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BONUS CHAPTER
( SOME CHANGES IN NAMES ARE MADE )
Russell collected the valuable materials from the fallen demons scattered around the forest clearing, The harvest was substantial: two blue-quality [Half-Transformed Boar Spirit] essences that pulsed with residual magical energy, one blue-quality [Transformed Boar Spirit] that carried the distinctive aura of a fully realized demonic form, and most significantly, one gold-quality [Transformed Boar Spirit] that radiated power even in its crystallized state.
Each material represented not just monetary value but strategic resources for future card creation projects. The gold-quality specimen alone was worth more than most cardmakers earned in months of routine operations.
With practiced efficiency, Russell gathered the corpses of the deceased demons and deposited them into the pit that Winston had excavated with his final, frustrated stomp. The improvised grave was deep enough to conceal the evidence .
After ensuring the burial was complete and undetectable, Russell turned his attention to the practical matters of maintaining his new identity. He carefully straightened Winston's formal clothing, brushing away traces of dirt and blood that might raise questions about his recent activities. The butler's attire was well-tailored and conservative, speaking to his important position within the Boar Clan hierarchy while maintaining the understated dignity appropriate to a trusted servant.
Satisfied with his appearance, Russell began the journey back toward the Boar Clan settlement, retracing the route through increasingly familiar underground passages. His movements now carried Winston's characteristic measured gait and professional bearing—small details that would be crucial for maintaining his infiltration in close quarters with demons who had known the butler for years.
The successful deception in the study had been a crucial test of Arrogance's capabilities. Russell had managed to fool both the Young Patriarch and the genuine Winston himself through flawless physical mimicry combined with strategic manipulation of their expectations. The dagger wound that should have been fatal had been nothing more than elaborate theater, easily controlled and negated by his symbiotic partner's precise intervention.
"From what the original butler revealed before his death," Russell mused as he navigated the tunnels, "the current father and son leadership of this clan are not the legitimate rulers." The revelation had been somewhat unexpected, but it actually presented excellent opportunities rather than complications. Internal power struggles and questions of legitimacy would make it much easier to exploit existing tensions and manipulate the political dynamics to his advantage.
The return journey proceeded without incident, allowing Russell time to process the intelligence he had gathered and plan his next moves. When he encountered Boar Clan servants along the way, they greeted him with the same deferential respect they had always shown to Winston, their easy acceptance confirming that Arrogance's transformation was flawless in every observable detail.
Upon reaching the study where this phase of his infiltration had begun, Russell composed himself fully into Winston's persona before entering. He arranged his features into the butler's typical expression of dutiful competence mixed with barely concealed irritation at his master's reckless behavior.
Looking at the elegant study where he had nearly been exposed just hours earlier, Russell allowed himself a moment of cold satisfaction before assuming his role completely. He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside with Winston's measured authority.
"Young Master," he said with the right combination of formality and subtle reproach, "the matter has been resolved completely, and I have disposed of the individuals as requested."
The Young Patriarch looked up from papers he had been pretending to read, his narrow eyes studying Russell's appearance with the casual indifference of someone accustomed to having their orders carried out without question or complication. Finding nothing suspicious in the butler's demeanor or clothing, he dismissed the report with characteristic arrogance.
"Understood," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You may go about your other duties."
Russell had barely turned toward the door when it burst open to admit a breathless, obviously agitated demon whose formal clothing marked him as senior household staff. The messenger's urgent arrival and panicked expression immediately shifted the atmosphere in the study from casual dismissal to sharp concern.
"Young Master!" the newcomer gasped, struggling to catch his breath after what had clearly been a desperate sprint through the settlement's corridors. "Something terrible has happened! The Patriarch demands your immediate presence in the main reception hall—you and the butler both!"
The Young Patriarch's expression transformed from casual superiority to genuine alarm at this unexpected summons. His father rarely called for emergency meetings, and when he did, the consequences were usually severe for someone involved. The inclusion of the butler in the summons was particularly ominous, suggesting the situation involved matters that required Winston's particular skills or knowledge.
"Very well," the Young Patriarch replied after a moment of visible calculation, his voice carefully controlled despite the obvious stress. "I understand the urgency."
