Page 46 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)
Lucien/Beau
T he Ashen Fields came into view, the neat rows of tents now expanded to accommodate the forest refugees.
New structures had been erected overnight—larger communal tents, improved medical facilities, and the bathing stations that would be inaugurated today.
From above, it looked like a well-organized small city rather than an emergency camp.
As Mr. Snuggles descended, I could see a crowd gathering near the central area. Unlike yesterday, they weren’t huddled in fearful groups but seemed to be organized for some kind of ceremony. Banners had been hung—crudely made but colorful—and what looked like a small stage had been constructed.
“What’s going on?” I asked Azrael. “I don’t remember approving a festival.”
“I believe the citizens have prepared a… celebration, my lord,” he replied, sounding as confused as I felt. “To mark the opening of the bathing facilities.”
“A celebration? For showers?”
“Clean water is apparently worthy of significant recognition in a realm where such luxuries have been reserved for the elite.”
That put things in perspective. We landed at the edge of the camp, and I slid from Mr. Snuggles’ back. The moment my feet touched the ground, a cheer went up from the gathered crowd. Not the fearful prostration of my first visit, but genuine enthusiasm.
One lead demon hurried toward us, his paperlike skin flushed with what might have been excitement. “My lord! We did not expect you so early. The ceremony is not quite ready.”
“Ceremony? For bathing facilities?”
“Indeed, my lord. The citizens insisted. They wish to honor the ‘Void Provider’ with a proper dedication.”
Healer 47 fluttered up, her wings vibrating with barely contained excitement. “My lord, you must see what the nutritional supplements have accomplished! The most critical patients are not merely stabilized—they are thriving!”
She led us toward the medical tents, where rows of patients who had been at death’s door yesterday were now sitting up, consuming food, some even walking with assistance.
The transformation was astonishing—gaunt faces filling out, dull eyes regaining focus, wasted limbs beginning to show definition.
“This is… remarkable,” I said, genuinely impressed. “How is this possible?”
“The void supplements contain elements unknown in our realm,” Healer 47 explained, her antennae quivering. “They not only provide nutrition but seem to accelerate natural healing and restore magical essence. I have documented a seventy-three percent increase in recovery rates and zero mortality!”
“Zero mortality? You mean no one has died since the camp opened?”
“Not one soul, my lord! In a population of this size, with so many critical cases, it defies all medical precedent!”
I made a mental note to examine those supplements more closely. If regular human multivitamins were having this effect on demons, there was clearly some interdimensional enhancement happening during delivery.
Our tour continued through the camp, where preparations for the bathing ceremony were in full swing.
Citizens had decorated the area around the shower facilities with improvised banners made from colored packaging materials, and what appeared to be a small choir of imp demons was practicing some kind of hymn.
A commotion near the camp perimeter caught my attention.
A group of elegantly dressed demons—obviously nobles from their elaborate clothing and haughty bearing—was approaching, flanked by what appeared to be private guards.
Their expressions ranged from disdainful curiosity to poorly concealed envy. At their head was Lord Superiore.
“Let me guess—he’s here to complain about the peasants getting clean water?”
“Most likely, my lord. House Superiore has traditionally controlled water rights in the western district. The introduction of free bathing facilities represents a direct challenge to their… business interests.”
Business interests. Nice euphemism for extortion, I thought.
Lord Superiore spotted me and changed direction, his entourage following like a flock of overdressed vultures. The camp guards tensed, hands moving to weapons, but I gestured for them to stand down. Better to deal with this directly.
As the noble approached, his eyes widened slightly at my appearance, taking in the modern-fantasy fusion clothing with barely disguised shock. He recovered quickly, executing a bow that was technically correct but somehow managed to convey contempt.
“My lord Lucien,” he said, his voice carefully modulated to hide any trace of disrespect. “What an honor to find you personally overseeing these… innovative endeavors.”
Despite his careful words, I could practically smell the disapproval wafting off him like discount cologne.
What really caught my attention, though, wasn’t his barely concealed stick-up-the-butt attitude, but the way his entourage of fancy-robed yes-men were practically vibrating with anxiety.
Their eyes ping-ponged between their boss and Azrael like they were watching the world’s most terrifying tennis match.
