The meeting was over.
The Court Lords went their separate ways, returning to their respective homes.
Lucifer and Ermengarde naturally chose not to linger.
“Whew…
that was terrifying.
Are all Royal Court meetings this tense and serious?”
Even after they had walked quite some distance away from the palace, Ermengarde was still patting her startled little heart to calm herself down.
Although she was only sitting in, Ermengarde herself had barely any experience participating in Royal Court meetings.
Moreover, she had known the attendees, including Lucifer, for less than two days.
Naturally, the pressure felt absolutely immense.
To be honest, during the meeting, Ermengarde—who stayed silent and tried to look aloof and cold—was either examining what year’s materials the table was made of, or dissing Fremont in her heart for giving her this errand.
Only Llamarein’s generous “bosom” could offer the young Lich a tiny bit of comfort.
“Yes, and no.”
Lucifer started with a classic riddle-maker line.
It was hard to tell whether he just had a massive heart, or if Lucifer had been dragged along to sit in on meetings by the Sanguinarch so many times that he had already accumulated enough experience to have the leisure to chat and laugh with the others.
Or perhaps his chatterbox trait was acting up.
It was just that Lucifer had occasionally heard from the King of the Scavengers or Llamarein that before he began attending or before he became a Sanguine Prince, the Royal Court meetings had always been highly confrontational.
Even if, most of the time, it was just everyone ganging up on the Sanguinarch alone.
Targeting the Sanguinarch?
Count me in!
Wait, what?
I’m one of the Sanguinarch’s people?
Never mind then, time to cut ties.
“Hey, when are you going to replace the Sanguinarch and lead the Crimson Court?
If it were you, it wouldn’t feel so tense all the time, like a fight is about to break out any second.”
Of course, Ermengarde wasn’t the only one who harbored such thoughts.
Even though Lucifer also had the blood of many lives on his hands, compared to the Sanguinarch who constantly pushed the absolute bottom of moral limits, Lucifer—whose moral standards were merely a bit “flexible”—looked like an absolute saint.
In private, the King of the Scavengers and Theresa had more than once probed Lucifer about whether he had any plans to take over the Crimson Court, but it always yielded the same result: “We’re not close.”
Just like now, as Lucifer looked at Ermengarde with a face full of horror.
“Ermengarde, I’ve treated you well.
How dare you try to assassinate me?”
“Ah…
is it really that serious?”
“Then would you be willing to let Fremont retire and take over the Lich Court yourself?”
“Uh…
let’s forget I asked.”
Faced with the counterquestion, Ermengarde thought about it.
Fremont had more than enough to worry about in Leithanien, let alone Kazdel.
Furthermore, as an “outsider,” Ermengarde wasn’t even familiar with Kazdel, so how could she possibly understand the chaotic mess that was the Sanguine Court?
If one wanted to become the leader of the Sanguines, they would first have to suppress the other Princes and their subordinate Sanguines.
With Lucifer’s abilities, doing so wouldn’t be difficult.
Worst case scenario, he could ask heavyweights like the King of the Scavengers or the Demon King to step in and help.
The real headache was administration.
Lucifer was neither good at nor interested in managing other people’s factions.
He couldn’t exactly announce the dissolution of the Crimson Court on his very first day as its leader, could he?
Not to mention the endless legacy issues left behind by the Sanguinarch.
Rather than running himself ragged trying to clear the Sanguines’ name, it felt much better to draw a line in the sand, distance himself, and live happily day by day.
Suffice to say, if the Sanguinarch ever genuinely got the idea to pass the Court’s legacy to Lucifer, Lucifer would run out of Kazdel the day before.
“You really are a misfit in Kazdel…
In that case, why do you still stay here?”
Ermengarde’s question stumped Lucifer.
Indeed, with Lucifer’s refined and easygoing personality, he would be called an outlier anywhere.
The other Sanguine Princes often gossiped about him behind his back.
So why did he still stay in Kazdel?
The answer, of course, couldn’t be that Lucifer had developed deep feelings for this place.
It was simply that he liked staying in his comfort zone.
In Kazdel, Lucifer could get fresh blood at any time without worrying about infamy or legal constraints.
Furthermore, his status as a Sanguine Prince was enough to keep most uninvited troubles away from his door.
Sometimes, the King of the Scavengers or the Sanguinarch, whom he knew well, would even stand up for him.
However, the peace within this comfort zone would sooner or later be threatened by pressure and external forces.
The pressure of the Royal Court position would force Lucifer to shoulder too many unnecessary responsibilities and headaches, and the power struggles that could erupt at any moment would drag him into a bottomless abyss.
None of this was what Lucifer wanted.
When everything Lucifer currently possessed started bringing him endless trouble instead, that would be the moment of his “betrayal” and escape.
…
Lucifer didn’t answer Ermengarde’s question for the moment, and Ermengarde tactfully refrained from pressing him on it.
Instead, the two of them simply moved on to other topics, such as badmouthing Fremont and the Sanguinarch.
They chatted and laughed their way back to Lucifer’s home.
Yet, just as they pushed open the door of the old house, they discovered that Warfarin, who was supposed to have left, had returned.
“Oh, you’re back.”
“What?
Did you run into the Sanguinarch on your way home and come to my place to seek refuge?”
If that were true, Lucifer would have to marvel at Warfarin’s unparalleled wisdom.
If the Sanguinarch were to appear anywhere near this area, he would likely be coming for Lucifer.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.
“If I ran into the Sanguinarch, I probably wouldn’t have made it back…
Never mind that, I heard some interesting news on my way home, so I came back to chat with you about it.”
“Spill.”
Lucifer’s eyes swept over his blood-wine cabinet.
After confirming that his food supply hadn’t fallen victim to Warfarin’s clutches, he gestured for her to elaborate.
“That Demon King, Theresa, is said to be establishing an organization called Babel.
Apparently, it’s meant to soothe the Sarkaz, thereby importing foreign resources and personnel.”
Lucifer didn’t interrupt.
He had never really meddled in the plans and developments of Theresa, Theresis, or the Royal Courts.
However, when it came to importing personnel from abroad, Lucifer could already smell the scent of hatred tearing solidarity apart.
“Surprisingly, the reception has been pretty good?
At least, I saw quite a few Sarkaz receive a dose of specialized Oripathy medicine.
And the Demon King plans to recruit some local help, so I came to ask what you think.”
“Not interested.”
Lucifer replied flatly.
Something that sounded this much like an invitation to trouble was something Lucifer wouldn’t touch even if he had to jump off the Banshee Valley.
“Oh, I already guessed you’d think that.
But guess what intel I dug up from Babel?
It’s absolute gold!”
Warfarin immediately wore the expression of a bloodthirsty drama-seeker.
Hearing her tone and seeing that she didn’t seem to be acting, Lucifer’s curiosity was gradually piqued.
“I heard that Babel has some kind of advisor named Kal’tsit!”
“…Who did you say?”