…..Crrrack.
I don't like it.
The atmosphere in the Demon King's castle these days.
The recent goings-on around here.
None of it sits right with me.
"Hoo."
Upon hearing the news that the 3rd Star Master had been strung up as the new lightning rod, Hartok had come all the way to the potato field to confirm the shocking truth for himself and let out a quiet sigh.
'So it was true.'
The 3rd Star Master—confirmed.
And yet, it didn't make sense.
It hadn't even been a full day since the messenger from the 2nd legion brought news of the swamp invasion by the 3rd Star Master. And yet, could the 3rd Star Master really be tied up here like this?
No.
Impossible.
It defied logic.
To go from the Demon King's castle through the Cliff of the Dead down to the Swamp of Decay and then return? At minimum, it would take six days, and generously, a full ten days.
'But you're telling me they captured the 3rd Star Master—who was likely commanding a legion—just like that, and brought them back to the Demon King's castle? And did all of that in less than a day?'
How?
What was the secret?
No amount of thinking or guessing could reveal it.
His head throbbed on its own.
And yet, the bigger headache was something else entirely.
"Hoo… huuu…!"
While lost in serious contemplation, someone passed by with a strange wheezing breath. Who among the demons would dare pass so noisily beside a member of the Four Heavenly Kings without permission?
He shot a glance.
It was Asurat.
And for some reason, his face looked a little pale and drained.
"Ha, haha… a new lightning rod… my replacement… has arrived, huh… huhuh… hahuhuh…"
"......"
He didn't look pleased at all.
If anything, as he stared at the 3rd Star Master, strung up like a mat dummy, it seemed he was recalling the nightmares of his own past.
Pathetic.
Indescribably so.
'And that is supposed to be one of the Four Heavenly Kings…?'
Hartok openly shot a contemptuous glare at Asurat's staggering back. The more he thought about it, the more pathetic it all seemed—none of it sat right with him.
Was it just Asurat?
No.
To be honest…
Everyone here, except himself, was utterly pathetic!
'Baal, that muscle-brained idiot, wagged his tail at Credos ages ago. Asurat? Don't even need to say it. Ever since he started that lightning rod commute or whatever, he can't even make eye contact with Credos. And even Sirgi—that ice maniac—I believed she at least maintained some pride worthy of a member of the Four Heavenly Kings…'
But in the end, no.
Ever since the day she was put to work cutting seed potatoes, even Sirgi's attitude toward Credos had shifted in some unsettling way.
How should he put it?
She seemed a bit… dazed?
Or maybe, softened?
"........"
Idiots.
Inferior, low-grade fools.
The fact that an extraordinary and superior being like himself was lumped together with such incompetent trash as a fellow member of the Four Heavenly Kings—Hartok found it utterly lamentable.
'So then… one day, I will claim the Demon King's throne. And when that day comes, I'll prove once and for all just how vastly superior I am to all of you.'
When that day comes.
Someday, that day will come.
Then everyone will recognize his true worth.
In this abandoned land, crawling with rotten, dead-eyed fools, his real value would finally be known far and wide.
'Just wait until that day!'
Crack!
Hartok clenched his teeth again, renewing his resolve.
But just then—
"…tok?"
Crrrack! Crack!
"…tok? What are you doing?"
Crraack!
"Hartok? Are you grinding your teeth? Sleep-talking?"
"........"
Someone was calling his name, again and again.
Only after a moment of stewing in his solitary frustrations, grinding and polishing them down in his mind, did Hartok finally hear the voice.
He snapped back to reality.
He looked up.
And saw it clearly.
The stern and prickly face of the Demon King, Credos, speaking to him.
"Hmph, not listening properly? Try to focus. What I'm about to explain now—this sprout-thinning—is really important for potato farming. That's why I summoned all the Four Heavenly Kings and the farming corps, right?"
"…Ah, yes."
Was that so?
Since when?
"....."
Apparently, while he'd just been standing there lost in thought, everyone had been summoned around him. Which would explain why Baal, Sirgi, Asurat, and the farming corps were all lined up neatly in the area. Centered around him.
'The center of a bunch of inferior idiots, huh.'
Once again, Hartok found this situation—him, standing here—the entire thing, just pathetic.
But while he was silently drowning in this new wave of existential dread, Kim Jangcheol's farming lecture was moving along without a hitch.
"Alright, as you all probably know by now, soon the potato sprouts will start emerging from the soil. That's why we need to do sprout-thinning. If we don't want the potato crop to fail, everyone here needs to learn the proper technique for thinning sprouts, got it?"
Kim Jangcheol spoke solemnly.
Baal shot his hand up with vigor.
"Baal is good at sprout-thinning! Whose eyeballs should I gouge out?!"
"Huh? Huhuh? That's not the kind of sprout-thinning I meant."
Kim Jangcheol chuckled and pointed at the potato field.
"I'm talking about trimming the sprouts that'll come up soon."
"Baal is good at trimming sprouts!"
"Right. I hope so."
"Baal cut all the sprouts!"
"Whoa there. Don't do that."
"Baal, confused!"
"Then just listen to the explanation for now."
"Baal, listening!"
"…Good. So, just so you know in advance, usually from one seed potato, you'll get anywhere from three to six sprout stems. Now, is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"If there's a lot, Baal happy!"
