The Mad Dog of the Duke's Estate-Chapter 323. A Cracked Pot Leaks Inside and Out (1)

Late at night, inside the command tent of the forward base, an emergency meeting was in progress.

"...So, if I understand this correctly, you're saying you intend to become a Demon King?" Zerath, the commander of the vanguard, asked in a voice low with disbelief.

The meeting had only two sides present. There was Caron's party and Commander Zerath himself.

Caron casually waved his hand as he took a long, refreshing gulp from the liquor in front of him. He replied, "Become a Demon King? Come now, Sir Zerath, what do you take me for? I'm just saying we should use every tool at our disposal. If we take one more fortress, things will be a whole lot easier, don't you think?"

Zerath frowned slightly and replied, "I still find it hard to believe you can control the demons."

"Ordinary men can't," Caron said bluntly. "But—though it feels strange to say this myself—I'm no ordinary man."

Then he leaned back and let his fingers brush against Guillotine resting on the table, nodding faintly. He thought, I never thought absorbing the power of Slaughter would come back to me in a way like this.

Back in the Neon Kingdom, Caron had devoured half of that power and made it his own. Simply possessing it granted overwhelming influence over demons. Without Dennis' insight, Caron would perhaps never have noticed—but now, he could command them with absolute dominance.

That influence was no minor edge. It was absolute.

The demons called it vassalage—the bond of subjugation. A Demon King ruled his followers because of contracts forged with dark mana. Anyone who betrayed that bond paid a price: Death, dismemberment, or a lifetime of agony. Every clause was monstrous.

And Caron now stood in the position to forge those same contracts.

"According to Shiker, the facility that controls demonic monsters is called a psychic-wave emitter," Caron continued. "If we secure it, we can turn those damned demonic monsters into our lackeys."

The greatest weakness of the expedition was numbers. They had scraped together elite forces from across the continent, so their quality was unquestionable—but compared to the swarms of fiends out there, they were painfully few.

But if they crushed their enemy with its own strength, there could be no more effective method than that. And now, fate had placed the key to that very facility in Caron's hands, so there was no way for him to not be pleased.

Zerath stroked his chin and said, "It could be a trap. Demon Kings never stop scheming. Perhaps this is nothing more than bait."

"The odds of that are slim," Caron said flatly.

"And how are you so certain?" Zerath asked.

"Because there's a reason the Demon King of Sloth didn't stop our landing," Caron answered with a sly grin.

One of the most critical pieces of intelligence Dennis had revealed was that Sloth's forces were already at war.

"The Demon Queen of Lust is invading Sloth's territory. In short, they're at each other's throats," Caron added.

"...Wasn't that succubus originally Sloth's vassal? Why would she turn now of all times...?" Zerath asked.

"How should I know? What matters is this: There'll never be a better time to strike Sloth in the back," Caron answered.

Laia was a vulgar succubus. Whatever her schemes were, they worked in the expedition's favor. And with Sloth's gaze turned elsewhere, this was the perfect moment to run rampant.

"So here's my conclusion," Caron said. "With Sloth's grip weakening, now's the time to topple a few of their fortresses."

Zerath narrowed his brows. The power to bind demons as vassals... and now, the ability to dominate monsters...

He wondered if Caron could still be called a human even after having obtained both.

He's practically a Demon King already, Zerath thought.

Those who fought monsters often became monsters themselves. That was what truly worried Zerath. And yet, the temptation was undeniable. If they could turn fiends into allies, they'd make the finest shields of flesh.

"Very well," Zerath said at last. He knew Caron would move regardless. Those burning eyes said it all—when Caron looked like that, not even a storm could stop him.

"Do you have a plan in mind?" Zerath asked.

"If I can bind demons, I'll take as many as possible under my wing," Caron answered.

"Not exactly what I'd expect from someone who wishes for their extinction," Zerath pointed out.

"Killing is killing," Caron replied with a crooked smile. "But working them to the bone first? That's the sweetest revenge."

