The journey back was… well, Bob would've called it "normal," but only because he had the emotional range of a rock.
Bob, the ever-stoic warrior, stomped forward with the focus of a man who had exactly one goal: get back to the castle without dying. His boots crunched leaves, snapped twigs, and generally made sure the forest knew it was not welcome in his personal space. Beside him, the elf moved like a shadow—silent, fluid, and clearly unbothered by the fact that her new travel companion had all the social grace of a brick.
"You really don't talk much, do you?" she finally asked, glancing up at him.
Bob grunted. That was his way of saying yes. Or maybe no. Or possibly just acknowledging the question without committing to an answer.
The elf sighed. "Figures. Well, since we're working together now, I might as well introduce myself. I am—"
"Don't need it," Bob cut in. "You're an elf. That's enough."
She blinked. "You… don't care about my name?"
Bob didn't even look at her. "Names are for people who plan to remember each other."
Then, something bizarre happened.
The elf, instead of being offended, actually laughed. It was a soft, musical sound, like the wind playing through the leaves. "You're an interesting one, Bob."
Wait.
Wait just a damn second.
Did he tell her his name?
The narrator had to pause and rewind the scene in their head.
Nope. Definitely not.
Bob had not, at any point, introduced himself. No name exchange. No casual "Hey, I'm Bob, by the way." Nothing.
And yet, here she was, casually dropping his name like they were old friends.
How?
Had she read his mind? Was this some kind of secret elf magic? Was she just that good at guessing? Or was Bob's name just so profoundly generic that she knew deep down, in her soul, that he had to be a Bob?
Bob, naturally, didn't react. Because Bob never reacted. He just kept walking, completely unfazed by the unsettling fact that this elf knew things she should not know.
The narrator, however, was deeply concerned.
And also slightly impressed.
Meanwhile, the castle loomed ahead, dark and ominous, its towers stabbing into the sky like villainous spears.
Bob didn't care.
The massive doors to the throne room creaked open, groaning in protest as Bob pushed them apart. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows over the cracked stone floor, and at the far end of the room, sprawled out on his half-broken throne like a cat that had claimed the world as its personal nap spot, was none other than the Demon King himself.
Magnus Caffeine.
His golden eyes were half-lidded with disinterest, one leg lazily draped over the armrest, his cheek propped against his fist. The entire air around him radiated pure laziness. He looked at Bob, then at the elf, then back at Bob.
Then he let out the world's most unbothered sigh.
"…That took longer than expected."
Bob twitched. He had almost died out there, multiple times, but sure—let's just pretend this was a minor delay.
The elf, meanwhile, was eyeing Magnus with open curiosity. "You're the Demon King?"
Magnus cracked open an eye and studied her. Then, ever so slowly, he raised a single hand and gave her the laziest thumbs-up imaginable.
"Yup."
The elf blinked. "…That's it?"
Magnus yawned. "You were expecting dramatic music? A lightning strike, maybe?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Sorry, fresh out of theatrics today."
Bob, wisely, chose to remain silent. The last time he questioned Magnus's theatrics, the Demon King spent three hours explaining the 'philosophy of minimal effort.'
The elf crossed her arms. "Hmph. You don't seem very kingly."
Magnus smirked. "And you don't seem very kidnapped. What, did Bob politely ask you to come here?"
Bob stiffened slightly. The elf smirked.
"…Maybe."
"Bob?" Magnus took a glance at bob with a expression of question. 'really?'
Bob shifted uncomfortably, his massive frame somehow looking smaller under Magnus's lazy yet all-seeing gaze. He could already feel the judgment radiating off the so-called Demon King, despite the man barely moving a muscle.
"…She didn't resist," Bob muttered.
Magnus squinted at him. "So, you didn't forcefully drag her here?"
Bob hesitated. "...No."
Magnus stared.
The elf smiled.
The silence stretched.
Then Magnus exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Bob. Buddy. My most competent minion—"
Bob straightened slightly. Was that… praise?
"—You had one job."
And there it went.
Bob sighed. "You said to bring her here. You never specified how."
Magnus opened his mouth—then paused. His fingers drummed lazily against the armrest as he considered that. "…Tch. Fine, whatever." He waved a hand. "As long as she's here, I guess it doesn't matter."
The elf tilted her head. "So, what exactly do you want with me?"
Magnus leaned forward ever so slightly, golden eyes locking onto hers. "Alright, important question first—"
The elf braced herself.
"—Can you make tea?"
There was a long pause.
