No longer a prisioner

The water was still steaming when the last of the maids poured another bucket over Baalgran’s head.

The former Demon King stood motionless inside a large wooden tub while several maidens vigorously scrubbed away the grime that had accumulated over so many years. They laughed and chatted among themselves as they washed his arms, torso, and hair. Even so, their hands trembled slightly every time they brushed against the countless scars he bore.

Cornwald watched the scene from the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back.

“All right, ladies, make sure he looks like a normal person, and please, get rid of that smell.”

Baalgran kept his eyes closed and felt them vigorously massaging his scalp. He hadn’t had that much physical contact in years—perhaps in his entire life.

“Is this… necessary?” he managed to say.

“Oh yes, your stench is impossible to ignore,” Cornwald replied, adding, “especially for the people who’ll be traveling with you for weeks.”

The Demon King remained thoughtful for a few seconds and sniffed his armpits.

“I see.”

The attendants did their best and withdrew. Baalgran stepped out of the tub and dried himself with a towel handed to him by the butler himself, along with a pair of dark linen trousers, which he had no trouble putting on.

Cornwald opened the door and exclaimed:

“You may enter.”

An elderly man appeared carrying a huge leather case. As he entered, he looked up and froze.

“Is he the client?”

Cornwald nodded. The man looked at Baalgran’s extremely long black hair, which fell past his waist. Then he looked at the case. Then he looked back at the hair.

“I’m going to need a pair of pruning shears.”

Cornwald smiled and sent a few maids back in to clean up the impending mess. The barber dragged a chair over to the window and ordered to the stunned man to sit down. Baalgran complied cautiously. The old man began to detangle the hair with a wooden comb, and within seconds let out a whistle.

“By all the saints… I don’t know if I’m combing a man’s hair or clearing an entire forest.”

Two maids giggled. Baalgran tensed, and his cheeks flushed red.

The comb got stuck again, and the barber pulled gently, but it was an arduous task, and he sighed in resignation.

“Are you sure there isn’t a bird living in there?”

Baalgran tilted his head slightly, completely embarrassed.

“Not that I can remember.”

This time, the entire staff burst into laughter, and the barber himself laughed along with them. The haircut took half an hour. Piles of dark hair fell to the floor until they formed a small mountain next to the chair.

When the barber made the final touch-up, he stepped back proudly.

“This is something else.”

Cornwald slowly circled Baalgran, examining him from every angle.

“Much, much better. Now you look like a civilized man.”

The former Demon King ran a hand through the back of his neck and noticed that his hair barely reached his nape. He remained silent for a few seconds.

“It feels lighter.”

The barber blinked.

“That’s… probably the strangest compliment I’ve ever received in forty years in this trade.”

He held out a mirror to him with triumphant pride.

“Come on, come on, look at yourself—I’ve made you look brand-new.”

Baalgran looked at his reflection and couldn’t help but be surprised.

“I… had forgotten my own face.”

“Have you been living in a cave?” 

The barber replied sarcastically, provoking another burst of laughter.

Cornwald thanked the man for his work and led Baalgran into an adjoining room, leaving the maids behind. In the new room stood a table next to a stand. Before approaching it, the former Demon King glanced at the doors and, finally, at Cornwald.

“They don’t know who I am.”

“No,” the butler said sternly. “Nor will they ever know. I imagine you can see what that would mean for everyone.”

Baalgran nodded slowly and turned his attention to the garments folded on the table: a black tunic, a padded gambeson, leather boots, and gloves. He tilted his head and looked at the black armor mounted on the stand.

It had no gold engravings or embellishments; it was completely plain. A long sword rested beside it. Baalgran let his gaze wander over the pieces. He ran his hand over the breastplate and then picked up the sword. He drew it just a few centimeters and sheathed it again immediately.

“I don’t need it.”

He placed the weapon in exactly the same spot. Cornwald approached calmly.

“Probably, but on this journey you’re not the Demon King—you’re a knight of the kingdom. People have never seen you up close; they only know the stories." He picked up the clothes from the table and placed them in Baalgran’s hands. “And it will stay that way.”

Baalgran wrinkled his nose and began to get dressed.

“I’ve never really liked wearing armor."

Cornwald raised an eyebrow.

“So how did you go to war?"

The former Demon King replied with absolute serenity.

“More or less like this."

It took the butler a moment to picture the man who had held the entire continent in check fighting practically bare-chested. Then he shook his head, unable to decide whether that was a joke or a confession.

“I hope, for the princess’s sake, that you’ll at least make an exception this time.”

He left with his companion a few minutes later, heading back toward the Throne Room. Kaari was waiting on the other side of the hallway. Upon hearing the footsteps, she looked up almost out of habit and stood motionless for a few seconds. She had trouble recognizing him.

The disheveled man she’d freed in Meredis was gone. The dark armor fit his body naturally, and his hair—now trimmed just above his neck—revealed a surprisingly young face. Only those red eyes remained unmistakable.

“Wow…”

The princess blinked several times. Baalgran tilted his head slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

She quickly looked away.

“Nothing. It’s just… it suits you.”

The former Demon King looked down at his breastplate.

“The armor?”

Kaari let out a sigh.

“Yes… of course.”

Cornwald raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.

“I’m glad to hear that the service has done a good job. Shall we continue, Princess? I wonder what prompted you to join us.”

The princess regained her composure but did not reply. The three of them began walking down the long palace corridors toward the grand oak doors. The guard announced their arrival.

Inside the immense hall, only King Karthan was waiting, standing in the center. The butler and the princess remained behind, with one last glance from Kaari that Baalgran could not fathom. Once the doors closed, the two men were left alone.

“I must admit that the change is remarkable. You almost look like a respectable human. Does that bother you?”

The Demon King’s gaze hardened as he walked toward him.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Face to face, just one meter apart, they seemed to size each other up. The king was the first to offer his hand.

“Every Consent Pact begins with a handshake. It’s a tradition as old as time itself.”

Baalgran didn’t hesitate and reluctantly shook his hand.

“Unbelievable… I’m making real history,” Karthan whispered.

Then, the ritual began.

[Before the World, I declare this Pact]

“I will grant you the kingdom of Aethelgard’s pardon, and you will be free to go wherever you wish once you have eliminated Baalmordan, the new Demon King,” the monarch declared without taking his eyes off his former enemy. “And in exchange, until that moment, anyone who knows the word I choose will be able to kill you, Baalgran, the former Demon King, simply by uttering it.”

The somber man opened his eyes wide.

“And what is that word?”

Karthan shook his head.

“You will not know it. Only those who are part of this journey will learn it. You will never hear it until someone decides to use it.”

The former Demon King remained motionless for a few seconds.

“So I will travel without knowing when I am about to die.”

“Exactly.”

Far from being upset, Baalgran simply remained silent for a few seconds.

“Understood.”

[And the World accepts it]

Karthan looked at him and slowly withdrew his hand.

“The Pact has been accepted; therefore, you are no longer my prisoner. And that means that, at last, tomorrow you will meet your companions.”

The king himself accompanied him to the exit.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot. You can’t use your real name while you’re traveling. You’ll have to use an alias.”

Baalgran blinked several times before responding.

“And what name should I choose?

The doors opened, and the guard modestly led the Demon King down the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a broad smile. “My daughter has already chosen one for you.”

The gate closed behind him, and Baalgran couldn’t help but sigh.

I’m starting to suspect I won’t have a say in many decisions.