Zerath sighed involuntarily at the brazen declaration. He thought, The title of Demon King suits him far too well.

Such a mindset was beyond the reach of ordinary men. Zerath shook his head, clicking his tongue, and pressed on. "So, what's the plan?"

"I'll infiltrate the fortress with Dennis," Caron began. "From what I've seen, they don't even know we've landed. I'll disguise myself as one of the ones I killed, slip inside, and gather intel."

"You mean to go alone?" Zerath asked.

"If I'm alone, I can bail out anytime things go south," Caron replied.

Marching into a den of unknown dangers alone was very Caron-like.

Zerath let out another sigh. He wanted to object, but he couldn't say anything. Caron could handle just about anything thrown at him.

"If things go wrong, I'll call in the airships and wipe that fortress off the map," Zerath said grimly.

"Perfect," Caron said with a bright smile. "Let's do that."

With the vanguard commander's approval, Caron was ready to move immediately. Satisfied, he set down the bottle and rose from his chair.

"When do you start?" Zerath asked.

"Right now," Caron answered.

"...What?" Zerath asked.

"Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it. Well then, wish me luck!" Caron said, giving Zerath a casual salute and strode out of the tent with light steps.

Zerath watched the flap close behind him and gave a bitter smile. Under his breath, he muttered, "Handling that Mad Dog was never my role, Lord."

Even wearing the mantle of commander, there was no way to rein in Caron Leston. Cursing the head of the house who had thrust this burden upon him, Zerath sighed and called for his aide waiting outside.

"You summoned me, Sir Zerath?" the aide asked.

Zerath poured himself another drink before answering, "Gather the officers."

"Yes, Sir Zerath," the aide replied.

The question now was how to turn Caron's chaos into an advantage. Staring at the crimson moon hanging in the sky, Zerath murmured, "A cracked pot leaks inside and out, indeed."

Just as it was on the continent, so it was here as well.

Caron Leston was still a lunatic.

***

The moment Zerath gave permission, Caron moved. The destination was about a thirty-minute walk from the forward base.

"Are you truly certain about this?" Dennis asked as they trudged over the brittle remains of dead trees.

Caron was already in perfect disguise as a demon. Thanks to a doppelganger artifact, his face now mirrored that of the demon he had slain earlier that day, and even Guillotine at his side was dyed pitch-black. From his body leaked a sinister aura of dark mana, a trick achieved by allowing Guillotine to release some of the dark mana it had absorbed.

To any onlooker, Caron was a flawless demon.

Dennis let out a low murmur of awe and nodded slowly, thinking, My master truly possesses extraordinary power.

At some point, Dennis had begun calling Caron "Master." Since he had formed a vassalage contract with Caron, the title wasn't entirely inappropriate. And this master—this man who barely resembled a human—possessed abilities that defied belief.

...He has bound mighty warriors as his vassals, Dennis thought.

Dennis believed that those pitch-black knights who had appeared during the last battle had to be his master's vassals. The devastating force that carved through demons like scarecrows... even Count Dinatrius, the local lord, could never command such power.

This fortress was positioned on the very outskirts of Sloth's domain, clinging to the infamously savage North Sea, and so it had remained stagnant for ages. In truth, for someone of Dinatrius's low rank, the location was fitting.

"I'm personally curious about something," Caron said as he chewed on a strip of jerky, walking ahead with an easy stride.

"What are you curious about, Master?" Dennis asked.

"I want to see how demons actually live," Caron answered, his voice almost casual.

To him, demons had always been nothing more than monsters—creatures worthy only of death, mortal enemies that could never share the same sky as humankind.

But after what he learned from Shiker about their origins, thoughts had begun to stir.

Survivors of an ancient civilization, Caron thought.

That was what Shiker had called them—traitorous kin who had delved so deep into the study of a Demon King's power that, in the end, they'd sold their souls.

