Chapter 587: Why Are Humans So Evil?

In front of Lan City's only fire company, a drunken man, staggering as he walked, leaned against several kerosene streetlamps before finally finding his company's entrance.

This fire tycoon, now the most sought-after man in Lan City, felt as if a waterlogged sponge had been stuffed into his skull.

His hangover was like a rusty knife, relentlessly tugging back and forth across his scalp.

The royal guardsmen were simply too good at drinking.

Only when dawn was breaking did those fellows drag the bar girls upstairs, allowing Newcastle to finally slump onto his wine-stained desk and catch a few moments of sleep.

Yet he bore no resentment.

Thanks to those capable young men, his business had flourished so smoothly.

Recently, someone else had tried to enter the fire pump market, attempting to steal the business he had opened with a fortune of ten thousand gold coins. Fortunately, those brave guardsmen's batons shattered his fellow townsman's delusions from Lei Ming City, driving him and his cheap "fake goods" away.

Saint Cis above, though he himself was a devout believer who opposed prostitution as a blasphemous trade, he found it understandable that those young men occasionally indulged.

Pressure needed release.

Seeing the respected Mr. Newcastle, the guard at the door hurriedly helped his boss inside and handed him a cup of hot water.

After swallowing the hot water, Newcastle finally felt a little clearer, then shoved the meddling guard away.

"I don't need you to hold me—I'm not drunk, I can walk myself!"

"Yes, Boss." The guard saluted, watching with worried eyes as his drunken boss leaned on the stairs and climbed upstairs alone.

The Campbells truly were a race capable of fighting the Demon King—this drunkard had actually made it upstairs without falling off the stairs.

Newcastle pushed open his office door, and before he could even hang up his heavy coat, his usually slow-witted young secretary rushed up, beaming with excitement.

"Boss! You're finally here! There's an urgent letter for you—delivered just now by a royal attendant himself!"

His secretary held the letter with both hands, reverently, as if cradling the Holy Scripture.

Newcastle rubbed his throbbing temples, intending to order this loudmouth to leave and sober up.

But the moment his eyes fell on the letter, the rebuke died on his lips—he was suddenly sober.

It was an exquisitely crafted envelope, sealed with a crimson wax stamp bearing the supreme lion crest of the Lein royal family.

And in that same instant, Newcastle finally understood why his usually sluggish secretary had looked at him with such reverence today.

"... Alright, place it on my desk. And no one is to enter without my permission."

"Yes, Boss!" The secretary saluted, just like the guard downstairs, then bowed deeply and withdrew from the room.

Newcastle dashed forward, locked the door, then hurried to his desk and carefully pried open the wax seal—a symbol of honor and trouble—with a paper knife.

He pulled out the letter, and as expected, the royal script contained no praise, but a formal decree—

【Be it hereby appointed that Mr. Newcastle, General Manager of Lan Fire Company, shall serve as Third-Class Citizen Representative of Lan City, and proceed immediately to the Royal Palace to attend the Third-Class Assembly.】

Newcastle clutched his forehead and collapsed into his oak chair, his wine-stained face growing grim.

... Assembly?

As a citizen from Lei Ming City, he was no stranger to the word.

Long ago, Lei Ming City had its own assembly, primarily to raise funds for the Duke—so why did Lan City now have one too?

Newcastle couldn't fathom how a Campbell man like himself had become a councilor of Lein Kingdom's Lan City, or why he was chosen to represent its citizens at the King's meeting.

Could it be—

The Your Majesty is short on money?!

The moment this thought surfaced, Newcastle broke into a cold sweat.

Heaven help him—outsiders thought he was filthy rich from monopolizing the city's fire business, but only he knew the truth.

Money earned with eyes closed couldn't possibly be his alone.

He had only just begun to recoup his massive initial investment, and he still hadn't repaid his commercial loan from the Lei Ming City Bank.

Right now, his pockets were emptier than his face—otherwise he wouldn't have personally taken the royal guardsmen out drinking.

If this so-called meeting was a home raid disguised as honor…

Newcastle shuddered, his hangover headache vanishing instantly. He leapt from his chair, snatched his coat from the hanger, and threw it on.

No!

He couldn't just wait to be destroyed!

The only person who could help him now was the respected Baron Wickton.

In this fog-shrouded, trap-laden Lan City, only the patron who had lifted him up could untangle this mess for him!

