Page 61 of The Dark Lord Awakens
One particularly bold noble approached, his expensive robes marking him as a member of the western district’s elite. “Mylord.” He bowed deeply before Lord Lucien. “I must say, this is quite the… charitable endeavor.”
Lord Lucien regarded him coolly. “Lord…?”
“Superiore, my lord. House Superiore of the Obsidian Quarter.” The noble straightened, his gaze drifting to the food distribution area. “I wondered if perhaps I might sample these remarkable ‘void provisions’ I’ve heard so much about? For purely academic interest, of course.”
Azrael tensed, anticipating his lord’s reaction to such presumption. The previous Lucien would have flayed the noble for his impertinence. Azrael’s fingers twitched with the memory of previous punishments he had administered to nobles who overstepped their bounds. Lord Superiore’s intestines would make an interesting addition to his collection of noble organs, preserved in crystal and labeled by family name.
This Lucien merely raised an eyebrow. “Did you register as someone in need of emergency food aid, Lord Superiore?”
The noble blinked, clearly taken aback. “Well, no, my lord. As I said, merely academic?—”
“Then no,” Lord Lucien interrupted. “These supplies are for those who need them. Your ‘academic interest’ can wait until everyone in this camp has had their fill. If you’re genuinely hungry, feel free to register like everyone else.”
Lord Superiore’s face flushed with indignation. “But surely, as a noble of the realm, I am entitled to?—”
“To what?” Lord Lucien’s voice remained calm, but something in his eyes made the noble take a step back. “To special treatment while others starve? That thinking is exactly why we’re in this mess. So no, you don’t get to cut in line because you have a fancy title.”
The noble retreated, muttering under his breath, and rejoined the other wealthy observers at the perimeter. Azrael noted their expressions with interest—shock, outrage, but alsoa new wariness. The message was clear: the old order was changing.
Azrael was oddly… impressed. Lord Lucien had put the noble in his place without a single drop of blood being spilled. No screams, no pleading, no creative use of entrails—yet the effect had been just as powerful. Perhaps there was something to this new approach after all. Though he couldn’t deny a twinge of disappointment at the lost opportunity to add to his collection.
As the evening deepened, Lord Lucien finally allowed himself to rest, accepting a seat by one of the larger bonfires. Citizens gathered at a respectful distance, watching their dark lord with a mixture of awe and newfound hope. Children, their strength returning after proper nourishment, played nearby, their laughter a sound rarely heard in Iferona.
Azrael stood vigilant behind his lord, scanning constantly for threats. The scene before him was so unlike anything in his centuries of service that he struggled to categorize it properly. This was not a court, not a military encampment, not a festival… it was something entirely new.
A community, perhaps. United not by fear of their dark lord, but by gratitude toward him.
A small goblin child, bolder than its peers, approached Lord Lucien with hesitant steps. In its hands, it clutched a crude drawing made on the back of a food wrapper. The camp fell silent, many expecting the child to be punished for its presumption.
Azrael tensed, his body coiling like a predator preparing to strike. The goblin was within arm’s reach of his lord—close enough to harm, if it harbored ill intent. His hand drifted to the concealed blade at his hip, ready to separate the creature’s head from its shoulders at the slightest provocation. He had killed for less. Much less.
Instead, Lord Lucien smiled and accepted the drawing. “Is this for me? Thanks, kiddo.”
The goblin nodded vigorously, then scampered back to its clan, who received it with a mixture of terror and pride. The drawing, Azrael noted, depicted a simplistic version of Lord Lucien surrounded by what appeared to be food items with rays emanating from them like a sun.
“The Void Provider,” someone whispered in the crowd, and the title was repeated, spreading through the gathered citizens. “The Void Provider has saved us.”
Lord Lucien seemed embarrassed by the adulation, a reaction Azrael found both baffling and strangely… endearing. The previous Lucien would have basked in such worship, demanded it, punished those who offered insufficient praise. This Lucien looked almost uncomfortable with the reverence directed his way.
It was… charming, in its way. Like discovering a new facet of a gem you thought you knew completely. Azrael cataloged this reaction alongside the thousands of other observations he had made about his lord, a precious addition to his mental collection.
“We should return to the castle soon, my lord,” Azrael suggested quietly. “You have been working since dawn.” And I wish to have you to myself, away from these greedy eyes that dare to gaze upon your perfection, he did not add. The thought of returning to the privacy of the Dark Citadel, where Lucien would be his alone to attend, sent a pleasant warmth through his core.
Lord Lucien nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, probably a good idea. Things seem to be running smoothly here.” He stood, addressing the gathered citizens. “I’m heading back to the castle for the night, but I’ll be back tomorrow. The camp staff will continue food distribution through the night, so don’t worry about going hungry. Get some rest, everyone.”
As they made their way toward where Mr. Snuggles waited to return them to the Dark Citadel, they passed the medical tents. Healer 47 emerged, her wings drooping with exhaustion but her compound eyes bright with satisfaction.
“My lord.” She bowed deeply. “I wished to report personally before you departed. The void supplements have exceeded all expectations. Patients who would have died within hours are now stabilized. Many are already showing significant improvement.”
“That’s great news.” Lord Lucien smiled. “Keep up the good work, Healer 47. And make sure you get some rest too, okay?”
The moth demon’s antennae quivered with emotion. “Yes, my lord. And… thank you. For everything.”
As they continued toward Mr. Snuggles, Azrael reflected on the day’s events. In a single day, Lord Lucien had transformed not just the Ashen Fields but the very nature of his relationship with his subjects. Where once there had been only fear and resentment, now there was something new growing—something Azrael had rarely witnessed in his long existence.
Trust.
It was… intriguing. And potentially useful. Fear kept subjects in line, but trust might make them willing participants in their own governance. A tool to be explored, perhaps, alongside the more traditional methods Azrael preferred.
