Chapter 51

  ‘Abandon Garoshek? Why?’ Reinos asked, once again his suspicion that I was possibly mad glinting in his eyes.

  I didn’t think I was mad, and it wasn’t that I wanted to abandon a city I had just re-claimed from the enemy, but holding it was a dubious proposition, and I wasn’t sure if we should or even could.

  ‘There are pros and cons,’ I said to him.

  ‘I don’t know what that means, my Lord.’ He shook his head, sighing.

  He was getting comfortable enough with the big bad human that he was willing to express his exasperation, which I considered to be a good thing.

  ‘Reasons for and against,’ I explained. ‘I don’t want to leave the city to be retaken by minotaurs, but we might just have to.’

  Reinos opened his mouth, probably to protest the idea, but stopped himself, and it looked like he started to think about it. So, I waited for him to run this through his mind. He spoke again after half a minute.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘A minotaur army is on the way here, to hunt you down. But we won’t be here.’

  ‘Correct.’ I nodded. ‘We don’t know if they will stop and try to take the city when they find we’re not here, but if they do, a small garrison and any civilian population wouldn’t be enough to hold it. It might be a better idea to take everyone with us and leave the place empty. Now that we’ve raised our army, Garoshek doesn’t have any strategic significance for our campaign. Maybe its water supply, which the enemy can use, but beyond that, none.’

  ‘Hm. You’re not wrong, my Lord,’ Reinos agreed. ‘But if we take everyone with us, it will slow down our march to Orroth, leaving us with less time to deal with whatever’s awaiting us there before the enemy army catches up with us. Then we’d be stuck between two enemy forces.’

  ‘Yes. And they will catch up with us. I don’t imagine it will be difficult for them to follow our trail.’ I agreed. ‘Zeneth,’ I turned to the hive mind demon. ‘What’s the situation at Orroth?’

  ‘Same as it was here,’ he said.

  ‘But bigger city, bigger enemy army, right?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Over two hundred thousand.’

  Reinos grimaced upon hearing the news; I didn’t blame him, I wasn’t feeling particularly confident about it either. But we had a job to do, and I wasn’t going to give up just because the enemy at Orroth outnumbered us more than 30 to 1. Well, maybe I was mad.

  ‘Okay, we have three days to hash out a plan, which we’ll refine when we get to Orroth and scout the place properly.’ I announced.

  Reinos took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then nodded as he exhaled.

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be a proper war if the chance of us all dying were low,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘I like the optimism, general.’ I grinned at the guy. ‘Take some time to think about the matter. A few hours. Then get back to me and tell me what you think we should do!’

  ‘Will do, my Lord,’ he said, giving me a feeble smile.

  I saw something in the corner of my eye, and my attention shifted from Reinos to the soldiers who had been plundering the conquered enemy camps and bringing the loot in through the south gate. And there it was, something I hadn’t seen before. A cart. A two-wheeled cart, reminiscent of what one could see in illustrations in books on Earth’s medieval history. Two ice-demons were pulling the vehicle laden with weapons, leather and fabric, a third one pushing it from behind. I hadn’t seen any beasts of burden in Hell, and I doubted any of the wildlife could be domesticated, so hand-pulled carts made sense.

  ‘Okay. Logistics,’ I said, and before Reinos could ask me what the word meant, I explained. ‘Organising and carrying supplies. Whether its just the army or the entire city, we’ll need to take supplies. Food won’t be a problem, we can hunt the Wilds on the way if needed, but water will be. How much do we need and how much can we take with us? Do we have the means to transport enough supplies? In fact, what else does an army of demons on the march need?’

  ‘We have carts in the city as well as those we have taken from the enemy camps,’ Reinos explained, also looking at the cart coming through the gate. ‘I have already talked to crafters and woodworkers; they can repair the damaged ones in three days, so that won’t be a problem. If we decide to bring the residents with us, we’ll have demons on hand for repairs and various other tasks. I have others collecting and making pots to carry water. The enemy has left a lot of food behind, so we might not have to hunt until we get to Orroth, and anything else the soldiers need they can carry it themselves. My Lord, it’s my job to organise this … so called “logistics”, you don’t need to get involved.’

  Oh no! I was micromanaging poor Reinos again, wasn’t I? Which was something I really wanted to avoid, so I just nodded to the general and dropped the matter.

  ‘Alright then,’ I said to him. ‘I’m going to check on the injured, make sure they’re all in fighting shape. You can carry on organising things.’

  ‘Well, there is one thing, my Lord,’ he said, looking down at me with a menacing demonic stare.

  ‘And that is?’ I asked.

  ‘The army coffers.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘I have to pay the crafters and traders for the carts, repairs and supplies.’ He said. ‘And the weapon smiths. They’re adjusting and reforging some of the weapons we’ve got from the minotaurs.’

