Leopold stood in front of Devon, looking down at him for a moment before tilting his head toward Blake. Blake jumped down from the tree and walked up behind Devon.
A blade of ice immediately condensed in Blake's palm. Though he didn't speak, his meaning was clear enough.
“Stand up and speak,” Leopold said.
Devon pushed himself up by his knees, his movements somewhat stiff. He didn't pick up his sword from the ground, but simply stood there with his gaze lowered, not daring to look Leopold in the eye.
“I have a few questions for you. Answer them truthfully.”
“Yes.” Devon's voice was slightly steadier than before, but it still carried a tension he couldn't fully suppress.
“You came out this time to find the whereabouts of that patrol. Where were you originally stationed? How many people are in your camp?”
Devon hesitated for a split second, seemingly weighing how much to reveal. Beside him, Blake let out a soft grunt.
Devon immediately spoke. “To the east, about forty miles away, there is an abandoned fortress. Our Third Squadron is stationed there!”
“Where are the people you captured locked up? How many haven't been sent away yet?”
Devon lowered his gaze. “There is a row of wooden cage cells on the south side of the camp. Before we left, there were eleven people still in the cells, originally scheduled to be transferred in three days.”
“Transferred? Transferred where?”
“To the north... Blackstone Town. That is a stronghold for the sorcerers. We conduct our human trafficking there.”
Devon paused here, as if realizing he had said too much, but Blake snorted behind him, forcing him to bite the bullet and continue. “The sorcerers regularly send people to collect the cargo, about ten at a time.”
“Who is the leader of the sorcerers? Why does your Demon Race take orders from them?”
Devon clenched his fists, seemingly struggling with something. Ultimately, he spoke. “...We do not take orders from the sorcerers, but rather from an... Abyssal Demon Race.”
Leopold's pupils contracted slightly.
“An Abyssal Demon Race?”
“Yes,” Devon nodded, his voice dropping even lower. “The sorcerers are merely the lackeys of the Abyssal Demon Race. The one truly giving the orders... is a guy known as the 'Lord of the Black Tide.' No one has seen his true face.”
Leopold stood in place, his golden slit pupils narrowing slightly. “...The Lord of the Black Tide. I have never heard of this name.”
“We only heard of him in recent years as well,” Devon's voice carried an involuntary tremor.
“In the past, the Fallen Demon Race of the Eastern Border acted independently. Tribes and strongholds of all sizes did as they pleased. While we also captured humans as slaves, at least we didn't hunt them on such a large scale.”
He paused, as if recalling something unpleasant.
“But about three years ago, an existence calling himself the 'Lord of the Black Tide' suddenly emerged. No one has seen what he looks like; we only know that a group of sorcerers convey his orders.”
“What did he do?”
“He integrated us.” Devon raised his head, glanced at Leopold, and then quickly lowered his gaze again. “He absorbed all the scattered demon strongholds in the Eastern Border one by one. Those who refused to submit... were completely purged.”
“So he is the real reason behind your large-scale hunting of humans.”
Devon fell silent for a moment, then nodded. “...Yes. The Lord of the Black Tide needs people. In short, he needs a massive, endless supply of people!”
“For what purpose?”
“I don't know,” Devon shook his head. “All I know is that those who were sent away... never returned.”
Leopold didn't press further immediately. He stood there, his gaze resting on the top of Devon's lowered head, as if processing the information.
“Something feels off, Leo...” Isabella spoke up anxiously. “Needing a large population sounds more like some kind of sacrificial magic.”
Leopold and Isabella exchanged a look. He read the same deduction from her eyes—Devon wasn't lying. At the very least, Devon didn't believe he was telling a lie.
As for how to deal with this so-called "Lord of the Black Tide," Leopold already had a preliminary plan.
The first step was to meet these so-called sorcerers!
“Where is Blackstone Town?” Leopold asked Devon.
Devon stood before him, his posture somewhat constrained. “Head northeast along the edge of the forest. It's about a day and a half's journey.”
