Page 82 of The Dark Lord Awakens
“People respond well when you don’t threaten to disembowel them for having ideas,” I replied, stretching in my chair. “Who knew positive reinforcement worked on demons too?”
“Indeed, my lord. Though I would note that certain… clarifications regarding the consequences of opposition have also contributed to the current cooperative atmosphere.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You mean your midnight visits to the noble houses?”
“Merely educational discussions about the new paradigm,” Azrael said smoothly. “I found most nobles to be quick studies once the parameters were properly explained.”
“I bet.” I snorted. “Nothing motivates like the fear of losing fingers.”
“I would never presume to damage valuable noble property without your explicit command, my lord,” Azrael replied, the picture of innocence. “Merely… demonstrating potential outcomes of various choices.”
“Uh-huh.” I stood, deciding once again that some details were better left to the imagination. “Let’s head to the camp. Iwant to see how those marsh sprites are settling in, and I’m curious about these kitchen operations I keep hearing about.”
Mr. Snuggles, who’d become something of a celebrity among the camp children, flew us to the Ashen Fields just as the midday meal service was beginning. The camp had transformed completely in the past week, evolving from an emergency relief operation to something resembling a small, functional city.
The most significant change was the central kitchen complex—a series of large tents where cooking now happened on an industrial scale. I’d stopped ordering ready-to-eat meals after the third day, realizing it would be more economical and empowering to set up cooking facilities and buy bulk ingredients instead. Also, there’s only so many times you can eat reheated lasagna before your soul starts to die a little.
As we approached the dining area—a massive open tent with rows of tables—the tantalizing aroma of tomato sauce, garlic, and freshly cooked pasta filled the air. Citizens were already lining up with metal trays, chatting animatedly as they waited their turn.
“Let’s see what’s on the menu today,” I said, heading toward the serving line.
A stout, four-armed demon in a sauce-splattered apron spotted us and hurried over, wiping his hands frantically on his already messy apron. “Lord Lucien! What an unexpected honor!” He dropped into a deep bow, nearly upending a pot of bubbling marinara in the process.
“Chef Skillet427, right?” I asked, recalling the demon’s designation from previous visits.
The chef beamed at being remembered. “Yes, my lord! You honor me by recalling my designation!” He straightened proudly. “I have been promoted to supervise the pasta station as of yesterday!”
“Congratulations on the promotion,” I said, genuinely pleased for him. “What’s the specialty today?”
“Carbonara, my lord!” He gestured excitedly to a station where several demons were tossing pasta with eggs, cheese, and small bits of crispy void bacon. “A revolutionary technique! The eggs create a sauce without cream! The citizens are most enthusiastic!”
“Mind if we observe the lunch service?” I asked, already moving toward the serving line.
“We would be honored!” Chef Skillet427 practically vibrated with excitement. “Perhaps my lord would care to taste our newest creation?”
Before I could answer, he rushed off and returned moments later with a small plate of perfectly prepared carbonara. I took a bite and made an involuntary sound of appreciation. It was genuinely delicious—creamy, savory, with just the right balance of salt and pepper.
“This is excellent,” I told him, meaning it. “You’ve really mastered the technique.”
Chef Skillet427 looked like he might pass out from joy. “The highest praise! I shall have this plate bronzed and displayed in the culinary hall of fame!”
“Maybe just write down the recipe instead,” I suggested, finishing the sample. “Speaking of recipes, how are the cooking classes going?”
“Magnificently, my lord! We have identified many citizens with natural culinary talent! Filekeeper38 has a remarkable intuition for flavor balancing, and young Pencilcase has a gift for pasta shaping!”
I smiled at the names—citizens from the Office Supply District I’d created on a whim while half-asleep during a gaming session. Who knew my sleep-deprived naming choices would become revered identities in a demon realm?
As we moved through the dining area, I watched citizens receiving their meals and finding seats. The transformation from a month ago was striking. Gone were the gaunt faces and desperate eyes. These demons looked healthy, energetic, and—most surprisingly—happy.
At one table, a group of imp demons was experiencing spaghetti for the first time, with mixed results. One particularly small imp named Stapler17 had somehow managed to get more sauce on his face than in his mouth, while his companion, Paperclip42, was attempting to twirl the pasta with comical concentration.
“You have to spin it against the spoon,” advised an elderly demon with wispy hair who’d clearly mastered the technique. “Like this, young one.”
Paperclip42 watched in awe as the elder demonstrated, then attempted to copy the motion. His face lit up with triumph when he successfully captured a perfect forkful. “I did it! Look, Stapler17, I did it!”
“Congratulations,” I said, stopping by their table. “You’ve officially mastered a skill that took me until college to figure out.”
The imps immediately tried to scramble to their feet, nearly upending their trays in the process.