  Huh! Yet another thing that had slipped my mind. Or rather, another thing I hadn’t been fully aware of, even though I should have been. And it made sense: of course the army needed to pay for requisitioning the supplies. I wasn’t sure robbing the locals was an option or not, but I wouldn’t have taken it anyway. I quickly opened the military menu again to double check if it had any indications of an army budget, and when I couldn’t see anything like it, I asked Button to show me where it was. I had no idea why the Genius had designed the RMS menus this way, but he had put the army budgets under the “economy” menu. I might have to change the layout of this system for ease of use later.

  ‘Oh. Okay. How much?’ I asked Reinos.

  His eyes darted around a bit. He was probably looking at his own version of an army menu — whatever it looked like for demons — and after half a minute he settled for a sum.

  ‘Fifty thousand EXP,’ he said.

  Ah, great! How much was that in RE? I had no idea. It was time to experiment. For the lack of a better word, I “transferred” fifty thousand RE from the coffers to the army budget. If the exchange rate was 1 to 1, then he wouldn’t complain. If he complained, then I could ask him how much more he needed and then calculate the rough value of one RE based on it.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  ‘My Lord,’ the general said, and this time the certainty that I was mad showed very clearly in his eyes.

  ‘Yes? Something wrong?’ I asked, feigning innocence. Or ignorance. Or both.

  ‘Too much,’ he said.

  ‘Come on, Reinos, be a bit more specific, for gods’ sake!’ I said to him.

  ‘A hundred and fifty thousand EXP is a lot more than I need.’

  Ah! Finally! The exchange rate was 3 EXP to the RE. Not bad. I could calculate a lot of stuff based on this info.

  ‘Well, I want the best of everything available, and whatever’s left can go towards the soldier’s wages when the time comes.’ I said to him, hoping it would justify the extravagant amount I had given the army. ‘Alright, let’s get to work, general.’

  ‘Very well, my Lord,’ he said and rushed away immediately to attend to the numerous matters that needed attending.

  With that done, it was time to put my Hades Heal skill to good use and get Iskaret and many others back into fighting shape.

  ***

  Iskaret, after three casts of Hades Heal, was standing unaided on her own two legs, looking as happy as a well-fed toddler, stretching her limbs and jumping up and down. I left her to chat with her squad-mates — I was sure they had some catching up to do about their exploits in battle — and went around to treat as many others as I could. I hoped three days would be enough to get the rest of the injured demons back on their feet, and for the general to organise his new army and spend some EXP on the supplies they needed.

  A considerable amount of Hell Mana later I was happy with the progress; I thought I’d be done with injuries by tomorrow, and every demon here could re-join Reinos and the army. It was time to take a break and to make a strategic decision about which monster’s meat to sample next — using skills for hours was hungry business as usual, and I made my way to the same stone seat I had used yesterday. I sat down, got some roast meat out of my storage — one I couldn’t really identify after all — and was about to begin my well-deserved lunch when my squad kicked up a sudden fuss about something. I turned my head to the shouting and yelling, and I watched with my mouth open as my squad — five demons who were well over level 30 by now — were jumping over or stepping on injured soldiers still lying on the ground, trying to reach and catch an ice-demon dashing towards me from the gate. My squad failed spectacularly, and the woman — for it was indeed a horned, blue-skinned woman with about 12 levels to her name — slid to a halt right in front of me before my self-appointed bodyguards could do anything. And I stared at her dumbfounded, sitting on the rock with a piece of roast meat in hand, looking up at her without the faintest clue what was going to happen. Grash and the others, including the freshly healed and unarmed Iska, arrived three seconds behind her. I lifted my hand to stop them from grabbing the intruder — those three seconds had given the would-be assailant ample opportunity to attack, but as she had spent that time just looking and scowling at me, I felt confident in ruling that possibility out. The squad was poised to jump at her the moment she made a move, and I had no doubt they would tear her apart in a second. But no-one moved, and I noticed the woman’s eyes shifting between my face and my lunch I was holding in my hand. Was this whole little happening unexpected? Yes, it was. Did I feel threatened in any way, shape or form? Not in the slightest, I was sure this wasn’t supposed to be an attempt on my life at all, and before Grash or Iska — the two angriest looking members of the squad — could snap and kill the poor woman, I spoke up.

  ‘Can I help you with something?’ I asked the intruder while looking her up and down.

  She was a bit short as far as demons went; just over two metres tall. Her skin had an icy blue colour like most of her kind, and being this close to her I could tell her long hair wasn’t black but a rather deep blue that made her yellow eyes stand out much more than the red skin of a fire-demon did. She didn’t wear anything made of leather; all her clothes were made of the same, dark fabric I’d seen before, and she had a large bag on her back that looked suspiciously like a rucksack. I had to give it to her, whooshing past my supposedly awesome bodyguards with that heavy-looking bag on her back was quite the achievement. But what the hell did she want with me? Had I already acquired stalkers like celebrities who couldn’t set foot on an orbital station without mobs of rabid fans storming the place to get the smallest of glimpses?