This wasn't just about his purse—it was about whether he'd live to return to Campbells.

Amidst the admiration of his staff, the coat-clad Sir Newcastle turned and plunged back into the early spring cold, resembling a bold, self-made businessman driven by ambition.

Only Sir Newcastle himself could hear the groan inside his heart.

"Saint Cis above…"

Making money here was more thrilling than becoming an adventurer in a labyrinth.

He even began to regret being the first to try the crab.

…

Newcastle's carriage soon arrived at Baron Wickton's estate, where the antique study exhaled the rich aroma of premium tobacco.

Baron Wickton sat in a broad leather sofa, calmly trimming a fine cigar. Cigars were among his few pleasures—their fragrance eased his inner pressures.

"Baron Wickton! Disaster has struck!"

Newcastle burst in, ignoring the servant's attempts to stop him.

His face, flushed with wine, wealth, and vice, was etched with anxiety; the invitation in his hand felt like a burning potato.

"Did someone in the court make a mistake? They sent me this… an invitation to the Third-Class Assembly? I haven't offended our Your Majesty, have I? I'm asking—did they make a mistake?"

He repeated the same sentence twice.

Watching the incoherent Mr. Newcastle, Baron Wickton remained unnervingly calm, placing his cigar cutter on the table.

"Calm down, my friend. The court scribe made no mistake. The name on this invitation was written by my own hand."

A string of wails choked in his throat; Newcastle's eyes widened like a goose with its neck wrung.

"You… wrote it?"

"Correct. To be honest, I am the chief organizer of this Third-Class Assembly." Wickton struck a match, lit the freshly trimmed cigar, and exhaled slowly. "The Your Majesty needs the citizens' support—especially the support of good people. I believe our gentleman Newcastle is precisely such a good man."

Who better than the guardian of Lan City's nights deserved the title "good man"?

But none of that mattered—it just had to sound plausible.

Though Wickton had justified his arrangement to himself, it left Newcastle utterly bewildered.

He spread his hands, then let them drop, staring in disbelief.

"But… what does this have to do with me? My lord, you know—I may do business in Lan City, but I'm a true Campbell! What have I done to deserve representing Lan City's citizens as their councilor?"

"So what if you're a Campbell? A thousand years ago, Campbells were Leins. And broadly speaking, we're all subjects of the Aust Empire—we all have a duty to ease the Emperor's burdens."

Baron Wickton laughed, exhaled a plume of blue smoke, and waved his hand dismissively.

"Bloodline and origin mean nothing at this moment. What matters is that you're the General Manager of Lan Fire Company—Lan City's citizens know you, this respected gentleman. That's enough… we don't need you to actually speak for them."

Here, Wickton set his cigar aside, rose, and stepped before Newcastle.

He placed his right hand on Newcastle's shoulder, gazing at the bewildered merchant with a look full of hidden meaning.

"And most importantly, Newcastle—you're my man."

Feeling the weight on his shoulder, Newcastle's unease didn't fade—it grew stronger than ever.

"But my lord, I'm just a businessman…"

In any kingdom, a commoner meddling in court affairs was extremely dangerous—he wouldn't be so naive as to think two coins in his pocket made him nobility.

Wickton cut him off, his tone shifting from casual to stern.

"Listen, Newcastle—we can't let just anyone sit at that table. If we let the citizens choose who goes to the castle to meet their Your Majesty, they'd drag the tavern owner right into the palace. A bunch of drunkards know nothing about governing! How can our future be decided by them?"

Newcastle laughed bitterly. "But I don't know either!"

"You don't need to know. I know."

Wickton fixed his gaze on him, a smile curling at his lips—as if he'd been waiting for those exact words.

"This meeting has little to do with our citizens. It's not about their bread—it's a trap set by the royal family to pressure greedy nobles and priests! Our Your Majesty needs them to empty their pockets. And you, third-class councilors, your job is simply to sit there and serve as the royal family's 'echo chamber.'"

Wickton patted Newcastle's shoulder, this time with greater force—as if transferring part of his own burden onto him.

"This meeting is crucial for both me and the Your Majesty. I need an ally who will stand with me through thick and thin. And among these 'citizens' of Lan City, the one I trust most is you."

Newcastle swallowed hard, asking cautiously.

