Prologue

Lyferian calendar, twelfth month, twenty-eighth day—

Today, the races rejoiced in jovial celebration over their victory. There wasn’t a single cloud in the clear blue sky, and the sun shone down brightly. Despite it being the height of winter, the heat was almost overbearing.

The main street and square of the citadel city of Faltra were lined with stalls. Since it coincided with the new year celebrations, they were also bustling with never before seen activity. So much so that even the merchants who couldn’t find a spot to set up in time and had to open their stalls outside the gates were getting steady streams of customers.

Every day was like a festival, and the townspeople owed it all to a single hero who had felled the Demon Overlord Modinaram. And this very hero, praised and sung of by the people, was currently...

...cowering and panicking on top of his bed.

“I was... I am a busy man!”

Diablo struggled to come up with an excuse, but Rem and Shera ignored him as if doing so was a given. He’d been loitering about in his room for the last three days, so any claims he made to being “busy” were unconvincing at best.

The two crept closer. He turned his eyes to the right, only to be met with Rem’s gaze. She was staring at him fixedly without so much as a blink, her cat ears twitching excitedly. Her black tail was wagging and slapping his leg repeatedly.

“...This is all your fault.”

“That’s right, it’s all your fault, Diablo...”

Turning his gaze to the left, he found his sight obstructed by Shera’s bosom. Every time she moved and stirred, her breasts jiggled, her swellings round, large, soft, and visibly within arm’s reach... This fact rammed itself into Diablo’s thoughts and blew back all notions of common sense. Shera was blushing, too, but regarded him with an amused smile. She may well have had no idea of what was supposed to happen next. A sweet aroma mixed in with an animalistic smell and the scent of grass.

Diablo felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Aaah... Uuu...”

He was bad at talking to people. He always became concerned with how the other person saw him and would freeze up. What if I screwed up? What if they think I’m stupid? Maybe they hate me? Such thoughts made any escaping words cling to his throat. That was why he had to role play a character, and right now, he was a Demon Lord. A feared Demon Lord everyone shrank away from out of fear, which was precisely why he went with such a profile. So, believing that what others said weren’t about his true character underneath, he spoke freely.

Right now, however, he didn’t have that freedom.

Cat ears, those lips, the boobs, elf ears...

If he wasn’t careful, his embarrassment could scream through his expression, and no Demon Lord was ever that lame!

...But, on the other hand, it felt like it wasn’t right to let the two’s advances go unanswered.

But how do I do that...?

Forget a girlfriend, he never had any female friends to hang out with on his days off...or male friends, for that matter.

Lying on the bed helplessly, Diablo jerked his left hand’s middle finger.

Click!

...Sadly, there was no mouse to respond to the gesture, and imagining one didn’t result in, well, anything. He didn’t exhibit the charisma or technique of a visual novel protagonist who’d proactively take the lead in such a situation.

“Guh...”

But if I imagine the game, I can still cast magic!

In this world, when Diablo imagined he was casting a spell just like in Cross Reverie, the magic activated as it would in the game. He didn’t know how it worked, but that was why he’d imagined a mouse to click just now. However, Cross Reverie wasn’t a visual novel and didn’t have any bedtime scenes, and so, of course, it didn’t have any features that would help Diablo in his current plight on top of the bed.

In the end, all he could do was stiffen up like a board. He was perfectly still, as if he’d been petrified. Would they take his silence as consent? Or maybe they’d think he didn’t really have a say in the matter after he gave the both of them wedding rings. Whatever the case, Rem’s and Shera’s lips were closing in on his. Their breathing was much heavier than usual.

As the tension rose, a certain premonition came over Diablo...

Whenever something like this happens, doesn’t...

The door swung open with a thud.

...There it is.

The one who flung the inn’s door open was none other than Sylvie, a redheaded Grasswalker who was the guildmaster of Faltra’s Adventurer’s Guild.

“Diablo, we have trouble!”

Hmph... You dare disturb my slumber, Sylvie? Do not expect to leave unscathed if it is merely a trifling matter.

...Was what he recited in his mind, but he couldn’t actually put it into words with the two girls bearing down on him as they were.

“...We’re busy, Sylvie.” Rem directed a lethal glare in the Grasswalker’s direction.

