Demon Lord: Erotic Adventure in Another World-Chapter 529: Behind These Walls, Danger Waits

The meeting room felt colder now, the sunlight outside failing to touch the polished wood or stone. Alan stood at one end, the nobles circling him like carrion birds.

They pressed for information—not about Grigor's borders or taxes, but about the far north.

"We know there's a new power rising," Lady Geruth said, eyes narrow. "Rumours of a demon king—some say he's a foreigner, not even of this world."

Alan's jaw tightened. "You mean fairy tales and old men's stories."

The youngest noble sneered. "Do not insult our intelligence, Duke. You're to prove your loyalty. Give us everything you know. Names. Weaknesses. Allies. If you're truly with us, you'll answer."

Alan's fists clenched under the table.

He felt that pressure again, swirling beneath his skin. The urge to snarl, to tear, to burn these mortals from the inside out.

But he held it down until he felt the whisper.

Tell them.

Give them everything.

Betray him.

His vision swam. Voices blurred. The world spun.

He opened his mouth.

Darkness.

He woke with a start, slumped over the edge of his bed. Papers were scattered on the desk. His cloak was wrinkled, collar loose.

It was late afternoon.

The meeting was over.

Alan blinked. For a moment, his memory was a haze. The last thing he remembered was that question—Tell us about the demon king.

He glanced at the papers in his hand and gasped.

The papers contained details, locations, names, and every secret he'd sworn to keep, a betrayal of his brother..

No.

No, no, no.

He'd told them everything.

About Asmodeus. About the wives. About the true nature of the Beast Empire and the Elven Forest. The church. The forbidden summons. The north.

Panic crushed his chest.

He lurched to his feet and stormed from his room, searching for his aide—anyone who could tell him what had happened.

He found the young man in the corridor. "Your grace!" the aide called, bowing quickly.

Alan's mouth opened. He wanted to ask, What did I do? But as he stared at the aide, his reflection shone in the window glass behind.

His eyes were glowing green.

Something cold slid into his words, unnatural and empty.

"Tell me everything that happened at the meeting," Alan demanded.

"Your grace?" The aide faltered, worry flickering in his eyes.

Alan's pupils widened, the green glow intensifying, the voice that came out not quite his own.

"…Never mind.Follow the mainland's plans."

The aide straightened, bowing deeper. "Yes, Your Grace!"

Alan turned away, heart thundering—somewhere inside, his real voice screamed in silence.

***

Oblivious to the changes in his best friend, Asmodeus spent days with his wives, appeasing, affectionately bribing them as their two cities began to take shape...

The citadel bustled with life; morning sunlight spilt across polished stone, and banners fluttered outside the open hall. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

Asmodeus sat on the throne, robes loose over one shoulder, listening as advisors recited updates. Riel perched quietly beside him, her cheeks still flushed from the morning; Sariel lounged a little too close, popping grapes into her mouth with a mischievous grin.

Velvet argued over city plans with Levia, their voices rising and falling like waves on the shore. Yuina jotted notes, her golden eyes sharp as she kept track of every word.

For a moment, it all felt normal—a rare peace in the kingdom that was slowly becoming his home.

A courier stepped forward, bowing. "A letter, Your Majesty; from Lord Alan's camp."

Asmodeus took the scroll.

The seal was the right one; the handwriting was Alan's, but the contents were dry, stripped of any humour or warmth. The update mentioned supplies, border skirmishes, and requests for extra coin for his border city... but nothing about the mainland meeting or the man's usual rambling complaints about city food; his cute wife or nieces...

He frowned, reading it twice.

Riel leaned closer, voice soft. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really; it's just…cold. Not like Alan." He let the parchment fall into Riel's hands, watching her read. "Maybe he's under pressure; the mainlanders always push him harder than they should."

Levia crossed her arms, wings flexing behind her. "He'll handle it. That fool always does."

Sariel yawned. "If he doesn't, we'll just storm the city and beat him."

A few of the council chuckled; the mood remained light, but the unease in Asmodeus's chest didn't leave.

They continued with city planning; Asmodeus forced himself to focus. There were reports from merchants about new taxes, rumours of spies among the people passing through the southern border, and complaints about the lack of infrastructure. Each problem felt ordinary, yet each decision weighed heavier than it had before.

Later, as the meeting ended, and the wives dispersed, some to bathe, others to their bedrooms, Asmodeus lingered alone.

He looked at the greatsword by the throne, its blade black and quiet.

He walked the ramparts at sunset; the city below was peaceful, lights flickering to life in the streets, children laughing somewhere beyond the gardens. Yet the wind carried a chill that shouldn't have been there.

