God-Tier Enhancement: My Upgrades Never Fail-Chapter 254: Episode _A Born Swindler (4)

6.

The aide was beside himself with anxiety.

“What if the Warlocks attack us?”

He had already been briefed on the war’s general situation. The Continental Army had won, and the Warlocks were on the run, being hunted down. On paper, there was nothing to worry about.

However, he had been born and raised to be the aide of the Rich Territory. He couldn’t help but be nervous about even a one-in-a-million possibility. On top of that, the memory of scraping by at rock bottom was etched into his very bones.

He was afraid that if anything went wrong, they would be thrown back into those dark days.

Of course, he wasn’t afraid for himself. Money came and went; he had learned that much as a child, back when the Rich Territory had been in its prime.

What worried him were the people of the territory. They had believed in him, believed in their Lord, and followed them here. These poor folk were only now seeing a sliver of light, and the thought of them being slaughtered by monsters once more, forced back into a daily struggle for survival, gnawed at him.

’When will the Sanctuary be returned...’

That was why he couldn’t relax. The territory’s physical defenses were excellent, but it was far too vulnerable to internal threats like curses or plagues. They had brought in priests from the temple as a stopgap measure, but he still couldn’t feel at ease.

How could anyone be satisfied with a mere sprinkling of holy water when they had once had a full Sanctuary protecting their home? Yet despite his worries, Han Simin did not return.

Fortunately, the Warlocks didn’t so much as show their faces anywhere near the Rich Territory. It was simply impossible, logically speaking. They were too busy trying to save their own skins, scattering in all directions. Why would any of them deliberately sneak toward the Rich Territory for revenge?

It wasn’t an absolute impossibility, but there was no way they could break through the defenses prepared by an aide who had anticipated threats ten times worse.

One day passed, then two. Still, time crept by in a haze of worry. Then, the ones the aide had been waiting for—or at least, some welcome faces, if not Han Simin or the Sanctuary—returned to the territory.

“Huh? It’s you guys.”

“Kkyu kkyu kkyu kkyu!”

“Kkyu kkyu!”

The Rabbits!

They would sometimes drop by the territory and leave various things behind, but with the war and everything else, the aide had been so busy that they had vanished again before he even had a chance to see them.

Now, the Rabbits were back.

“Good grief. First, you all need a wash. Come here.”

“Kkyuu!”

Their entire bodies were caked in dirt, and each of them held what looked like three magic pouches in its mouth. No, it wasn’t just what they were holding.

“...What on earth is all this?”

“Kkyuu! Kkyuu!”

“What!”

Magic pouches came tumbling out from their armor and from every other conceivable storage spot on their bodies. By the time they were done, a pile of more than five hundred magic pouches had formed.

The aide opened a few of them, and his body went rigid. At the same time, all his worries evaporated.

’With this...’

They might be able to make the nearly completed Rich Casino even more dazzling and perfect.

If Han Simin had heard that thought, he would have collapsed, foaming at the mouth. But for now, the Rabbits’ honest thievery was quietly converted into public funds.

*

The road to the Demon King was, in theory, nothing special. Described in words, it didn’t sound all that difficult. The Demon King wasn’t a god; all you had to do was find the house he lived in.

However, according to Grokile, you might as well consider it on that level.

“In the Demon World, the Demon King is Rank 1. That position can sway the entire Demon World and is the only existence who can command every demon. Naturally, every demon dreams of challenging that seat with every breath they take. They watch for an opening, and if they see a chance, they will do anything—even lose their limbs—to seize it.”

“And if they croak in the process?”

“Then they die.”

“...What a bunch of people with nothing better to do with their lives.”

“In any case, because the Demon World is crawling with bastards like that, the place where the Demon King resides has to be somewhere other demons cannot easily reach.”

“The Demon King doesn’t live alone, right? What if the demons who serve him betray him?”

“Every demon who resides in the Demon King’s castle forms a Pledge of Subordination with the Demon King.”

“Oh, like the one those Warlocks used?”

“Correct.”

“That spell barely costs anything.”

“It is the most basic and the simplest, which is precisely why it becomes the most absolute form of subordination.”

“Fine, let’s say that’s true. So what you’re saying is that the road we’re on right now could be extremely dangerous?”

“Correct.”

“You’re a coward. If I were the Demon King, I’d be confident enough to tell every bastard who wants to die to come at me. I’d strip them down to the skin and eat them alive.”

Grokile turned his gaze away. It wasn’t worth a response.

Although, strictly speaking, the man had a point. In a world ruled by the survival of the fittest, the opportunity to challenge the Rank 1 seat should always be open.

But that’s only tolerable for a day or two. A week, a month, a year, ten years, a hundred years... If every bug and worm in existence could charge at you twenty-four hours a day, who would ever want to sit on the throne of the Demon King?

The Demon King was an absolutely noble existence, the leader who had to guide the Demon World. Even for demons who did nothing but fight, there had to be a minimum set of rules—a driving force that allowed their world to function.

That was why the path to the Demon King’s seat had become so long and treacherous. It was a kind of self-purification mechanism: those who weren’t even qualified shouldn’t dream of attempting the challenge. However, any individual or faction that could break through those trials and defeat the Demon King would be welcome to take the Demon World.

What common ground could there be between that pure, clean spirit of challenge and some bastard who insisted on tying everything to money?