"Tsk. That's actually a problem."
"Baal, confused!"
"If there are too many, we need to reduce them. A moderate amount is best."
"This is hard!"
"......."
Once again, a bitter smile crept onto Kim Jangcheol's lips.
Watching the exchange, Hartok let out an internal sigh.
As expected, it was pathetic.
That dumb and hopeless Baal, and even Demon King Credos, who insisted on trying to explain it to someone like Baal.
'....'
How much longer do I have to keep going along with the idiotic antics of these fools? Just how long must I continue to be lumped together and treated the same as these inferior creatures?
Pathetic.
These guys.
And me.
Everything,
None of it sat right with him.
This sprout-thinning talk that Credos was giving now.
The part about how having too many stems isn't good.
Hartok felt like he could figure out the reason just from intuition. But the fact that none of the others seemed to get it—just tilting their heads or standing around with their mouths wide open—was beyond frustrating.
Pathetic.
He was fuming inside.
Maybe that's why it happened.
Hartok, who had been quietly standing by, unknowingly opened his mouth. As if speaking to himself, he muttered the answer he'd been guessing at in his mind.
".....I suppose if there are too many stems, the nutrients meant for the potato root—the part we actually eat—might get taken up by the stems instead, so it's probably a method to prevent that."
"Oh?"
"....."
"Who just muttered that?"
"......"
Crap.
Hartok quickly shut his mouth.
But it was no use.
Thanks to Baal yelling out and tattling(?) beside him.
"Baal heard it! Hartok muttered it!"
"Oh? Hartok did?"
"....."
The Demon King Credos's gaze pierced into him.
A surprised, almost impressed look in his eyes.
That look made Hartok uncomfortable.
Suddenly, he felt it was pathetic and irritating.
'He's giving me that look just because I guessed that right? As if he's evaluating me?'
...Fwoosh!
In that moment, Hartok felt fire rising inside him.
That kind of praise-filled gaze, the kind he'd expect to be thrown at someone like dumb Baal, was now being sent his way? Treating him like that?
It was humiliating.
So, without meaning to, he opened his mouth again.
To prove himself.
To show he was different from these inferior beings.
Fueled by that thought alone, he adjusted his voice.
"I think it's actually a rather simple principle. Since the part we eat is the potato formed in the soil from the roots, if there are too many non-edible stems, the potato lumps likely won't grow big because the nutrients get spread out."
"Oooh, and?"
"So, thinning the stems to a reasonable number would help maintain balance, I'd assume."
"Oooh, how many, do you think?"
"I'd say, about two stems would be ideal. If we only consider nutrient preservation, leaving just one stem would be best, but if that one stem were to break or get damaged by mistake, the root's potato would die. That's too risky."
"Oooh, so leaving two stems as a safety measure sounds best?"
"Yes, that's right."
"That's your interpretation of sprout-thinning, Hartok?"
"Well, yes, it is."
Hartok finished speaking and immediately regretted it.
He thought he'd spoken out unintentionally.
But at the same time, he felt oddly relieved.
These endlessly clueless idiots.
These pathetic, underdeveloped fools.
He'd finally had a moment to clearly express how different he was from them—and that moment brought a strange sense of relief and satisfaction.
'…Still, Credos, that fool who's just as dumb as the rest, probably doesn't even realize how incredible this deduction is—made purely from observing the situation and the flow of conversation, despite my complete lack of farming experience.'
There's no way Credos would know.
No way.
He's just as clueless as the rest.
Always has been, always will be.
And yet…
"Hartok? Not bad at all. That's exactly the correct answer."
"…Pardon?"
What?
What did Credos just say?
Hartok was a little stunned by the unexpected situation.
And in the meantime, Kim Jangcheol's praise continued.
"So yeah, that's actually really impressive. Hartok, have you ever farmed before?"
"…Uh, no, I haven't."
"Wow. Then it's even more impressive."
"Y-yes, I suppose so…"
"Of course it is. Before I even explained what sprout-thinning is, you deduced the key concept and reached the correct conclusion just from the situation I laid out and the direction of the discussion, right?"
"..."
Hartok went silent.
Honestly, he was a little flustered.
What was he even supposed to say in a moment like this?
All he did was say what came to mind.
He just couldn't stand how no one else seemed to reach such an obvious answer. The situation was so frustrating and ridiculous that he blurted out a few words without thinking.
And yet, why was everyone treating him like this…?
"Alright then, everyone. Did you hear that? Our very own Hartok of the Four Heavenly Kings just gave a brilliant explanation of sprout-thinning through keen insight and accurate deduction. So let's all give Hartok a round of applause."
Clap clap clap!
"........"
The sound of applause.
Dumb Baal giving him a thumbs-up nearby.
And even Credos, who'd unexpectedly praised him in front of everyone.
Hartok found the entire situation bewildering.
And strangely enough—
'I—I'm… happy? Why does this… kind of praise… make me feel… like this?'
The schemer among the Four Heavenly Kings.
A demon known for his arrogance above all.
Hartok was even more flustered—at himself—for feeling genuinely happy from this flood of praise.
[T/L: Read more chapters here: https://ko-fi.com/revengerscans ]