurry and lead the way; let’s check out your village."
Feeling the immense life force within her, the girl quickly got to her feet. "This way, gentlemen," she said as she beckoned to Murphy and Byron.
---
After half an hour of weaving through the woods, they followed the girl into the village, where dozens of villagers lay bound and unconscious in the central clearing.
At the sound of footsteps, an old man cracked open his eyes, realized it wasn't the bandits returning, and struggled into a sitting position to shout, "Pepe, are you alright?"
"Yes, village chief, I'm fine. How is everyone?" the young girl called back.
"We're all okay. Those rotten bandits knocked everyone out, then took off after you. They've all been out cold, but thankfully in my youth, I learned how to hold my breath..." Relieved to find her unharmed, the village chief started to babble away incessantly.