Reborn Financier-Chapter 37 - 36: Pawns and Goodbyes

Two hours had passed since the forest exploded into chaos and flames. The battlefield now lay silent, scorched, and empty.

But in the middle of it all, lying flat on his back with a dented ego and a burnt cloak, the Demon Lord groaned.

"Ugh... What in the thirteen hells happened...?"

His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was not the sky, not the trees, not the smoking crater he made with his body. No. He saw him.

Kaidën.

Sitting under the shade of a half-burnt tree, surrounded by 100 women, casually flipping meat over a small grill. Laughter filled the air. The smell of perfectly seasoned steak and juicy roasted beast claw danced on the breeze. The women giggled and blushed as they shared stories, some sneaking side-eyes at Kaidën like teenage girls at a festival.

And Kaidën?

He was casually chewing on a grilled rib like none of this was out of the ordinary.

The Demon Lord froze. His eyes widened.

That aura... That power...

He crawled forward like a dying pilgrim reaching the Holy Grail. Then, without warning, he slammed his head on the ground in a full bow.

"Demon God! Forgive this foolish one! I did not recognize your divine presence! Please allow this lowly servant to offer his eternal loyalty!"

The sizzling meat came to a halt. Everyone went quiet.

Kaidën blinked. The rib hung loosely from his mouth.

One of the women let out a tiny squeak.

Another fainted.

"...Huh?" Kaidën muttered, spitting the bone out. "Demon what?"

The Demon Lord, still face-down in the dirt, trembled. "Please, O mighty One Who Reigns Above All Abyssal Flames, let me serve you!"

Kaidën cracked his knuckles, eyes twitching. "I swear to god if you call me ’Demon God’ one more time, I’m going to actually kill you."

The Demon Lord’s head shot up, panic in his glowing eyes. "N-no wait! Mercy! I’m loyal! I’m super loyal! I’ll do anything! I’ll shine your shoes! Wash your daggers! Fold your laundry—"

The girls all scooted back a little, watching the once-feared Demon Lord grovel like a kicked puppy.

"You’re embarrassing yourself," Kaidën said, dragging a hand down his face.

Just then, Kuro strolled in from the side with a massive chunk of grilled beast meat in his claws, chewing lazily.

"Looks like he’s awake," Kuro said, swallowing. "You’re not killing him, right?"

"I want to."

"Well, don’t."

Kaidën sighed, glaring down at the Demon Lord still on his knees.

"Fine. You want to serve me? Three conditions."

The Demon Lord perked up like a kicked dog being offered a treat.

"First: Stop calling me Demon God. You call me ’Young Master.’ That’s it."

"Y-yes, Young Master!"

"Second: You don’t kill any humans unless I tell you to."

"Of course! Never again! Humans are adorable! Squishy! I love them!"

Kaidën blinked. "Okay that was weird. Third: You do not go above 40% of your power unless I say so."

The Demon Lord hesitated. "Even when I sneeze?"

"Especially when you sneeze."

"...okay Demon God."

Kaidën sighed in relief.

Then he punched the Demon Lord in the face.

One-shot knockout.

"I said don’t call me Demon God," Kaidën muttered as the Demon Lord collapsed again, twitching.

The women all blinked.

The fearless, beautiful woman among them—with fiery red eyes and a confident grin—stepped forward.

She bowed deeply. "Young Master Kaidën. We wish to follow you. Serve you. Learn from you. You saved us when no one else would. We are all from the same set in the eastern continent and experienced martial expert and we would even be happy to be your pawn."

Then all 100 of them bowed in unison, heads low, voices clear:

"Please let us serve you! We’ll do anything!"

Kaidën stared, speechless.

One girl chimed, "I make great cookies!"

Another: "I can break a man’s spine with two fingers. Just saying."

The red-eyed leader winked. "I can do both."

Kaidën sighed, scratching his head. "No. I don’t need followers. Not right now. You all should go do something important with your lives. Prove you can influence both continents. Then maybe... I’ll consider it."

The girls looked at each other. Then the red-eyed leader saluted. "We’ll build a legacy so great, the world will tremble. Then we’ll come back."

"With cookies!" someone shouted.

The 100 women marched off together like a comedic, chaotic army of hyper-competent fangirls on a mission.

Kuro chewed thoughtfully. "You sure you want to let them go? That one with the red eyes was definitely your type."

Kaidën shot him a glare. "What type? I’m twelve."

"So? She looked twelve inside too, even though she might look 22 outside."

"Kuro!"