"Then… what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Very simple. Go to our Your Majesty 's summer palace for a vacation, enjoy royal tea and pastries. I recall their roast squab is excellent—not everyone gets to taste the royal chef's Shouyi."

Wickton withdrew his hand from Newcastle's shoulder, picked up his cigar again, and drew a slow puff of smoke.

"Remember—when I look at you during the meeting, raise your hand. When I don't look at you, do whatever you want—just don't fall asleep… Consider it a favor to me. I'll remember this debt."

The heavy stone in Newcastle's chest finally lifted—it sounded easier than drinking with the royal guardsmen.

Most importantly, it cost him nothing. Not only would he raise his hand—he'd raise both legs if asked.

"Thank you for placing such trust in me, honored Baron… I'm happy to serve you. But next time, could you at least warn me? To be honest, this letter scared me so badly I nearly bought a ticket home."

Relief returned to Newcastle's face, and with it, a smile.

This profit-driven merchant, like a chameleon, shed his earlier panic and fury as if they'd never existed.

Baron Wickton, cigar in mouth, smirked faintly, hiding his contempt beneath a polite smile as he escorted his ally to the door.

Consult you?

You're not worthy.

"If there's a next time, I'll let you know."

Dropping a phrase like "next time for sure," Baron Wickton paused at the study door, then added another line.

"Also, I don't want anyone else to hear today's conversation. I've only told you this—you know the consequences of leaking it."

Newcastle faithfully pressed his hand to his chest.

"I give you my word!"

Baron Wickton nodded approvingly.

"I'll be watching you."

…

Though the mud-stained patrons in the tavern weren't fit to decide Lan's future, the "good people" who guarded Lan's nights clearly deserved this honor.

Including the "good people" behind him.

At noon, the sun shone over Lan's streets, every inch of earth glittering with light, blinding the eyes.

Meanwhile, in Lei Ming City, things were far more humble—after all, a tavern owner who couldn't even read had been carried into the council chamber.

Compared to a drunken mob choosing their biggest drunkard, it was far more fitting for a few secretive old men to shut the door and carefully select a gentleman.

The Third Council was being hastily prepared, and Baron Wickton's invitation stirred up a storm across Lan City.

At the same time, news from Lei Ming University stirred up turmoil in Lei Ming City.

Since the announcement that former Scholar of the Previous Academic Alliance, Kains, had been appointed as Lei Ming University's first chancellor, the entire city boiled like a pot of water.

Gentlemen who had previously watched the university—still only on paper—now firmly believed one thing: the esteemed Duke Edward and Prince Colin were serious.

The "side effect" of their desperate search for talent was obvious: the manor's mailboxes had completely collapsed.

Whether renowned scholars, overlooked artists, or even itinerant bards who wrote sonnets just to earn their meals, all sent in their resumes.

While Old Abel pondered which of his children was best suited for university, Prince Colin's manor on the outskirts of Lei Ming City was already buried under a snowfall of job applications.

Neither the Kingdom of Rayne nor the Duchy of Campbell lacked intelligent people.

Though no one knew exactly how much money Duke Edward planned to allocate for the university, a university capable of burning funds on magic research clearly wouldn't lack financing.

After all, writing to Prince Colin didn't cost ten thousand gold coins—why not just buy a stamp and try?

Watching the maid with swaying fox ears push a mountain of letters into the study, the true young master of the Duchy of Campbell was utterly stunned.

"By Baelye…"

Vivian's mouth gaped wide enough to fit a Taf egg.

Though she had long witnessed her brother's charm, how could so many foxes write him love letters!?

Vivian was furious.

How could humans be so blasphemous? Had they all forgotten the ancient Holy Light and willingly become puppets of the Padrich family?

Don't they have their own brothers?

Humans are so evil!

"We can't let this continue, Nanfu! If we don't act now, our Demon King will be corrupted by human sugar-coated bombs!"

While sipping afternoon tea, Vivian grew angrier by the moment—she sprang up from the sofa with a sharp "whoosh!," startling Nanfu, who had been carefully studying the Campbell family history.

He glanced nervously left and right; seeing the servants were all his own, he finally relaxed.

By the Demon God…

Traveling with his sister was more thrilling than exploring a church.

"…What do you mean by 'corrupted by humans'?"

