Page 33 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

“The Midnight Stream is one of the few water sources not yet tainted by the city’s waste,” Azrael replied, his voice a velvet rumble against my back. “It springs from the Obsidian Mountains and feeds the Twilight Lake before continuing underground.”

“Perfect,” I said, my mind racing with possibilities, though admittedly running on a parallel track to the part that was cataloging every subtle movement of Azrael’s hands.

“We can set up the water purification stations near the stream. It’ll supplement the water we’re bringing in.

” Look at me, thinking about water purification like I hadn’t just learned what the Ashen Fields were ten minutes ago.

I was either becoming a surprisingly competent dark lord or developing an impressive capacity for bullshit. Probably both.

Mr. Snuggles landed with surprising gentleness for a creature his size, his claws barely disturbing the gray soil of the Ashen Fields.

Azrael slid down first, his body dragging against mine in a way that couldn’t possibly be accidental, before reaching up to help me dismount.

His hands encircled my waist again, and he lifted me from the dragon’s back with effortless strength, holding me suspended for a moment longer than necessary before setting me gently on the ground.

“Thank you for the smooth ride, Mr. Snuggles,” I said, patting the dragon’s neck and trying to ignore how my skin still tingled where Azrael had touched me. “Next time maybe a little less aerial acrobatics, though? My stomach isn’t built for roller-coaster simulations.”

The dragon made a sound that was suspiciously like a snicker.

I took a moment to survey the area on foot, partly to get my bearings and partly to put a little distance between myself and Azrael’s magnetic presence.

The ground was firm but not hard, ideal for tent stakes.

The field was large enough to accommodate thousands, with natural divisions created by gentle rises and shallow depressions.

The air was cooler here than in the city, with a clean scent that was a welcome change from the urban miasma of “eau de medieval sewage.”

“This is perfect,” I said, already mentally mapping out where everything would go, as if I had any real expertise in camp planning beyond that one time I helped set up a music festival booth for the college radio station.

“Main distribution in the center, medical tents near the stream for clean water access, family shelters in the southern section where the ground rises slightly—better drainage if it rains.”

“A sound strategy, my lord.” Azrael nodded, appearing at my side with that silent grace that would make ninjas jealous. “Though I must point out the proximity of the Howling Forest.” He gestured to the dark tree line to the south. “It harbors… creatures.”

Of course it did. Because nothing in this realm could just be normal.

It couldn’t be the “Pleasant Woods” or the “Friendly Forest.” No, it had to be the “Howling Forest,” which sounded like the setting for a horror movie where college students go missing one by one, leaving behind nothing but their perfectly arranged internal organs and a single cryptic selfie.

“Dangerous ones?” I asked, trying to sound casual rather than internally screaming.

“Some. Mostly scavengers and lesser beasts, though occasionally something larger ventures forth. The truly dangerous monsters remain deeper in the forest.”

Fantastic. So we’d be setting up our refugee camp next to Monster Central Station.

I frowned, looking at the distance between the planned camp area and the forest edge.

It was close enough that I could make out individual trees—way too close for comfort if those trees concealed anything with fangs, claws, or a general appetite for demon flesh.

“We’ll need a defensive perimeter,” I said, channeling every tower defense game I’d ever played.

“Not just guards but physical barriers.” Preferably something tall, sturdy, and covered in spikes.

Or maybe flamethrowers. Did medieval fantasy realms have flamethrowers?

Probably not, but they did have dragons…

“General Smashington’s forces could construct a palisade within hours,” Azrael suggested. “Though it would be temporary at best.”

“Better than nothing,” I said, mentally calculating how many resource points it would take to upgrade from wooden palisade to stone wall.

Wait, this wasn’t a game. I couldn’t just click an upgrade button and watch little workers scurry around constructing fortifications.

Though that would be extremely convenient right about now.

“And in the future, maybe we could clear more of the forest edge, create a proper buffer zone.” I paused, a thought occurring to me.

“What kind of creatures live in there, exactly?”

Azrael seemed surprised by the question, as if the specific taxonomy of forest monsters was an unusual concern for a dark lord.

“Various species, my lord. Shadow wolves, spine-backed boars, occasionally a thorn bear or venom stag. The deeper forests hold greater threats—soul leeches, void serpents, and worse.”

These names sounded like rejected Pokémon designs from the “Nightmare Edition.” But something caught my attention. “Spine-backed boars and venom stags?” I repeated, an idea forming. “Are they edible?”

Azrael blinked, clearly thrown by the question. “Edible, my lord? I suppose… yes, though their meat is often bitter or mildly toxic without proper preparation. The nobles occasionally hunt them for sport but rarely for consumption when other options exist.”

“But with proper preparation, they could be food sources?” I pressed.

I was thinking of all those survival shows where people ate things that looked disgusting but were apparently nutritious once you got past the slime, poison, or wriggling.

The “Bear Grylls approach to demonic cuisine,” if you will.

“In theory, yes. The spine-boars in particular are similar to the swine raised in human realms, though larger and more aggressive. Their meat, when properly cured to remove the bitter elements, is quite rich.”

I smiled, already seeing possibilities. “So with the right techniques, we could potentially domesticate or farm these creatures? Turn them from threats into resources?” It was the ultimate sustainability project—convert your enemies into dinner. From menace to menu in five easy steps.

Azrael looked genuinely taken aback, as if I’d suggested we teach the demons to tap dance. “Domesticate monsters, my lord? That is… an unprecedented concept. Most are too aggressive or inherently magical to be treated as mere livestock.”

“The keyword is ‘most,’” I said, walking toward the forest edge for a better look.

“But some might be manageable. Humans domesticated aurochs into cattle, wolves into dogs. Why not spine-boars into… whatever the demonic equivalent of premium pork would be?” Void bacon?