“You’re ignoring me because I’m annoying you, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“Sure sounds like it. You little bastard. You know this is your home turf we’re talking about, right? If you start getting ideas, you know what happens. I might die, but I’m taking you with me.”

“...Understood.”

“Ah!”

Bickering like that, they headed toward the district where the Demon King’s castle supposedly resided, with Grokile driving away any approaching demons with a single glare from his upper-rank demon face.

In the middle of their journey, Han Simin suddenly stopped walking, the look of someone who had just had an epiphany on his face. At the same time, he glanced at Specialist.

“If we die, do you think we might be able to go back?”

Specialist looked at him in confusion.

“When you die, you respawn, right? At your designated city.”

“Oh!”

It was an extremely simple, basic thought that anyone could have had. Yet the higher one’s level, the harder it was to consider—it was a classic case of not seeing what was right under your nose. Once you passed level 50, or even level 10, the penalties from death were practically equivalent to a long-term vacation.

For rankers who competed over levels and couldn’t afford to waste a single hour, death was perceived as no different from real death. On top of that, this was Specialist, the frontrunner currently leading the Main Quest. How could someone like her have ever seriously considered dying?

“...You’re right. If we die, maybe...”

“But what if we die and still can’t go back?”

“That’s true.”

So, even though it was a decent method, they couldn’t help but shy away from it. If there were truly no other way, they would have to use it, but people are naturally reluctant to play their last card unless they’re facing the absolute worst-case scenario.

Besides, there was another problem, even if it worked.

“Let’s say we do go back by dying. The items we drop...”

“Grokile can just pick them up and bring them back for us.”

Silence fell between them.

Any sensible person would feel burdened by such a half-baked solution. If they were unlucky and dropped a weapon, they would have no choice but to obtain it all over again.

And in Han Simin’s case, there was an additional issue to consider.

“Grokile and Aria might not be able to cross over. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course I’m not. Do you know how hard I worked to get these two?”

Once he thought that far, even Han Simin, who had suggested it, didn’t particularly like the idea. But there was only one reason he had brought it up.

“In the absolute worst case, it’s at least an option we can try. Honestly, I’m not even sure the Demon King will bother to talk to us. He might for us, since we’re humans and Warlocks, but...”

“Why—why are you looking at me!”

“If you’re a Demon King and you see a Celestial—which demons absolutely loathe—what Demon King is going to happily welcome you and treat you like an honored guest? We might be forced into death before we even get to choose it as an option, so I’m just saying we should at least cling to some hope.”

They remained silent.

’Yes, yes. Very hopeful indeed.’

There was nothing she could say to refute it. As he said, imagining the Demon King would be delighted to meet the first humans ever to enter the Demon World and greet them warmly was the kind of trope you’d only find in a run-of-the-mill fantasy novel.

He would be intrigued, certainly. But show them goodwill? They would be lucky if his attitude remained at the level of mere curiosity. And this party even included an upper-rank Celestial. It might actually be better if Aria stayed out of it.

However, no one said that out loud. There was no guarantee that things would go better just because she stepped aside. Everything about this dimension was uncertain.

For now, they would just go. Once they got there, something would work out. If they really died, then there was nothing to be done.

All they could do was hope that the absolute worst of the worst—dying and still remaining stuck in the Demon World—would not happen.

He fell silent.

He simply prayed that situation would never come to pass.

7.

The ceremony to award contributions to the war effort was held with great splendor and pomp. They hadn’t completely wiped out the Warlocks yet, but the war had been a decisive victory, and mopping up the remnants was only a matter of time. This was an occasion to praise those who had contributed, boost morale, and encourage everyone to hunt down the remaining stragglers with vigor.

In other words, it was the Emperor telling them to work even harder.

Everyone knew it, yet everyone attended. You couldn’t get by on this continent without attending such events. If it was the Emperor’s will, you had to follow it. Refusing wouldn’t get you killed, but you would never obtain a higher position, honor, or wealth.

That was why people liked these occasions. They had no choice but to like them.

“I appoint you to the rank of Viscount and award you one thousand Gold.”

If you bowed your head a little and worked like a dog for the Emperor, he would grant you a reward befitting your effort—no, a reward even greater. He wasn’t an Emperor who exploited people with promises of "passion," so how could anyone hate him?

Kenji, in particular, was one of the people most delighted by this event.

’Simin isn’t here.’

In the end, he hadn’t shown up. Even if he had, it wasn’t as if Kenji’s reward would have been reduced, but the difference in viewer attention alone made this a very satisfying situation for someone who staked his life on recognition in Fantastic World. From the viewers’ perspective, it was only natural to focus on Users—who felt familiar and provided vicarious satisfaction—rather than on NPCs, no matter how impressive their feats were.

“To you, as representative of the Adventurers, I shall bestow the Sword of Punishment. Go and root out the remaining Warlocks to the last.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Once the ceremony was over, Kenji decided he would no longer concern himself with Han Simin. He had grown enough that he no longer needed to be swept up in that man’s profiteering.

The Sword of Punishment! The Emperor himself had bestowed a sword upon him!

’Soon, I’ll make it so people trust me more than they trust Simin.’

Kenji embraced his vain dream with burning passion, completely unaware that the Symbol of the Empire was rolling around like trash somewhere in Han Simin’s subspace warehouse.

*