The Demon Lord Zerg's World Conquest Plan Derailed by Incompetent Subordinates - The Demon Lord Zaagu Gives a Grand Speech to the Wall for the First Time in 800 Years

No one was there. The throne room "Void Palace"——a grand hall with a fifteen-meter ceiling, wrapped in complete silence. Zaagu sat back on his throne. The cape draped across his jet-black armor's shoulders swept quietly across the stone floor. Golden eyes scanned the empty seats before him like a predator. Perfectly proportioned, muscular frame. One meter ninety tall. The demon lord's crest floating on his forehead. Ancient characters carved into both arms——all of it, in this moment, unseen by anyone. With his long black hair tied back, Zaagu crossed his arms. He checked the clock. Then checked it again. Then checked it again. "……" Spread across the desk like a fan: a 120-page handwritten document with diagrams. A blackboard with color-coded invasion routes. A water pitcher for guests, ice still floating in it. Was there any better preparation for unveiling a world conquest plan refined over 800 years? No. There wasn't. It was perfect. Perfect from every angle. The only problem was that there was no audience. Deep within the Iron Fang Ridge standing at the center of the continent, at an altitude of 2,800 meters——the Dark King's Castle Zorgaan. This fortress, boasting some of the most impregnable defenses on the Verdis continent, had not even a shadow of an enemy today. Well, that was always the case. The problem was the absence of any presence from within. "……They're not coming." The whisper was swallowed by the ceiling. The Black Fang Corps——Zaagu's direct military force, formally 350 elite soldiers chosen to pursue world conquest——had been sent summons three days ago. The date: "October 3rd." Today was October 3rd. There was no mistake anywhere. Zaagu checked the clock one more time, then rose slowly. He gripped the throne staff "Kadus of Finality"——the obsidian staff he always carried——slowly. "……If they're not coming, I'll begin." The words were directed at no one. He had simply decided. ──────────────────────── Zaagu stood before the empty seats. Forty empty chairs, lined up. All vacant. No one there. But Zaagu didn't mind. He took the documents in hand and stood before the blackboard. "First item——" His clear voice echoed through the grand hall. "I will explain the strategy for conquering the central continent Verdis." No one was listening. But Zaagu continued. Pointing to the invasion routes on the blackboard, he traced the color-coded arrows in order from the northern Holy Kingdom Seraphia to the southern Kazalook Trade Federation. He turned pages. He showed diagrams. Occasionally he turned toward the empty seats and asked, "Are there any questions?" Silence. "None, then. I'll continue." He answered himself and moved to the next page. The second item covered coordination with the demon tribes of the eastern continent Orgmaal. The third item detailed the deployment plan for root vein mages who would draw magical power from the earth's ley lines, the "Radicche." By the seventh item, there was even a subtitle: "Seventeen Approaches to Capturing Seraphia's Capital Lumiera," and Zaagu dutifully explained every single one. Forty-five minutes later. "……That concludes it." Zaagu slowly closed the documents. "If anyone has objections——" He began, then looked around the hall. Forty empty chairs. The water pitcher for guests. The ice half-melted. Zaagu stared at the scene for a while. "……Good." He said quietly. "It was perfect." It was the kind of self-assessment indistinguishable from a declaration of defeat, but at least for him it was the truth. The plan's content really had been perfect. ──────────────────────── He went on a patrol of the castle. Leaving the throne room, he walked down the stone-paved corridor. Only the sound of his jet-black cape sweeping the floor echoed. A smell of food drifted from somewhere. Something roasting, a good smell. (……What is that?) Turning a corner in the corridor, he passed a goblin soldier. A small green monster about one meter tall——Paz, a low-ranking soldier. Round yellow eyes, disproportionately large ears, a rusted short sword hanging from his waist. He wore a black vest as the Black Fang Corps' uniform, but today his face looked oddly relaxed. In his hand was something like a skewer of roasted meat. "Paz." Zaagu called out. Paz flinched. He froze, skewer still in hand. "Why didn't you come to today's meeting?" "Huh?" "The meeting. I sent out summons this morning." "Ah, um, well……" Paz rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Zaagu took it and unfolded it. The summons. He looked at the date field. "October……" He read it. Read it again. Read it once more. "——Eighth?" "Yes, October eighth, so we thought it was still five days away." Zaagu stared at the character for "three." He was certain he'd written "three." But the brush stroke was slightly——definitely slightly——off. The spacing between the horizontal lines of "three" was oddly wide, and it didn't look impossible to read as "eight." It wasn't impossible to read as "eight"……but. "All 350 of them." "All 350 read it as October eighth." Paz said apologetically. But his face said "It's not my fault." He might actually be right. Zaagu put his hand to his forehead. (……My handwriting?) It was the moment in his 10,000 years when he doubted himself most. He never thought he'd doubt his own handwriting before the precision of his world conquest plan. (Is it my handwriting that's the problem?) Paz said hesitantly. "Um, everyone's in the courtyard……" ──────────────────────── He went to the courtyard. There, all 350 members of the Black Fang Corps were present. They were holding a full-scale barbecue. The demon lord army's black flags were being used as skewers. Meat was piled on plates printed with Zaagu's portrait. To the bright melody of stringed instruments brought from somewhere, several goblins were dancing. A kobold ran around hugging a barrel of alcohol, an orc laughed while stuffing meat in his cheeks. At 2,800 meters above sea