The Demon Lord Is An Angel
Chapter 112: A Chance To Relax

Chapter 112: A Chance To Relax

Getting drained by Stella was the most fun Kir ever had returning to his normal form. They both returned to camp with satisfied smiles on their faces; Stella’s face in the form of a Cheshire copy.

What they found, however, was the Valrian Warmancer and an older gentleman waiting as the Black Sheep gathered everything.

"Kir... is back," Sam said, their eyes smiling as Kir strode into the firelight.

"How did your fight with the demon go?" Noir asked.

"She won’t be a problem," Kir said before changing the subject. "How is Vatima?"

"Safe, thanks to all of you," Warmancer Constance answered. "We have our medic looking at her now. Hopefully magic helps her pull through her fever... but if not she will be in the gods’ hands. You might want to get looked at as well," she pointed at Kir’s chest.

The remains of Kir’s jacket hadn’t been enough to hide the blue glow inside of him.

"I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt or anything," he said. "It started after we left the dungeon."

"Hm. I’ve never seen an illness like that," the older gentleman said, peering at Kir. He was a deer beastkin, his head bent despite the fact his antlers had clearly been sawed off at the base.

"And you are?" Kir asked.

"Tsimon Demarr, a mapmaker with the Adventurer’s Guild. I’m here to collate the results of the survey teams before the camp moves south. I collected descriptions of the dungeon from your companions, but I understand you alone have survived the deeper dungeon. I would like to hear about it."

"We collapsed the dungeon to prevent a grotesque from escaping," Kir said. "There are only a half-dozen floors now."

The old man shrugged. "Dungeons are quite capable of putting themselves back together... though the means of this are beyond mere mortal understanding. If it happens to regenerate its original floors, any bit of information might help future delves," he coughed into his hand.

"And Mr. Noir here did negotiate quite the fee for its location. Part of our agreement was receiving all the Black Sheep’s information on its layout and dangers. You are a member of this company, no?"

"I am," Kir said without hesitation, receiving a smile from Noir.

"Why don’t you two talk while we finish with the camp," Noir suggested, "You can talk while shoving things into those tattoos of yours, right?"

Kir nodded and smiled. He sat on a stump and started conveying his experiences to Tsimon. Occasionally he paused to store some of the camp equipment with his tattoos, before finishing by describing the ruined city, leaving out the kugelblitz at the very bottom.

"Fascinating... it seems that other adventurers did explore it, or perhaps wound up there the same way you did," the deer man rubbed his chin. "Such survival is not unprecedented, but rare. Trained mages often fall to mana poisoning, and even mavens have a hard time."

"I guess I just got lucky," Kir shrugged.

"Surviving alone on your first trip is hardly what I would call luck," the man chuckled. "But I am well aware of how secretive adventurers get about their methods. I was one myself until I lost my team. Cherish your friends, young Kir. And thank you."

He stood and started walking back to the fortified camp.

"I’ll admit when I said you could potentially find Vatima tonight, I did not think you would actually do it," Constance said, approaching the Black Sheep. "Come, there is room enough for all of you. I will have your writ of payment drawn up tomorrow."

The Black Sheep diligently followed her. Entering the fort, Kir saw that there were short buildings inside, with a decidedly temporary air to their construction. Most had empty carts next to them, and a pen full of aurochs indicated their preferred pulling method.

The group was led to a wide hall, more of a barracks, and inside there were plenty of beds laid out, some with sleeping adventurers and staff but most of them empty.

Kir was more than happy to collapse into a dreamless sleep while Stella and Cheshire nestled against him.

The next morning, Kir enjoyed a simple breakfast of eggs, fresh bread, and preserved meats; courtesy of Warmancer Constance. Everyone talked about things they wanted to do at the outpost before going north, and it was decided that three days would be an appropriate amount of time to recover and resupply. And enough time to relax away from each other.

As much as the Black Sheep enjoyed each other’s company, the chance for time alone in a safe environment was hard to pass up. There were some caveats, however.

"Don’t let anyone see your scars, especially if you spot any Syndicate around," Noir quietly reminded everyone except Kir and Stella.

"That goes without saying," Caroon said around a mouthful of bread. "More worried about what happens after we get to Norneau."

"Norneau doesn’t deal as much with the Guild. I doubt anyone there will turn us in," Noir said. "None of the Lakelands have slavecatcher agreements with the coast. So as long as we steer clear of the slavers themselves, we can go about our business. Maybe find a healer to fix the brand scars." He pulled out a set of shears, which were clearly new and well-oiled. Kir assumed he’d been given them by their hosts. "Anyway, it’s been a few months, so I really need-"

Caroon grunted loudly, interrupting Noir before standing up. "Gonna go ask about getting a proper sword. Might shake off the rust and make it myself, if the forge here is any good," he left his dishes on the table and walked off. Cheshire took the opportunity to pounce on his uneaten eggs.

"I need new arrows and strings," Namosa announced just as abruptly before she also left.

"Hey wai-" Noir started to say before the clattering of a chair announced that Sam had snuck off while their leader’s head was turned. The swinging shutters of a nearby window announced their mode of exit.

Kir was left confused. "What just happened?"

