The title of Demon King—what an achievement for anyone to claim. For centuries, it belonged solely to the Vesyoni family, yet only two members of that once-great lineage remain today. My grandfather, with their support, peacefully and politically took the crown from the Vesyoni family. He became the Demon King during the worst possible time—a period of war, hatred, and bloodshed. It was truly one of the darkest eras this continent has ever seen.

  A Demon King. A figure revered as both powerful and wise, someone said to be able to lift mountains and burn cities to ash. But those are just stories, exaggerations. I never had such power—never. What I did have were loyal followers, brimming with pride whenever they spoke my name in taverns and festivals. I was never the strongest. Not then, not now. Even Nearf, without his magic, could crush me with ease. Jane is the strongest demon in the kingdom, and the other kings were far more formidable. Yet, somehow, they feared me, followed me, treated me as their leader, and bowed when the moment called for it.

  I remember facing one of Reyanna’s daughters, that monster Azravene, in the forest near Dyka village. She nearly burned me alive. I could have died there. I could have died defending my kingdom, overwhelmed by the beasts. And yet, somehow, I survived. I don’t know why these memories surface now, but... I remember them. I remember the ones who bowed to me, the ones who threw themselves into battle to shield me on the front lines. They were great people, not just for their loyalty, but for so much more.

  As Demon King, I was granted the right to the Demon's Pool. Bathing there imbues the ruler with a powerful aura to complement their own strength, ensuring they can protect the kingdom and inspire confidence in their people. For half a year, that power lingered. Then, it faded, leaving only my own abilities. And yet, they’re enough. That’s how I know the spy hasn’t acted yet. I’m certain they’re tracking every demon merchant, following Rolf’s orders to gather information about me. But they have no idea what we’re planning.

  Lana... why do I miss you?

  The next day in Eldoria City, Joe sat in his father’s office, sharing tales of his journey through the kingdom with Evangeline and Jeffrey. Ebe entered quietly, carrying a tray of tea and cakes for everyone.

  After serving them, she bowed and excused herself.

  As they sipped their tea, Jeffrey spoke up: "Her wedding is just a few weeks away. Don’t forget to get her something nice. And don’t tell her, or she’ll insist you buy something cheap."

  Joe nodded. "Of course. Ebe deserves a great gift. While I’m at it, I’ll pick up something for Lud too."

  Evangeline smiled as she bit into a piece of cake. "I honestly thought you’d end up fighting him. I even bet a silver coin with Agatha on it."

  Joe chuckled. "You all have such a twisted view of me. I’m harmless most of the time."

  Jeffrey nearly choked on his tea. Setting his cup down, he grabbed a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "Harmless? You? I could ask Urien to pull up your criminal record if you’d like."

  Joe smirked. "Go ahead. You’ll see I was the defender, not the offender, in most cases—except for that incident in Cerulea City. Those two knights I bloodied were corrupt."

  Jeffrey studied Joe for a moment before nodding. "I believe you. After all, you are the Honest One."

  Joe shook his head with a faint smile. "A fool’s title, given by another fool."

  Jeffrey grinned. "Still, it suits you."

  "It really does. It has a nice ring to it," Evangeline added.

  Joe paused, his expression thoughtful. Then he said, "Along the way, I forgave some people and hurt others. Lud, though—he’s a good man. Every time I’ve spoken with him these past few months, he’s been polite and respectful, even to ordinary folks. I respect him for that."

  Jeffrey and Evangeline nodded, and Joe added with a smirk, "And a swollen eye would be a terrible look at the wedding."

  Evangeline grinned, holding out her hand. "Pay up. I won the bet."

  "You were right." Jeffrey chuckled, placing a silver coin into her hand.

  Joe raised an eyebrow. "You bet on me?"

  Jeffrey nodded. "What really makes me happy is that Agatha has to pay Urien six gold coins. She bet big on you killing Lud."

  Joe shook his head in mock disappointment. "Killing people? Is that all you think I do? I’d love to hear what you all imagine me doing out there."

  Jeffrey grinned. "We’ll save that for another time, kid. For now, there’s work to do. There’s a merchant I want to help get his business going. Take this money—it’s what he’s owed from a debt a shop owner paid back—and make sure he gets back on his feet."

  Joe smirked. "I’m not your servant, you know. I don’t work every day, all week long. That was in the contract I signed with you."

  Jeffrey feigned shock, raising a hand to his chest. "Wow, I didn’t think you’d actually read the contract! But remember, I’m the noble of this region—my word is law."

  Joe chuckled and replied, "Do you know how many people I’ve knocked their teeth out for saying the exact same thing?"