“The town there isn't large, but it's built on the ruins of an abandoned watchtower. There are wooden fences and watchtowers on the periphery.”
“How many sorcerers are stationed there?”
“About twenty regular sorcerers. But every ten days or so, a group of sorcerers will come from the north to hand over the goods.”
“The Lord of the Black Tide's subordinates?”
“Yes,” Devon nodded. “They wear black robes and never speak. Every time they come, they leave as soon as the handover is complete.”
“Twenty sorcerers plus those black-robed ones... we need to consider how to handle this,” Leopold said as he pondered.
Devon hesitated for a moment before speaking. “If you are going to Blackstone Town, I can lead the way.”
“No need,” Leopold interrupted, waving his hand. “Blake, sign the dragon clan contract with them.”
“Bella, can you come to Blackstone Town with me?” Leopold took Isabella's hand.
Isabella looked into his eyes and nodded with a smile.
Blake stood behind Devon, watching the two figures disappear into the shadows of the trees, and muttered under his breath, “...Leaving me behind to do the chores again.”
“Also, Oliver, remember to tell the chief that I've chosen the location. We'll start building the school in a few days!”
“O-Okay!” Oliver quickly responded.
Having finished speaking, Leopold turned and left, with Isabella walking by his side as the two disappeared into the distance.
Blake stood in place, looking at Leopold's receding back, then at Devon and the thirty demon soldiers still kneeling before him, and let out a deep sigh.
“...Fine, I'm used to it anyway.”
He cleared his throat, crossed his arms, and swept his gaze over the kneeling demons from his high vantage point.
“All of you, stand up. I'll handle the contract.”
In the distance.
Leopold and Isabella walked north along the edge of the forest. Isabella walked by his side, keeping quiet for a stretch of the road before speaking. “How do you plan to handle the sorcerers in Blackstone Town?”
“We'll see how it goes first,” Leopold said. “Devon said they are executing the Lord of the Black Tide's orders, but whether these sorcerers are true believers or coerced can only be determined once we meet them.”
“But don't you want to build a kingdom where sorcerers and humans coexist?” Isabella continued to ask curiously. “If you don't handle the sorcerers well, the entire country won't be able to exist, right?”
“Humans are, after all, the Seventh Race, one of the lowest races.”
“A race like that is even less helpful to us than the goblins.”
“So I can understand why you are so set on bringing in the Demon Race and the sorcerers.” Isabella looked at Leopold, her icy-blue eyes blinking.
Hearing this, Leopold couldn't help but smile. Isabella was as sharp as ever.
“Bella, you're right. Humans are indeed the Seventh Race. In terms of individual strength, they aren't even equal to goblins. But because of that, they are the chess pieces I need most.”
Isabella tilted her head slightly, prompting him to continue.
“The goblins' underground world is too closed; their ceiling is right there.” Leopold paused. “Though humans have nothing...”
“They have no magic, no robust bodies, no long lifespans—but they have one thing that other races do not.”
“What?”
“They are weak enough, so they are desperate enough for change. A powerful race, even if it declines for a hundred years, will never truly follow a foreign race.”
“Because in their bones, they remember that they were once strong.”
He turned his head to look into Isabella's icy-blue eyes. “But humans are different. Humans have known they are weak since they could remember. If you tell them, 'I can help you stand up,' they will follow you more willingly than any other race.”
Isabella walked quietly for a few steps without replying immediately. She gazed at the path ahead, which was gradually narrowing through the woods. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the dirt ground.
“...So you've set your sights on the humans' 'unwillingness to accept their fate'?”
“Not entirely.” Leopold shook his head. “I don't need the humans' resentment. What I need is their 'possibility'.
“This world has always told them—you cannot learn magic, you cannot build your own country, and you cannot change your fate of being enslaved. So they accepted it, generation after generation.”
He stopped and turned to face her. “But what if I give them an answer that says 'you can'?”
“And perhaps the puzzle of why humans cannot use magic is hidden within the sorcerers.”
“Are sorcerers human?”
“Or is it just that humans do not consider sorcerers to be human?”
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