Shadow ham? The marketing possibilities were endless.

“Just imagine the menu: ‘Infernal Bacon – So good it’s sinful.’”

“A fascinating notion,” Azrael conceded, following close behind me. His proximity was like a magnetic field—I could feel him even when I wasn’t looking. “Though it would require expertise we currently lack.”

“Something to consider for the future,” I said, making a mental note to look into monster husbandry once the immediate crisis was handled.

If we could turn threats into food sources, it would solve two problems at once.

Plus, “Monster Rancher” would make a great title for my dark lord resume, right under “Averted Mass Starvation” and “Didn’t Get Eaten By Dragon (So Far). ”

As we approached the tree line, I noticed movement in the shadows—quick, furtive shapes darting between the gnarled trunks.

Nothing large but definitely alive. My imagination helpfully supplied images of razor-toothed creatures with glowing eyes and a taste for human flesh, seasoned with a side of terror and garnished with my screams.

“We should return to the castle, my lord,” Azrael suggested, eyeing the forest warily. His hand came to rest on the small of my back, a touch that was both protective and possessive. “The supplies will be arriving soon, and your presence will be expected.”

I nodded, reluctantly turning away from the forest. Part of me wanted to investigate further, but the more sensible part—the part that had watched enough horror movies to know what happens to the curious character who wanders into the dark woods—agreed with Azrael.

“You’re right. But I want scouts monitoring this area.

If there’s any unusual activity from the forest, I want to know immediately. ”

“As you command, my lord.”

As we walked back to where Mr. Snuggles waited, I took one last look at the Ashen Fields. By tomorrow, this empty space would be transformed into a bustling relief camp, providing food, shelter, and hope to thousands of demons who had gone too long without all three.

It was a start—a small one, perhaps, in the grand scheme of rebuilding a kingdom, but a start nonetheless.

Feed the people first, then worry about infrastructure, economy, and defense.

One step at a time. Like eating an elephant, except the elephant is a massive, centuries-old dark kingdom with crumbling infrastructure and starving citizens. Simple, right?

“My lord,” Azrael interrupted my thoughts, “may I ask a question?”

“Of course.” As long as it wasn’t “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” because the answer to that was a resounding “absolutely not.” Or possibly “I’m making this up as I go and hoping nobody notices.”

“These plans of yours—the relief camp, the distribution systems, even the notion of domesticating monsters—they are unlike anything in Iferona’s history. Where did you acquire such… innovative concepts during your slumber?”

I hesitated, unsure how to answer without revealing too much.

“Let’s just say I had a lot of time to think,” I finally replied.

“And sometimes, the best solutions come from unexpected places.” Like binge-watching post-apocalyptic survival shows while eating microwave burritos or playing resource management games until three a.m. on a work night.

Azrael studied me with those unsettling crimson eyes, and for a moment, I feared he would press further. Instead, he simply bowed.

“Indeed, my lord. Most unexpected and most welcome.”

As we prepared to return, Azrael moved toward me with obvious intent and swept me up into his arms with supernatural ease. I let out an undignified squeak that I would later deny to my dying day.

“Allow me to assist you once more, my lord,” he said, his face close enough that I could see flecks of darker red in his irises, like garnets suspended in blood. They were actually quite beautiful, in a terrifying, otherworldly way. “Dragon mounting can be… treacherous for the inexperienced.”

“I can climb up myself,” I protested, feeling ridiculous being carried like a damsel in a gothic romance novel. If my gaming buddies could see me now, I’d never hear the end of it. “I managed to climb onto the office printer that one time it ate my quarterly report. This can’t be much different.”

“Of course you can, my lord,” Azrael replied smoothly, not making any move to put me down. His eyes gleamed with something that looked suspiciously like amusement mixed with something darker, hungrier. “But why should you exert yourself when I am here to serve?”

He deposited me onto Mr. Snuggles’ back and vaulted up behind me in one fluid motion before I could form a coherent response.

This time, his arms wrapped around my waist without pretense, pulling me firmly against his chest until we were pressed together from shoulder to hip.

The proximity sent a confusing mix of signals through my body—part alarm, part something else I wasn’t ready to examine too closely but that made my pulse race and my skin heat despite Azrael’s cool touch.

“For safety, my lord,” he murmured, his cool breath tickling my ear and sending shivers down my spine that had absolutely nothing to do with temperature. “The return journey can be… turbulent.”

As if on cue, Mr. Snuggles launched us skyward with even more enthusiasm than before, forcing me back against Azrael’s chest with a gasp.

His arms tightened around me, one hand splayed possessively across my abdomen while the other rested dangerously close to my thigh.

The dragon banked sharply, and I practically melted into Azrael’s embrace, my head falling back against his shoulder.

“Comfortable, my lord?” he asked, his voice a velvet rumble against my ear. I could have sworn his lips brushed my temple, but it might have been the wind. Probably the wind. Definitely the wind. Maybe.

“Just peachy,” I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathless. “Nothing says ‘comfort’ like being sandwiched between a dragon and a demon while hundreds of feet in the air.”

His soft chuckle vibrated against my back, and I felt rather than saw his smile. “I can think of worse situations to be in, my lord.”

Mr. Snuggles carried us back toward the Dark Citadel where, in just a few hours, the first test of my interdimensional shopping abilities would either cement my reputation as a miracle-working dark lord or expose me as the fraud I feared I was.

No pressure or anything. Just the fate of an entire kingdom resting on my ability to place what was essentially the largest online order in history.

I’d faced worse odds, though. Like that time I tried to explain to my parents why a business degree was a practical choice for my future.

This would be a piece of cake in comparison.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

Oh God, what had I gotten myself into?