The Decisive Battle on the Dakan Plains (2)

A harsh voice, like the cry of a monstrous bird, echoed.

The voice was grating, but familiar.

"Gik-gik-gik. Well, well. For a fledgling like this to be counted among the generals... Demon King-sama in the afterlife must surely lament it."

The entrance to the tent opened, and a demon clad in white cloth entered. Leaning on a staff in one hand and dragging one leg behind, the figure was utterly bizarre.

The right hand was grotesquely large, while the left was thin and short like a withered branch. The back was grotesquely hunched, and the gait made it clear that one leg did not move. The face was smooth and childlike, without any contours, yet the voice coming from it was as hoarse as that of an elder who had lived a thousand years.

A deformity.

Seeing the figure, every officer assembled there grimaced.

Among demonkind, deformity was nothing but a source of shame: a failed, defective product. The parent who gave birth to one was treated the same way.

The custom was to dispose of them as cursed children the moment they were born, but sometimes a parent could not kill their own child.

"Gami? It's been a long time, Special Staff Officer."...