Without another word or glance at Russell, the young demon strode from the study with the quick, nervous energy of someone who knew they might be walking into serious trouble. His agitation was evident in every line of his posture as he moved through the settlement's corridors.
Russell couldn't help but release a quiet breath of relief as he followed at an appropriate distance. His greatest concern had been navigating the settlement's layout without revealing his ignorance of the building's organization. Fortunately, his role was to accompany rather than lead, and the Young Patriarch's current distraction meant he wasn't paying attention to Russell's movements or positioning.
The main reception hall proved to be exactly the kind of space Russell had expected from his observations of Boar Clan wealth and status. High ceilings supported by carved stone pillars created an atmosphere of grandeur and authority, while expensive tapestries depicting clan history lined the walls. Comfortable seating arrangements suggested this space served both formal meetings and important social gatherings.
But the atmosphere in the room was anything but comfortable or social. The moment the Young Patriarch crossed the threshold, his father's voice cut through the air like a blade charged with barely controlled fury:
"You worthless creature! Come here and kneel down immediately!"
The speaker was a middle-aged demon whose hair and beard bristled like steel spikes, radiating the kind of volcanic anger that suggested someone was about to face severe consequences for their actions. This was clearly the Patriarch of the Boar Clan—the Young Patriarch's father and the ultimate authority within the family structure, at least nominally.
The Young Patriarch's face cycled through expressions of confusion and growing alarm as he processed both the command and the hostile tone. "Father, what has happened to cause such—"
"I said come here and kneel down!" the Patriarch interrupted with explosive rage, his voice echoing off the reception hall's high ceiling with enough force to make the tapestries flutter.
Only then did Russell have the opportunity to properly survey the room's other occupants, and what he observed made his assessment shift dramatically. About a dozen demons occupied the elegant seating, and he immediately recognized several faces from his previous intelligence gathering.
The elderly demon and younger companion he had encountered during his earlier observations were both present, along with Lord Marcus from the Sorrow Clan—the silver-level clan leader Russell had observed during his interrogation. But these familiar faces were joined by others he hadn't seen before, all carrying themselves with the unmistakable bearing of significant authority within the underground society.
"All of them are silver-level," Russell realized as he extended his magical senses to their absolute minimum, just enough to gauge the power levels represented in the room. His pulse quickened with a mixture of opportunity and concern at this concentration of magical strength. "Though I get the distinct impression that most of them are strong on the surface but weak underneath."
The observation was crucial for his tactical planning. Apart from the elderly demon—whose true capabilities remained somewhat uncertain to Russell's perception—the other silver-level entities projected the telltale signatures of power that had been achieved through enhancement or political position rather than genuine magical development. Their auras carried the hollow quality of authority backed by external support rather than personal strength.
"In that case, I might want to reconsider my approach entirely," Russell thought as he watched the family drama unfold. "Let me observe the dynamics before making any decisive moves."
While Russell conducted his covert analysis, the Young Patriarch had obediently approached his father and dropped to his knees with the practiced submission of someone who had experienced this kind of public humiliation before. His posture spoke to years of conditioning under an authoritarian parent who used shame as a tool of control.
The middle-aged Patriarch's demeanor immediately shifted from volcanic fury to formal deference as he turned toward the elderly demon who clearly held ultimate authority in this gathering.
"Ancestor," he said with carefully measured politeness, bowing respectfully toward the ancient figure. "My foolish son has acted without wisdom and caused you considerable trouble. I take full responsibility for his unauthorized actions and their consequences."
The elderly demon—apparently the ultimate authority even above the various clan patriarchs—lifted his teacup with deliberate precision and took a calculated sip before responding. His movements were unhurried and theatrical, suggesting someone who understood the psychological impact of making others wait for judgment while demonstrating his own unshakeable composure.
"Are you telling me," the Ancestor said with a half-smile that contained no warmth whatsoever, "that your son orchestrated all of these recent incidents entirely on his own initiative? You claim to have had no knowledge of his activities or objectives?"
A flash of genuine surprise crossed the Young Patriarch's features for just an instant—so brief that most observers would have missed it entirely—before he concealed his reaction behind an elaborate display of self-recrimination. Tears began flowing down his cheeks as he launched into what was clearly a well-rehearsed performance.
