CHAPTER 7

0th Corps Commander, Deon Hart (5)

Dressed neatly in clean black clothes, I strode confidently toward the dining hall reserved for corps commanders.

Every time I passed through the corridors, the soldiers who spotted me would flinch — and when our eyes met, they'd bow deeply, as if they'd seen some terrifying monster that turned them to stone.

At first, it had been intimidating and uncomfortable.

But now, honestly, it's almost something I'm grateful for.

You guys really do have terrifying faces.

I once accidentally ran into one of you head-on, and I genuinely thought I'd turn to stone.

Of course, me, not you guys.

Ignoring all the stares pouring onto me, I stopped in front of a massive door.

The guards standing there visibly flinched, then snapped into perfect posture.

"C-c-coming to eat, sir?"

"Yes, that's right."

"T-then I-I-I will open the door for you."

Without even a hint of the usual creak, the enormous door swung open smoothly.

The moment I stepped inside, a hush fell over the dining hall that had been moderately lively just a second ago.

Feeling all the intense gazes now focused squarely on me, I screamed internally.

This! This is exactly why I didn't want to come to the dining hall!

The owners of these gazes were none other than the corps commanders —

those capable of turning the tide of an entire battlefield through their personal strength alone!

"...."

"...."

W-what do I do...?

Stay calm. Stay calm and — f-f-first, just get your food!

Trying my best to act natural, I moved forward.

With every step I took, those persistent gazes followed me like they were drilling holes through my back, but I kept my eyes stubbornly fixed on the cooks.

Strangely enough, the cooks seemed to speed up their movements.

Yeah, good. Hurry up as much as you can.

Because just standing here under the attention of all these commanders was practically torture.

"H-h-here's your meal, s-sir. P-p-please enjoy."

Clatter clatter.

I glanced down at the violently trembling tray, then looked up at the cook's face.

He was just as tense as me.

Well, no surprise — with all the corps commanders gathered here, who wouldn't be nervous?

Feeling a strange mix of sympathy and encouragement, I gave him a small, reassuring smile.

Which, unfortunately, only made the tray rattle even louder.

It looked like he might drop it, so I quickly reached out to grab it — and then—

Swoosh!

...I lifted my hand way too hard.

I thought I was calmer than the cook, but apparently not.

Turns out, I was just as tense.

My hand moved way too fast, way too high, smacking into the tray and launching it into the air.

The tray somersaulted midair, scattering food everywhere before it crashed to the ground with a spectacular clatter.

"...."

"...."

An even heavier, colder silence fell over the room.

Silently screaming inside, I ran a hand down my face.

Damn it. I'm screwed.

✧

He's wicked. Truly wicked.

This was the unanimous thought running through the minds of everyone present in the dining hall at that very moment.

Demon Arut.

The one who killed the last Hero.

The one personally brought into the castle by the Demon King himself.

The one known to possess such overwhelming strength that even the Demon King couldn't treat him lightly.

The corps commanders sitting here could all vouch for it:

He was terrifying.

That mild, gentle demeanor of his?

If you let that lull you into a sense of safety, you were doomed.

He simply had a different trigger for his rage than normal people.

Even now, look.

Not too long ago, he spared the caretaker responsible for the man-eating plants that attacked him, just because the plants weren't properly tended to.

But now?

Just for the "crime" of trembling while serving food, he sent the cook's tray flying.

...Still, this feels unusually extreme, even for him.

First Corps Commander Jaecar flicked his knife thoughtfully as he watched the scene unfold.

…Come to think of it, didn't he set the garden on fire recently?

Setting fire to the garden must have meant he was seriously pissed off.

As his mind turned over various possibilities, one theory suddenly clicked into place and brought his thoughts to a halt.

What if he didn't truly forgive what happened back then?

What if he only held back — only set fire to the garden — because he didn't want to make a scene or reduce manpower in the Demon King's castle?

And what if that rage was still simmering inside him even now?

Poor cook, Jaecar thought grimly.

He had simply been unlucky enough to become the target of Deon's bad mood.

Only belatedly did Jaecar notice Deon's black clothing.

