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Leaving the unconscious beast-ogre behind, we proceed to make our report to the Demon Lord.
To tell the truth, this is only the second time I’ve met him.
Standing before the imposing steel doors, I take a deep breath.
This is the Demon Lord—the strongest of all demons, commanding over ten thousand of them. If he wanted to kill me, he could do it without so much as disturbing his breath.

“Third Division Commander Gomoviroa and Vice Commander Veit, reporting.”

My master speaks in a calm voice, and the enormous doors slowly creak open.

The Demon Lord’s audience chamber is simple but majestic. Obsidian pillars gleam from meticulous polishing, decorated with the silver filigree that beastkin are so proud of. The space is mostly black, with just a hint of silver.
Personally, I think it could use a bit more silver—but that’s the point. It’s restrained on purpose, so it leaves a lasting impression. If you overdo silver, it fades from memory.
It also serves a practical purpose.
The royal guards, draconian warriors, have black scales and wield short spears. Their black armor and silver-tipped weapons blend seamlessly into the décor.

As I hesitate, a deep voice booms from the inner chamber.

“Enter.”

I flinch instinctively—but I haven’t made any mistakes, and my master is right beside me.
Even if I mess something up, she’ll cover for me somehow.
And even if I die, maybe I’ll just reincarnate again.
I steel myself and walk in, trying to appear confident.

My footsteps echo in the vast, cathedral-like hall. Something feels off—the echoes don’t match what I see.
It’s the obsidian and silver decorations—they play tricks on your perception like an optical illusion.
Walking without trying to mask my steps gave me a new insight: the draconians really are practical thinkers.

The draconians are basically lizardfolk—though they hate being called lizard people. You have to treat them as a branch of humanity with dragon-like features.
Why do they serve as the Demon Lord’s royal guard?
Simple. The Demon Lord himself is a draconian.
There’s no such thing as a “Demon Lord” race.

And now, seated on the throne, is Demon Lord Friedenrichter.
He’s no ordinary draconian. His build rivals a beast-ogre’s. Most draconians are just under two meters tall, so he’s a giant even among them.
His scales aren’t the usual dull brown or green, either—they’re a blazing red, like he’s wrapped in fire.
Horns crown his head—only the oldest and most respected draconians ever grow those. A mark of supreme dignity.

But what truly terrifies me is his mana.
As a mage, I can see the flow of magical energy around him. Every breath he takes releases mana so dense, it’s overwhelming.
He’s on a completely different level from other demons. No single draconian should be able to hold that much power.
Even if I led my entire werewolf unit against him and my master supported me at full strength—we’d stand no chance. The gap is just that vast.
All I can do is show respect, as a fellow demon.

I fight the urge to shrink back and raise my voice with all the dignity I can muster.

“Third Division Vice Commander, ‘Demon Wolf’ Veit, reporting.”

“Demon Wolf” is the title I received from the Demon Lord. All officers in the Demon Lord’s army have some kind of title. Only foot soldiers go without.
The Demon Lord narrows his glowing golden eyes at me. I instinctively straighten my spine.

“We have taken the trading city of Lüenheit. It is now under our army’s control.”
“Well done.”

His voice is calm, but it carries so much weight that the pillars tremble.

That should’ve been the end of the report. I thought we’d be dismissed.
But the Demon Lord had more to say.

“Explain the tactics you employed—briefly.”
“Y-yes!?”

I bow deeply, scrambling to think of how to answer this unexpected question.
Better start with the conclusion.

“We launched a surprise attack on the city governor. We infiltrated the werewolf unit by disguising them as travelers, and used the beastkin as a diversion.”

The Demon Lord stares at me silently. Was that not enough?

But instead of reprimanding me, he gives a small nod.

“A strategy that takes advantage of the werewolves’ strengths. What are the benefits?”

That one’s easy.

“To minimize our own casualties and to ensure smoother governance after occupation.”
“Explain the need for the former.”

He’s persistent. But still easy enough to answer.

“The werewolf unit is elite, and difficult to replenish. Considering the broader war effort, I judged that we should avoid unnecessary losses.”
“And how does that connect to your choice of tactics?”

Knew this was coming. Feels like I’m back in school, taking an exam…

Among demons, submitting to the strong is normal. No matter how badly you lose, there’s no resentment. If you don’t like it, just win next time.
But humans aren’t like that. If you kill their peer, they’ll pretend to submit—but they’ll secretly bide their time, sharpening their fangs.

“We kept enemy casualties to a minimum, so as not to leave lingering hatred or fear among the humans. We allowed the governor to retain her post, and she is cooperating with our rule.”

The Demon Lord’s deep voice rumbles again as he locks eyes with me.

“Is that method superior to rule through power?”

The entire mood in the room shifts.
This is bad. That question is dangerous.

Rule by power is the norm among demons. The Demon Lord likely believes in it himself.
And yet, what I’m doing contradicts that tradition.
If I use unorthodox methods, I have to prove they work better than conventional ones.
But that could be seen as criticizing the Demon Lord himself.

The Demon Lord’s voice presses harder; “Answer.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

I make up my mind. If I don’t explain myself properly, I’m doomed anyway.

“I believe that avoiding unnecessary bloodshed and winning over the humans is the surest path to victory.”

I finally say it.

As expected, the draconian guards tense up.
They’re still as statues on the surface—but their scent has changed. They’re ready to fight.
What do I do? If I’m going to die, maybe I should go out swinging and hope for a better reincarnation.
But the Demon Lord doesn’t explode in anger.
He just nods.

“Very well. You’ve done well.”

And just like that, the killing intent in the room vanishes like mist.

Looks like I’m not going to die. I let out a quiet breath of relief.
Then the Demon Lord speaks again.

“That method of governance will require substantial funding. As immediate support, I shall grant you ten thousand silver coins.”
“I-I’m deeply grateful, my lord!”
“If it proves insufficient, you may request additional aid.”

I had been worrying about how to fund the administration—he saw right through me.
Truly, the Demon Lord is brilliant. No wonder my master serves him with such loyalty.
My master, who had been quiet until now, speaks up cautiously.

“Are you certain, my lord? Is it wise to invest so much in a single trading city?”

“It is of no concern.” He answers without a trace of hesitation. “The Second Division did not spend silver on their conquests. They offered their spoils instead. Thus, funds go to the unit that needs them.”

“Understood. I, too, thank you for your generosity.”

My master bows deeply, and with that, our report is over.

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