At the heart of the magical city of Delmondo
There, a row of identical brown stone buildings, constructed all at once during the city’s development, stand tall like a wall.
However, in stark contrast to their uniform exterior, their uses are anything but unified. Some have been divided into small rooms to run inns; others serve as bases for commercial guilds, while some have had their walls broken down to operate as pubs or clubs for the public. This chaotic variety served as excellent camouflage for smuggling “all sorts of things.”
In one such building, hidden deep underground…
“—You’re going to lie low here for a while!”
A figure in a black robe, a humanoid girl named Mukomuu Milmihart, was roughly shoved into a dark, unlit room at the bottom of a staircase.
“First, you stuff me in a wooden crate like a vegetable and ship me here, and now this? What is going on?!”
Mukomuu, holding down her slipping black witch’s hat, glared sharply at the man standing with his arms crossed in irritation. That man, Iwagane, was the owner of several clubs in Delmondo and also secretly controlled experiments at a laboratory for new magical potions. He was a spiderkin.
“This is a safe house. Mukomuu, you’re staying here for a while.”
“W-What?! I’ve been following orders and making the new potions at the lab every day! What mess are you dragging me into now?!”
“Shut up! Just stay quiet!”
Behind his sunglasses, the eight compound eyes of Iwagane glowed red with anger.
“I’m just as annoyed as you are! I didn’t think they’d catch on this fast!”
“Catch on…? Wait, are you talking about the constables?”
“Worse—Kiwi Alaya , the new official in the Demon Nation’s leadership!”
Mukomuu gasped.
That was indeed bad news.
The new magical potion they were making was undeniably harmful to the Demon Nation. It gave users a sense of intoxication similar to alcohol but included a magical formula far more addictive. This compelled repeated use, forcing users to buy it over and over.
Ultimately, the magic formula would erode the brain, leaving users as mindless, undead husks.
In other words, the potion was a cornerstone of a system designed to drain the Demonfolk of their money until their eventual deaths.
“Demon Nation officials are direct subordinates of the Demon King. You can’t bribe them… If they catch us, it’s over!”
“Then… why not just stop making the potion?”
Mukomuu hesitantly suggested.
“Idiot! It’s the organization’s main source of income now! There’s no way we’re stopping! That’s why I brought you here!”
Iwagane turned on a portable magical lamp, its pale blue light illuminating the room.
In the center of the spacious area were rows of equipment identical to what Mukomuu used in the laboratory—cauldrons for potion brewing, magical separation devices, filtration tools, and scrolls for magical formulas. The environment was fully equipped for potion production.
“Mukomuu, you’re the only one who can perfectly mix this potion. Keep making it here like before.”
“But… what about the official?”
“Alaya won’t be a problem,” Iwagane said, clicking his tongue.
“We’ve started making a fake version of the potion at the lab—one with low addictiveness. Alaya will inspect that instead.”
“Why go through such trouble?!”
“To clear suspicion. That guy was sniffing around about the potion. So, we’re giving him what he wants—some shared knowledge and a little flattery. If we ask for his ‘help,’ he’ll think everything’s under his control. Meanwhile, we’ll keep selling the real stuff behind his back.”
Iwagane pulled a small vial filled with blue liquid from the inner pocket of his flashy suit. The real potion.
“Can you really pull that off…?”
“That’s the plan. And you’re going to help make it work!”
At his signal, three burly oni men descended the stairs, surrounding Mukomuu on either side.
“These guys will guard and monitor you. Just keep producing the required amount, same as always.”
“…”
“Don’t slack off. Remember, you’re paying off your debt with the potion’s profits. If sales drop, not just you but your little sister will be ‘dealt with.’ You get what I’m saying?”
“I… I understand. Just, please don’t hurt my family—”
But their conversation was abruptly interrupted.
From above, a loud clatter echoed.
“What the—?!”
The sound of clashing metal, shattering ceramics, and heavy furniture falling over reached their ears—a clear sign of a struggle.
“No way… Are we under attack?!”
The sound of a hidden door creaking open reached them.
A moment later, the guard stationed at the entrance—a large orc—was thrown down the stone stairs, landing heavily on the floor, unconscious.
Then came the cold, deliberate sound of footsteps descending the stairs.
“Ah, underground spaces have such a romantic feel to them.”
Emerging from the shadows was a gaunt man in a white coat, hands casually stuffed in his pockets.
“I’ve taken the liberty of dropping by for an inspection. Now, show me this bad potion of yours.”
It was none other than Kiwi Alaya , the Demon Nation official, standing there with a thin smile.