If he remembered correctly, his brother himself was human—untransformed by the Embrace—so who needed to corrupt him?

Silver fangs glinted at the corner of her lips; Vivian crossed her arms, her elegant expression slowly turning sinister.

"What would you know, little brat?"

Nanfu: "..."

You're the one who said it!

Anyway, it's better if it has nothing to do with me.

Watching Vivian sink into self-torment, Nanfu sighed in relief and returned to studying the Campbell family history, trying to uncover the origins of the unicorn and the Campbells.

Humans are truly fascinating.

Since meeting Princess Lino, Nanfu had become deeply interested in the human world—especially the Campbell family, who had battled Hell for a thousand years.

But as soon as he turned the page, a gust of wind struck his back, lifting him clean off his chair.

"Come with me!"

Nanfu: "???"

…

Once a Platinum-level vampire takes seriously, only a Purple Crystal-level Prince might suppress him.

Grabbing Nanfu by the nape of his neck, Vivian slipped effortlessly into her brother's study, avoiding the maids cleaning windows without effort.

She knew every corner of this place!

As Vivian expected, the elegantly furnished study was empty; the velvet carpet was buried under dusty letters.

The books on the shelves were neatly arranged—clearly meant for outsiders, including the magical potted plants on display.

A brilliant blue butterfly rested on an unknown exotic flower; its magnificent wings gently unfurled in the sunlight streaming past the curtains.

At this moment, Luo Yan should be at the Andes Manor tea party, introducing Professor Kains to Duke Edward.

The three of them were likely still discussing Lei Ming University's preparations, and chatting merrily—they wouldn't return before dusk.

Vivian wore a mischievous grin; her brother was too careless—he'd given her the perfect opportunity!

She now resembled an explorer sneaking into a pirate's treasure vault, smirking as she pulled one letter from the mountain of mail.

Nanfu's knees trembled slightly; his eyes, wide as a fawn's, brimmed with terror, darting constantly toward the door, fearing his brother might appear.

"Sis… sis… we really shouldn't read Brother's letters. Even if these letters might not matter, what if he gets angry—"

"Nanfu, shut up."

"But—"

"Didn't you hear Brother say? If you hesitate over everything, you'll accomplish nothing. No wonder Lino rides you around the courtyard instead of the other way around!"

Nanfu: "???"

"Fine, I won't force you to do what you don't want. You just stand by the door and keep watch for me."

Before the weak and helpless Nanfu could recover from his shock, Vivian tossed him in place and strode forward, plopping herself onto her brother's desk with a twist.

Her lotus-root-like legs dangled over her knees, swinging lazily; her triumphant expression made her seem the true mistress of the study, utterly forgetting her earlier disgraceful posture of kneeling on the carpet.

"Kukuku… let's see which fox is this!" Vivian grinned slyly, her pinky lifting slightly as her deep-purple nail pierced the envelope open.

But instead of the expected perfumed pink parchment, only a dull, boring blueprint appeared.

Dense lines covered the white paper; the only line of text was crammed into the footer: "Improved Waterwheel Design."

Vivian pressed her nose to the paper, still unable to make sense of what it depicted.

It wasn't entirely her fault—in an era without standardized parameters or drafting tools, not everyone could draw blueprints clearly.

Drafting was called a discipline for a reason.

"... What is this? Have foxes' methods of seducing other men's brothers evolved to this?"

Unconvinced, Vivian shoved the incomprehensible blueprint back into its envelope and tossed it aside, then grabbed another, thicker letter.

"This one's definitely it! I smell sulfur—definitely a Padrich family lust potion… puke!!"

As she opened the envelope, a pungent, cheap sulfur stench hit her face.

What fell out wasn't a succubus crystal, but a recipe titled "Philosopher's Stone," and a lump of charred coal, apparently a sample.

Calling this a succubus's trick would insult succubi.

The crooked handwriting and absurd ratios screamed a crude scam by some charlatan trying to steal funding.

【... Respected Lord, if you fund my research, I swear I will dedicate all my knowledge to you! (I'm nearly there—just need one drop of dragon's blood. Unfortunately, I can't afford such expensive materials, so I've substituted sheep's blood. But I know you're a discerning man.)】

"What nonsense is this guy spouting?"

