Diablo had played as a solo player for so long he couldn’t get used to acting in a group. He was, honestly speaking, terrible at being a part of one. But still, he had his dignity as a Demon Lord to maintain.
“Ah...that... Rafflesia said she knew the way to Greenwood. I thought you would find your way on your own even if I left you.”
“I do know, but the forest was so terribly disturbed. All the marks were gone.”
“Marks?”
“There are marks all over the trees, the type only Elves can see.”
Even if you knew where to go, you would get lost if the road itself was blown away.
“...While we were wandering through the forest, the Elves showed up,” Rem added. “We were going to ask them to lead us to the kingdom, but they attacked as soon as they saw a Dark Elf. It took some time to convince them.”
“Since you forbade Rose from killing them, Master.”
That was probably what had exhausted Rem and damaged Rose’s clothing.
Diablo nodded. “Your judgment was fine. This is Shera’s homeland, and they’re in a very delicate state of mind. Putting your strength on display is fine, but killing anyone would only complicate things.”
“Rose has a proposal, Master... If Master were to display Master’s power, Master would be able to wangle the Elves’ allegiance and resolve this situation early on. If Master only bestows the order upon Rose, Rose can easily make short work of a force of this size...”
—For heaven’s sake, don’t!
“Hmph... Cease your foolishness. What amusement would I gain from threatening such a backwater country? Are you trying to order me into doing such menial chores?”
“Pardon Rose for Rose’s lack of prudence.” Rose bowed her head again, and retreated back to the wall.
“Hohoho... Quite right.” Rafflesia smiled bitterly. “Being in charge of people can truly be a chore.”
Diablo then asked a question that sprung up in his mind. It was something that wasn’t written in Cross Reverie’s lore books.
“Is the Dark Elves’ rule also hereditary?”
“It is, at least fundamentally. But I... I was to wed the Dark Elven patriarch’s son, but I came from an unremarkable bloodline.”
“You were to wed him?”
“‘Tis a story that dates back to my childhood, but he was my fiancé, yes.”
“Hmph. And what happened to him?”
“Wha...!?”
Diablo failed to notice just how fake Rafflesia’s smile was, but Rem sat up in surprise.
“Ohoho... My fiancé was killed, by the Crusade. Even though he was but a child then.”
Even Diablo was rendered speechless.
“...Are you plotting revenge against the Elves?” Rem’s expression turned sharp.
“Perish the thought! I would never think to do something so terrible.”
“...That’s good then... The Crusade was sent by the Kingdom of Lyferia. I don’t know what happened back then, but wouldn’t blaming the Elves be misguided?”
“Misguided?”
“...I doubt the Elves could stand up to Lyferia’s elite soldiers. I believe they didn’t willingly abandon the Dark Elves, they simply lacked the means to resist.”
Rafflesia fell silent, only to sigh the next moment.
“I understand. I would be lying if I said I have no ill feelings in regard to this, but I carry the weight of many lives. I cannot throw away this opportunity for coexistence over a personal grudge.”
“Is that right?”
“Coming to this forest after so long has dug up old memories... More memories than I am willing to share. I’ve said some shameful things, so please, forget what I’ve spoken.”
Rafflesia smiled with her usual, serene expression. Things seem to have calmed down for now.
Just as Diablo thought it was about time for dinner, a bell rang from the door.
“...This is an Elven country, so I’m not getting my hopes up.” Rem combed up her hair. “I’d prefer meat to fruit right now, to be honest.”
The chance of weapons being aimed their way was a possible one, but it wasn’t the Demon Lord way to be vigilant to the point of nervousness. Diablo sat down imposingly as Rose opened the door.
An Elf in butler’s garb lowered his head respectfully.
“I beg your pardon. Her Majesty has asked to convey that you are all invited to a dinner party this evening.”
“...A banquet to hold negotiations, I suppose.” Rem shrugged.
“My oh my. An invitation to a dinner party by the Elven queen herself. How nerve-racking.” Though Rafflesia’s composed attitude remained unshaken.
“Heheheh...” Diablo rose from the sofa, flapping his cloak as he did. “Very well, we shall oblige to her invitation. Consider it an honor!”
†
The treetop dining hall was significantly different from what Diablo expected out of a royal dinner party. The large tree summit was flat, like the queen’s room, with large leaves spread over the floor. Fruits in an assortment of colors were placed on these leaves, and with no table or chairs, it was like a picnic.
The queen and Shera were already sitting, waiting for them. There were no guards in sight, but some were likely hiding in the nearby foliage. Should they do anything suspicious, the guards would probably shoot them down with arrows.
“Welcome, please feel free to sit wherever you find comfortable.” The queen gestured with a hand in the direction of the food. “You may not be used to Elven etiquette, but there’s no need to be worried about the little things.”
When they first met, the queen felt more like a friend’s mother, but right now she had the face of a country’s representative. And people who carried this much responsibility could be a pain to deal with.
“...We thank you for your warm hospitality despite our sudden arrival, and for inviting us to this feast.” Rem bowed politely.
Rafflesia sat opposite the queen. “Being surrounded by green leaves truly is nostalgic.”
