Page 9 of The Dark Lord Awakens (Dark Service #1)

There was a third option, of course. I could embrace this new role but do it my way.

Use my knowledge of business administration and management to rebuild Iferona, improve conditions for its inhabitants, and maybe, just maybe, find a way to coexist with the neighboring kingdoms without all the “eternal darkness shall reign” drama.

It would be like continuing where I’d left off in the game, but with the ultimate immersive experience—actually implementing all those kingdom improvements I’d planned but never got around to.

After all, if I was stuck here, I might as well make the best of it.

This was essentially my game save file come to life, just with a few centuries of neglect to fix.

And honestly, being an evil overlord had to be better than customer service.

At least when people called me names here, I could probably turn them into toads or something.

Plus, I’d spent years theorycrafting the perfect dark kingdom in forum posts—now I could actually test those ideas in real time.

I finished my porridge and set the bowl aside, reaching for the blood apple. It was juicy and sweet, with a hint of tartness that reminded me of the best parts of both cherries and apples.

“So,” I said, wiping juice from my chin, “before we tour the domain, I should probably figure out what I can actually do. You know, power-wise. If I’m going to face these heroes eventually, I need to know what I’m working with.”

“A wise decision, my lord,” Azrael said. “Your powers have likely been dormant during your slumber. Testing their limits would be prudent.”

I glanced down at my silky robe, which was admittedly not appropriate attire for magical practice. “I should probably get cleaned up first, though.”

“Perhaps you would care to refresh yourself with a bath?” Azrael suggested. “The magical waters of the Obsidian Springs will help awaken your dormant abilities.”

Now that sounded useful. “A bath sounds great, actually,” I said, suddenly aware of how grimy I felt. Three hundred years of magical sleep apparently didn’t come with complimentary sponge baths. Or if it did, I didn’t want to think about who had been giving them.

Azrael bowed slightly. “Excellent. I shall prepare it immediately.”

I followed him back to the bathroom I’d discovered earlier, watching as he moved around the space. He turned the dragon-head faucets, releasing steaming water into the massive sunken tub. The water shimmered slightly, like it contained flecks of gold or starlight.

Great. Magic bath water. Just what I needed—another reminder that I was way out of my depth here. I was more familiar with the “hope the hot water doesn’t run out before you’re done” variety of bathing.

Azrael selected several crystal bottles from a nearby shelf, adding drops of various liquids to the water.

The air filled with exotic scents—something like cinnamon but darker, smokier, with hints of spices I couldn’t name.

Then he scattered what looked like flower petals across the surface—deep-purple blooms that seemed to pulse gently.

“Midnight orchids,” he explained, catching my curious glance. “They absorb negative energy and promote clarity of thought.”

“Handy,” I said. “Do they also come in air freshener form? Could use some clarity in my apartment bathroom back home.”

Azrael gave me a puzzled look but continued his preparations.

When the tub was full and steaming invitingly, I stood awkwardly by the edge, waiting for Azrael to leave. He didn’t. Instead, he turned to me expectantly, hands clasped behind his back.

“Um, thanks for setting this up,” I said, making a little shooing motion with my hands. “I can take it from here.”

Azrael didn’t budge. “My lord, it is my duty to attend to all your needs. Including your bath.”

I felt heat creep up my neck that had nothing to do with the steaming water. “That’s really not necessary. I’ve been bathing myself successfully for years. Decades, even. I’m practically a professional at this point.”

“It would be improper for me to neglect my duties,” Azrael insisted, his expression perfectly serious. “I have served as your personal attendant for centuries. It would be a grave dishonor to abandon my responsibilities now.”

I stared at him, mortified. Had I actually designed him this way in the game?

I tried to remember what parameters I’d set when creating Azrael as my character’s butler.

Loyal, efficient, deadly in combat, unwaveringly devoted…

oh God. “Unwaveringly devoted” could be interpreted in so many ways, couldn’t it?

The game designers had probably taken that and run with it in directions I’d never intended.

Or had I? There might have been a tiny part of me that found the whole “devoted butler” trope appealing. In a purely aesthetic, theoretical sense. Not in an “I’m standing here about to be naked in front of a supernaturally gorgeous demon” sense.

“Look, Azrael,” I began, then stopped. I was supposed to be the evil overlord here. The big boss. The head honcho. If I kept acting squeamish and awkward, he’d definitely suspect something was wrong. Time to channel my inner Lucien Noir.

I straightened my spine and lifted my chin, trying to look imperious rather than terrified. “Fine. Attend to your duties, then. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your… purpose.”

Was that evil overlord-y enough? It sounded more passive-aggressive than commanding, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances.

Azrael’s eyes flickered with something—satisfaction?

Relief? Hard to tell with Mr. Stoic—before he bowed deeply.

“Thank you, my lord.” He was behind me, his long fingers untying the sash of my robe.

I froze, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.

