Page 53 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

“Of course, my lord!” Sir Formalitee agreed instantly. “Twenty stories would still represent a revolutionary advancement in our architectural capabilities!”

The meeting concluded with assignments for each department head in preparation for the afternoon planning council. As they filed out, still discussing various aspects of the rebuilding effort, I remained seated, contemplating the challenges ahead.

“They’ve embraced your vision with remarkable enthusiasm,” Azrael said once we were alone.

“People respond well when you don’t threaten to disembowel them for having ideas,” I replied, stretching in my chair. “Who knew positive reinforcement worked on demons too?”

“Indeed, my lord. Though I would note that certain… clarifications regarding the consequences of opposition have also contributed to the current cooperative atmosphere.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean your midnight visits to the noble houses?”

“Merely educational discussions about the new paradigm,” Azrael said smoothly. “I found most nobles to be quick studies once the parameters were properly explained.”

“I bet.” I snorted. “Nothing motivates like the fear of losing fingers.”

“I would never presume to damage valuable noble property without your explicit command, my lord,” Azrael replied, the picture of innocence. “Merely… demonstrating potential outcomes of various choices.”

“Uh-huh.” I stood, deciding once again that some details were better left to the imagination. “Let’s head to the camp. I want to see how those marsh sprites are settling in, and I’m curious about these kitchen operations I keep hearing about.”

Mr. Snuggles, who’d become something of a celebrity among the camp children, flew us to the Ashen Fields just as the midday meal service was beginning. The camp had transformed completely in the past week, evolving from an emergency relief operation to something resembling a small, functional city.

The most significant change was the central kitchen complex—a series of large tents where cooking now happened on an industrial scale.

I’d stopped ordering ready-to-eat meals after the third day, realizing it would be more economical and empowering to set up cooking facilities and buy bulk ingredients instead.

Also, there’s only so many times you can eat reheated lasagna before your soul starts to die a little.

As we approached the dining area—a massive open tent with rows of tables—the tantalizing aroma of tomato sauce, garlic, and freshly cooked pasta filled the air. Citizens were already lining up with metal trays, chatting animatedly as they waited their turn.

“Let’s see what’s on the menu today,” I said, heading toward the serving line.

A stout, four-armed demon in a sauce-splattered apron spotted us and hurried over, wiping his hands frantically on his already messy apron. “Lord Lucien! What an unexpected honor!” He dropped into a deep bow, nearly upending a pot of bubbling marinara in the process.

“Chef Skillet427, right?” I asked, recalling the demon’s designation from previous visits.

The chef beamed at being remembered. “Yes, my lord! You honor me by recalling my designation!” He straightened proudly. “I have been promoted to supervise the pasta station as of yesterday!”

“Congratulations on the promotion,” I said, genuinely pleased for him. “What’s the specialty today?”

“Carbonara, my lord!” He gestured excitedly to a station where several demons were tossing pasta with eggs, cheese, and small bits of crispy void bacon. “A revolutionary technique! The eggs create a sauce without cream! The citizens are most enthusiastic!”

“Mind if we observe the lunch service?” I asked, already moving toward the serving line.

“We would be honored!” Chef Skillet427 practically vibrated with excitement. “Perhaps my lord would care to taste our newest creation?”

Before I could answer, he rushed off and returned moments later with a small plate of perfectly prepared carbonara. I took a bite and made an involuntary sound of appreciation. It was genuinely delicious—creamy, savory, with just the right balance of salt and pepper.

“This is excellent,” I told him, meaning it. “You’ve really mastered the technique.”

Chef Skillet427 looked like he might pass out from joy. “The highest praise! I shall have this plate bronzed and displayed in the culinary hall of fame!”

“Maybe just write down the recipe instead,” I suggested, finishing the sample. “Speaking of recipes, how are the cooking classes going?”

“Magnificently, my lord! We have identified many citizens with natural culinary talent! Filekeeper38 has a remarkable intuition for flavor balancing, and young Pencilcase has a gift for pasta shaping!”

I smiled at the names—citizens from the Office Supply District I’d created on a whim while half-asleep during a gaming session. Who knew my sleep-deprived naming choices would become revered identities in a demon realm?

As we moved through the dining area, I watched citizens receiving their meals and finding seats. The transformation from a month ago was striking. Gone were the gaunt faces and desperate eyes. These demons looked healthy, energetic, and—most surprisingly—happy.