"Ancestor, everything is entirely my fault!" he wailed with theatrical anguish, striking his own face repeatedly in apparent punishment. "I allowed evil spirits to possess my judgment! I deserve death for my crimes against the clan and our sacred traditions!"
Each self-accusation was punctuated by another slap to his own cheek, creating a performance that would have been worthy of professional theater. The combination of physical self-punishment and emotional breakdown was calculated to evoke sympathy while deflecting responsibility away from any broader conspiracy.
Russell, observing this display from his position near the back of the room, found himself genuinely impressed by the young demon's acting abilities. His performance skills are remarkable, he thought with appreciation. He could win awards for this level of theatrical conviction.
But beyond the entertainment value, the exchange was providing Russell with crucial intelligence about the political dynamics governing this underground society. The death of the patrol team from the Sorrow Clan hadn't been arranged by the Ancestor as Russell had initially assumed. Instead, it had been a private initiative by the Boar Clan leadership, motivated by nothing more sophisticated than internal power struggles and territorial ambitions.
Meanwhile, external threats are supposedly mounting against their entire civilization, Russell reflected with dark amusement, yet here they are still fighting among themselves for scraps of authority and influence.
"How touching," the Ancestor commented with sardonic appreciation as he watched the Young Patriarch's continued self-flagellation. "But if I hadn't arranged for discrete surveillance of your recent activities, I suspect you would have succeeded in your little scheme completely. I must commend you for the thoroughness of your planning and execution."
The statement hit both father and son like a physical blow. The Young Patriarch's performance faltered as genuine terror replaced theatrical remorse, and cold sweat broke out across his forehead as the implications became clear. Not only had their assassination plot been discovered, but it had been under observation from the beginning.
"Ancestor, I beg for your mercy!" the Young Patriarch pleaded with desperate sincerity, his kowtows becoming more frantic as the reality of his situation sank in. "Please spare my worthless life!"
But the Ancestor ignored these pleas entirely, instead turning his attention to address the assembled clan leaders with the practiced authority of someone accustomed to managing complex political situations.
"All the patriarchs present have now witnessed the truth of this matter," he announced with satisfaction. "This incident was not orchestrated by me, as some of you may have suspected. You can discontinue your concerns about my potential involvement in unauthorized violence."
The various demons responded with the kind of elaborate protestations that Russell recognized as diplomatic theater designed to maintain face while acknowledging underlying suspicions:
"What are you suggesting, honored Ancestor? We would never question your integrity!"
"Such thoughts never crossed our minds!"
"We trust your judgment completely!"
The Ancestor accepted these declarations with a knowing smile that suggested he wasn't fooled by their diplomatic protests. Political survival in this environment clearly required careful management of multiple competing interests and suspicious factions.
But Russell's attention had shifted from the political theater to more immediate considerations. His eyes brightened as a significant realization struck him with the force of revelation.
"All the family heads are present in this room," he thought, his mind racing through the implications and possibilities. "Doesn't that mean if I eliminate them all right now, half of my mission objectives would be completed instantly?"
He began mentally calculating the feasibility of summoning Lily and launching an immediate assault on the assembled leadership. Such a concentration of targets in a confined space, with him positioned perfectly within their security perimeter, represented an almost unprecedented tactical opportunity.
Originally, his infiltration had been motivated by limited goals—gathering intelligence about the underground society's organization and identifying key vulnerabilities for future exploitation. But now that he had a clear assessment of their actual strength levels and a perfect setup for decisive action, Russell was beginning to think that subtlety and prolonged deception might be unnecessary complications.
Meanwhile, the Ancestor was conducting his own internal calculations about how to resolve the situation while maintaining the delicate political balance that kept the various clans from open warfare.
A moderate punishment should be sufficient, he mused silently. After all, they accomplished something I wanted to do but couldn't justify doing myself. This way, there should be fewer dissenting voices among the clan leadership going forward.
The elderly demon took great care to maintain the complex relationships required to manage this collection of fractious subordinates. In his private opinion, the elimination of several demons from the Sorrow Clan patrol had actually been a beneficial development. He'd been searching for an acceptable excuse to remove those particular individuals from the political equation, but hadn't expected the Boar Clan to solve the problem so conveniently.