'Is there something I don't know?'

In the depths of the citadel, where the battle against the god of death ended, frost began to creep along its corners.

Asmodeus paused at the highest balcony, the wind tugging at his hair; he closed his eyes, searching for that old sense of danger, the one that never left when things were truly safe.

Still, as night settled over the citadel.

Asmodeus couldn't shake the feeling that he missed something important—something he would not see until it was nearly too late.

"Are things going well... Alan?"

***

The halls of Baltimore's delegation manor glowed with candlelight long after the meeting ended. Lady Geruth stood at the window, her sharp eyes fixed on the darkness outside, a glass of red wine turning circles in her hand.

Behind her, the younger noble shuffled parchment on the table, giddy with excitement. "It's all here," he whispered. "Names, locations, the structure of their council—he even detailed the demon king's movements. And the other kingdoms' plans."

The older lord sat in silence, rereading the same page for the third time. "If what he says is true, the demon king isn't just a threat to the border—he's the fulcrum holding the beastkin and elves together. Without him, they'll fall to infighting."

Lady Geruth smiled, slow and cold. "Which means we only need to cut off the head, and the north will crumble."

A hush fell as an attendant entered, bowing. "The Duke of Grigor requests your presence in the garden, Lady Geruth."

She raised an eyebrow, with twitching lips.

"He recovers quickly."

"He wishes to assure you of his loyalty."

She tossed her wine back and handed off the glass. "Very well. Have the priest prepare his blessing. And send a copy of these to the high council—let them know we have the means to bring this new demon king to heel."

The attendant bowed again, and Lady Geruth swept out, her long dress whispering across the floor.

Moments later, in the shadowed garden, Alan stood straight-backed beside a fountain, eyes hollow and posture too stiff to be natural. He bowed perfunctorily, reciting words of loyalty. Geruth studied him closely; something in his eyes unsettled even her.

"You understand the consequences if your reports are false?" she asked.

Alan's gaze met hers, green shining through the dusk. "I serve the mainland. I serve the true order."

Geruth nodded, satisfied but wary. "Good. You'll remain here until the next phase. If there is any further information—anything at all about the demon king's weaknesses, his magic, his allies—you will provide it."

Alan bowed again. "As you wish, Lady Geruth."

As she turned to leave, she caught his reflection in the water, his eyes still glowing, cold as a serpent's.

***

Far from the warmth of the northern citadel, the night in Baltimore was thick with politics and unspoken threats. After the garden meeting, Lady Geruth found herself unable to sleep. Curiosity—and a measure of caution—drew her back to the manor's small private lounge, where a decanter of wine waited beside two chairs.

She couldn't have expected Alan to be there, already pouring himself a glass in a relaxed posture filled with confidence, as if he belonged there.

He looked at her for a moment, eyes shining in the lamplight, reflecting a sharp, unnatural green.

"Couldn't sleep, Lady Geruth?" he said, voice smoother than before.

There was a stroke of fear, deep within her belly. Yet the proud woman couldn't allow it to show; she lifted her chin and swallowed.

She studied him, curiosity overcoming her caution. "I could ask the same of you, Duke Alan. Are you not troubled after betraying an old friend?"

He handed her the glass of wine, his fingers brushing over hers just long enough to send a chill up her arm. "What's loyalty to a dead man?" he replied. "We make our own futures, not just for ourselves, but for those clever enough to seize them."

She sat, observing him as he circled to take the chair opposite, swirling his glass. The mood suddenly transforming—a dangerous energy humming in the quiet.

Alan's smile was subtle, his gaze unwavering. "Your vision for the continent is impressive," he said softly. "But vision needs power. And power comes to those who aren't afraid to claim it—whatever the cost."

Lady Geruth took a slow sip of wine, never breaking eye contact. She saw the promise and the threat behind his words. "And would you share that power, Duke Alan? Or keep it hidden behind a polite smile and an old man's regrets?"

He leaned in, just a breath closer. The lamplight made his eyes glow again. "I have no regrets," he murmured. "Not anymore."

A strange tension lingered between them—one part seduction, one part warning. Mephisto's presence twisted the air, making the wine taste sweeter and the risk feel like possibility.

As the night deepened, Geruth realised this was not the man she'd bargained with before; this Alan was colder, hungrier, and far more willing to do whatever it took to win.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, fear and excitement warred—but it was far too late to step away.

And as their clothes slipped away...

Outside, the bells of Baltimore rang midnight.

And a new game began.