Somewhere in a Northern domain, ringed in by buildings that looked poor and worn with age, stood a lord's manor gleaming with gold and splendor.
"Hahaha! The taxes the people have handed over lately are up on last year. You've done well, Captain of the Guard."
The lord bared teeth capped in alternating gold and silver, making no effort at all to hide his greedy grin. His belly, big as a sandbag, filled the whole of a two-seater sofa in one great mass, and in a hand crowded with jeweled rings he held a glass of red wine, tipping it slowly toward a mouth like a pair of sausages.
Behind the sofa stood the maids — some older and tall, some young and slight — each in black-and-white livery, arrayed in rows like finely made dolls. Look closer, though, and every one of them carried bruises, on their bodies and even on their faces, and the vacancy in their eyes sat badly against their pretty features.
"My Lord, the slave— the servant trade is going smoothly as well. A good many nobles are quite taken with the goods that come out of your estate, and I'll scout out more to send to the manor."
Beside the iron-armored warrior stood a minister in gorgeous dress, who flicked his gaze toward the rows of maids at the lord's back to make his point.
"So you've been earning your keep too, Finance Minister."
The fat lord set down his wine glass and burst out laughing again. "Very good. I'll allocate the pair of you more assets. But know where the line is — if the Empire's inspection corps sniffs this out, it won't be a joke."
"Heh heh, rest easy, my Lord. Our domain is remote. We need only keep on good terms with the Empire's loyal dogs who come through on the annual inspection."
"From the sound of that, you're rather friendly with the Lord Inspector who's always turning up here?"
The Finance Minister said nothing, only traded a knowing smile with the lord. At his side, the guard captain — seeing that the Finance Minister had won the greater share of their master's favor — was on the verge of bristling and putting in a word of his own.
And in that very instant, the unexpected struck!
The manor's great doors groaned open. An uninvited guest walked into the room.
The tall, man-shaped figure carried a gate guard dangling from each hand. Blood traced the corners of both men's mouths; their necks had been wrung long since. It was that display, more than anything, that kept the manor's timid servants — people long broken by fear of their lord — from daring to stand in the intruder's way.
"Who are you?"
The fat lord, until a moment ago basking in his own delight and mapping out his enterprise, went blank.
The two "loyal retainers" kneeling on one knee before him rose and turned to look.
"D-Demon Race?"
The shrewd, cunning Finance Minister saw the pair of devil-like horns first, and backed away two steps without meaning to.
"Trespassing in the lord's manor—" The iron-armored guard captain reacted fast, drawing his sword without a shred of hesitation and cutting at the intruder.
Under the fat lord's trembling gaze, the tall Demon Race figure merely waved a hand, and the guard captain — longsword raised high mid-swing — became one of the golden statues his master loved so well.
The Finance Minister, who had spun around to flee behind the lord, froze in the act of looking back.
The fat lord swallowed audibly and squirmed on the sofa. "Whatever you want, I can give you. Whatever price the one who sent you is paying, I can pay more."
A classic bit of boilerplate. It was hardly the first time Macht had heard it.
"Your life will be enough."
For the fat lord, Macht didn't bother with Golden Transmutation Magic. He simply turned one arm into a long golden blade.
"Hey! You slaves! Get over here and protect me!"
All that fat and the soft cushions had melded like two lumps of clay pressed together; no matter how he heaved, the fat lord could not get up off the sofa. "Quick — two of you, come and help me up!"
He watched Macht come toward him step by step, as though the Reaper's scythe were drawing closer and closer to his neck.
The fat lord let out something close to a furious wail. "What are you good for?! Are you begging for the whip again?!"
But when he twisted around to look, at some point the silent row of servants had all become golden statues — even the bruises and welts on their skin had turned to glittering gold.
The fat lord's eyes bulged nearly out of his skull. For the first time in his life, he hated the sight of gold.
"I see that expression often. That's despair, isn't it?"
Without a flicker of hesitation, Macht's arm rose and the blade came down.
This was the task Glück had given him. In this domain, from the guard corps up through the noble ministers to the lord himself, every one of them was a beyond-redemption degenerate with a long record of crimes. They had even reached the black hand of their slave trade into the outskirts of the fortress city of Weise.
With the lord dealt with, Macht undid the Golden Transmutation on the minister and the guard captain in turn, and drove a killing blow into each of them.
Bodies struck the floor one after another. Teacher Ma's face never changed.
At last his gaze settled on the row of gleaming golden maids. They weren't targets — but they were witnesses.
Then a line Glück had once said to him came back: "The people of a domain are innocent."
After a quick check that each of his targets was thoroughly dead, and a few extra thrusts to be sure of it, Macht strolled out of the lord's manor with not a soul to bar his way.
On his way out through the city gate, he saw the guard who had earlier charged him a gold coin as a toll now harassing a woman who was likewise leaving the city.
He scooped up a handful of dust from the ground and walked silently up behind the man. The dirt became a golden needle.
The impossibly sharp golden needle slid straight into the back of the guard's neck.
Macht walked on through the gate without breaking stride.
The struggling woman felt the big hand clamped on her shoulder go slack. The guard still wore his leering snarl, and a small point of gold stood out from his neck.
With a thud he toppled over stiff as a plank, and a gold coin dropped out of his pocket.
Something seemed to dawn on her; heedless of the tears spilling over, the woman ran out beyond the walls.
But that tall figure was long gone.
Inside the gilded manor, the household servants came free of the Golden Transmutation. When they found the lord and his lackeys dead in their blood, some were horrified, some stood dazed, and some wept with relief.
On the road back to Weise,
Macht felt a faint twinge of regret. He should have lingered a while longer, to watch how those Humans reacted to losing their lord.
"It's been a long time, Macht. I'm glad to see you again."
The voice from behind him brought Macht to a halt.
"Weren't you dead, Schlacht?"
His expression didn't shift, but resistance and surprise rose in him all the same.
Once he turned and got a clear look at the cloaked Demon Race figure, Macht was certain of it: the Omniscient One really hadn't died.
"That was the last time I ever helped you. I won't take your orders again."
Macht refused outright, before Schlacht had so much as made the request.
"Miracle has taken my side, Macht. You should come as well. It's all for the future of the Demon Race."
"Don't threaten me with that reason again. His magic is a bad matchup for me, I'll grant you — but if I go all out, none of you will have an easy time of it."
Feeling Macht's refusal, Schlacht extended a hand.
"Then let us make a wager. If, when you go back, what you find is the corpse of that lord named Glück — then betray him and join us. And if not, I won't press you."
That was the first thing to move Macht. His brow drew together a little; he hadn't expected the other to have acted so quickly already.
"Seems I'm the same as I ever was. You still lead me around in circles."
It was a wager Macht had no choice but to accept.
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