Rimuru was feeling bored, so he decided to go back in time and start anew. This time, he opted for a new game-plus style, retaining all his abilities and accompanied by his most trusted partner, Ciel.
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This is a story about how Rimuru achieved wor...
In the Queendom of Fulbrosia, Sky Queen Frey reclined gracefully on her throne, savoring a glass of crimson wine. The fiasco with Clayman and his ill-fated attempt to create a puppet Demon Lord was now a distant memory, leaving her days quiet and predictable as her queendom thrived in stability, and her stature as a Demon Lord ensured external threats remained at bay.
Just then, the tranquil atmosphere was interrupted when one of her guards entered the throne room and bowed low. "Lady Frey, Demon Lord Clayman has arrived and is requesting an audience with you."
Frey's brow arched at the mention of Clayman's name. "Requesting?" she repeated, her tone laden with skepticism.
The guard hesitated, her expression darkening as she cast her eyes downward. "No, Lady. He demanded an audience with you."
The words had barely left her lips when a feather from Frey's wing streaked through the air, grazing the guard's cheek with such precision that a thin line of blood appeared.
"Do not lie to me again," Frey said, her voice cold and sharp, sending a shiver down the guard's spine. "Now, did he give a reason for his visit?"
"No, Lady," the guard replied quickly, in a trembling voice. "He claimed we were 'unworthy' of knowing his intentions. He said he would speak only to you."
Frey sighed, setting her glass aside. "How typical," she muttered. Taking another deliberate sip of wine, she added, "Send him in. But first, summon my daughters."
"As you command, my Queen." The guard bowed deeply before retreating from the chamber.
Moments later, two harpies entered the throne room, their wings beating softly as they descended with effortless grace. The identical twins carried sleek, polished spears while their stoic expressions bordered on disinterest. Their only distinguishing feature amongst the two was their hair—Luchia's was blonde, while Claire's was silver.
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"Greetings, Mother," the twins said in unison, bowing their heads. Without needing further instructions, they glided behind Frey's throne, standing guard with icy, stoic expressions as Clayman entered the room.
Clayman arrived shortly after, striding into the room with his usual theatrical flair. His smirk was smug, his movements exaggerated as though every step demanded attention. "Ah, Frey," he drawled, spreading his arms as if to embrace the room. "Looking as radiant as ever, I see."
"Spare me your flattery, Clayman," Frey replied coolly, reclining back with her wine glass. "State your business. I have no time for your nonsense."
Clayman's eye twitched, but he quickly masked his irritation with a practiced smile. "Now, now, Frey. I'm not sure what I've done to earn your hostility, but don't you think we, as fellow Demon Lords, should strive to get along?"