“That’s right!” Shera raised her voice as well. “We’re doing something really important!”

“Huh?” Sylvie faltered. “No, but...”

“It can wait.”

“Just wait a bit, okay, Sylvie?”

Rem rejected her firmly, while Shera earnestly implored her.

“Aaah... Y-Yeah... Well, if you insist...” Sylvie retreated with surprising ease.

Are you really that cool with this, guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild?!

The door closed, leaving the three of them alone once more.

I didn’t think they’d actually get her to leave...

Diablo thought the tension had gone down, but Rem and Shera looked at him with tense expressions.

“...I get the feeling that if we let you get away now, we’ll never get another chance like this.”

“Right!”

“R-Really? Maybe we should take this a little more slowly and think this thr—”

“Sit still, Diablo.”

“Don’t move!”

Yes, ma’ams...

Their bodies were nearly upon him, to the point where any movement would lead to him rubbing against all sorts of...places. He couldn’t budge. Rem and Shera brought their lips closer to him, Diablo feeling their breaths against him. As the two girls became the only thing in his sight, Diablo squeezed his eyes shut.

A soft sensation pressed against his lips.

Shera kissed him lightly, with Rem pecking at him, wet noises resounding in Diablo’s ear. Both of their faces were redder than before. Diablo also felt a little heat spread across his cheeks too.

“...Ah.”

They kissed him. The feeling of intoxication that had filled his mind sank its fangs even deeper than ever before. Diablo’s discomposure only accelerated from here.

“Is that it?” Shera asked Rem. “Are we done?”

“...No, this is only the first part of the beginning phase. It’s like we’re still only at the start. Besides, if kissing were enough, we’d already done so when we first summoned him.”

“Oh, right, the Enslavement Ritual. We did do that, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t expect the collars to appear on us though!”

“...And I never expected myself to be in this...situation with the person I summoned.”

Rem reached out her hand, moving things along to the next step in the act. Shera followed her example and reached out as well. Their fingers made contact with Diablo, prompting them both to jolt in surprise.

“...I-It’s hard...”

“Wow, it’s so solid...”

Being on the receiving end made him sit still as if he were petrified, with even his breath frozen in his throat.

“...This is Diablo’s...” Rem whispered huskily with excitement.

“It’s so smooth...” Shera commented as she caressed it.

“...Indeed...” Rem patted the tip while Shera’s fingers crawled over him. It was somewhat ticklish...

“...We need to...lick this...” Rem said after a few caresses, as if steeling her resolve.

“Wait, is doing that all right?!”

“...I’ve never done this before so I don’t really know, but...according to the book I’ve read, it should be...”

“Lick Diablo’s...”

“Yes...”

“M-My horn?!”

The two of them were touching a horn atop Diablo’s head. He was a bit nervous they might end up removing his headgear, the Distorted Crown, but given it had never came off once, not even during battle, it would likely be all right. The Distorted Crown had an HP regeneration effect which made it quite valuable, but it also had the secondary cosmetic effect of making it appear as if there were horns growing out of the wearer’s head. Were they mistaking it for something else, perhaps...?

Rem and Shera extended their tongues toward his horn. It was an oddly nerve-wracking experience. The tips of their tongues were on the verge of touching it, so minisculely close, when...

Another, stronger knock rapped at the door. It didn’t seem like it was Sylvie this time.

“Diablo, are you there?!” a man’s voice called out from the other side. “Please, this is urgent!”

Diablo racked his brains in an attempt to recall the man’s name. He could easily memorize pages of game lore, but was helpless when it came to attaching a name to a face or voice.

“...Boris?” Rem asked before he could remember. “We’re occupied at the moment.”

Right—the man shouting from behind the door was Boris. He was one of Faltra’s garrisoned troops, a subordinate of Galford.

“The lieutenant general’s at this inn!”

“What?!” Diablo called out despite himself.

If that were the case, this really was no time for intimacy. The lieutenant general Boris spoke of was none other than Faltra’s governor, Chester Ray Galford, an accomplished warrior, and a man Diablo couldn’t afford to be careless around. It seemed Diablo’s time of loitering about on his bed had reached an end...