Undeterred, Vivian tore open over a dozen letters—from improved spinning machine designs to sewer management proposals, even one written in abysmal Common Tongue: a sonnet praising Prince Colin's deep purple hair, so cloying she nearly slid off the desk.

This was probably the only real love letter—but she doubted her brother's taste would be swayed by such trash.

As Vivian stared at the chaos around her, doubting her own sanity, Nanfu, trembling in the corner, timidly raised a stack of letters.

"Um… Sister, I glanced through these—they don't seem to be love letters."

Nanfu cautiously glanced at Vivian, on the verge of explosion, then pointed to the signatures.

"Look at this one—the writer is Borrit, a fifty-year-old blacksmith. He says he can forge the best horseshoes in the city and teach Lei Ming's citizens how to make them. And this one—signed 'Your Faithful Mr. Smith'—wants to apply as a butler… he's best at keeping secrets; every neighbor on the street can vouch for him."

"What? All men?!"

Vivian's eyes widened in shock; then a wave of inexplicable shame and rage surged through her, flooding her fair face with crimson.

Like her pupils, now trembling with earthquake.

"A bunch of shameless bastards, wasting Brother's time with these boring things…"

She whirled around, glaring furiously at her brother.

"And Nanfu—shut up! Don't say a word!"

"I—I didn't say anything…"

Nanfu was about to whisper a defense when a sudden chill crept up his neck—his weak vampire instincts froze him in place.

At the same moment, a calm, elegant voice sounded by the door, like a breeze brushing past the curtains.

"It seems two curious little bats have slipped into my study."

Luo Yan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the scattered letters and the terrified siblings with a half-smile.

Nan Fu's heart leapt into his throat.

The Demon King?!"

He… when did he come back?!"

It wasn't just Nan Fu whose heart leapt into his throat—it was also Vivian, who had been lounging on someone's desk, showing off her arrogance.

Her boastful aura vanished instantly.

She blurred into a streak of motion, sliding off the desk, transforming from a tiny tiger with claws bared into a cat desperately trying to hide her tail beneath her paws.

"B-Brother Lord, we were just… just trying to help you organize your letters, check for any dangerous items…"

As she spoke, she frantically tried to shove the opened letters behind her back, forcing a smile even stiffer than Nan Fu's.

Luo Yan said nothing, merely walking slowly into the study; the soft click of his leather soles on the wool rug sounded like the gavel of a chief judge.

He waved his wand, and the letter about the "improved spinning machine" shook off its dust and flew into his hand.

Looking at the trembling Vivian, Luo Yan spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Since you're so curious about the contents of these letters, you'll read them all for me."

He turned his gaze to the pile of letters scattered across the rug.

"There are roughly five hundred here. I expect you to sort and organize them by tomorrow evening's dinner—which are useful suggestions, which are job applications, and which are outright scams… I want a detailed list."

Vivian, awaiting punishment, dropped her face in despair, her ruby eyes filled with utter hopelessness.

"A-All of them?"

This was not what she wanted to hear!

Yet Luo Yan's next words plunged her deeper into despair.

"Correct. I'll be conducting inspections."

"C-Can I get a different punishment? Even a harsher one would be fine…" she pleaded in a voice barely louder than a mosquito's buzz, but received only the Demon King's cold refusal.

"No."

As if remembering someone else was still in the room, Luo Yan added with a smile.

"Don't let Nan Fu help. Nan Fu, you may leave. Miss Lino hopes you'll play with her—she should arrive shortly."

As a Demon King who understood human nature perfectly, he had finally found the perfect way to discipline Vivian: homework.

In truth, this wasn't bad for Vivian—if she ultimately decided to enroll in the Demon King Academy, these letters would give her a comprehensive understanding of human society.

Whether or not she ever became Demon King.

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty!" Nan Fu, as if granted pardon, hurried out of the study. He preferred playing with humans over being tormented by his sister.

No wonder he was Brother Lord—he saw right away that I was innocent.

Yet one thing Nan Fu could not understand: how had his revered Brother Lord discovered that someone had sneaked into his study?

That was too fast.

Watching Nan Fu flee the study, then glancing at the tearful Vivian, Luo Yan's mood lifted as he fell into thought.

His knack for drawing broader conclusions finally revealed to him what the demon nobility of the capital lacked.

Can a winter break without homework truly be called a winter break?

Councilor Luo Yan must do something for his homeland!

(End of Chapter)