Of course. Here is the continuation of the story.
Story: Reincarnated in the Demon King's Body
Genre: Fantasy, Isekai, Action
Chapter 2: The Devil's Details
Silence. The colossal throne room was so quiet that I could hear the faint, crackling sound of the magical flames in the chandeliers. The adrenaline from my confrontation with General Vorlag had faded, leaving behind a cold, paralyzing fear.
I pushed myself off the obsidian throne again, this time with more control. The heavy armor felt less like a cage and more like... a part of me. I took a tentative step, then another. The sound of my metal-clad boots echoed ominously on the polished floor.
Pacing. It was a habit from my old life as Vireak. Whenever a project deadline loomed or a client was being difficult, I would pace back and forth in my small office cubicle. Now, I was pacing in a hall large enough to fit my entire apartment building.
"Okay, Vireak... think," I muttered to myself, my new, deep voice a constant, jarring reminder of my situation. "Don't panic. Treat this like a problem at work. A very, very big problem."
What was the first thing I did when I was assigned a new, impossible project? I gathered information. I assessed the situation, the resources, the stakeholders, and the risks.
My "company" was now the Demon Kingdom. My "staff" were terrifying generals like Vorlag. My "biggest risk"? The Hero locked in my basement, and the fact that I, the "CEO," was a complete fraud.
The brief surge of power I'd used to intimidate Vorlag... I could still feel a residue of it tingling in my fingertips. It wasn't my power; it was Malakor's. It was an instinctual reaction, a weapon this body knew how to use even if my mind didn't. This was both a comfort and a terror. I had a weapon, but I had no idea how to aim it. One wrong move and I could blow everything up, starting with myself.
The Hero. That was the most pressing issue. The real Malakor would have been down in the dungeons by now, laughing as the Hero was tortured. That was the expectation. Every moment I delayed, suspicion would grow. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't order the torture of another human being.
"Stall for time," I reasoned. "I need a legitimate-sounding reason to keep him alive for now."
Information. That was the key. If I framed it as a strategic necessity, it might work.
With a newfound, albeit fragile, sense of purpose, I stopped pacing. I stood tall, trying to project the authority this body commanded.
"Attendant!" I called out, my voice booming through the hall.
For a moment, nothing happened. My heart sank. Had I done it wrong? Was there some special way to summon people? But then, a small side door I hadn't noticed before creaked open. A stooped figure emerged, shuffling forward with quiet, practiced steps.
It was an old demon, thin and wiry, with skin like grey parchment and long, slender fingers. He wore simple, dark robes, and his eyes, though clouded with age, were sharp and intelligent. The memories of Malakor supplied a name: Zolan, the chief chamberlain of the citadel, a servant who had been here for centuries. He moved without a sound until he was a respectful distance away, then bowed low.
"You called, My Liege?" His voice was a dry whisper, like leaves skittering across stone.
"Zolan," I began, keeping my tone level and cold. "I have new orders. The... unexpected ease of the Hero's capture has made me reconsider my immediate plans."
Zolan looked up, a flicker of surprise in his ancient eyes, but he said nothing, merely waiting.
"First," I commanded, "bring me the complete strategic maps of the continent. All of them. I also want a full roster of our command structure—every general, every legion commander, and their current disposition. I will review our grand strategy."
This seemed like a reasonable request for a king. For me, it was a desperate attempt to understand who I was supposed to be leading and where we even were.
"It will be done, My Liege," Zolan rasped, bowing again.
"Second," I continued, getting to the crucial point. "Regarding the prisoner. Hold off on any... interrogation. I want a different kind of report first. I want to know everything about him. What is his name? What are his documented abilities and magical affinities? What equipment did he carry? Was he alone? I want to know the exact nature of the weapon we have captured before I decide how to break it."
I held my breath. To me, it sounded like I was an analyst asking for a competitor's profile. I hoped to Zolan, it sounded like a Demon King being cunning and meticulous in his cruelty.
A slow smile spread across Zolan's wrinkled face, revealing pointed, yellowed teeth. It was a terrifying sight.
"A truly wise decree, My Liege," he whispered. "To understand the hope of our enemies before we extinguish it. It is a far greater torment than any physical pain. I shall gather the information at once."
He bowed one last time, deeper than before, and shuffled back out of the room, leaving me alone once more.
I let out a shaky breath of relief and sank back onto the throne. It worked. My corporate-speak had been successfully translated into the language of demonic evil.
For the first time since waking up here, a tiny sliver of hope pierced through my fear. Maybe, just maybe, I could do this. I couldn't be a warrior king like Malakor, but perhaps I could be something else. A planner. A strategist. A manager.
I looked at my monstrous, clawed hands. The terror was still there, a cold knot in my stomach. But now, it was mixed with a flicker of grim resolve.
My life as Vireak, the overworked office employee, was over.
My new career as Malakor, the Demon King—and the most terrified manager in this world—had just begun.
(End of Chapter 2)