Chapter 3: Goblin Contractors, Slime Plumbers, and Other Bad Ideas

The next morning, Evan discovered that being a demon lord did not, in fact, come with the luxury of sleeping in.

He woke to the sensation of cold water landing directly on his forehead.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

His eyes opened to a ceiling crossed by black stone ribs and a long crack that glimmered silver in the gray dawn. Another bead of water swelled, trembled, and fell. He rolled sideways on instinct, nearly pitched off the enormous bed, and landed with one foot in a pile of moth-eaten blankets and the other on carved obsidian flooring cold enough to make his bones feel rented.

The room around him was less royal bedchamber and more haunted museum storage. Torn curtains hung from iron rods like surrender flags. A wardrobe leaned drunkenly against the wall. One corner had collapsed inward at some point, letting in a wedge of pale sky and the smell of wet moss. Somewhere beyond the ruined balcony, something with too many throats was arguing.

Evan sat up, rubbed sleep out of his eyes, and stared at the water stain creeping across the mattress.

Okay. New world. Demon castle. Monster army. Evil throne. Somehow this still feels like waking up to a maintenance ticket in an apartment complex that should have been condemned fifteen years ago.

A knock came at the open door. It had the polite rhythm of someone who knew the door no longer worked and did not trust the hinges enough to touch it.

The demon maid stepped inside carrying a silver tray that had once been beautiful and was now mostly tarnish with ambitions. Steam curled from a chipped porcelain cup. Her black dress was immaculate despite the castle looking as if it had lost a war with weather. Crimson eyes took in the leak, the state of the bed, and Evan standing there with his hair sticking up in all directions.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said dryly. “You survived the night. Several among the staff have lost their wagers.”

“Comforting.” Evan accepted the cup. The liquid inside smelled like coffee’s bitter cousin who had gone to prison. He drank anyway and instantly felt his soul come back online. “Please tell me that’s the worst surprise I’m getting before breakfast.”

She glanced upward just as another drip fell onto the pillow. “No.”

“Fantastic.”

Her mouth twitched. That was as close to a smile as he had seen from her so far. In the full light of morning she looked less like a servant and more like a sharpened secret. Short black horns curved neatly through her silver hair. Her gloves were spotless. The only thing about her outfit that looked genuinely practical was the dagger hidden at her waist, positioned where years of habit had put it.

“The courtyard is full,” she said. “Word spread that you did not flee, implode, or transform into smoke. The clans want instructions.”

“Already?”

“They have been waiting for leadership for months.” She set the tray down on a side table and looked at the mold climbing one wall with visible contempt. “Also, the kitchens ran out of edible things during the night. The ogres have begun discussing whether decorative beasts count as livestock.”

Evan took another long drink.

“Right,” he said. “Then I guess we’re doing this.”

He dressed in what the castle had apparently decided was proper demon lord attire: black coat, red-lined collar, fitted trousers, boots that actually fit him, and enough gold trim to make him look like an evil orchestra conductor. The moment he fastened the last clasp, something hummed in the back of his skull.

Infinite Management

Domain Recognized: Blackstone Castle and Attached Monster Territories

Current Status: Critical

Structural Integrity: 38%

Food Reserves: 2.4 days

Morale: 11%

Labor Force: Unassigned / Inefficient / Underutilized

Emergency Recommendation: Reorganize immediately

Evan stared into the air.

“I love and hate this skill so much.”

The maid folded her hands. “Should I be alarmed?”

“Probably. But in a productive way.” He pointed at her. “I never actually got your name.”

She paused, and something unreadable moved behind her eyes before disappearing under practiced composure.

“Lilith,” she said. “Head maid. Steward. Interim keeper of the seal chambers. Occasional stabber of inconvenient guests.”

“Lilith,” Evan repeated. “Great. I’m Evan. Officially, apparently, Demon Lord Against All Reason. I’m going to need a complete breakdown of who we’ve got, what they can do, and what’s currently on fire.”

“Three roofs, the western granary, and the feud between the hobgoblins and the gargoyles,” Lilith said at once. “As for the rest, follow me.”

She turned with a sweep of black skirts, and Evan followed her through corridors that looked like an empire had molted there. Torn banners hung beside cracked murals depicting horned kings trampling armored heroes beneath infernal suns. Dust lay thick where servants should have been. Wind whistled through broken windows. Twice they stepped around buckets catching leaks. Once they stepped around a sleeping hellhound the size of a compact car, who opened one lava-orange eye, recognized Lilith, and went back to snoring with enough force to rattle a nearby candelabrum.

By the time they reached the central balcony overlooking the courtyard, Evan had stopped seeing a spooky castle and started seeing a disaster map.

The courtyard below boiled with monsters.

Goblins clustered in wiry gangs, all ears and suspicious yellow eyes, clutching tools that looked assembled out of battlefield debris. Bigger hobgoblins stood near them with crossed arms and the posture of underpaid foremen. Ogres loomed by the kitchens in aprons stretched over barrel chests, glaring at everyone as if evaluating stew potential. Near the cracked fountain, a wobbling congregation of translucent blue slimes quivered in a heap that reflected the morning sky. Harpies perched along the battlements, feathers ruffling in the wet breeze. Imps flitted in nervous circles. A half-dozen skeletal soldiers stood in perfect formation despite missing pieces. Two gargoyles crouched on a ruined arch and glared down at the crowd like judgmental rainspouts.

Hundreds of eyes turned upward when Evan stepped onto the balcony.

The noise died.

It was the kind of silence that had teeth.

Evan felt his heartbeat punch once against his ribs. Delivery depots had prepared him for angry crowds, but those crowds usually didn’t include giant lizards, ambulatory gelatin, or a satyr sharpening three knives on his own horn.

