The Dark Citadel was usually a symphony of terrifying sounds: the grinding of gears, the chanting of cultists, the roar of dragons. But today, the Citadel was silent. An eerie, heavy silence hung over the obsidian corridors, disturbing the guards more than any invasion ever could.
General Grakk (the Orc) stood by the water cooler—which was actually a skull dispensing blood-orange juice—and whispered to a Goblin.
"Why is it so quiet?" Grakk rumbled. "Where is the Boss? usually, by 9:00 AM, he has shouted at someone about the grain supply."
"I don't know!" the Goblin whimpered. "Maybe he ascended? Maybe he conquered the world while we were sleeping?"
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the Royal Quarters burst open. Lilith, the High Secretary, flew out. Her usually impeccable hair was slightly askew, and she looked genuinely panicked.
"Emergency!" Lilith screeched, clutching a bucket of ice. "Code Black! The Dark Lord has fallen!"
The hallway erupted into chaos.
"Fallen?!" Grakk roared, drawing his axe. "Who killed him? Was it the Hero? I will crush them!"
"He is not dead, you idiot!" Lilith snapped. "He is overheating! His temperature is critical! He has... The Sniffles."
The monsters froze. They looked at each other.
"The... sniffles?" Grakk whispered, confused. "Is that a Ninth-Tier poison?"
"It is a human ailment!" Lilith cried. "He spent too much time in Shadow-Port yesterday with her! His immune system wasn't ready for the sea breeze! He has a cold!"
At that moment, a small, silver-haired figure strolled down the hallway. Elara was humming a cheerful tune, spinning a thermometer on her finger like a dagger. She was wearing her new officer's uniform, but she had added a white armband with a red cross on it.
"Morning, everyone!~" Elara chirped.
"You!" Lilith pointed a shaking finger at her. "This is your fault! You dragged him to the seaside! You made him eat street food! Now the Lord of Darkness is bedridden!"
"Relax, Secretary-chan," Elara smiled, pushing her glasses up her nose. "It's just a little Mana Fever. Humans get it all the time. I know exactly how to treat it."
She cracked her knuckles.
"Operation: Nursing the Demon Lord is a go. Clear the hallway. I need silence, boiling water, and... does anyone have a rubber duck?"
The Royal Bedchamber
The Demon Lord's bedroom was exactly what one would expect: massive, gloomy, and draped in black velvet. The bed was the size of a small island, with posts carved from the bones of ancient leviathans.
In the center of this terrifying bed lay Valdred.
He looked miserable.
His armor was gone, replaced by black silk pajamas. A cooling pad (a frozen slime) was plastered to his forehead. His face was flushed red, his eyes were glassy, and he was shivering despite the mountain of blankets piled on top of him.
"Ugh..." Valdred groaned. The sound was not a menacing roar. It was a pathetic, gravelly whimper.
The door creaked open.
"Knock knock!~"
Elara skipped into the room. She was carrying a tray with a steaming bowl, a glass of water, and a terrifyingly large spoon.
"Go away," Valdred croaked, pulling the blanket over his nose. "I am... busy. I am meditating. On... pain."
"You're sick, Boss," Elara said, setting the tray on the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to dip. "Lilith said your temperature is 103. You're literally hot right now."
"I am not sick," Valdred insisted, his voice cracking. "Demon Lords do not get sick. My body is merely... purging weakness. It is a tactical biological reset."
Achoo!
Valdred sneezed. It wasn't a normal sneeze. A small burst of dark fire shot out of his nose and incinerated a nearby pillow.
"Bless you," Elara giggled, extinguishing the burning feathers with a wave of her hand. "Wow. Even your sneezes are dangerous. You really are a walking disaster."
She leaned over him, placing her hand on his cheek. Her skin was cool against his burning face. Valdred flinched, but he didn't pull away. He was too weak to fight her.
"You're burning up," Elara murmured, her voice dropping the teasing tone for a split second. "You really overdid it yesterday, huh? Trying to look cool in that trench coat."
"It was... necessary camouflage," Valdred mumbled, closing his eyes. Her hand felt nice. He hated that it felt nice.
"Well, lucky for you, I'm here," Elara announced, pulling her hand back and picking up the bowl. "I made you my special recovery soup. It's an old family recipe. It has ginger, garlic, mana-herbs, and a little bit of Phoenix tear."
"Phoenix tear?" Valdred opened one eye. "That is an S-Class alchemical ingredient. Where did you get it?"
"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," Elara winked. She scooped up a spoonful of the broth. It glowed faintly gold. "Now, say 'ahh'."
Valdred stared at the spoon. "I can feed myself."
"No, you can't. Your hands are shaking. If you try, you'll spill it on your silk pajamas, and Lilith will cry. Just open up, Boss."
