CHAPTER 122: THE MASOCHIST IN THE BUSINESS SUIT

The Forest of Trials was a lie.

It was less of a forest and more of a vaguely threatening collection of trees with a serious mud problem. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth, pine needles, and something else... something that smelled vaguely like cheap cologne and existential dread.

I strode through the mud, my very expensive, very black boots making a series of deeply unsatisfying squelching sounds.

"This is a tactical nightmare," I announced to my two commanders, who were moving through the trees with a silent, deadly grace that I was frankly jealous of. "The ground is soft, the sight lines are terrible, and my coat is going to need a dry clean. This is unacceptable."

Isabelle, my divine and deadly Blade Saint, moved at my right, her hand resting on the hilt of her reforged sword, Dáinsleif. Her eyes, which now held a faint, divine light, scanned the shadows, missing nothing.

"He knows we are here, my Lord," she said, her voice a low murmur. "He is watching."

Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow, was a whisper of motion at my left, her twin daggers, Whisper and Silence, already in her hands.

"The air is thick with his magic," she stated, her amethyst eyes narrowing. "It is not a hostile magic. It is... expectant."

"He’s waiting for us," I concluded. "Arrogant. I like that."

Our first encounter with the local wildlife was... underwhelming.

A pack of what looked like slightly angrier-than-average squirrels charged us, chittering with a rage that was far too big for their tiny bodies.

Chloe dealt with them with a single, contemptuous flick of her wrist. A wave of shadow magic washed over them, and they all promptly fell asleep in a cute, furry pile.

The second wave was a bit more impressive. A group of hulking, moss-covered bears, their eyes glowing with a faint, green light.

BOOM!

Isabelle moved, a blur of dark armor and divine light. The wind shrieked as she drew Dáinsleif, the reforged blade humming with a barely contained power.

She didn’t slaughter them. She dismantled them.

Her blade danced, a flawless, beautiful storm of steel.

BOOM! CRACK!

She struck the first bear on the shoulder. The impact was a sharp, focused detonation. A visible shockwave of force ripped through the creature’s massive frame, and it collapsed, its shoulder shattered, but still alive.

She moved through them, a surgeon of violence, disabling each one with a single, perfect, non-lethal strike.

"Impressive, Commander," I said, genuinely impressed. "You’ve grown."

"You commanded us to capture, my Lord," she replied, her voice calm and steady. "Killing them would have been... inefficient."

Finally, we reached the heart of the forest. A small, circular clearing.

And in the center of that clearing, he was waiting for us.

Zix’s description had not done him justice.

He was a mountain of a man, bald and powerfully built, his muscles straining against the fabric of a pristine, black business suit. His arms, however, were encased in mismatched, crude iron armor, a bizarre and jarring aesthetic choice.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a serene, almost pleasant smile on his face.

He looked less like a Demon King and more like a very large, very intimidating life insurance salesman.

"Welcome, esteemed guests," his voice boomed, a deep, cultured sound that was entirely at odds with his brutish appearance. "I have been expecting you. Please, make yourselves comfortable. The mud is quite pleasant this time of year, don’t you think?"

I stared at him.

Isabelle stared at him.

Chloe looked like she was trying to calculate the most efficient way to turn him into a fine gray dust, and was coming up with several very promising options.

"You are the Demon King of this... swamp?" I asked, my voice dripping with a condescension that could curdle milk.

"I am," he replied with a cheerful nod. "My name is Hibiki. And it is a pleasure to finally meet the famous Tyrant of Aethelburg. I must say, your reputation precedes you."

He then did something that completely and utterly broke my brain.

He began to unbutton his suit jacket.

"Now, then," he said, his smile widening. "Shall we get to the main event? The punishment?"

He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a crisp, white shirt. Then he ripped the shirt open, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the silent clearing, revealing a chest that was a solid wall of muscle.

[Perfect Body], a glowing set of words appeared above his head.

And then, a wave of pure, unadulterated magical energy washed over us.

It was not an attack.

It was... an invitation.

An irresistible, overwhelming urge to hit him.

To punch him.

To cause him grievous, beautiful, and profoundly satisfying bodily harm.

BOOM!

Chloe, whose fanatical devotion was matched only by her lack of impulse control, was the first to succumb. The ground exploded under her feet as she launched herself at him, her daggers a blur of motion.

Hibiki just stood there, his smile widening into a look of pure, ecstatic bliss.

"Yes," he whispered. "That’s it. Punish me."

The very air in the clearing seemed to change.

Hibiki’s body began to shimmer, to transform. His skin took on a crimson hue. A pair of long, white rabbit ears sprouted from his bald head. A fluffy, white tail popped out from the back of his tailored trousers.

He struck a pose, one hand on his hip, the other making a peace sign.

"Your punishment is my greatest pleasure, pyon!" he declared, his voice now a high-pitched, cheerful sound that was a crime against nature.

The world seemed to stop.

I stared.

Isabelle stared.

Chloe, who had been in the middle of a lethal, high-speed charge, skidded to a halt, her daggers dropping from her numb fingers. Her face was a mask of pure, unadulterated horror.

A Demon King.

A masochistic, exhibitionist, bunny-boy Demon King.

Zix was right.

This was not just scary.

This was a new, fresh, and exquisitely painful kind of hell.

I looked at this bizarre, powerful, and deeply, profoundly broken man.

A tank.

A perfect tank.

Durable. Unflinching. And with an innate ability to draw every ounce of agro in a ten-mile radius.

He was a strategic asset of unimaginable value.

And I absolutely, one hundred percent, had to have him.

This was going to be the most awkward recruitment negotiation of my entire afterlife.