Walking down the hallway of a Demon Castle was terrifying.
Not because of the monsters. I mean, sure, there were suits of armor that looked like they were made of human bones, and the paintings on the walls followed me with their eyes, but that wasn't the problem.
The problem was the acting.
Okay, Valerius, I told myself. Shoulders back. Chin up. Look at people like they owe you money.
I had to blend in. If anyone found out the real Valerius was gone and replaced by some random guy who used to work in IT, I'd be dead. Demons didn't take kindly to "possession" unless they were the ones doing it.
I needed to act like the original: Arrogant. Cruel. Loud.
But that was exhausting.
I passed a pair of guards standing by a heavy iron door. They were Orcs—huge, green, with tusks the size of bananas.
As soon as they saw me, they slammed their spears against the floor and stiffened up. They were sweating.
"G-Glory to the 7th Prince!" one of them shouted, his voice cracking.
I flinched. Do you have to yell? My headache is still killing me.
"Yeah, glory, whatever," I muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "At ease."
The guards didn't move. They stared at me with wide, terrified eyes.
Wait, I thought. Did I say something wrong?
Then I remembered. The old Valerius would have kicked them for being too loud. Or fined them. Me telling them to be "at ease" probably sounded like a trap. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"I said, relax," I tried again, forcing a scowl onto my face because I thought that's what a Prince should do. "Don't make me repeat myself."
The Orcs immediately slumped against the wall, looking like they were about to cry with relief.
"Thank you, Your Highness! Your benevolence is boundless!"
Benevolence? I just told you to chill out.
I kept walking, shaking my head. This "Villain" reputation was going to be a pain in the neck. Everyone assumed the worst of me. If I sneezed, they'd probably think I was casting a plague spell.
I finally reached the double doors of the Dining Hall.
I pushed them open.
Boom.
The heavy doors slammed against the walls. Inside, the room was massive. There was a table long enough to seat fifty people, but it was empty except for one chair at the head.
A dozen servants and chefs were lined up against the wall. When I entered, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Good morning, Your Highness!" they chanted in unison, bowing so low their noses touched the carpet.
I walked to the head of the table and sat down. The chair was like a throne, padded with velvet. Comfy.
A nervous-looking demon in a tall chef's hat scurried over. He was trembling so hard the silver platter in his hands was rattling like a maraca.
"Y-Your Highness," the Head Chef stammered. "We... we did not expect you so early. Usually, you sleep until noon."
"I woke up hungry," I said simply. "What's on the menu?"
The Chef gulped. He lifted the lid of the silver platter.
"Fresh... uh... Blood-Boar steak, seared in hellfire pepper sauce. And... raw liver of a Cockatrice."
I looked at the food.
The steak was practically raw, oozing red juice. The liver looked slimy and purple.
My human stomach did a backflip.
Right. Demons eat gross stuff. The old Valerius probably loved this garbage. But if I ate that liver, I was going to throw up all over this nice tablecloth.
"Take it away," I said, leaning back.
The Chef's face went gray. "Y-You... you dislike it? I apologize! I will punish myself! I will chop off my own hand for this failure!"
He reached for a cleaver on his belt.
"Whoa! Stop!" I shouted, sitting up straight. "Put the knife down, you maniac!"
The room went dead silent. The Chef froze, tears welling up in his eyes. "Your Highness?"
"I'm not mad at the cooking," I lied smoothly. "I just... I want something different today."
I needed to think of something humans ate that demons might also have. I couldn't ask for "Pepperoni Pizza." They wouldn't know what that was.
"Eggs," I said. "And bread. Toasted. With butter."
The Chef blinked. "Eggs? Just... eggs? Like... from a chicken?"
"Yes. And maybe some bacon if you have it. Cooked. Crispy. Not raw."
The Chef looked confused. He looked at the other servants. They exchanged glances.
Oh no, I thought. Is this too weird? Is asking for toast suspicious?
"I see..." the Chef whispered, his eyes widening with realization. "I understand now."
He bowed deeply.
"You are testing us! You wish for the humble food of the peasants to remind yourself of the weakness of humanity! You are mocking their diet by consuming it! Brilliant, Your Highness! Truly a cruel sense of irony!"
I stared at him.
What? No. I just want breakfast.
"Uh... sure," I said. "Exactly. That's it. Irony. Now go make it."
"At once!"
The kitchen staff scrambled away like their lives depended on it. Which, knowing this place, they probably did.
I sighed and rested my chin on my hand.
This was going to be a long day. I had to keep up this act of being a "Cruel Genius" when all I really wanted was some toast.
But as I waited, my mind drifted back to the Status Window.
I had three days. The assassin was coming. I couldn't just sit here eating eggs. I needed to test my Authority. I needed to find out if I could actually steal power.
"Hey," I called out to a servant standing by the wall—a lizardman with green scales.
He jumped. "Y-Yes, Lord Valerius?"
"After I eat," I said, trying to sound bored, "prepare the training grounds. I want to... stretch my legs."
The lizardman looked shocked. "The training grounds? But... you haven't trained in five years."
"I changed my mind," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"No! No! Not at all!" He bowed frantically. "I will have the training dummies prepared immediately!"
"Not dummies," I corrected him. A dark thought crossed my mind. The description of my skill said consume. I didn't think I could consume a wooden dummy.
"Bring me a monster," I said. "Something alive. And weak."
The servant's eyes went wide.
"A live monster... to torture?" he asked, his voice trembling.
I didn't correct him. If "torture" was the cover story I needed to save the world (and my own skin), then so be it.
"Sure," I smiled. "Something like that."