Of course, this revelation did nothing to soften Caron's hatred. He still loathed demons. He merely wished to know his enemy in full before erasing them from existence.

"I guess I'll see soon enough," Caron murmured under his breath.

Dennis spoke hesitantly, "Ever since I became your vassal, it feels like... like a fog has lifted from my eyes."

"Oh?" Caron glanced at him.

"I suppose it's like... I've opened my eyes for the first time. Forgive me, Master, I can't quite explain it properly..." Dennis said.

Caron studied Dennis's gaze in silence. The murderous light that had burned there when they first met was gone. He wondered if it was the circumstance that changed him, or the bond of vassalage.

Time will tell, Caron thought.

His conviction remained unshaken that demons had to be eradicated. After all, it was demons and their king who had ruined the life of Cain Latorre.

The two walked on, exchanging words here and there, until at last, a fortress loomed before them. It was a structure of imposing size, its black stone walls stabbing into the crimson moonlight. Between spires that jutted skyward, the blood-red moon peeked through, lending the entire scene an aura of dread.

"What a charming place," Caron muttered, tilting his head back to take it in. "How many demons live in this fortress again?"

"Roughly fifty nobles, and over a thousand slaves," Dennis replied.

"Slaves, huh?" Caron's tone sharpened.

That word—slave—caught his attention more than anything else. Among demons, it marked the lowest class. They were the ones who couldn't awaken to dark mana from birth.

In other words, there were demons who lacked power entirely.

Perhaps it was because Caron had once been a slave himself in another life, or simple curiosity, but whatever the reason, something about it gnawed at him.

"Master, prepare yourself for what you'll see inside. There will be many things no human mind can accept. And now... You must take hold of my leash," Dennis warned in a low voice.

"...Do I really have to?" Caron asked flatly.

"Yes," Dennis insisted, offering the leather cord that hung from his neck. "I was born a noble, true—but the moment I fell out of favor with the lord of this castle, I was demoted to a slave. Please, Master. Take the leash!"

There was a madness to his fervor.

Caron grimaced. For all his composure, the idea of holding a leash attached to something that looked and spoke like a person made his stomach twist. He thought, This brings back memories I'd rather forget.

Visions from his previous life clawed at him—the days when he'd lived as a gladiator's slave.

"Within these walls, slaves are treated worse than demonic monsters," Dennis pressed on. "If you refuse, they will grow suspicious."

"Fine, fine—stop whining," Caron grumbled, snatching the leash with an expression of clear distaste before moving forward.

The crimson gates came into view, nestled between obsidian walls.

As they approached, a mocking voice drifted down from the battlements, "Well now, what's this? Why are you the only one back, Ulysses?"

"It's a long story," Caron replied in the form of Ulysses, his tone dripping with boredom.

"Hehe. Don't tell me you killed the others to claim all the glory? Hunting bastards—you lot are ruthless. Then again, you would, wouldn't you, Ulysses? Did you at least bring back the prey?" the demon asked.

"Are your eyes just for show?" Caron gave the leash a sharp tug, eliciting a convincing groan from Dennis.

"Ughhh..." Dennis groaned.

A demon with crimson hair leaned over the wall, grinning, then said, "The lord will be pleased. Well done, Ulysses."

"Shut up and open the gate before I tear you apart," Caron snapped.

"Alright, alright," the voice chuckled.

Creeeeak!

The massive gate swung inward. Dennis muttered under his breath, awe in his tone, "Master, your act is flawless. That attitude just now—it was the very image of a demon."

"This isn't an act," Caron said with wide eyes. "That's just my natural personality."

"...Ah. I see," Dennis said.

"Now shut up and follow me, you worthless slave," Caron barked.

"...Yes, Master," Dennis answered.

A demon leading his slave. It almost felt as if Caron had found his calling.

And thus, the most dangerous contraband on the continent—a man named Caron Leston—was smuggled into a demon fortress, carrying a bomb in his heart.