Noir sighed. "Every few months I need shearing... Guess everyone saw it coming."

"That doesn’t sound so bad," Kir shrugged.

"I can get a bit ticklish... it’s not something I can control, so I’m guessing everyone figures it’s your turn to get headbutted," Noir said flatly. "That is if you don’t mind. I doubt there’s a professional this far out from civilization."

"Sure," Kir laughed nervously, "Why not? How bad could it be?"

"Best shear I ever got took twenty minutes. I think you’ll do okay."

Hours later, Kir thoroughly regretted underestimating the Noir’s warning.

It wasn’t just that Noir was ticklish, it was that he was violently ticklish.

Sitting Noir on his lap got him headbutted. Trying to lay him on his belly got him violently kneed - and Noir had bony little knees capable of concentrating a lot of force. Trying to cut the wool on Noir’s belly got his arm bit.

Finally, in a fit of frustration, Kir decided to leverage his superior height.

Pinning Noir to the rim of the tub face-down, one hand on the back of his neck. He sat on a chair and used his newly prehensile feet to grip Noir at the ankles while he sheared his back, before repeating the same procedure after flipping him, growling aggressively with every giggling struggle Noir put up.

Finally, after four hours, Kir rested his cramped fingers and sat back as Noir finished off the fine trimming, leaving only a light coat of fluffy, curly wool along his chest, legs, and forearms. Parts were still rather uneven though, especially where Kir had oversheared by accident.

"Thank you for that, Kir. I feel much better now," Noir sighed happily as he washed off.

"Isn’t getting sheared now a bit counterintuitive?" Kir asked. "It’s only getting colder."

"My body thinks it’s getting close to winter," Noir replied. "Time in the dungeon must have messed it up. You have no idea how itchy it was getting."

Kir nodded his sympathy for lost time. Learning he’d been over a month in the dungeon had killed any hope he had of reasonably salvaging his first semester. By his estimates he would not get back to Norneau until well into summer break, unless he could somehow arrange for teleportation or fly. And with the Eye of Hell inducing an early autumn from all the ash it was putting into the atmosphere, normal travel would grow much harder as soon as conditions got wintery.

The former wasn’t an option, even if he could pay for it, since there were no cities large enough to warrant a teleportation circle within convenient distance. The latter would paint a target on the Black Sheep if they knew. He had to assume that his being a hybrid would have been reported by now, based on what the Knight Commander and Professor had said when they were trying to kill him.

A splash of water against his body pulled Kir out of his thoughts.

"Quit overthinking things," Noir said as he floated. "There’s something I want to ask."

Kir tensed. With everything Stella said about Noir’s attraction to him, he’d suspected it would have to come up sooner rather than later, but he didn’t know how he-

"Are there age limits for applying to the Academy in Norneau?"

"Huh?"

Kir barely suppressed his shock at the question. "You want to go to Norneau Academy?"

"Well, any magic academy would be fine, but we’re already heading to Norneau. I know it doesn’t feel like it yet, but that mass of soul stone you have could set all of us up for life. It got me thinking about what I could actually do with my life if I had the money. Then I realized I don’t really know. Everything I learned was as an apprentice, and back then I thought magic theory and defense were for idiots who couldn’t get a job..." Noir sighed. "But then... then I got enslaved. I’ve wondered so much about how things would have been different if I could have just defended myself..."

"May I ask what happened?" Kir asked, his tone softening.

After a long pause, Noir said "I made a few bad choices. In most lands, if you aren’t armed or one of the bigger folk, getting kidnapped and sold is common."

"That’s terrible," Kir said.

Noir proceeded to tell his story. He’d been apprenticed to one of the artisans under the umbrella of Nyandor’s Crafters Guild. When the sheepkin discovered a new way to easily create enchated cloth by taking advantage of mana compatibility with their own wool, combined with water-powered looms, they’d started to displace more traditional methods of creating and enchanting cloth.

When merchants had started to shift to the cheaper product, traditional "claw stitchers," as Noir called them, began to wield the Crafters Guild’s influence against the sheepkin. A string of falsehoods and prejudices erupted into attacks on his people and their factories, as the kingdom’s officials had looked the other way.

"Eventually, the Chain Syndicate got set on those of us who didn’t manage to leave. We were sold because we never had the strength to resist." Noir’s voice cracked as he wiped his eyes. Then he let out a gasping, rueful laugh. "Wanna know something funny? I got sent to Sweetling Island because I couldn’t tell them about how the river looms worked. All I did was stitch and resonate the enchantments before cutting."

"Do you think the Syndicate are trying to recreate what your people did?"

"Who knows," Noir raised his arms with a little splash. "We were on the run for years, and then I got us branded. I thought we were in the clear but the Syndicate is everywhere. I don’t think I’ll ever feel really, truly free while they exist."

"They won’t be in Norneau for long," Kir replied, a slight growl to his voice.

"Hence why I’d love to stay there, your august company aside," Noir splashed Kir a bit. "But I also wanted to offer my help. Any enchantments I can make, I’ll give you for free. Just promise you’ll let me be there when they burn."

Offering a hand, Kir waited until Noir was standing to shake on it. "I’ll invite you along," he promised.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.