level, a surprisingly cheerful banquet had somehow materialized. Zaagu stared at the scene for a while. No one noticed. Zaagu slowly raised the throne staff "Kadus of Finality." From the tip of the obsidian staff, black magical power drawn from the earth's ley lines——the Radicche——began to overflow. Taking the shape of lightning, it ran around his palm, pure black light. Magical power said to be 500 times or more that of a normal mage converged silently. In that instant, the air changed. The kobold holding the alcohol barrel suddenly looked up. Their eyes met. The next moment, all 350 turned around at once and froze in rigid attention. The music stopped. The dancing stopped. The laughter stopped. Someone dropped meat from their skewer. Only the sound of it hitting the stone pavement echoed across the vast courtyard. Zaagu surveyed all 350. Every face read "Oh, we're done for." Several goblins stood frozen still holding the plates with Zaagu's portrait on them. Steam still rose from the meat on those plates. Zaagu lowered his staff. "……Everyone." His quiet voice fell across the courtyard. "Come to the meeting tomorrow." That was all he said before turning on his heel. He didn't strike them with lightning. Even Zaagu didn't know why. Perhaps the smell of roasted meat had been, just a little, good. ──────────────────────── It happened on the way back down the corridor. Something slimy wrapped around his ankle. "——" No sound came out. Before he could make one, his body moved——or rather, couldn't move. Something half-transparent, blue, and soft was coiled around his ankle. A slime. The blue slime that lived in the damp room on the first basement level——Puni, who trembled with a soft glow all over, had somehow gotten to his feet. The entire body glowed blue, quivering. The species apparently expressed emotions through color, but whether this blue meant "happy" or "sorry," Zaagu couldn't tell. Puni clung to Zaagu's ankle with all its might. (——Wait.) He had lived 10,000 years. He had an immortal body. He had the unique power to draw magical energy directly from the ley lines. No one in the world could harm this body. But. The adhesive power of a slime was unexpected. Zaagu fell forward——spectacularly——to the ground. The sound of his entire body slamming against the stone pavement echoed down the corridor. His jet-black cape flew through the air, and the 120-page documents——he was still holding them——scattered across the floor with a soft rustle. He saw the ceiling. Stone-laid ceiling with several stains. Large stains, small stains, long horizontal stains. The Dark King's Castle Zorgaan had a forbidding exterior but was surprisingly clean inside, so those stains were probably not from water leaks but something else, Zaagu thought. Puni bounced up. Splat——it stuck to Zaagu's face. Blue light covered his vision. And that light slowly——gradually——turned pink. (……Is it happy, this thing?) A demon lord lay spread-eagle on the stone pavement of the corridor, a slime glowing pink stuck to his face. Scattered around his feet: 120 pages of documents. Faint smoke from the courtyard barbecue drifted from somewhere distant. Zaagu counted the stains on the ceiling. One, two, three—— (……800 years.) The words formed in his chest. He didn't speak them aloud. (800 years, what was I doing?) It was less a question than a confirmation. He had formed the Black Fang Corps for world conquest. Made plans. Spent 800 years refining them. And today he had executed a perfect presentation in an empty room, had his entire subordinate force throw a grand barbecue, and had been knocked over by a slime and was now lying on a corridor floor. Wind blew through the corridor from end to end. Puni trembled on his face, shifting from pink back toward blue. Warm. Whether it had body heat or if the magical power just made it feel that way——why was a slime so warm? Zaagu wondered vaguely. ──────────────────────── After staring at the ceiling for a while, Zaagu slowly pushed himself up. He stretched both hands out. Gently peeled Puni from his face. With the care of handling something fragile. Not to show anyone, not to be evaluated by anyone——it just happened to be that kind of touch. Puni trembled in his hands, a color somewhere between blue and pink. It clung reluctantly to his fingertips. Zaagu set Puni down on the floor. "……Don't get in the way." He said it low. Whether Puni understood the words or not, it quivered and didn't move from that spot. Zaagu gathered the scattered documents. All 120 pages, accounted for. The order was jumbled, but no one would read them anyway. He stood and began walking. Puni followed across the corridor floor with small, quivering movements. Zaagu didn't look back. But he walked just a little slower. He didn't know why. There was nothing wrong with his pace. When he reached the stairs to the first basement level, Puni stopped there. Zaagu stopped without turning around. There was silence for a while. Puni descended the stairs——a soft prun-prun sound, and then even that faded. Zaagu walked on. ──────────────────────── Night fell. Zaagu was alone in the reference room "Library of Wisdom." One wall of bookshelves held 8,000 theoretical texts. Not a single practical combat manual. On the desk: the 120-page document. Outside the window, the night landscape of the Verdis continent spread out. From 2,800 meters above, the night view was wordless. Points of light in the distance——probably Lumiera's street lamps. The capital of the Holy Kingdom Seraphia, 280 kilometers northeast from here. Under the state religion of the Light Halo Church, the adventurer's mutual aid society "Silver Wolf Hall" and taverns bustled with activity. A city of 28,000 humans. There, the hero party "Dawn's Journey (Fermata)" was said to have established their base. Four adventurers dedicated to slaying the demon lord were probably eating d

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Name: The Demon Lord Zerg's World Conquest Plan Derailed by Incompetent Subordinates
Author: Novelia

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