Chapter Text
The end of Lucrece begins, as all things do, with the simplest of mistakes. Like almost all other simple mistakes, it is caused by an extreme lack of sleep due to last minute training to prepare for the mediaeval equivalent of an exam.
And like all dedicated students, Streibough decides to cram all his ‘studying’ into the last few weeks in hopes of a better result.
Nevermind that he knows he can’t win. Coming second will still lead to a promising future. Or at least, a less embarrassing one since he plans to live inside the palace as Alethea and Oersted’s Professional Consort.
It’s not a position yet, but Alethea was on board with the idea, so it probably will be in a year or so. Until then, Streibough just needs to settle for being the Court Magician. Or minister, if he can show he’s better than that old man who still thinks the appropriate number of forces to send after a demon is a solid… one.
Not one army. One person.
So Streibough could probably outsmart the man while sleep-deprived and possessed, which he will, just not yet.
Currently, his mission is one of the greatest trials created by humanity: Last minute shopping for a specialised service without being ripped off.
Unfortunately, for now he’s too exhausted to even read, which is why it’s a good thing most signs for shops and services are simply symbols due to the current population’s low literacy rate.
Streibough’s tired eyes blink as he walks, looking over the stalls, not even noticing the various people that avoid him by a large margin due to thinking he is some form of undead. He was certain what he was somewhere here- armoury, weaponsmith, leatherworker-
Coth enchantment. There it is. Recommended by a down-on-his luck noble due to their pricing which even Streibough would be able to afford.
Usually, Streibough is the one to enchant his own clothes, but with the upcoming tournament, he unfortunately spent all his time, energy, mana, and likely parts of his soul simply training, training, and more training. Honestly, with how little sleep he's been getting, it’s a genuine wonder that he’s able to walk upright.
One would say it’s from practice, but Streibough is one so fussy about his beauty sleep that he even puts Oersted to shame. He’s only ever once pulled an all nighter before this, and that’s because the house was on fire.
Nevertheless, Streibough is able to successfully enter the shop on his third attempt, spending the first two glaring at his reflection, and hands the store owner- that is actually a mannequin- that is actually a skeleton- his cloak. The owner, seeing the poor sleep deprived man, doesn’t correct him, and just gives the skeleton a funny voice as Streibough continues his purchase.
Streibough requests a few basic spells- and by ‘basic’, we mean basic for Streibough’s paranoa, which means that it needs to at least cover fifthteen ways of potential death. Hot and cold resistance, camouflage, resilience, levitation, etc, etc. The man pretending to be the skeleton gives a smile since Streibough cannot see it- and even if he could, he would never realise- and promises to do their best, naming the price.
Streibough drops half of the coins on the ground as he places them on the cloak, and unfortunate side effect of living in a world without notes or card, and stumbles out of the store, unaware of anything strange having taken place at all.
He then walks in a circle for a minute before he finds his way back to the barracks and promptly collapses and sleeps on the first vaguely horizontal surface he sees.
Had he been even the slightest bit more awake, he might have noticed how dark the store was, the fact that the only light sources were held by human and goat skulls, the very unoriginal demonic symbols everywhere, and the fact that the store clerk gave an extremely evil chuckle when Streibough walked out of the store.
Unfortunately for all of Lucrece and many generations beyond, he noticed none of this.
The tournament lasts three days.
Streibough, beginning the tradition of last-minute-rush, completely forgets to pick up his enchanted cloak until he’s looking at a list of who will be fighting for the right to win the hand of a princess who is on the verge of re-legalising divorce for women.
He notices that his opponent has a cloak. A very nice green cloak with blue trims that match his own-
And then one of the more intelligent people of Lucrece, a country that listened to its current minister, remembers that he left his cloak at an enchantment store and his first match is after Oersted’s.
Needless to say, he runs to the store, enters, ignores the parade of red flags in his rush to grab the cloak and thank the clerk- who is currently painting another unoriginal demonic symbol with goat’s blood- and hurries back to the palace.
Streibough also apparently is the one to start the tradition of cursing people who are always prepared beforehand, and those who finish things early, wrapping the innocent-looking-now-soul-corrupting-not-at-all-bloody red cloak around his shoulders as he does so.
Suddenly, betraying Oersted seems like a brilliant and logical idea that was well thought out, and not one to be questioned at all. A perfect way to spend his weekend.
Oersted, upon having one and a half consecutive bad days in a row- beating his previous record of half-a-bad day- becomes the Lord of Dark, since Lucrece broke it’s deal for trying to kill him for accidentally killing the king.
After all, it’s not like demons are an entirely different species from him, and likely have a hierarchy. Or that he is human will factor into anything, but good thing the demon’s aren’t speciesist. A human can become a Lord of Dark if they want to. Demons tend to be non-judgemental like that.
His terrible mental state may also play a part in his decision, since it seems like a fantastic idea in the eyes of anyone who has had four hours of sleep in the past two days, like Oersted.
The only reason it works is because Oersted accidentally won the title through right of conquest, and also accidentally killed any other demon that could have claimed the title and challenged him. It would be a happy coincidence if it wasn’t going to doom Lucrece and the surrounding countries.
The first order of business, Oersted announces, with all the authority of a man lacking focus, is to build a fine palace and city, one that puts Lucrece to shame. He can show them that he doesn’t need them at all, and prove he isn’t desperate for approval in the slightest. Of course, despite being on a mountain, it will have the finest crops and herds, the greatest tournaments, and the most entertaining feasts.
He says all this to a statue and assumes it’s a minion.
He would call it well thought out, but Oersted has never thought through a decision once in his entire life for more than an amazing fifteen seconds, instead opting to brood. Thinking things through is what Streibough and Alethea were for, and with them gone, Oersted’s base two IQ points vanish too.
Of course, Oersted then puts on Streibough’s cloak.
No one knows why he put on Streibough’s cloak, and it would be the debate of scholars for centuries, had Oersted not then proceeded to kill them before they could make note of what he was wearing.
Perhaps it was to feel close to his former friend, perhaps for victory, perhaps as a prize, or proof of his survival.
Or maybe it’s simply rather chilly on a mountaintop, and once one is no longer fighting, the cold begins to set in.
Whatever the reason, Oersted puts on the definitely innocent-looking-not-at-all-soul-corrupting-not-at-all-bloody red cloak, and suddenly, destroying humanity seems like a grand way to spend one's time.
When the hatred fates before the heroes, all that’s left is a man. They had finally, with the combined might, destroyed the being which caused so much chaos and destruction.
The cloak.
It becomes a lesson to all, that the heroes teach generations: always have enough rest. And don’t put on clothes that radiate evil ominous energy. Even if they aren’t actually doing so, the fact that you think they are is probably a sign you shouldn’t touch them.