Kuro laughed, tossing another chunk of meat into his mouth.

"Looks like your wings are going to be full soon," he said, licking his claws.

Kaidën just groaned and sat back down, kicking the unconscious Demon Lord out of his seat and stealing his plate.

"At least he brought good seasoning with him," Kaidën muttered.

Kuro nodded. "See? Every demon lord has his uses."

The forest wind blew gently.

In the distance, a bird sang.

And somewhere beneath a pile of steak bones, the Demon Lord groaned again, whispering:

"...Demon God... I serve..."

WHACK.

"Shut up."

****

Two weeks had passed in the blink of an eye. The forest, once scorched by a battle that had shaken realms, had grown quieter. The laughter, the sizzling aroma of grilled meat, and the midnight conversations under the stars—all were now echoes of moments lived.

Kaidën stood at the edge of the clearing, his black cloak fluttering gently in the wind. The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft golden beams over the campsite. A warm breeze swept by, rustling the leaves and making the atmosphere feel oddly sentimental.

Kuro stood before him, arms crossed, a frown on his face, though his golden eyes were suspiciously moist. He sniffed, trying to appear casual, but the tension was written all over his hulking dragonic-human form.

"So... you’re really going, huh?" Kuro muttered.

Kaidën nodded, a soft smile on his lips. "It’s time. I have things to do, and a family waiting for me."

Kuro grumbled. "Tch. Who’s gonna cook for me now? Who’s gonna make those crispy-glazed thunder chicken legs? Or that honey-smoked bear claw? Or that juicy shadowfang steak?"

Kaidën smirked. "Relax, old man. I knew you’d say that. So I cooked ahead. Stored it all in time-sealed containers. Enough to last you... let’s say, a century."

Kuro blinked.

Then his face lit up like a child on festival day. "Y-You serious?! A century?! Oh, bless your tiny feet, Kaidën!" He grabbed the youth and spun him in the air like a proud parent. "I forgive you for leaving!"

"Put me down, idiot!" Kaidën yelled, flailing.

Kuro dropped him unceremoniously. Then he scratched the back of his head, glancing away. "But uh... still. You better visit sometime, alright? Not just for me. This forest’s gonna be too damn quiet without you."

Kaidën gave a firm nod. "I promise."

There was a moment of silence. Heavy. Real.

Then Kuro took a deep breath and waved his hand. A ripple of space distorted behind him. From within, he brought out two items. A folded cloak as black as night, etched with crimson red patterns that seemed to shift like shadows. And a pair of daggers, equally dark, with crimson-tipped blades that pulsed with silent power.

"This... this is all I can give you," Kuro said solemnly. "The best gear I have. The cloak will hide your presence, mask your figure, and protect you from mortal wounds. The daggers belonged to the Demon God I killed in the past. They’re hungry blades. But they’ll listen to someone like you."

Kaidën accepted them with reverence, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you, Kuro. For everything."

"Bah," Kuro said, rubbing his nose. "Go on, before I start crying."

Off to the side, Zarel the Demon Lord sniffled, wiping imaginary tears. "This is so beautiful...! I can’t believe our young master is leaving! Who will yell at me now? Who will beat me up when I mess up? WHO WILL SMACK ME FOR CALLING HIM DEMON GOD?!"

A fist smacked the back of his head. "I said stop calling me that," Kaidën growled.

"I missed you already," Zarel whimpered dramatically, hugging Kaidën’s leg.

"Get off me."

"Also when I call you, you must answer."

Nearby, the hundred women warriors watched quietly, a few of them visibly moved. Some had soft smiles, others blinked away tears. Their leader, the fierce and stunningly beautiful Ayaka, gave Kaidën a respectful nod.

"We’ll see you again, Kaidën. The next time we meet, we’ll have earned our place."

He smiled. "I’ll be waiting."

And with that, Kaidën turned. Cloak swirling behind him, blades strapped to his waist, and a soft breeze at his back. Zarel trudged along behind him, dramatically looking back every five seconds.

Their destination: Aschel.

The Land of Waste.

But for Kaidën, it was just the next place to set things right.

Behind them, Kuro sat by the fire, unsealing one of the time capsules. As the scent of century-aged spicy dragon ribs filled the air, he chuckled and whispered,

"Fuck, this kid knows how to cook."

Then he took a bite, tears streaming down his face. "Dammit... I’m gonna miss that boy."

The wind carried the smell of roasted meat and the fading warmth of family not bound by blood.

And the forest, once silent, sang softly with memories.

To be continued...