SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar-Novel

The meeting within the Grand Hall lasted for some time.

In that period, no subordinate moved a muscle unless they were told to. This was not seen as a punishment, but a sign of fervent devotion.

The Demon King delegated roles to his generals—The Demon Lords—based on their specialty.

“Zenkiel, you will be the commander-in-chief on the front lines. Any objections?”

、 The one addressed, Zenkiel of Vert bowed even deeper than before.

“None, my King.”

He looked like the oldest among the demons—having green scales across his body though he had a noble’s outfit.

His body was akin to a dragon, with his horns and the bright green eyes that glimmered in satisfaction. His long tail wagged, though he tried to place it under control.

Zenkiel belonged to the Greens among the Demon Race. They took on animalistic features, having enough power to rival even the strongest of beastfolk. However, this wasn’t the only reason behind his elevated status.

Intelligence.

In terms of craftiness, Blanc probably had him beat, but no one could manage military affairs as well as he could. After all… his predecessor was the previous commander-in-chief in the last war.

By learning at his previous superior’s feet, he was able to gain a vast amount of knowledge in military affairs.

Zenkiel’s heart raced the moment the role was given to him. Joy coursed through his veins as he swore not to let his King down.

“Lydia, you will be in charge of espionage. I believe nothing more needs to be said on that front?”

Lydia of Blanc, a being who appeared like a naked mound of the female body bowed deeply.

Her body was plain and white—having no hair, nose, mouth, etc. Not even eyes could be seen. It was just a plain white being with lumps on her chest and a well-curved shape that indicated she was female.

“You are right, my King!” She said in a reverent tone.

How she was able to speak or hear was known to everyone present in the room. As an heteromorphic Demon belonging to the tribe of Whites—a group of Shapeshifters—she was designed that way from birth.

No, her endowed figure was special among her other brethren. The more powerful members of the Whites were, the greater the details they had in their base form.

For her to have attained this level of detail, she indeed deserved the title of Demon Lord.

“Serci and Lubick, you’ll handle our main forces.”

These two—Serci of Jaune and Lubick of Bleu—were beings who looked like opposites.

For Serci, she was the very definition of a giant. Having a height of at least 12 feet, she looked more like a monster than an actually intelligent being. She had four arms, wings, five horns, four eyes, and her wild fur was colored yellow—with black stripes.

In contrast, Lubick looked like a typical human. If not for his blue complexion and the single horn on his forehead, he would be indistinguishable from a normal person.

He had a nice mustache, and—oh, yeah!—a tail dangled behind him.

His outfit looked the most gentlemanly among the bunch. Thanks to his similar appearance to humans, it was easy to assume he would be the weakest. However, making that assumption would be a fatal error.

While Serci belonged to the grotesque tribe of the Demons, Lubick’s tribe specialized in the use of Magic.

They were all extremely formidable.

“Your wish is our command, Great Demon King!”

Bone-chilling reverence filled the atmosphere as both generals shouted with all their might.

“Kyron. You will handle the management of the Demon Beasts. I can leave that in your care, no?

Kyron of Noir was a Shadow Demon—the newest member of the Demon Lords.

He had achieved this rank after betraying and defeating his mentor. He didn’t regret his actions though.

He had always desired power, and his new master offered him just that. Instead of staying in Kahn’s shadow, being a member of the highest cadre of Demons was a great start—for now.

After all… within the heart of this wicked creature dwelled an insatiable ambition.

“Yes, my King. I will work hard to meet up to your expectations.”

Now, there was only one Demon Lord that hadn’t been assigned yet.

What role would befit someone like him?

“Desgarion. You are going to be on standby. You will be our trump card—the secret weapon and hidden hand of our army. Can you do that?”

There was a moment of silence—uncomfortable silence.

All attention was shifted to the Demon who knelt at the center of the row.

Desgarion of Rouge—a Crimson Demon.

Of all the six tribes, they were known as the most violent. Having volatile tendencies and the insatiable urge for battle, they were the most dissatisfied with the peace that had befallen the world.

While they often held gladiator tournaments in their region, it wasn’t like the taste of real battle.

The current Demon Lord of Rouge was the youngest to ever exist. He was also the youngest among those who were gathered before Abellion. However, that wasn’t the most surprising thing about him.

He had been a Demon Lord longer than everyone else who knelt.

Even before Abellion began his subtle takeover, Desgarion unseated the previous Demon Lord in a battle to the death—and achieved flawless victory.

According to the Crimson one, his predecessor had requested it.

Normally, this would have been a great portfolio. Since he had more experience than everyone else, and was probably the strongest, he should have been placed in a more strategic role of responsibility.

But…

… Desgarion was too unstable!

The stronger a Crimson Demon was, the harder it was to control their impulses. For someone of Desgarion’s age and power, it applied greatly to him. Once he had a taste of battle, he found it difficult—if not impossible to stop.

In essence, this Demon Lord had no self-control!

In a pure battle, this could have been considered a great virtue. However, in a war where strategy was necessary, unbridled violence would bring a disadvantage to the Demon Race.

Upon hearing Abellion’s judgment—the fact that he had been placed on reserve and not on the front line—everyone knew that Desgarion was dissatisfied.

However, the unbendable laws of Demon Society were enough to restrict the impulsive demon.

“I understand…”

After all, the only one Desgarion had ever lost to was Abellion himself.

“… My King!”