  ‘I thought you might be having your dinner here again. Like yesterday,’ she said, sounding rather unhappy for some reason.

  Dinner? Was it evening? I had thought this was lunch. Also, it seemed this little visit was premeditated.

  ‘Yes. And?’ I inquired, raising my eyebrows at her.

  ‘You’re the new ruling demon lord. And you’re human on top of that, aren’t you?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘How can you eat that, then?’ she demanded, and her tone suggested she was furious, either with me or with the slice of magically roasted meat — courtesy of Grashon.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ I said.

  ‘That’s no excuse,’ she wailed.

  ‘Why do you have a problem with my lunch?’ I asked, rather curious.

  ‘How do you not?’ She retorted, looking even angrier.

  Sure, the meat was bitter and sour at the same time, no seasoning to speak of, and it had the consistency of a rubber gasket. But I’ve had worse, and it wasn’t really a huge problem for me. Grashon growling like a mad dog and lifting his arm slowly to grab the woman was the more immediate issue, and I gestured to him to stand down. He wasn’t happy about that.

  ‘Listen, is there something you want, or trying to achieve by insulting my food?’ I asked the ice-demon.

  ‘You will hire me as your attendant, obviously,’ she stated, dead serious.

  Oh, I’d been warned this would happen.

  ‘And why would I do that?’ I asked.

  ‘Because you’re the lord. And you’re from the Surface World. You can’t be eating the disgusting grub fire-demons survive on, can you?’

  ‘Are you a chef?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She declared proudly.

  ‘Do you know what a chef is?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head just as proudly.

  ‘Someone who prepares food for someone else.’ I informed her.

  ‘Then yes.’

  Huh! There was something endearing about the morbid optimism of demons, whether about fighting and dying in battle or just getting hired as an attendant. Or as a chef.

  ‘So, I assume you can make better food than Grashon, then?’ I inquired.

  She looked at the slice of meat I was still holding, sneered at Grashon, then said,

  ‘Anyone can make better food than that. Throw that piece of rubbish away and let me demonstrate,’ she grumbled, then added, ‘My Lord.’

  ‘Oi, nothing wrong with my food!’ Grash grunted indignantly, and the women ignored him completely.

  She took her large rucksack off and began to take a variety of items from it: a metal grill with four little legs, finely chopped wood from the Wilds, half a dozen small, wooden boxes, a couple of jars that could have been made of clay or something similar, and some other small items. Was this woman really going to start cooking? Evidently, she was.

  She knelt on the ground a few steps away from me and placed some of the firewood into a small pile. She poured a black, almost jelly-like liquid on it from one of her jars. She smacked two large stones together, and the resulting spark ignited the liquid rather violently, and suddenly I was staring at a miniature campfire. She placed the grill over it with a grin on her face. It was fascinating; fire-demons all had skills to produce and use fire, much like my Touch of Hell or Hell Lance. It hadn’t even occurred to me until now that ice-demons would have to do it the conventional way. I didn’t know what that liquid was, but it was highly flammable, maybe even combustible under the right circumstances. Perhaps it was the same fuel the non-magical torches and lanterns used.

  The woman got a slice of meat out from one of her boxes.

  ‘This is from the leg of a Hungering Flesh-snatcher,’ she explained.

  ‘Alright, good stuff,’ I said, recalling the terrifying form of the creature.

  She put it into another box, dipping it into something that looked like fat. She pulled the now glistening slice of dark meat, sprinkled some blackish red powder on it from another box, then some yellow powder from another. The meat sizzled instantly as she placed it on the grill, fat dripping down, causing the fire to flare. I had to admit, it smelled good. She kept turning the meat frequently, and when I thought it was almost ready, she pulled something else from yet another box. Was it a … mushroom? Yes, a large mushroom cap. I hadn’t seen mushrooms anywhere since I’d arrived here, let alone any vegetation other than the weird trees, so where the hell had she got a mushroom? She poured a dark liquid over it from a jar, then put it on the grill.

  At this point even Grashon and the squad were staring with their eyes wide as if looking at a magician performing the best trick they’d ever seen.

  ‘Done!’ the woman announced as she pulled the grill away from the fire.

  She pulled a wooden platter from her bag, put the meat and the mushroom on it and offered it to me. I took it from her, my nostrils filling with a smell that promised the most delicious meal I’d had so far in Hell.

  ‘What’s you name again?’ I asked the woman as I placed the platter on my lap.

  ‘Lanet-Sadak.’

  ‘Alright, let’s see if you live up to your own hype,’ I said.

  I put the mushroom on top of the meat and under the intense stare of the woman and of my squad, I took a bite of them. I chewed, I swallowed, I took another bite, then another. Tender, juicy, spicy with a hint of salt instead of the sour bitterness I had expected. Was it really possible that a little piece of culinary heaven like this could exist in Hell? Was it? I ate every last morsel of the food, and when I was done, looked at the woman and said the only thing that could be said,

  ‘Lanet-Sadak, you’re hired.’