  Jeffrey got to his feet, puffing out his chest dramatically. Throwing his arms in the air, he declared, "These arms fought in a war! This body and this heart will take you down any day of the year!"

  Evangeline laughed as Joe glanced at his father, amused. "Alright," Joe finally said, "I don’t want to face a war veteran. I’ll do it, but I’m earning two extra gold coins for this, or you can find someone else."

  Jeffrey sat back down with a satisfied smile. "Of course. Hard work deserves a fair reward."

  Joe asked, "What’s so special about this merchant that you need to help him?"

  "Nothing," Jeffrey replied. "Remember that new method we talked about months ago? The contracts? This man bought contracts for goods, but the owner of those goods went out of business. Now those papers are worthless."

  "So, you’re helping him recover his money and start fresh," Joe said. "Be careful—some people aren’t cut out to be merchants, and supporting them could end up being a waste."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "I know," Jeffrey nodded. "The money you’ll give him is what the owner of the closed business owed him. We haven’t lost a coin yet."

  Joe smirked. "Then I’ll test the man to see if he’s worth our future investments and time."

  Jeffrey smiled. "I’m starting to like you even more. Want to be my adopted son? I already have one, but he hasn’t come back yet."

  Joe chuckled. "Maybe when you start appreciating me more—and paying me more."

  Jeffrey grinned. "Never. Now go, son."

  Joe nodded as he left the office and then the mansion, heading toward the city centre. On his way, he recalled a friend in the capital who had first introduced him to the concept of contracts a year ago—a new method of conducting business.

  As he strolled through the streets, greeting familiar faces along the way, Joe thought to himself: Contracts—people praise them for their security, but they’re not as safe as they seem. You can lose just as much as you would on the road. Most people prefer to take a single risk, not stack them one on top of the other.

  His thoughts drifted to a conversation he had with Jeffrey two months ago.

  "Contracts are safer and a more modern form of payment," Jeffrey explained while standing by the window. "Legally, they’re great and simple. They save merchants from the hassle of loading heavy goods and the risk of bandit raids."

  Joe nodded. "So, what’s the real concern here?"

  Jeffrey turned, looking at Joe. "Legally, they’re an excellent investment. But let’s talk about reality—what’s your take, from a market perspective?"

  Joe walked to the couch and sat down. "Contracts save time and effort. You don’t have to load goods, travel from place to place, or worry about spoilage, theft, or damage during transport."

  Jeffrey nodded. "Exactly. Now, the other side of the coin—the dirty part."

  Joe leaned back, crossing his arms. "There’s always the risk that the merchant who owns the goods goes bankrupt and shuts down. Then you’re left with a worthless piece of paper and a massive loss."

  Jeffrey rubbed the ring on his finger thoughtfully. "True, but the kingdom’s law requires merchants to pay their debts, even if they close their business."

  Joe corrected him. "No, your region enforces that law."

  Jeffrey raised an eyebrow. "It’s specified in the kingdom’s laws."

  Joe shook his head. "Not entirely. In practice, people don’t always follow the rules, and the law itself is vague. It just says, Pay debts. But it doesn’t address the details—when, where, how much? In installments? In full? Is there a penalty for late payments?"

  Jeffrey nodded, conceding the point. "Our regional law is a bit more precise."

  "Because Grandpa Bot understood how people could exploit the loopholes," Joe said. "Our law specifies the timeframe for repayment and the penalties for any delays."

  Jeffrey said, "This contract business is risky, but it’ll attract more people over time, and we’ll find ways to profit from it."

  Joe nodded thoughtfully. "Just remember, Father, you can’t save everyone. Some people will only hold you back—they’re just walking expenses."

  Jeffrey glanced at his son. "I get that. But when you told me about your life on the road—falling into debt, struggling to stay afloat—wouldn’t you have wanted someone to give you a hand when you were at your lowest?"

  Joe fell silent. Jeffrey had struck a nerve. Memories of those cursed years surfaced—working as a miner, adventuring with cheap, unreliable gear, barely more than a slave.

  After a pause, Joe finally said, "If I weren’t your son, I’d have prayed for someone to help me. But if you had helped me back then, I wouldn’t have learned to be careful for the future."

  Jeffrey sat down beside him, listening as Joe continued, "Father, people are simple. They’ll take risks and make mistakes, knowing someone like you will bail them out. Fear is what keeps a merchant sharp. If you take away that fear, they’ll gamble recklessly and expect someone to save them when things go wrong."

  Jeffrey nodded, understanding. "And that creates dependency."

