We walked. It was a considerable distance longer than what Angus implied it to be, but perhaps that was just my impatience and exhaustion talking. Though, the path itself didn't help much with that feeling.
The ridge was steep and covered in thorny bushes that snagged at my clothes. The demon king moved ahead of me, clearing a path with nothing but his bare hands. He ripped thorny vines from their roots and snapped low-hanging branches like they were twigs, leaving a clear, if slightly brutalized, trail for me to follow.
"Show off," I muttered under my breath, ducking under a branch he'd just torn down.
"Your lack of volume does not conceal your lack of wit," he called back without turning.
Of course he heard me. Yet I'm sure if I shout for him and actually want him for something, he'll find a way not to hear it. I'm familiar enough with his type to see that one coming a mile off.
As we crested the ridge, Brackenwallow came into view. "Lovely" was not the word I would have used. The town was a haphazard collection of rickety wooden buildings built on stilts over a stagnant, murky swamp. A thick, greenish fog clung to the ground, and the air smelled of rotting vegetation and something else, something vaguely chemical. A single, crooked watchtower stood at the town's entrance, manned by a guard who looked more asleep than awake.
"Is there anything nice in this world?" I asked, mostly to myself. It's not like I got any choice about which world to end up in, but I still feel entitled to complain about it. A little. If anything, I think it makes me more justified.
"Nice," the demon king said, tasting the word. "A concept invented by the weak to make their pathetic existences more bearable." He started down the path toward the town, not waiting for us.
"Why doesn't it surprise me this is your kind of place..." I murmur, glaring at his muscular back.
He paused, turning his head just enough to speak, "You presume to know me, insect. You know nothing."
We followed him down the muddy path, our shoes sucking and squelching with every step.
No.
My shoes. And Angus'.
The Demon King over there remained too good for shoes. Or pants. Or a shirt. He strode through the muck without a care, annoyingly impervious to the mud, despite how the wolf blood spattered on him.
The guard at the gate watched us approach, a look of profound disinterest on his face. He looked us up and down, his gaze lingering on the half-naked, blood-spattered demon king, the sopping wet girl in casual Earth clothes, and the fluttering pink angel in turn.
"Halt," the guard said, his voice a bored monotone. He didn't move from his slouch against the watchtower wall. "State your business."
"We're travelers," I said, stepping forward. It didn't seem useful to tell this random guard about my quest, given it would only lead to questions I didn't want to answer. "We're looking for a place to rest. An inn, maybe?"
The guard's gaze drifted from me to the demon king. "And him?" he asked, jerking a thumb in the demon king's direction. "He with you?"
"Unfortunately," I said, before the demon king could offer his own, undoubtedly charming, response.
The guard's eyes narrowed. He pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward us, his hand resting on the hilt of the rusty sword at his belt. "We don't have slave accommodations or nothing like that. Nothing high brow."
"Slave...?" I echoed, my confusion turning into a slow, horrified dawning of realization.
The indignity of the king was a physical heat behind me. He didn't say a word, but his silence was more dangerous than a shout.
[CRITICAL CULTURAL NOTE! đź“ś] Angus's text box materialized in my vision. [In many parts of Yarventhril, golden necklaces like that are used to bind slaves! It's a very common practice! But the Goddess's Bindings are, like, way fancier and have magic sparkles! đź’–]
Right. The magic sparkles. The guard wouldn't see those. All he saw was a bare-chessed, powerful-looking man with a slave collar, being led into town by a woman in wet jeans.
And...
What the hell? I won a jackpot gacha pull. I didn't agree to participate in some culture's slavery customs!
...Though it is. The least of my concerns with what I received. But still. A point of principle.
"Slave accommodations?" I said, my voice tight. "He's not my slave. He's my… bodyguard."
The guard snorted, a wet, unpleasant sound. "Right. A bodyguard. You must be some kind of noble lady, then." He looked me up and down, taking in my soaked, plain t-shirt and muddy sneakers. "Never seen a noble lady dressed like a drowned rat before."
The demon king finally spoke. His voice was a low, dangerous purr that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "Clear the way, worm." He didn't raise his voice. He didn't move. He simply stood there, a statue of simmering menace. "Or be cleared from it."
The guard's eyes widened. He took a step back, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "You threaten me? In my town? With your collar on?"
The man didn't wait for approval. He simply moved. He brushed past the guard, his shoulder making contact with the other man's. The guard, who had been braced for a fight, was sent stumbling sideways, tripping over his own feet and landing in a heap in the mud with a spluttering curse.
The demon king didn't even look back. He just kept walking toward the town gate.
But...as I've come to expect, he didn't leave the man completely in peace.
"Refer to me as slave again," he said, not even glancing at the guard who was trying to push himself out of the mud, "and I will tear your tongue from your skull and feed it to the swamp gators." He held up a blood-stained hand. "With this hand." His head tilted slightly, a lazy, dismissive sort of move that sent a new wave of terror through the guard's face.
Then he began walking again.
Before he could make some snarky comment at me, as well, I shook myself and followed after him.
With dignity.
I definitely didn't scurry. Even if Angus did.