I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell something like woodsmoke and exotic spices that must have been his scent.

“Um,” I said eloquently.

The robe slipped from my shoulders, caught deftly by Azrael before it could hit the floor. I stood there, naked as the day I was born (though considerably more embarrassed about it), fighting the urge to cover myself like a scandalized maiden in a period drama.

“The water awaits, my lord,” Azrael said, his voice perfectly neutral, as if he wasn’t staring at his boss’ bare ass.

I practically dove into the tub, creating a splash worthy of an Olympic cannonball competition. The water was perfect—hot but not scalding, silky against my skin. I sank down until only my head remained above the surface, letting the warmth envelop me.

“Is the temperature to your liking?” Azrael asked, kneeling beside the tub with a sponge and what appeared to be soap in his hands.

“It’s fine,” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “I mean, it’s adequate. For now.”

Azrael nodded, dipping the sponge into the water. “If you would permit me, my lord…” He began washing my shoulders with firm, efficient strokes. It was… not unpleasant. Actually, it felt amazing, but I wasn’t about to admit that out loud.

“So,” I said, desperately searching for a topic of conversation that wasn’t ‘why are you touching me and why don’t I hate it,’ “tell me more about these heroes who want me dead. The ones from the Groston Empire and Cizia Republic.”

Azrael’s hand paused momentarily on my shoulder, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on the sponge. “They are unworthy of discussion during your bath, my lord. Such unpleasantness would taint the purification ritual.”

“Purification ritual? I thought this was just a bath.”

“For ordinary beings, perhaps. For the Dark King, even bathing is a sacred act.”

Of course it was. Evil overlording was apparently a twenty-four seven job with no casual Fridays.

Azrael continued washing me, his movements clinical and precise. I tried to relax, telling myself this was just like getting a massage at a spa.

“Lean forward, my lord,” Azrael instructed, and I complied automatically. His fingers worked through my hair, massaging some kind of shampoo into my scalp. It smelled amazing—like a forest after a thunderstorm.

“What is that scent?” I asked, closing my eyes despite myself. The massage felt too good to maintain proper evil overlord dignity.

“Shadow laurel extract,” Azrael replied. “It stimulates the mind and strengthens magical abilities.”

“It smells like rain and pine trees,” I murmured. “Reminds me of camping trips when I was a kid.”

The fingers in my hair paused for a fraction of a second. “You went… camping, my lord?”

Shit. That probably wasn’t very dark lord-ish. “For, uh, ritual purposes. Sacrificing forest creatures. Very dark. Very evil. Lots of… blood and… stuff.”

“I see,” Azrael said, though his tone suggested he very much did not see. “Rinse, please.”

I dunked my head under the water, partly to wash out the shampoo and partly to hide my flaming face. When I emerged, sputtering slightly, Azrael was waiting with a towel.

“Are we done?” I asked hopefully.

“Unless you require additional services, my lord.”

The way he said “additional services” made me choke on nothing. “Nope! All good! Very clean now. Squeaky clean. So clean you could eat off me. Wait, no, that came out wrong. I mean?—”

“As you wish,” Azrael said, mercifully cutting off my babbling. He held out the towel, clearly expecting me to stand up.

Great. Round two of naked humiliation. I rose from the water as quickly as possible, snatching the towel and wrapping it around my waist before Azrael could do it for me.

“I can dry myself,” I said firmly, grabbing a second towel for my hair.

Azrael looked like he wanted to object but nodded stiffly. “Very well. I shall prepare your attire for the power demonstration.”

As he turned to leave, I called after him, “And remember—comfortable! Nothing with bones or spikes or… whatever those pointy things were on the other outfit.”

“As you command, my lord,” Azrael replied, with just the slightest hint of disapproval in his tone.

Apparently, evil overlords weren’t supposed to prioritize comfort over intimidation.

Too bad. This evil overlord had spent too many hours in uncomfortable call center chairs to sacrifice comfort for aesthetics.

Once alone, I studied myself in the ornate mirror, surprised by how quickly I was getting used to the face that stared back.

After the bath, my skin seemed to have a subtle luminescence that I hadn’t noticed before—almost like it was lit from within.

The dark lord aesthetic suited me better than I cared to admit, though ironically, with my silver-white hair and glowing pale skin, I looked more like an angel than a demon king.

I turned slightly, examining my profile, still adjusting to the strange feeling of inhabiting a body that was simultaneously mine and not mine.

The magical bath had left me feeling refreshed, my muscles responding with a strength and precision my original body had never possessed.

“Well, Beau,” I muttered to my reflection, “at least you got an upgrade in the physical department when you dimension-hopped. Even if I’m the least threatening-looking dark lord in the history of evil overlords.”

I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of testing my powers. If I really could command shadows and summon demons… well, that was a significant upgrade from my previous special talent of de-escalating angry customers who’d been on hold for two hours.

Maybe being a dark lord wouldn’t be so bad after all.