Chapter 45: Winning Dog with Laziness🐶🤪

In the ruins of the Demon King’s castle, piles of tents emitted wisps of cooking smoke, and the crowd bustled with activity.

Simple wooden fences and elevated platforms had been set up around the perimeter to fend off external threats.

Under Emilia’s management and rules, everything became orderly, and the slaves grew docile.

After all, they had food and drink, reasonable working hours, no dangerous tasks, and no random beatings—a pretty good deal for slaves.

Moreover, no one wanted to endure Sieg’s infamous “Five Lightning Whips.”

The slaves could never forget that day under the setting sun, when a man relentlessly swung his whip, looking like a demon straight from hell, making them instinctively want to bend down and pick cotton.

Though the pain was excruciating, it healed quickly.

Even old injuries and hidden ailments vanished, leaving the body refreshed and invigorated.

They worked with boundless energy…

But the agony was soul-tearing, and no one in their right mind would want to experience it again.

At this moment, Sieg, the culprit, stood with his hands behind his back, chest puffed out, exuding the air of a leader—though, sadly, without a potbelly.

He strode along the muddy path in his Chelsea boots, hair neatly styled.

From time to time, he brushed his bangs, which obstructed his view, from his left eye to his right.

After all, the left eye was for forgetting, the right for remembering.

He was smugly admiring his handiwork, only to forget it moments later—literally.

His mind had already wandered to fantasies of future developments: dimensional strikes, muskets, cannons…

He nodded to himself, humming softly.

Clearly, he was pleased with the progress of the Demon King’s castle and planned to reward himself by slacking off somewhere, maybe fishing.

With Emilia handling management and oversight, he could just stir up some chaos.

If you don’t have the skills, don’t take on the job—he understood that much.

This was the main reason he’d spared Emilia’s life despite his initial urge to kill her.

What else could it be?

Nostalgia for her betrayal?

Or some lust-driven impulse?

Even if it was lust, why not pick someone cleaner?

But lately, she’d been getting bolder, even daring to kiss him.

Sigh…

Oh well, what’s done is done.

No use dwelling on it.

Truth be told, if he had to rely on himself alone, he’d be doomed.

Slaves had to be slaves, managers had to manage, the Demon King’s castle had to be the Demon King’s castle, and construction required materials.

Being a hands-off boss suited him best.

He pulled a set of fishing gear from his crotch, a glint of determination in his eyes.

If he didn’t catch anything, he probably wouldn’t bother coming back.

The sound of nearby arguments reached his ears.

The slaves had gathered to chat during their downtime, seemingly discussing him and Emilia.

He perked up, expecting to hear some praise.

“I think Emilia’s been leading, commanding, and managing us from start to finish. That Sieg? He just whips people, yells, and slacks off. Does nothing, yet he’s the one in charge?”

Regrettably, this slave had just lost his chance for advancement.

Sieg, ever perceptive, silently tucked away his fishing gear back into his crotch.

Plans had changed.

With a stern face, he marched into the crowd.

Someone who truly wanted to reason wouldn’t be smiling.

How had he become the slacker?

Emilia, the MVP?

What was this nonsense?

Was it fair?

No way.

Hakimi couldn’t swallow this insult and stepped forward to argue.

If words failed, he knew a thing or two about fists.

Reflecting on his past achievements:

In 1974, he won the Southeast Asia freestyle fighting championship.

In 1980, he defeated the Empire’s heavy hitter, Thunder Dragon.

For three consecutive years, he bested every mainland martial artist, earning the title of Continental Freestyle Fighting Champion.

His Hakimi Fist was dubbed the “Bane of Humanity,” earning him the nickname “Demon Hakimi.”

The slave who’d been mocking Sieg stepped back, still chuckling, only to tread on something soft—no, a shoe.

A demonic whisper from Sieg sent chills down his spine.

Turning in terror, he saw Sieg’s stone-cold face.

“Heroes can take grievances, but you don’t step on my Chelsea boots.”

“Sorry, Lord Sieg, I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. Please spare me! I have family to care for…”

The slave begged, about to kneel, but Sieg snapped at him, shouting with a commanding presence that silenced the crowd.

“No kneeling! Stand up! I’m not here to bully anyone. I’m here to reason with you.”

Pausing to gather his thoughts, he launched into a full-on lecture.

“Why do you slaves focus so much on appearances? It dehumanizes people’s efforts, you understand? Do you know what alienation means, specifically? Let me give you an example. Say your family has four people, or six, whatever—someone’s there. If not, I’ll send you a family portrait. Your mom cooks every day, your dad goes out to earn money. At the end of the month, they tally it up, and oh, look, Dad’s the MVP. Mom’s just a housewife, washing clothes, cooking—slacker, right?”

His voice grew passionate, rising in fervor.

“Your mom’s a slacker? Her score’s 3.0 this month, while Dad’s raking in 13.0, carrying the team. Is that how it works?”

He pointed accusingly, maintaining his stern expression.

“Tell me, is your mom a slacker? That’s insane. You all see Emilia doing so much on the surface but ignore what I’ve done. Who paid for your food, clothes, and shelter? Who bought you? Who hands out your rewards and wages? Who planned this Demon King’s castle? And you’re still yapping about this and that.”

“Why focus on appearances? Always saying ‘you’re no good,’ ‘I’m no good,’ slapping labels on people. I hate that. Got it? Answer me, look me in the eyes!”

“We get it! We won’t call anyone a slacker again, Lord Sieg!”

Their voices rang out in unison, the lesson seeping into their memories and minds.

They’d never forget the term “slacker.”

But Sieg wasn’t satisfied.

Glaring fiercely, hands on hips, he wasn’t pleased with their attitude.

“No energy! I can barely hear you! Louder! So quiet, you think you can sail a warship? No, build a Demon King’s castle?”

“We get it! We won’t call anyone a slacker again, Lord Sieg!”

Terrified, the slaves raised their voices, the phrase “slacker” echoing through the ruins, even catching Emilia’s attention.

She sat elegantly in a chair, draped in a misty gray robe, the buttons of her white inner lining straining at her chest, with flowing magical traces shimmering at the edges of her wide sleeves, scattering faint blue light as she wrote.

A budget-friendly belt cinched her tiny waist, and her silver hair was adorned with frost-like flowers blooming like pearls or snow.

Every movement exuded grace, her long silver hair tied in a single ponytail, strands falling delicately over her nimble writing hand.

The roars of “slacker, slacker, slacker” filled the air.

Raising her eyes slightly, she tilted her head in curiosity, set down her papers, and stepped out of the tent.

With light steps, she went to investigate, hoping nothing was amiss.

If there was trouble, she wanted to resolve it quickly to avoid bothering Sieg.