I teleported directly into the audience chamber within the royal capital’s castle.
The sudden transition left the elves reeling. They huddled together in a tight group, seeking safety in numbers. Since they showed no signs of resisting, I felt no need to offer an explanation.
"My Lord Demon King!"
The doors swung open, and Grom appeared. He approached with a sycophantic rub of his hands.
"Welcome back, my lord. Might I ask what became of that group—of... these..."
His formal greeting withered away. Grom came to a halt, eyeing the elves with deep suspicion. His gaze was thick with revulsion. He was always like this toward anyone who wasn't part of the Demon King’s Army. If I left him to his own devices, he’d likely resort to threats, so I decided to nip it in the bud.
"Grom, a word."
"Yes! Your command, my lord!"
At my call, Grom dropped to one knee with visible delight. I wished he could maintain that level of decorum at all times, but I knew it was likely impossible. He was a troublesome loyalist, as always.
I decided to set his eccentricities aside for the moment. As Grom waited expectantly, I briefly summarized the situation and my intended course of action.
"As expected of my lord! To turn an unforeseen crisis into an opportunity and seize the elves for yourself... it is truly magnificent. Surely they must be overcome with joy to serve under your banner."
Having heard the explanation, Grom spoke with palpable satisfaction. He seemed to genuinely welcome the addition of new subordinates. To him, the prosperity of the Demon King’s Domain was the ultimate happiness.
I glanced back at the elves. They stood paralyzed, holding their breath. The terror they felt toward Grom was plain to see. It was easy to forget because of his fawning behavior, but Grom was a top-tier undead—a being capable of challenging entire nations alone. His mere presence radiated the cold finality of death. Facing such a creature, their fear was only natural.
Communication between the two parties seemed unlikely for now. I would have to manage things myself.
"We are going to intercept the Empire’s Army," I commanded. "Organize the forces. And inform Henry."
"Understood! I shall have them ready at once!"
Grom swept out of the room with fluid, theatrical grace. Despite his flamboyant movements, the door clicked shut without a sound. His management was always impeccable; having overseen numerous invasions, he knew exactly what was required. He would have an appropriate force assembled in no time. For all his quirks, Grom was a highly efficient chief of staff.
I turned my attention back to the uneasy elves. They stood there with anxious faces, with only the Acting Chief maintaining a semblance of composure. Whether she was truly calm or simply refusing to show weakness, I couldn't say, but her resolve was clear.
"...Now then."
I walked toward them. Ignoring their blatant wariness, I focused my mind. I needed to finish what I had started before the army was ready to march.
I invoked one of the many forbidden spells at my disposal. Countless beams of light lanced out from the void, striking the elves' hands. Those with sharper instincts tried to dodge, but the rays pursued them relentlessly. To the sound of searing heat, the elves' faces twisted in agony.
When the light faded, they looked down at their hands. Matching marks had manifested on the backs of their palms.
"W-what have you done...?"
The Acting Chief clutched her hand, her eyes flashing with silent reproach. It was only natural, given that I had just inflicted sudden pain upon them. I remained indifferent to her gaze.
"The Brand of Subservience. This ensures our contract is more than a mere verbal promise."
The mark I had placed upon them was imbued with magical power. It functioned as a deterrent against rebellion; I could inflict excruciating pain on them with a mere thought. If necessary, I could even force them to die in agony. Furthermore, the brand would be automatically passed down to their descendants. Its nature was closer to a curse than a simple spell. Since dispelling it would require a caster of my caliber or higher, it was effectively permanent.
With this, the elves belonged to me in both name and reality. I intended to place the same brand on their kin waiting in the Forest of the World Tree. I expected fierce resistance, but that was irrelevant. I had heard the Acting Chief’s resolve and accepted her answer. I would respect her choice by punishing any elf who dared to defy it. That was the role of the Demon King.
The elves exchanged terrified looks, touching their brands with a mixture of fear and growing hatred. In the midst of the tension, the Acting Chief stepped forward.
"I... I wish to return to the forest to report these events..."
"Very well. I shall go with you."
An explanation was essential for the elves remaining in the forest. It was better to clarify the situation before the interception army arrived to avoid unnecessary chaos.
I immediately cast teleportation magic, bringing the group with me to the Forest of the World Tree. It was a vast distance, but since I knew the coordinates, the jump was effortless. Far to the west of the Demon King’s Domain—beyond the borders of a fallen small nation—lay the ancient woods.
After a fleeting sensation of weightlessness, we were standing in the heart of the forest. The air was crisp and cool, saturated with a heavy concentration of magic power. I could distinctly feel the presence of spirits all around us.
However, the trees themselves radiated a holy aura. A dull, numbing ache throbbed through my skeletal frame. This was a land that rejected the undying. While the effect on me was manageable, lower-tier undead would find it difficult to function here. I would need to cast protection magic on my soldiers before bringing them in.
The area was silent. There were no immediate signs of battle, suggesting the conflict with the Empire hadn't reached this deep yet. As I surveyed the terrain, I sensed multiple presences closing in. They were attempting to be stealthy, but their movements were perfectly obvious to me.
Moments later, elves appeared in the canopy above. Nocked arrows were leveled at us from every direction. There were at least fifty of them. We were surrounded in an instant. They must have been alerted by the detection magic surrounding their territory. Their response time was impressive.
"Stop! Lower your weapons!" the Acting Chief shouted, her voice laced with panic. "If you strike now, we’re all—!"
She was terrified of me taking offense. She knew that, on a whim, I could slaughter every elf present. Yet, the archers did not lower their bows. They were clearly operating under orders—orders from someone significant enough to make them ignore the Acting Chief's desperate plea.
Amidst the volatile atmosphere, a group of elves approached from the front. They were accompanied by several guards, marking them as elders or high-ranking members of the tribe.
My eyes fixed on one man in particular.
He was an elven man with purple eyes, appearing to be in his early thirties. He wore a robe of simple but high-quality cloth and possessed a face that spoke of a resilient, iron-clad will.
At that moment, a sudden jolt of memory surged through me. Countless scenes flickered through my mind in a kaleidoscopic blur, bringing with them a sharp, stinging headache.
"......"
I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let the mental strain show. I stared intently at the man. It wasn't a trick of the light or a ghost of my imagination. He was truly, undeniably there.
His name was Logan Rhyn Freetilt.
He was one of the few men I had called a friend during my previous life as a human.