I Reincarnated As The Lazy Demon King's Butler

The halls of Nocturne's grand library were old, vast, and drowning in dust.

Elias had never been one for sentimental admiration, but even he could appreciate the sheer weight of history pressing down on these stone walls.

Towering shelves stretched toward vaulted ceilings, filled with ancient scrolls, leather-bound tomes, and records written in languages long forgotten.

The scent of aged parchment and candle wax clung to the air. It was a place where time felt slower, where knowledge lingered like ghosts.

Tonight, however, Elias was not alone.

Across the wooden desk sat High Scholar Malakai, the oldest living historian in Nocturne.

His hunched form was wrapped in heavy, dark robes, his long fingers covered in ink stains. His pale, milky-white eyes—a sign of his old age—betrayed the sharpness of his mind.

Malakai rarely left the library. He rarely spoke unless spoken to.

So when he summoned Elias for a private meeting, the air of mystery surrounding him only grew.

Elias leaned back in his chair, golden eyes scanning the half-opened tomes before him.

Most were accounts of lost wars, dead kings, and civilizations buried beneath time.

And yet, none of them were what truly interested Malakai.

Because the old scholar wasn't looking at his books.

He was looking at Elias.

A Name That Should Not Exist

Malakai's voice was soft, like dried leaves crumbling underfoot.

"You were not born in Nocturne."

It was not a question.

Elias folded his hands together. "No."

Malakai gave a slow nod. "You are young. Yet your knowledge is… unnatural."

Elias said nothing.

Malakai tapped a long, bony finger against the open book before him.

"I have spent my life collecting history," he murmured. "The names of every warlord, every demon king, every strategist who has shaped our world."

His pale eyes lifted, staring at Elias with an intensity that should not have been possible for a blind man.

"Your name is not among them."

The candlelight flickered.

Elias did not move. "That would make sense. I have only recently entered the political stage."

Malakai gave a dry chuckle. "Yes. And yet, you move as though you have been here before."

He ran a thin hand over the aged parchment before him. "History follows patterns, Lord Elias. Kingdoms rise, kingdoms fall. Wars are won, wars are lost. And always, there is someone like you."

Elias's fingers tightened slightly. "Like me?"

Malakai exhaled, slow and thoughtful.

"Figures who do not belong. Names that appear suddenly, figures who seize power without force, without armies, without bloodshed."

His fingers traced an old passage, the ink faded, the edges torn.

"This book is the oldest in Nocturne. Older than our kingdom, older than the first demon kings. It speaks of rulers who conquered without war. Who bent empires to their will with nothing but words."

His clouded gaze bore into Elias.

"You are not the first."

Elias's breath was steady, his expression unreadable. But something shifted inside him.

A quiet unease.

A moment of recognition that should not exist.

The scholar had no proof.

But he was not wrong.

And that was what unsettled Elias most.

The Cost of Knowledge

Malakai closed the book.

"There are no records of what happened to them."

Elias tilted his head slightly. "Them?"

"The ones before you."

Malakai gestured to the surrounding endless shelves of history.

"They did not build legacies. They did not leave bloodlines. No stories of their rule, no records of their deaths."

He laced his fingers together.

"It is as though they were never meant to be remembered."

The words settled like dust in the air.

Elias did not speak immediately.

Something about this conversation felt… wrong.

Not because Malakai was lying.

But because it felt familiar.

Like a thought he had never finished having.

A realization that had been waiting for him to catch up.

He pushed his chair back, rising to his feet.

"I appreciate the history lesson," he said smoothly, adjusting his gloves. "But I am afraid I am quite real, High Scholar."

Malakai did not rise.

He only watched.

"You are real now," he murmured.

Elias's golden eyes flickered toward him.

Malakai leaned forward slightly, his ancient voice barely above a whisper.

"But will you be, when the history is written?"

The candle snapped out.

And the shadows seemed to deepen.

A War That Is Not a War

By the time Elias left the library, the night had grown colder.

He stepped into the empty corridors of the castle, his footsteps echoing too loudly.

For the first time in a long time, he felt tired.

Not physically. Not mentally.

Just… something else.

Something he could not name.

His power was growing. He knew that now.

He had felt it during the Beastkin trial. He had felt it every time he won.

Every time a kingdom bent. Every time a ruler fell.

Something changed.

Not immediately. Not obviously.

But… something.

He had been so focused on using it that he had never truly stopped to wonder—

What am I becoming?

The thought flickered. Then, like always, he buried it.

There were more important things to deal with.

Because beyond these walls, beyond his own unanswered questions—

The Hero's Army was coming.

And before long, the real war would begin.