Chapter 4: Don’t negotiate while you’re drunk
"What is the demon's slaughterer want from me, I wonder..." he asked, with a glint in his silver eyes, swirling like liquid metal. It's mesmerizing.
They were all I could see, despite the blue skin or the dark horn or whatever else that defied my every conception about sentient beings. Those eyes felt strangely familiar and comforting...did they have some kind of hypnosis effect?
Oh, I shouldn't focus on that right now.
What did I want? Right, my inquiry through the spy was just about meeting him. There was no way I would tactlessly ask him for an extremely rare, miraculous drug in a letter—what if he ravaged the kingdom because he felt offended by my audacity?
I had wanted to meet him first, and asked for it carefully, gauging the Demon Lord's mood. Using whatever glib and acting and negotiating skills I build from pretending to be healthy enough and arguing to be let out of the hospital just for one day. Not to mention, I had to think of a reason as to why I knew about his possession of Amrita.
Yes, that was what I had planned.
But my intoxicated mind that almost burst out laughing at the 'demon slaughterer' was not that bright.
"I want your Amrita," I blurted out, forgoing glib and bypassing manner, only realizing my action after a silence that ensued after that. The Demon Lord stared at me with slightly widened eyes.
Ah, no, I needed to salvage this. What should I say to fix this? "...please?"
Damnit! That wasn't it!
And then there were the dreaded squinted eyes. "How do you know I have that?"