The elf blinked. Then she turned to Bob as if seeking confirmation that this wasn't some weird hallucination.
Bob nodded. Yes. This is real. Accept your fate.
The elf looked back at Magnus, visibly baffled. "…You went through all this trouble… for tea?"
Magnus sighed dramatically. "You say that like tea isn't the lifeblood of civilization."
The elf let out a short laugh. "That's ridiculous."
Magnus looked offended. "Ridiculous?" He pointed at her. "I'll have you know, young lady, that wars have been fought over tea! Empires have risen and fallen for the sake of a good brew! You are standing before a connoisseur of the sacred leaves, and you dare call it ridiculous!?"
The elf smirked. "Well, if it's that important, then I guess it's good that I can make tea."
Magnus immediately relaxed. "Oh. Cool." He slumped back into his throne, completely dropping the act. "Alright, then. Welcome to the castle. Your first royal duty is—" He pointed at the doorway.
"—to go make me some damn tea."
The elf crossed her arms, eyeing Magnus with the skepticism of someone who had just been told the world's dumbest joke.
"Let me get this straight." She gestured vaguely at the castle around her. "You had this giant, scary warrior drag me all the way here—"
"Escort," Bob corrected.
"Drag me all the way here," she repeated, ignoring him, "because you want me to make tea?"
Magnus didn't even hesitate. "Yes."
The elf let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Do I look like a servant to you?"
Magnus hummed, tapping his chin in thought. "Hmm. Nope. You look like an elf."
"…That's not an answer."
"Well, I could say you look like someone who would make excellent tea, but I didn't want to be that guy."
Her eye twitched.
Bob subtly took a step back.
The elf exhaled sharply. "Listen here, 'Demon King'—"
"Magnus," he corrected, still lounging.
"I don't care what your name is!" She jabbed a finger at him. "I'm not some maid you can just kidnap and order around!"
Magnus let out a long, exaggerated yawn. "See, this is why I let Bob handle the socializing. I'm far too tired for all this unnecessary aggression."
"Oh, I'm sorry for being a little aggressive after getting kidnapped."
Bob muttered under his breath. "Again, she didn't really resist…"
The elf turned on him. "I let you bring me here so I could figure out what this idiot wanted. I didn't agree to servitude!"
Magnus lazily raised a finger. "Correction: you haven't agreed yet."
The elf narrowed her eyes. "Yet?"
Magnus nodded, looking completely unbothered. "Mhm. You haven't agreed yet, but you will."
The sheer arrogance of his words made her want to throw something at his face. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?"
Magnus slowly stretched, his back arching like a cat waking up from a particularly good nap. Then he slumped even further into his throne, somehow making 'barely sitting' look like an art form. "Because, my dear elf, you're curious."
She scoffed. "Curious?"
"Mhm." Magnus pointed a lazy finger at her. "You didn't fight Bob, didn't try to escape, and you definitely didn't panic when you saw me—which, by the way, is a little insulting."
"Why would I be scared of someone who looks like they haven't moved in years?"
Bob coughed to cover his laugh.
Magnus just smirked. "Fair point. But let's be real—you want to know what's going on. You want to know why you, an innocent little elf, were so important that I sent Bob to fetch you."
"Escort," Bob muttered again.
Magnus ignored him. "And let's face it—you really want to know why I need an elf for tea."
The elf opened her mouth—then hesitated.
Okay. He was right about that last part. Was there some hidden magic involved? A prophecy? Some ancient, long-lost elven brewing technique?
Magnus saw the flicker of hesitation in her expression and grinned. "Ah-ha. See? You're already invested. And hey, worst case scenario? You make me one cup, hate it here, and storm out dramatically."
The elf crossed her arms. "And what if I refuse?"
Magnus tilted his head, as if she had just asked whether the sky was made of cheese. Then, with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who had perfected the art of minimal effort, he gave a small, lazy smile.
"Oh, I have someone else to deal with rebels."
…Wait.
What was that? That smile. That tone. That particular choice of words.
Did he just imply something sinister? Was this the moment where the goofy, sloth-like Demon King revealed a hidden personality? Some terrifying enforcer lurking in the shadows? A being of unimaginable power, waiting for his command?
Woah!
The elf tensed, clearly considering the same possibilities. "Rebels?" she repeated cautiously.
Magnus nodded, mid-yawn. "Mhm. You know, the stubborn types. People who insist on making things unnecessarily difficult. The kind who resist when they could just… go with the flow."
Okay, that sounded even more ominous.
