After Demiurge arrived, Henry instructed Sebas to wait outside. The butler bowed silently and retreated, closing the heavy obsidian doors behind him with a soft, resonant click that echoed through the room like a final punctuation mark.
Demiurge stepped forward into the dimly lit study, his polished shoes clicking precisely against the marble floor.
Demiurge bowed deeply and asked, "What do you require of me, my lord?" His voice was smooth, softened almost noticeably when addressing Henry alone.
Henry offered a small, warm smile from behind the desk. "Just some question about the documents."
He had already reviewed and signed everything necessary for Nazarick's continued seamless operation: supply requisitions, intelligence summaries, even minor labor reallocations among the undead and heteromorphic servants.
The approved stack sat neatly to one side. Yet he did not reach for them immediately. Instead, he picked up one particular report—and slid it gently across the polished surface toward the demon.
"This is the one you wrote, isn't it?"
Demiurge accepted the document with both hands. His gloved fingers flipped through the pages with practiced speed, eyes scanning the dense script, intricate diagrams of golem cores, mana-flow disruption patterns, and layered countermeasures. After a moment, he nodded once, crisp and confident.
"Yes, this is the document I prepared. Is there something wrong, my lord? Did I overlook any flaws?"
The question was polite, but there was an undercurrent of genuine concern. Demiurge prided himself on flawlessness. Any imperfection, no matter how minor, was a personal affront to his existence.
Henry leaned back in his chair, "Can you create a simpler version?"
Demiurge tilted his head ever so slightly—a reptilian gesture that betrayed mild surprise. "But I don't believe it's necessary for Lord Momonga, Lord Ulbert, or yourself, my lord. This detail ensures maximum precision, and any ambiguity could lead to suboptimal execution."
Henry's smile remained soft. "Of course it is—for us. I know it's accurate—actually, it's perfect." Henry tapped one finger lightly against the table. "The explanation on how to nullify golems is correct. The breakdown of the resonance cancellation, the sequential disruption of core bindings… But it's completely useless if—" He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to emphasize the point. "Do you think Shalltear or Cocytus would be able to understand and follow this?"
Demiurge's squinted eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I… suppose they would not. but this document wasn't intended for them—"
"I know, love," Henry interrupted gently, voice never rising. "I'm not saying the accuracy is the issue. I'm only wondering… if there could be a version that's easier for everyone to grasp. You know how Nazarick operates, Ulbert, I—especially Momonga—will sometimes pass some work to the other Floor-Guardians. And if the instructions are too dense, mistakes might happen. And especially Momonga, you know how he is. If a Floor Guardian messes up because of unclear instructions, he'll blame himself first before anyone else."
Henry murmured under his breath, barely audible, "I really need Momonga to break that habit…" He met Demiurge's gaze again. "Just make sure it can at least be understood by all the Guardians. that even Shalltear or Cocytus could understand without struggling, that would help a lot."
Demiurge fell silent. For several long seconds, the only sound was the faint hum of ambient magic in the walls. His mind raced behind that impassive face—analyzing, dissecting, recalibrating.
Lord Henry is correct.
My assumption—that the Supreme Beings would filter and interpret—was flawed. No. Not flawed. Incomplete. I failed to account for the chain of delegation that Lord Momonga's compassionate nature demands.
The realization stung, though he allowed none of it to show. "…I understand," Demiurge said at last, "I will adjust my approach and adapt accordingly. A clearer version will be prepared from now on."
He didn't look particularly happy. Understandable. Henry could read the subtle tension in his shoulders, the faint curl of his tail—pride warring with duty, perfectionism clashing against pragmatism.
Yeah… I'll make sure to apologize properly later. Even though I tried to say it as gently as possible, anyone would still feel a bit annoyed when being corrected like that. I'll give him whatever he wants later.
"Good," Henry said softly. "Just keep it readable for all the Guardians. You can also prepare a copy if you want—it won't take a long time and won't delay your other work."
He reached across and brushed the back of Demiurge's gloved hand with his fingertips—light, reassuring. "And please don't take this as I'm criticizing you. I just want Nazarick to operate efficiently."
Demiurge bowed his head a fraction deeper, "I do not take offense at all, my lord. I am grateful that you pointed this out to me. I never wish to cause even the smallest inefficiency. I truly appreciate your guidance, and I apologize deeply."
Henry's expression softened further. "And please don't apologize. You've done excellent work—really. Momonga and Ulbert haven't even seen this document yet since they're both away right now, so they don't know about any mistake that you made. This conversation stays here, just between us. You're doing great, Demiurge. Keep going, okay? I only mentioned it because I trust you to make it even better."
Only then did Henry hand over the fully signed documents—the stack that would keep the wheels of the Great Tomb turning without interruption, placing them carefully into Demiurge's waiting hands.
Demiurge accepted them with reverent care, cradling the parchments against his chest. He bowed once more—profound, lingering—then turned and exited the chamber with measured, graceful steps.
The doors closed behind him with the same soft click.
--------
In the corridor beyond, away from sight, Demiurge allowed his posture to ease—just a fraction. His tail swayed slowly, metallic plates whispering like distant chimes.
Henry-sama, My husband... how attentive, how extraordinarily perceptive he is. He doesn't just give vague praise or overlook small issues. He notices exactly which part I was mistaken in and corrects it with such gentleness.
I had optimized for the pinnacle of intellect, the Supreme Beings themselves. Yet in doing so, I neglected the reality of Nazarick's structure. Lord Momonga's self-sacrificing nature means he will shoulder any failure of those below him.
Even in something as minor as report-writing, he protects the people he values... protect me from ever causing unintended harm to nazarik.
A faint, genuine smile curved his lips—filled with quiet admiration and warmth.
I was… shortsighted. My reports have always been lauded for their depth, their foresight. Yet depth without accessibility becomes a barrier.
Shalltear would skim the first page, grow bored, and delegate without comprehension.
Cocytus would stare at the diagrams in stoic confusion, then charge ahead on instinct alone—potentially disastrous in scenarios requiring precision rather than brute force.
And because i don't notice it, he takes the time to show me where I fell short… gently, without ever diminishing my worth.
He exhaled slowly, his steps quickened, renewed purpose warming his core.
Demiurge's squinted eyes gleamed with renewed purpose as he disappeared down the shadowed corridor, already mentally drafting the revised template—grateful, enlightened, and quietly devoted, because the one who held his heart had taken the time to teach him, and guide him so thoughtfully.