I Reincarnated As The Lazy Demon King's Butler

Elias Voss rode at the head of an army of monsters.

The Beastkin marched behind him—thousands of warriors, their massive forms casting long shadows in the pale moonlight.

They did not cheer.They did not chant.

They marched in silence.

The only sound was the rhythmic pounding of their footsteps against the cracked earth.

From a distance, it might have seemed like a force marching to war.

But the truth was far stranger.

They did not march because they had been commanded.They did not march because they had been defeated.

They marched because they had knelt.

And none of them—not Kael, not Xyra, not Gorvak—could explain why.

But Elias?

He simply rode forward, hands resting calmly on the reins, his golden eyes fixed on the towering black walls of Nocturne.

The Council Gathers

Word of Elias's return had already reached the Demon King's capital.

Inside the grand obsidian war hall, the highest-ranking members of Nocturne's rule were gathered.

At the head of the chamber sat Demon King Azazel, one leg draped over the armrest of his throne, a goblet of wine in one hand and an expression of mild amusement on his face.

To his right, Seraphine lounged against a pillar, twirling a dagger between her fingers, watching the entrance with a raised eyebrow.

And around the long war table stood the generals, the ministers, and the noble lords—all waiting to see what Elias had brought back from the south.

The great doors creaked open.

A hush fell over the room.

Elias entered first.

And behind him, the Beastkin followed.

They poured into the war hall—hundreds of them, towering figures of muscle and scars, each one radiating raw, untamed power.

They should have been growling, boasting, sneering.

Instead, they stood in perfect silence.

It was unnatural.

It was wrong.

And for the first time in a long time, the council felt something stir in their chests.

Not caution.

Not curiosity.

Something far rarer.

Unease.

A Throne Taken Without War

Azazel took a lazy sip from his goblet. "So. I assume you won."

Elias nodded. "Yes."

The council murmured, glancing at the silent warlords behind him.

Vardok, the minotaur general, grunted in approval. "Took their leaders alive? Smart. Makes their loyalty easier to control."

"They are loyal," Elias said simply.

A noble scoffed. "Loyal? You expect us to believe the Beastkin—who have refused alliance for centuries—simply surrendered?"

Elias turned his gaze toward him. Not sharply, not aggressively.

Just… looked at him.

The noble's mouth snapped shut.

Because standing behind Elias, Kael did not protest.

Xyra did not sneer.

Gorvak did not grumble.

They stood there—silent, unreadable, unnervingly still.

Loyalty without chains. Without bargains. Without threats.

The council felt it.

And it unnerved them.

Seraphine broke the silence first.

She laughed.

Not because she found it funny—but because she understood something the others didn't.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

Something Unspoken

The meeting continued.

Discussions of military integration, strategies for fortifying the capital, reports on the approaching Hero's army.

On the surface, it was just another war council.

But underneath it all, something festered.

The nobles whispered amongst themselves.

The generals stole glances at Elias when they thought he wouldn't notice.

Even Azazel, for all his laziness, watched him more carefully than usual.

Because Elias had left as a butler.

And returned as something else.

He had not returned victorious.

He had returned changed.

No one said it aloud.

No one dared.

But the unspoken question loomed over the war table like a shadow:

What did Elias do to make the Beastkin kneel?

A Conversation in Shadows

Later that evening, long after the council had dispersed, Seraphine found Elias alone in the castle's upper halls.

She didn't speak immediately.

Instead, she leaned against the wall, tossing a dagger in the air, watching the way it spun before catching it again.

"You didn't tell them," she said.

Elias glanced at her. "Tell them what?"

Seraphine smirked. "Exactly."

She let the silence sit between them for a moment before pushing off the wall.

"I don't care how you did it," she continued, tucking the dagger away. "But I'll tell you this—people are noticing."

Elias didn't react.

"Azazel is watching you," she said. "The nobles? They're scared. The generals? Uneasy."

She took a step closer.

"I've seen a lot of things, Elias. I know when someone has power. Real power. That is what being several centuries old teaches you."

She tilted her head. "What are you?"

Elias met her gaze, unreadable.

Then, with a polite, effortless smile, he said:

"Your colleague."

Seraphine chuckled. "For now."

And with that, she walked away.

Elias remained, standing in the dim corridor.

For a long moment, he stared at his own reflection in the window.

He looked the same as he did when entering this world.

But he wasn't.

He could feel it.

Something growing.

Something waiting.

The whispers had been silent since he returned.

But that didn't mean they were gone.

It meant they were watching.

And that, more than anything, was what unsettled him most.