The elf shifted slightly. "And… who exactly is this 'someone'?"
As if on cue, something approached from the left side of the room.
A soft, wet plop echoed through the air.
The elf instinctively reached for her dagger. Her warrior instincts screamed for her to be on guard. A towering beast? A shadowy figure? A legendary demon assassin?!
No.
A slime.
A wobbly, jiggling, absolutely non-threatening slime.
It was about the size of a palm—no, actually, a little bigger than that. Maybe the size of a watermelon? A particularly plump watermelon. And it was… juggling?
Yes. Yes, it was.
The tiny blue creature bounced along, expertly tossing three small pebbles in the air as it made its way toward Magnus, wobbling with an absurd level of confidence.
The elf stared.
The slime juggled.
Magnus smirked.
"Behold." He gestured lazily. "My most persuasive force."
A long, painful silence followed.
The elf turned back to Magnus. Then to the slime. Then back to Magnus.
"Are you serious?"
The slime gave an enthusiastic jiggle, its little pebbles spinning mid-air with precise, almost hypnotic coordination.
Magnus grinned. "Oh, very."
The elf didn't move. She didn't breathe. She just stared.
At the slime.
Then at Magnus.
Then back at the slime.
"Are you serious?" she finally managed, her voice a mix of disbelief and something dangerously close to secondhand embarrassment.
Magnus grinned, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Oh, very."
The slime gave an enthusiastic jiggle, its little pebbles spinning mid-air with precise, almost hypnotic coordination.
The elf blinked. Once. Twice. Surely, this was a joke. This had to be a joke. Right? RIGHT?
And then Magnus, in that same slow, casual drawl, said something that made the room's temperature drop by at least ten degrees.
"You don't know how it dealt with the leader of Bob, lady."
The elf stiffened.
Bob stiffened.
Even the slime seemed to… jiggle with an air of mystery.
Hold on. Bob had a leader? That meant Bob wasn't just some lone warrior—he was part of a group. A group that had a leader. A leader that was now… what? Gone?
And this thing—this wobbly, jiggling ball of gelatin—was the reason why?!
The elf slowly turned back to the slime.
It juggled.
With eerie precision.
Almost… mockingly.
Her fingers twitched toward her dagger again. No way. No way was she about to be intimidated by something that looked like it belonged in a children's fairy tale.
She swallowed. "You're joking."
Bob, who had yet to speak this entire time, muttered under his breath. "Wish he was."
The elf's eyes snapped to him.
Bob was many things. A man of few words, an absolute tank of a warrior, probably part tree—but a liar? No. He was not a liar.
The realization settled in her stomach like a stone.
She turned back to Magnus, who was now watching her with that lazy, smug expression. He knew what she was thinking.
"Still want to test your luck?" Magnus asked, resting his cheek against his fist.
The slime juggled a little faster.
The elf took a step back. Not because she was scared. No, of course not. She was simply… reevaluating the situation. Strategizing. Calculating the risk factor.
The slime juggled again. One of the pebbles spun a little too fast and accidentally launched itself into the air. It landed with a light plop on the cold stone floor.
The elf flinched.
Bob didn't react. Probably because he had already made peace with the horrors of whatever this thing was.
Magnus, on the other hand, just chuckled. A soft, lazy sound that somehow made the tension worse. "Smart choice, elf."
The elf scowled, forcing herself to stand her ground. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."
Magnus gave an exaggerated stretch, his entire body moving like a cat that had just woken from a nap. "Sure, sure. But you will. Because the alternative?" He tilted his head toward the slime. "Well… let's just say Bob's old boss thought he had better things to do, too."
The elf glanced at Bob.
Bob didn't meet her gaze.
He just stared straight ahead, unblinking.
Like a man who had seen things.
Terrible things.
The slime did a little bounce. The pebbles landed perfectly back into its goopy form with a wet plop.
The elf exhaled sharply. "Fine. One cup."
Magnus grinned. "I knew you'd come around."
The elf jabbed a finger in his direction. "But if this turns out to be a waste of my time—"
"Then you can leave," Magnus cut in smoothly, waving a hand dismissively. "Like I said, I'm not forcing you to stay. Just try the tea thing. Worst case? You hate it, you storm out dramatically, and Bob here gets sent on another mission."
Bob twitched slightly at that.
The elf crossed her arms, still suspicious. "And best case?"
Magnus' golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable.
"Best case?" He smirked. "You make the best damn tea in the Demon Realm, and I never let you leave."
Bob thought to himself, "Isn't that the worst-case scenario?"