  "Worse," Joe added, his tone serious. "You won’t just create dependent individuals—you’ll create a dependent generation. A generation more dangerous than bandits, one that believes a helping hand will always be there to catch them when they fall."

  Suddenly, a booming voice broke Joe’s train of thought. "Joe Gostave!"

  Joe snapped back to reality, turning to see a chubby, tall man with clean-shaven cheeks, dark piercing eyes, and long, spiky hair. His muscular arms, scarred from years of work, were as sturdy as any merchant’s. A deep scar ran above his right eye, giving him an air of rugged experience.

  The man grinned broadly and spread his arms. "Welcome! To… my cart!"

  Joe glanced at the cart. It was larger than most he’d seen on the road, with two strong horses hitched to it. He nodded and asked, "Thank you, sir. What’s your name?"

  "Had!" the man replied with a cheerful grin.

  Joe studied him for a moment before saying, "Let’s head to the tavern so we can discuss your business."

  Had’s grin didn’t waver as he hesitated. "But won’t people overhear us there?"

  Joe smiled. "This tavern is always noisy, and most of the patrons are drunk. Besides, we’ll talk in a private room—just the two of us."

  Had’s face lit up as he nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! That’s exactly what I’d expect from a noble’s son! Let’s go!"

  Meanwhile, in the capital, at Cetus’s house, he lay in bed while Foty and Lana sat nearby, studying. Though Cetus couldn’t see them, he turned his head toward the sound of their voices and asked, "Has Eli done something?"

  Foty shook her head, her sadness evident in her tone. "Mother went to the school, but the teachers couldn’t do anything. Those kids are rich and cruel."

  Lana added, "Grandpa Cetus, what should we do?"

  Cetus opened his mouth to respond, but a violent coughing fit stopped him. Clutching his chest, he struggled for air. Lana quickly jumped up, the sound of her hurried footsteps fading as she ran to fetch water.

  Even after the coughing subsided, the water brought little relief. Cetus finally calmed, his frail frame trembling as both Lana and Foty held his hands tightly, their quiet concern surrounding him like a shield.

  Cetus felt his trembling hands and let his thoughts drift. *I know. I do. This is my punishment, and I’m ready for it.*

  Turning toward the girls, he said weakly, "Let’s buy some cake. I’m hungry."

  Foty looked surprised as Cetus slowly rose, leaning on his cane for support. Lana quickly stepped toward him, concern evident in her voice. "Grandpa Cetus?"

  Cetus faced her and said softly, "I’m alright."

  He then turned in Foty’s direction, sensing her worry. Kneeling down, he beckoned, "Come here."

  Both girls moved closer, and Cetus gently placed his hands on their heads, patting them tenderly. "Remember this," he said, his voice low but firm. "Never hurt anyone. Even if you think you’re right, the guilt will haunt you."

  Lana and Foty nodded silently, their wide eyes locked on him. Cetus managed a faint smile. "And, Foty, even with that blue eye, you’re still beautiful. And you too, Lana."

  Lana instinctively touched her cheek, while Foty brushed her hand over her eye. A tear escaped from both girls as they smiled back at him. Taking their hands in his, Cetus said, "Come on, let’s go."

  Meanwhile, on the road to Giraf Village, a moving market bustled with activity. Merchants had parked their carts in a circle, forming makeshift walls as they displayed their goods.

  Yory busied himself trading goods and negotiating for a decent price, while Rory worked on the other side, selling her contracts.

  The contracts, a relatively new idea, were a risky venture. Few merchants were willing to take the gamble, but when they did, Rory earned a good profit. With Yory’s help transporting her, her chances of meeting new business partners increased.

  As night fell, the market remained lively. For merchants, darkness didn’t mean the end of the day. After a quick dinner, Yory returned to his work.

  Yet, in quieter moments when no customers approached his cart, Yory’s thoughts wandered. Memories surfaced—faces of people he’d met, enemies he’d fought, friends he’d lost, and others he’d saved.

  He grabbed an apple, munching on it as his mind drifted to Lana. He remembered finding her in Daekrahm City after the ghoul attack. She’d been so silent at first, but when she finally spoke, her smile was pure and radiant.

  Other memories followed: Olwyn and his siblings as children, human kids he had rescued or buried during the war, and orphans he’d met along his journey, to whom he’d given sweets and cakes.

  He thought of Con from Pirogovo Town and the kids in the capital. He pictured Lana and Foty on their first day of school, walking through the gates. Yory had stood there, watching until the doors closed behind them.

  Now, sitting alone on his cart, Yory stared into the darkness, waiting for the next customer. But his thoughts lingered, and he murmured to himself:

  "Why? Why did I care for that child?"