At one table, a group of imp demons was experiencing spaghetti for the first time, with mixed results.

One particularly small imp named Stapler17 had somehow managed to get more sauce on his face than in his mouth, while his companion, Paperclip42, was attempting to twirl the pasta with comical concentration.

“You have to spin it against the spoon,” advised an elderly demon with wispy hair who’d clearly mastered the technique. “Like this, young one.”

Paperclip42 watched in awe as the elder demonstrated, then attempted to copy the motion. His face lit up with triumph when he successfully captured a perfect forkful. “I did it! Look, Stapler17, I did it!”

“Congratulations,” I said, stopping by their table. “You’ve officially mastered a skill that took me until college to figure out.”

The imps immediately tried to scramble to their feet, nearly upending their trays in the process.

“Stay seated,” I said quickly. “No point in wasting perfectly good pasta on the floor. How’s the food?”

“Magnificent, my lord!” Paperclip42 exclaimed, his eyes wide. “The noodles are like nothing I’ve ever tasted!”

“Better than shadow fungus stew?” I asked with a grin.

“A thousand times better!” Stapler17 declared fervently, sauce still decorating his face like abstract art. “I want to eat this forever!”

At another table, a family of goblin refugees was experiencing ramen for the first time. The parents looked bewildered by the chopsticks, but their children had adapted instantly, wielding them with surprising dexterity.

“The noodles dance in the broth!” exclaimed the youngest, a tiny goblin girl with enormous eyes. “Like water snakes!”

“More, please!” demanded her brother, already finishing his bowl. “Best food ever!”

Nearby, a group of what must be the newly arrived marsh sprites was cautiously approaching the serving line. They were smaller than I’d expected, with translucent skin that seemed to shift colors like oil on water. They huddled together nervously, clearly overwhelmed by the noise and activity.

“First time in the camp?” I asked, approaching them.

They immediately dropped to their knees, trembling visibly. “Dark Lord!” one squeaked, voice barely audible. “We seek sanctuary from the forest terror!”

“You’ve got it,” I assured them, motioning for them to stand. “No need for kneeling here—save your knees for when you inevitably drop food on the floor. What brought you out of the deep marsh?”

The sprites exchanged nervous glances before their apparent leader spoke again. “Shadows that eat light, my lord. They came three nights ago, consuming everything in their path. We fled with only our lives.”

“You know, just once I'd love to hear something helpful like ‘three-headed purple monsters with a weakness for cheese.’ Did anyone actually see these things directly? Like, monster-identification-chart directly?”

“No one sees them directly,” another sprite whispered. “Those who look too long become shadows themselves.”

“Great. So we’re dealing with the demon realm equivalent of Medusa, except with bonus shadow transformation instead of stone. Just what my week needed.” Before I could ask more questions, Chef Skillet427 appeared with small bowls of something that looked like risotto.

“Special preparation for our marsh friends!” he announced proudly. “Rice with gentle seasonings, as I recalled reading that marsh sprites have sensitive digestion!”

The sprites’ eyes widened at this thoughtful accommodation. Cautiously, the leader took a bite, then made a sound of surprised pleasure. “It tastes like home,” he said wonderingly. “Like the sacred grains that grow in the deepest pools.”

“What’s your name?” I asked him. “Unless you prefer ‘Terrified Translucent Guy,’ which works too, but might get confusing.”

“Ripple94, my lord,” he replied, bowing slightly. “And these are my pod-mates, Bubble16 and Dewdrop73.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised to hear the numerical designations from forest dwellers. “You use numbered names, like the city demons? Did the forest DMV assign those, or what?”

The sprite’s colors shifted slightly in what might have been embarrassment. “Yes, my lord. Our ancestors believed that adopting the Dark Lord’s naming customs would grant us protection. That those with numbered designations were… recognized by your power.”

Wait, seriously? I was genuinely fascinated by this cultural adaptation. So even in the deep forest, my naming influence reached them? That’s… weirdly flattering and slightly concerning. I was half-asleep when I came up with most of those naming conventions.

“The ancient stories say that those without numbers are… unclaimed,” Bubble16 added softly. “When the shadows came, many of our kind who had rejected the numbered names were the first to fall.”