“Lord Superiore,” I replied, channeling my best ‘customer service representative who’s definitely not recording this call for quality purposes.’ “I wasn’t aware the noble houses had taken an interest in camp operations. Have you come to volunteer your assistance?”
Superiore dropped to one knee so fast I half expected to hear cartilage tear. His head bowed low enough to smell the dirt. “My lord, House Superiore exists only to serve your glorious vision. We merely wished to… understand how we might best contribute to your magnificent plans.”
The nobles behind him followed suit, hitting their knees with such synchronized precision they could’ve qualified for the Olympic groveling team. Not a peep of laughter or side-eye now—just pure, unadulterated fear barely gift-wrapped in fancy manners.
“How thoughtful,” I said, letting the silence stretch like cheap gum. “And what contributions did you have in mind?”
Superiore kept his eyes downcast, probably to hide the dollar signs I suspected were flashing in them.
“We have observed the distribution of these remarkable void provisions, my lord. As traditional stewards of Iferona’s resources, we naturally wondered if our expertise might be of service in… optimizing their allocation.”
I felt Azrael shift slightly beside me. Just that tiny movement—seriously, it was barely a muscle twitch—sent several of the kneeling nobles into what looked like the beginning stages of a panic attack.
“The resources are being allocated perfectly well,” I said. “They’re going to those who need them most—all citizens, not just the privileged few.”
“Of course, my lord,” Superiore agreed with the hasty enthusiasm of someone who’s just realized they’re standing on thin ice over shark-infested waters. “A most wise approach. I merely meant that the noble houses have certain… infrastructural assets that could perhaps expedite distribution.”
I studied him for a moment. Unlike his bootlicking buddies, Superiore maintained a veneer of dignity even while doing his best doormat impression. That made him more dangerous—and potentially more useful—than the others.
“You mean the private warehouses and storage facilities you’ve been hoarding resources in for centuries?” I asked with faux innocence. “The ones that are mysteriously absent from official records?”
A flash of something—fear, surprise, or possibly indigestion from swallowing his pride—crossed Superiore’s face before he carefully rearranged his features. “Our… family holdings are modest, my lord, but they are at your disposal.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd of camp residents who’d stopped to rubberneck at this premium drama.
Many had abandoned whatever they were doing to watch the show, their expressions a mixture of fear and fascination.
This was probably the first time they’d seen nobles kneeling in the dirt instead of making everyone else do it.
“How generous of you to offer what already belongs to the crown,” I said, letting my voice drop to freezer-burn levels. The temperature around us plummeted several degrees—not my doing, but Azrael’s barely contained murder-vibes manifesting physically.
Superiore went from pale to ghost cosplay in seconds. “My lord, I meant no?—”
“Stand,” I commanded, cutting him off mid-grovel.
The noble popped up like a demonic jack-in-the-box, his entourage following suit, all keeping their eyes lowered in the universal “please don’t notice me” pose.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, making sure my voice carried to the crowd of eavesdroppers who weren’t even pretending not to listen anymore.
“By tomorrow morning, I want a complete inventory of all ‘family holdings’ controlled by the noble houses—every warehouse, every storage facility, every hidden vault where you stash the good stuff. Lady Shadowfax’s agents will be checking your homework, so don’t get creative with the numbers. ”
Superiore swallowed hard but nodded like one of those drinking bird toys. “Of course, my lord.”
“Furthermore, those facilities are joining our distribution network. The noble houses can keep playing manager—under supervision—and I’ll even let you put your fancy family crests on the buildings. Free advertising. You’re welcome.”
The offer of recognition rather than, say, dismemberment seemed to surprise Superiore. “You are most merciful, my lord.”
“I’m practical,” I corrected. “Iferona needs all hands on deck, not a bunch of hoarders sitting on supplies while everyone else drowns. The noble houses can either grab a bucket and start bailing, or they can become anchor weight. Your call, but I’d think carefully about which option doesn’t involve sinking. ”
I let my gaze sweep over the assembled nobles, noting how they trembled slightly under my attention like smartphones set to vibrate. “The old ways are changing. You can change with them and prosper, or cling to the past and… well.”