"I refuse to be fed like an infant!" Valdred protested, trying to sit up.
He made it about six inches before his head spun and he collapsed back onto the pillows.
"See?" Elara smirked. "Weak. Pathetic. Helpless."
She leaned in closer, looming over him.
"You know..." she whispered, a mischievous glint in her violet eyes. "You look kind of cute when you're this vulnerable. Usually, you're all 'I am the King of Cinders', but right now? You're just a big, grumpy teddy bear."
Valdred's face turned even redder, which shouldn't have been medically possible. "I am NOT a teddy bear!"
"Then prove it," Elara challenged. She held the spoon to his lips. "Eat the soup. If you're a big strong Demon Lord, you can handle a little spoon, right? Or are you scared of my cooking?"
It was a blatant provocation. Valdred knew it. But his pride (and his fever-addled brain) wouldn't let him back down.
He opened his mouth.
Elara fed him the soup.
It was... incredible. It was warm, savory, and sent a tingle of healing magic straight to his core. He involuntarily sighed in relief.
"Good boy," Elara cooed, patting his head.
Valdred choked. "Do not... call me that."
"Eat up. You need your strength. Because once you're better, you have a lot of paperwork to do. I put all my expense reports on your desk."
"You... are evil," Valdred muttered, accepting another spoonful.
"I know," Elara beamed. "That's why you hired me."
The Corridor Outside
While the domestic scene unfolded inside, a shadow moved through the hallway.
It wasn't a demon. It wasn't a guard.
It was a figure clad in tight-fitting gray leather, blending perfectly into the stonework. A mask covered the lower half of his face. On his chest was the emblem of the Hero's Party—specifically, the "Black Ops" division.
This was Ren, the Royal Assassin.
Leo had not taken the "pig farm" incident well. He had sent Ren with a single order: Infiltrate the Citadel while they are distracted and eliminate the Demon Lord while his guard is down.
Ren crept toward the Royal Bedchamber. He had bypassed the outer wards thanks to Elara's modifications (he had found a backdoor she left open for pizza delivery, which was a massive security flaw, but convenient for him).
He listened at the door. He heard voices.
"Open wide..."
"Mmmph."
"Good boy."
Ren paused. What on earth is happening in there?
He shook his head. Focus. The Demon Lord was sick. This was the chance of a lifetime. If he killed Valdred now, he would be a legend. He would get his own statue. He might even get a raise.
Ren drew two poisoned daggers. He placed his hand on the door handle.
Click.
He pushed the door open silently and slipped inside.
The Royal Bedchamber
Elara was scraping the bottom of the bowl. "Last bite, Valdred. Come on. Don't leave leftovers."
"I am full," Valdred complained. "I feel like a stuffed turkey."
"You need the calories to—"
Elara stopped mid-sentence. She didn't turn around. She didn't flinch. She just froze the spoon in mid-air.
"Boss," she said, her voice dropping to a conversational tone. "Did we order room service?"
Valdred, whose senses were dulled by fever, blinked. "No. Why?"
"Because," Elara said, "there is a man in gray spandex standing behind me with a knife."
Valdred's eyes widened. He tried to sit up, summoning his mana. "Assassin!"
Ren lunged. He was fast. Faster than any human had a right to be. He aimed for Valdred's throat.
But Elara was faster.
She didn't use a spell. She simply spun around on the bed, swinging the heavy ceramic soup bowl with terrifying velocity.
CLANG!
The bowl connected with the flat of Ren's dagger, deflecting the strike. The assassin skidded back, landing in a crouch.
"The Hero's Assassin," Elara noted, adjusting her glasses. She hopped off the bed and stood between Ren and Valdred. She was unarmed, holding only a spoon and an empty bowl. She was wearing bunny slippers.
Ren narrowed his eyes. "Elara the Traitor. Step aside. My quarrel is with the monster."
"Traitor is such a harsh word," Elara said, tossing the bowl onto the couch. She tapped the spoon against her palm. "I prefer 'Headhunter Success Story'."
"You are protecting him?" Ren scoffed. "He is weak! Look at him! He is shivering!"
"He's taking a sick day," Elara snapped. "Even monsters need rest. And you..." Her eyes narrowed. "You interrupted his soup time. That is unforgivable."
"I will kill you both!" Ren shouted. He blurred forward, his daggers weaving a net of steel.
"Valdred!" Elara shouted without looking back. "I need ammo! Praise me!"
"What?!" Valdred coughed, struggling to lift his head. "Now?! You are fighting an assassin with a spoon!"
"My magic is low because I used it all on the soup!" Elara yelled, dodging a slash that took a lock of her hair. "I need a recharge! Tell me I'm a good nurse! Tell me the soup was delicious! DO IT!"