Okay, Mercer. Same rule as customers. Sound confident, move fast, never let them smell fear. Or in this case, whatever they smell before eating you.

He rested his hands on the stone railing and let his voice carry.

“Good morning,” he said.

No one answered.

“I’ve got good news and bad news. Bad news first: this place is a wreck.” He gestured at the courtyard. “The roofs leak, the walls are cracking, morale is lower than a basement, and apparently we have less than three days before people start looking at the drapes as seasoning.”

A few monsters blinked. One of the ogres muttered, “Could season drapes.”

“Good news,” Evan said, louder, “is that this is fixable.”

A stir went through the crowd. Suspicion. Hope. Mostly suspicion.

“I’m not here to give a dramatic speech about conquering the world before lunch. Right now, we have a simpler problem. This castle is our home, and it’s falling apart. That ends today.”

One hobgoblin barked a laugh. “With what coin?”

Another shouted, “With what food?”

A gargoyle rumbled from above, “With what workers? Half of them are too hungry to lift stone.”

“With all of you,” Evan said.

The courtyard went still again.

He pointed at the goblins. “You lot. How many of you know tools?”

Hands shot up. Then more. Then almost all of them, some proudly, some cautiously.

“How many can repair scaffolds, patch walls, build supports?”

More hands.

Lilith tilted her head, watching him now rather than the crowd.

“Slimes,” Evan called, “what exactly do you do besides be damp?”

The heap by the fountain burbled indignantly. One larger slime pushed up from the mass, forming two bulging eye-spots and a wobbling mouth.

“Dissolve blockage,” it glooped. “Clean pipe. Consume rot. Neutralize foulness. Sometimes hats.”

Evan leaned forward. “You can unclog drains?”

“Best in territory,” the slime said with obvious pride.

“You’re hired.”

The slime vibrated so hard it nearly turned into foam.

He pointed toward the harpies. “Flight capability. Aerial inspection. Fast courier work. Roof access.”

The harpies exchanged glances.

He looked at the gargoyles. “Stonework and structural assessment?”

One of them crossed massive arms. “We were fortress wardens before your grandfather’s grandfather hatched.”

“Great,” Evan said. “Congratulations, you’re now quality control.”

Then the imps. “You’re small, fast, annoying, and already rifling through everyone’s pockets. Inventory management.”

Several imps froze mid-theft.

“If I catch you stealing from each other, I’ll put you on latrine duty with the slimes.”

The slimes made eager noises. The imps looked horrified.

He turned to the skeletons. “Do you need sleep?”

The lead skeleton snapped a salute. “Negative, my lord.”

“Excellent. Night shift.”

The ogres glowered at him expectantly.

“And you,” Evan said, “are about to save everyone’s lives. Kitchens. Bulk cooking. Controlled rationing. If you can make anything edible out of what we still have, you are my most important department.”

The largest ogre, whose apron read KISS THE COOK in faded infernal script, squinted. “Department?”

“Means people stop starving and you get authority.”

The ogre straightened immediately. “Ah.”

Evan exhaled slowly. The skill pulsed behind his eyes, brightening as if his words had hooked into invisible machinery.

Administrative Framework Detected

Would you like to assign roles based on aptitude?

Yes / Absolutely Yes

“Absolutely yes,” Evan muttered.

The world sharpened.

Threads of light burst into existence over the courtyard, thin as spider silk and bright as forged steel. They connected monsters to spaces, tools, ruined sections of wall, the kitchen stores, the drainage channels under the courtyard, the broken western tower, the fungus caverns beneath the keep. Information poured through Evan in a tidal wave so precise it hurt.

Goblin Clan Redknife: high manual dexterity, excellent salvage rates, strong collaborative instincts when given measurable goals and snacks.

Slime Nest Seventeen: superior waste-processing, low morale due to repeated “ew” comments from other species.

Gargoyle Pair Basalt and Cinder: structural memory, territorial pride, poor diplomacy.

Harpy Flock Ashwind: aerial mapping, messenger suitability, tendency to abandon tasks if bored.

Ogre Kitchen Collective: tremendous endurance, hidden culinary competitiveness.

And on and on and on.

Evan nearly laughed.

This wasn’t a ruler’s blessing.

This was a hyper-optimized operations dashboard wearing fantasy drag.

He threw a hand into the air.

“Listen up!”

The glowing lines blazed brighter.

“As of now, everyone has a job. Goblins and hobgoblins, report to the east wall and upper halls for emergency structural reinforcement. Gargoyles, you’re inspecting every load-bearing section they touch. Harpies, aerial survey and roof damage reports every hour. Slimes—”

The wobbling mass quivered in anticipation.

“—you are plumbing, sanitation, and rot removal. Anyone who insults the slimes can explain it to me while cleaning the cesspits by hand.”

The slimes erupted into delighted gurgles. Several monsters immediately looked guilty.

“Imps, inventory every usable scrap in the castle. Nails, rope, timber, cloth, oil, dry grain, tools, candles, everything. Touching is not ownership.”

They hissed in collective disappointment.

“Skeletons, logistics support and overnight haul teams. Ogres, kitchens and ration stations. I want hot food in bowls before noon, even if what’s in those bowls can legally only be described as ‘encouraging.’”

The big ogre slapped his own chest. “Can do encouraging.”

“Good. Lilith—”

She raised one brow.

“—you’re my chief of staff.”

The courtyard murmured.

Lilith’s face did not change, but something in her posture went razor-still.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked.

“You know the castle, the clans, and which disasters are happening where. Also, you have the expression of someone who has been doing three jobs already and resents every second of it. Congratulations on the promotion.”