"Very well," the Ancestor concluded with the tone of someone rendering final judgment. "I won't belabor the current challenges facing our society, as we all understand the pressures we're confronting. However, punishment for unauthorized action is inevitable. You and your son need to designate someone to bear responsibility for this incident."
Although the Ancestor couldn't completely eliminate the Boar Clan without risking the stability of their coalition, he could certainly use this opportunity to weaken their position and reduce their capacity for future independent action.
Upon hearing this verdict, the Patriarch and his son exchanged a quick look that communicated volumes about their relationship and survival strategies. Without extensive deliberation, they reached a decision that would have been predictable to anyone familiar with their character and priorities.
"The butler participated in the planning and execution as well!" they declared in unison, immediately pointing accusatory fingers at Russell.
Russell stared at them in momentary disbelief, his carefully maintained composure nearly cracking under the weight of sheer incredulity. He genuinely hadn't expected to find himself thrust into the center of this political drama while attempting to observe from what he had thought was a safe position on the sidelines.
Seeing every demon in the reception hall turning their attention toward him with expressions ranging from curiosity to anticipation, Russell felt a surge of speechless irritation at the unfairness of his situation. But he was nothing if not adaptable to rapidly changing circumstances.
Drawing on his understanding of the real Winston's personality and the household's political dynamics, Russell immediately went on the offensive with righteous indignation.
"You two incompetent fools are obviously trying to create internal division," he declared with the kind of outraged dignity that would be expected from a loyal servant being used as a scapegoat. "Your transparent attempt to eliminate me is clearly motivated by your desire to seize complete control of the Boar Clan hierarchy without interference from experienced counsel!"
The assembled demons perked up with obvious interest at this development. Political infighting with personal accusations was apparently considered prime entertainment in their current circumstances, and Russell's counterattack had elevated the drama to new levels of interpersonal conflict.
"Now this is getting truly interesting!" he could practically hear them thinking as they settled back to enjoy the unfolding spectacle.
However, the Ancestor wasn't particularly interested in extended dramatic confrontations or complex political maneuvering. He rose from his seat with the decisive movement of someone ready to bring the matter to a swift and practical conclusion.
"Since you have made your decision about responsibility and consequences," he declared with finality, his ancient voice carrying absolute authority, "I will personally take the life of this butler to satisfy the demands of justice."
In the Ancestor's perception, Russell appeared to be merely a somewhat capable bronze-level demon—useful enough to merit employment but not powerful enough to be worth preserving when political necessity demanded a sacrifice. If Winston had been silver-level, the ancient demon might have found reasons to spare his life and seek alternative solutions.
Seeing Russell standing motionless in apparent shock at this development, the Young Patriarch couldn't conceal his satisfaction at having successfully deflected blame onto a convenient target. His expression brightened with barely contained glee as he anticipated the elimination of a witness who knew too much about his recent activities.
"What are you waiting for?" he called out with malicious enthusiasm that revealed his true character. "Come over here and accept your punishment like a proper servant should!"
Russell looked at the spoiled young demon with a mixture of exasperation and contempt. The whining, entitled tone was exactly what he had come to expect from someone who had never faced genuine consequences for their actions.
As the demons stared at him with various degrees of confusion and anticipation—servants weren't supposed to hesitate when receiving direct orders from their masters—Russell released a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of resigned acceptance.
He felt a moment of genuine regret that his careful infiltration had been derailed by circumstances beyond his control, but adaptation was the key to survival in hostile environments. Sometimes the best-laid plans required dramatic revision when faced with unexpected developments.
His current identity as Winston the butler was indeed just that of a bronze-level demon from the perspective of everyone present. Being sacrificed as a political scapegoat was probably inevitable given the power dynamics at play and the need for someone to bear responsibility for recent unauthorized violence.
But as Russell prepared himself for the next phase of this encounter, his voice underwent a dramatic and unsettling transformation. When he spoke again, the sound that emerged was no longer Winston's measured, professional tone.
Instead, a hoarse and ferocious voice that seemed to emerge from some primordial darkness rang out through the elegant reception hall, carrying undertones that made the air itself seem to thicken with malevolent energy:
"Since you all want to die so badly, I'll be happy to grant your wish."
End of Chapter 126
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