Ren slashed again. Elara backflipped over the bed, landing on Valdred's chest (knocking the wind out of him).
"Oof!" Valdred groaned.
"Praise me!" Elara grabbed his pajama collar, shaking him.
"The soup!" Valdred wheezed, looking at the assassin charging at them. "The soup was... exquisite! The flavor profile was balanced! It was the best thing I have eaten in centuries!"
Flash.
A golden aura burst from Elara's skin.
"More!" she demanded, looking at Ren who was mid-air.
"And..." Valdred panicked, his fever brain grasping for words. "And you look... incredibly... distinct... in that nurse outfit! It is... highly efficient!"
"Efficient?!" Elara yelled. "That's a 5/10! Try harder!"
"You are beautiful!" Valdred screamed, his face burning hotter than the fever. "You are the most beautiful, terrifying, chaotic creature in existence, and I forbid you to die!"
CRITICAL HIT.
Elara's eyes turned pure white. The air in the room grew heavy, crushing the furniture. The spoon in her hand began to glow, transforming, elongating until it was a staff made of pure, solidified light.
"Thank you, Valdred-sama," she whispered, her voice vibrating with power.
She turned to Ren.
Ren stopped mid-air. He realized, too late, that he had made a mistake.
"Wait," Ren said. "We can talk about this."
"Time for your medicine," Elara said coldly.
She swung the staff of light.
"Support Magic: Get Out Of My Room!"
The spell hit Ren squarely in the chest. It wasn't a killing spell. It was a Banishing spell, amplified by the hysterical strength of a praised maiden.
Ren didn't just fly backward. He was launched.
He smashed through the heavy oak door. He smashed through the stone wall of the hallway. He smashed through the outer wall of the Citadel.
He flew across the dark plains, a twinkling star in the distance.
Elara stood there, panting. The light staff faded back into a spoon.
She looked at the hole in the wall.
"Oops," she said. "Lilith is going to bill me for that."
She turned back to Valdred.
The Demon Lord was staring at her with wide, feverish eyes. He was clutching the blankets to his chest.
"You..." Valdred whispered. "You saved me."
Elara climbed back onto the bed. She crawled over to him, her face still slightly flushed from the power surge. She took the cooling pad (which had fallen off) and stuck it back on his forehead.
"Of course I saved you," she said softly, smoothing his hair back. "You're my partner, remember? If you die, who's going to tell me I'm pretty?"
Valdred looked at her. Really looked at her.
"I would tell you," he said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the fever. "Even if I were dead. I would haunt you just to tell you."
Elara froze. Her hand stopped moving on his forehead.
She stared at him. Then, she slowly pulled the blanket up to cover her face, hiding a smile that threatened to split her face in two.
"You're cheating," she muffled through the wool. "Using the fever to be honest. That's unfair, Demon Lord-sama."
"I do not know what you mean," Valdred closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. "I am delirious. I will not remember any of this."
"Liar," Elara whispered.
She sat there for a while, watching him drift off to sleep. The hole in the wall let in a cold draft, but she simply cast a small barrier spell to plug it.
She curled up at the foot of the massive bed, hugging a pillow.
"Get well soon, Boss," she murmured. "We have a world to conquer. And... I have more outfits to show you."
Epilogue: The Next Morning
Valdred woke up feeling fantastic. The fever was gone. His mana was fully restored.
He sat up, stretching his massive arms.
"I am healed!" he declared.
He looked around the room. The hole in the wall was boarded up with planks that had "SORRY" painted on them in pink paint.
Elara was gone.
But on his nightstand, next to the empty soup bowl, was a piece of paper.
It was a bill.
INVOICE FOR NURSING SERVICES
Provider: Elara, Head Mage / Nurse / Queen of Spoons
Services: Soup preparation, Temperature checks, Assassin removal, Emotional Support.
Total Cost: One (1) Date to the upcoming 'Festival of Shadows'.
Note: Wear the trench coat.
Valdred stared at the note. He picked it up.
"A festival," he muttered. "Crowds. Noise. Frivolity."
He looked at the empty bowl. He remembered the taste of the soup. He remembered her fighting for him.
He carefully folded the note and placed it in the secret compartment of his nightstand, right next to the dried flower from Shadow-Port.
"Lilith!" Valdred roared, his voice booming with its usual authority.
The door flew open. "Yes, my Lord! You are alive!"
"Prepare my schedule," Valdred commanded, standing up and summoning his armor. "And... find out when this 'Festival of Shadows' is held. I have a... diplomatic engagement."
Lilith sighed, pulling out her clipboard.
"Understood, my Lord. Shall I also prepare a budget for cotton candy?"
"Yes," Valdred said, hiding a smirk. "Lots of it."