Diablo sat without a word. His Demon Lord role play probably demanded he say something haughty, but he realized doing so would be the equivalent of blowing the conversation up with an explosive spell.
Even Shera was uncharacteristically quiet. Diablo fixed his gaze on hers, but was only met with silence. It looked like she had much to say, but couldn’t find the words; as if she were so deeply troubled she couldn’t even ask for help.
Diablo sighed. Things were probably all decided already, and not in a way Shera was pleased with.
The queen lifted a wooden goblet filled with fruit wine. “To God’s blessings, and our meeting here tonight. We cannot make a toast in this time of mourning, but do feel free to converse pleasantly.”
She then brought the goblet to her lips. Diablo and the others did the same.
“...Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Rem Galleu, an Adventurer from Faltra,” Rem said. “I often work alongside Princess Shera.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of you. You’ve saved my daughter on more than one occasion, I understand.”
“...We are comrades. Helping one another is a given.”
The queen’s brow furrowed at the sound of the word ‘comrades,’ but she didn’t inquire any further.
She then directed her gaze at Rose, who stood away from the rest of the group, but it seemed she didn’t count an attendant as one of their rank.
“The fruit would surely go bitter if we keep probing each other’s motives like this, so allow me to put aside all the unimportant details and ask,” Rafflesia opened the debate, then went straight to the point. “Do you intend to honor Princess Shera’s promise?”
“Yes, of course!” The queen surprisingly smiled.
“My oh my... What very pleasing news!”
“I have put much thought into it as well. The Elves and Dark Elves are related races, and despite what happened in the past we should still strive to coexist.”
“Quite true, what has happened, happ
ened, and we now live in the present.”
“Very much so.”
“So, what part of the forest will you give us? And when will it happen?”
Rafflesia was forcefully pressing the queen, whose expression turned pensive.
“Mmm. Regarding that matter, I believe we should each dispatch a representative and begin negotiations. As for when, what say you we do it after our new king is appointed? That way we should have everything decided before next winter. After that, I think we should hold a festival to celebrate the reconciliation of the Elves and Dark Elves.”
Shera seemed to be in favor of this suggestion, as her stiff expression softened. Rafflesia’s temples, on the other hand, shivered with emotion, despite the smile plastered on her face.
“...Are you quite serious?”
“Certainly.”
“You truly intended to... honor Princess Shera’s promise, Your Majesty? I believe the Elves...loathe us Dark Elves.”
“The majority of the Elves wish to reconcile with you. But many still fear you. I myself truly wish to put this grudge behind us. We once lived side by side after all.”
“Then, why didn’t you...!?” Rafflesia clenched her fists.
“Calm yourself.”
“Why did the Elves abandon us back then!?”
The queen took a deep breath. “It was during the Crusade. He... King Greenwood tried to oppose the Humans. But he couldn’t win.”
“Wha...!?”
“With the king taken hostage, we, the Elves, had no choice but to obey the Crusade, even though we knew what a terrible fate it would bring upon the Dark Elves. I’m so very, truly sorry.”
“Wh-Why... You’re telling me...after all this time... Do you honestly expect us to believe that!?”
“I can offer no evidence. That’s why you didn’t believe us at the time. Is this the first you’re hearing of this, Miss Rafflesia? We’ve tried reaching out and explaining to the Dark Elves many times. But that wouldn’t bring back all those lost lives, or your forest.”
“Exactly so... Even now...I find it all hard to believe.”
“But if it’s possible for us to reconcile, I believe that would be wonderful.”
“I do not believe you!” Rafflesia glared the queen down.
Shera and Rem listened to the argument impatiently, but kept out of it.
The silence lingered. Diablo hated this sort of atmosphere, and parted his lips to speak with annoyance.
“Calm yourself, Rafflesia. I didn’t think you to be so emotional. It seems you’re incapable of looking at the other person properly. All you can do is reflect upon, and see your own reflection in the process. Just as your heart is so full of hatred, you assume the other side must surely hate you as well.”
“So you are saying we are merely assuming things?”
“You carried a grudge for a thousand years, and never stopped to consider the Elves may not have had any ill will toward you. That alone speaks of how lacking in rationality you are. That said, the queen has no proof to back her words. You are free to believe or doubt her story of the Elven king’s defeat. Do as you will.”
This was a promise only the Dark Elves could resolve. How they accepted this and acted was entirely up to them. The words of Diablo, an outsider, couldn’t solve this problem. He was well aware he lacked the charisma and speechcraft for that.
Rafflesia rose to her feet, laughing dryly. “Aha, ahaha... We’ve been robbed of so much we lost sight of what was around us... Is that what you are saying? That we are only stubbornly wallowing in our grudges?”
“I didn’t think your grudge ran that deep. Please, forgive us. But do know, I truly have been waiting for a chance to reconcile. And I was sure things had changed.”
“Changed?”
“I was truly surprised when I heard Shera had visited your village. If it were the past, you would have surely shot her down without question.”
“...That is true.”
“So I thought that enough time had passed for that not to have happened.”
“It’s all too pitiful. It was all our misunderstanding in the end.”