That was probably an unspoken warning: "I'm not in a good mood today. Don't mess with me."

Keeping his eyes on Deon, Jaecar slowly sliced a piece of meat and brought it to his mouth.

He felt sorry for the cook, but feeling sorry didn't mean he was going to step in.

Risking his life to protect a single cook by standing against the 0th Corps Commander would be an enormous loss.

Jaecar had no intention of dying a pointless death — not honorably on the battlefield, but by the hand of an ally.

Thus, he stayed silent.

No doubt the other corps commanders were thinking the same.

That's why none of them were making a move either.

Deon's face had been hard and expressionless for a while now.

His blood-red eyes, sunken and cold, were locked onto the cook.

That look — he was definitely angry.

If the cook didn't drop to the floor and beg immediately...

"S-s-sorry!! I sincerely apologize!!"

As expected from someone used to serving the corps commanders.

Quick on the uptake.

Jaecar stabbed a fork into his salad and casually studied Deon's expression.

Those sunken eyes wavered slightly.

He's hesitating.

Third Corps Commander Ashild, who was seated nearby, murmured quietly.

Jaecar gave a small nod in agreement, silently watching the situation unfold.

What's he going to do?

He probably wouldn't kill him.

Deon usually detested taking lives.

Maybe he'd just set another fire... or cripple him instead.

Because Deon was so unpredictable, Jaecar's sharp gaze clung to his every movement, refusing to miss a single detail.

✧

Deon Hart — this life is over.

That short sentence floated helplessly around my mind.

My head had gone completely blank.

I just stared blankly at the trembling cook in front of me.

The cook's face was even paler than mine.

Yeah, of course he was upset and angry —

the food he had painstakingly prepared had ended up as toppings for the floor.

But with a corps commander standing before him, he couldn't even get mad.

He looked like he was trying desperately to suppress his frustration.

I should apologize — otherwise, who knows when or where he might come after me for revenge.

So, I opened my mouth to apologize — but before I could, the cook suddenly threw himself face-down on the floor.

"S-s-sorry!! I sincerely apologize!!"

"!?"

...What the heck is going on now?

That sudden, full-on attack caught me completely off guard.

My eyes probably widened in shock.

I quickly gathered myself and looked down at the cook with a displeased expression.

"…For now, please stand up."

"I'm so sorry! Please, have mercy!"

No, seriously, anyone looking at this situation could tell that I was the one at fault here!

Why are you apologizing?

"There's no need for mercy. Please, just stand up."

"Hiiiik!"

I even said it kindly, telling him it wasn't his fault, but this wasn't the reaction I expected at all.

Instead, the cook flattened himself against the floor even harder...

How the hell am I supposed to fix this?

"Ah, as expected of Deon…"

"He's living up to his name…"

I even heard whispers here and there.

Were they thinking I was being arrogant, just because I was human?

Suppressing the urge to sigh, I glanced around —

and, sure enough, everyone quickly averted their gazes and shut their mouths.

They had definitely been talking about me.

Right now, my image must be absolute rock bottom.

Well, whatever. It's already ruined anyway. Even if it gets worse or somehow gets better, it'll still be the same.

Thinking that way actually made me feel a little lighter.

With an enlightened expression, I let out a soft sigh and looked back down at the still-grovelling cook.

"At this point, you'd better hurry up and remake the dish."

I'm fine with it, but the other corps commanders might lose their temper.

I'd heard they were all kind of twisted in their own ways…

Especially when it came to subordinates — they had zero mercy.

"Y-yes, yes sir! I'll get right on it!"

The cook shot to his feet like a spring and bolted toward the kitchen, moving so fast it was like he'd never been lying on the ground at all.

I leaned back against the wall, closed my eyes, and silently waited for the next meal to arrive.

Why did I close my eyes?

Because otherwise, I felt like tears would come out.

Ah... life.

The food came out faster than expected — and it was handed over just as quickly.

The cook, who swiftly delivered the dish, bowed at a sharp ninety-degree angle before darting back into the kitchen.

He moved so fast that if it weren't for the dish now in my hands, I would've thought a gust of wind had just passed by.

Anyway, after a series of ordeals, I finally received my food and started walking.

The dining hall was huge — almost unbelievably spacious for serving meals to just thirteen corps commanders.

Thirteen rectangular tables, each capable of seating twenty people!

Still, when you think about it, it made sense.

The corps commanders were all incredibly strong-willed and unique — clashes between them weren't exactly rare.

According to what the Demon King once told me, back when there was only a single twenty-person table, two commanders got into a fight because neither wanted to sit at the same table as the other. They ended up destroying the entire dining hall.

Since then, they had prepared one twenty-person table per corps commander, so even if they all decided to start fighting, there wouldn't be a problem.

Which means no one will come near me.

There were more than enough seats.

No one would bother coming close to me unless they had a reason.

That's the only reason I dared come all the way here.

If that weren't the case, no matter how much someone pushed me, I would've rather lain down on the floor and told them to just kill me.

Anyway, I quietly sat at the very end of a table — a spot where no one's gaze or footsteps would naturally drift unless they had business with me.

I was just about to relax and dig in when—

"Mind if I sit here?"

"…?!"

A demon approached.

Dark skin, long pointed ears clearly marking him as non-human, and an easy, casual tone in a place where everyone else used honorifics with me.

The moment I confirmed all that, I shut my mouth tightly and swallowed the sigh rising in my chest.

The real power among all the corps commanders.

Unlike me, who was basically a figurehead, he was someone who could officially act as the Demon King's representative.

First Corps Commander Jaecar was standing there, holding a tray with a half-eaten plate of food, asking for permission to sit next to me.

He could've just finished his meal wherever he started it — why bother moving here?

I wanted to refuse, honestly, but I had no real excuse.

So I forced my stiff lips into a polite smile and gave a small nod.

"This seat isn't taken. There's no need to ask permission."

That should be a safe enough answer.

"You're right."

Jaecar let out a small chuckle, placed his tray down, pulled out a chair with a scraping noise, and sat down.

I thought, No way... Surely he won't actually sit,

but here he was, actually settling right beside me.

What business could he possibly have with me?

Whatever faint appetite I had completely vanished.

I poked at my salad with a fork, trying to suppress the endless sighs rising up inside me, when suddenly, an unfamiliar yet somewhat familiar voice came from right above my head.

"May I sit here too?"

I almost dropped my fork.

He spoke from behind me — what happened to basic manners?

Just as my startled heart was starting to settle — now changing into irritation — I looked up to see who it was... and froze.

It was a demon, with horns sprouting from his temples and muscles that no human could ever hope to achieve, staring down at me with an unreadable expression.

Third Corps Commander Ashild.

Just like Jaecar, he was holding a tray with a half-finished meal and was meeting my eyes as if urging for a response.

At this point, there was really only one answer I could give.

"…Of course. Be my guest."

I had said earlier that Jaecar didn't need my permission — I couldn't very well refuse Ashild now.

Since Jaecar already occupied the seat directly across from me, Ashild naturally sat down right next to me.

Now, with both my front and side blocked off, I had nowhere to look.

Lowering my head to hide my trembling eyes, I focused desperately on the food in front of me — although really, all I was doing was poking it around with a fork.

If I remember right, Ashild was part of the Demon King's Royal Guard.

For the sake of survival, I dredged up the information I'd memorized when I first came here.

The Third Corps was a unit where every member, including the commander, specialized in greatswords and overwhelming brute strength, annihilating enemies with sheer force.

Whenever the Demon King needed a mighty army to deploy, it was usually the Third Corps that was called.

The First Corps could also be mobilized, but that was such a rare event that its mere movement carried symbolic weight.

It wasn't for nothing that Jaecar served as the Demon King's proxy.

"..."

"..."

Ah. Had I been lost in thought for too long?

A stiff silence pressed down around me, and I cautiously lifted my head.

I just wanted to check their expressions — whether they were displeased or angry — but unfortunately, my gaze locked directly with Jaecar's.

I couldn't bring myself to look away.

I hesitated, wondering how to react, but apparently, Jaecar also felt the awkwardness.

After glancing briefly down at his plate, he slowly raised his head and opened his mouth.