“We truly did abandon the Dark Elves. That much is fact. It is only natural you resent us for it.”
“But King Greenwood...”
He did earnestly fight for the Dark Elves.
Rafflesia closed her eyes, and fell into a brief silence. She may have been mouthing a silent prayer.
“...The air here truly makes me nostalgic. I believe I’ve said all I had to say, so I will take my leave first. Princess Shera seems displeased with the man she is to marry, but...if I were to say anything on the matter, it would surely harm future relations between our races.”
She noticed Shera’s anxiety, it seemed. In that regard, she truly exemplified a leader of the races.
“I’m glad we’ve spoken, Miss Rafflesia.” The queen bowed forward.
“I will...believe your words. I wish to believe in them.”
“Thank you. We will hold Shera’s wedding in a few days. Will you stay and celebrate with us?”
“Why of course.”
Rafflesia turned on her heels and walked away. Rem sighed seeing her do so.
“...With the Demon Lord awakened, we would need all the races to cooperate and unite to defeat him. I hope this is a step in that direction.”
“Yes, I hope things are now settled with this.”
If anything, now was when the real challenge began...
†
Every race has its own standards of individual beauty and ugliness, and the Elves were no exception, it seemed.
“I thank you for graciously inviting me to this dinner party.”
The man who appeared had a slimy, viscous voice and looked less like an Elf and more like an Orc. Or, put more simply, he looked like a pig, and—not considering everything else—was incredibly fat.
Diablo wondered who he was as the queen beckoned him closer.
“Come, sit.”
“Duhuhu... Thank you, Your Majesty. Excuse me.”
He had a very distinct, somewhat greasy tone of voice. The Elves typically looked to be young and handsome, but he looked like some middle-aged man.
Wiping the sweat off his skin with a handkerchief, the man sat near the queen.
“...Um... Who is this...person...?” Rem inquired with a peculiar expression on her face.
“This gentleman is Drango,” the queen said with a smile. “I’ve chosen him to be Shera’s groom. He’s to be Greenwood’s next king!”
“Huuuuuuh!?” Rem’s eyes widened like saucers.
Shera was pale with shock.
“Drango is a very exceptional Elf,” the queen continued, unperturbed. “He is one of our finest archers, and he learned economics and proper governing skills outside the kingdom. And doesn’t he just seem so sturdy and dependable?”
“...So this is the Elven sense of aesthetics...”
“His facial features are a bit distinguished, I’ll admit.”
“...How do you feel about this, Shera?”
“Aaaaaah...” Shera shook her head desperately. For better or worse, her sense of taste certainly didn’t come from her mother.
“No, Shera.” The queen sighed. “If it were another Elf it would be one thing, but you tried to make a Demon our king. No one would agree to such a foolish idea.”
“...A demon... You mean...Diablo!? You were expecting to marry him, Shera!? Make him king of the Elves!?”
Rem’s tail stood on end. She wasn’t there to see Shera say it, Diablo came to realize.
Forgetting that she was in front of the queen, Rem bore her fangs. “Are you an idiot!? No, that’s not even a question, you are an idiot!”
“You’re so mean...”
Ignoring Shera’s meek whisper, Rem pointed at her face. “This was your ‘well-thought out, perfect plan’!? It’s definitely not thought out, and not even remotely perfect!”
“Uuu... But...”
“...Aaaaaa
rgh...” Rem cradled her head in despair. “Your Majesty, what do you think? Maybe you should postpone her marriage? She’s young and still needs time for her...brain...to develop.”
“I agree she’s still young. My, she’s only sixteen years old. But Greenwood needs a king as soon as possible. We have a commitment to God to abide to, and if we’re to keep our promise to the Dark Elves, we need Shera to marry as soon as she can.”
“...You’re telling her to put up with it for the good of the kingdom!?”
“That should be a given. That’s what it means to be royalty. Shera has lived a life without hardship, received exceptional education when she was little, and even received special equipment that is part of our national treasury. She received such treatment simply because she’s a princess. She’s been treated as a unique individual since the day she was born, so she has no right to be selfish when the time comes to give back to the kingdom.”
“...But Shera never chose to...”
“And do people choose to be born into poor families? To be the children of knights? Did you choose to be born a Pantherian?”
“...N-No, but...”
“A princess is to live as a princess should. Now that she’s the last heir to the royal blood, Shera has to fulfill this duty.”
This world had Demi-Humans and magic, and its society was roughly equivalent to the Middle Ages. It was a feudal era, based on hereditary inheritance. Your birth decided the life you’d lead.
—But I guess even in modern society, your environment influenced the life you’d lead as well.
Recalling all manner of unpleasant memories, Diablo fell into social-withdrawal mode. He sunk into the bog of the events of his embarrassing past, and when he came to, he found the conversation was already proceeding again.
“Duhuhu... Personally, I don’t want to force this on her,” Drango changed the subject. “But the Kingdom of Greenwood urgently needs a king. I’m afraid there’s no choice.”
The Elves depended on the blessings of the forest, and those were only granted to them by fulfilling their promise to God.
How NOT to Summon a Demon Lord: Volume 7 Page 13
