Reincarnated in a Fantasy World with Murderous Intent

Demon Lord

"What do you mean, he wasn't there?" I snarled at the shadowy Person X.

X just shrugged, unconcerned by my anger. Considering he was half a continent away, that was understandable. "I mean, he wasn't in the wagon. The women were, and as expected, they were formidable. I lost men."

"I don't care about your men, where was he?"

"Either they sent him ahead, which doesn't really make sense, or they left him behind. Do you want us to go and see?"

I slumped back in my chair. My hand went to my injury, and I scratched at it. Lately the pain had been slightly less, but now it itched all the time. "No, never mind. If he's there, he will be well guarded, they wouldn't leave him unprotected. It seems fate is working against me. I shall try other means. Your services are no longer needed for this."

"I expect to be paid the agreed sum, even so."

Humans and their greed. It was annoying. It was also useful. "You shall have your money."

"And if..." I cut the connection, uninterested in any further talk.

It was time for plan B.

Progress.

My mothers were as good as their word, of course, and I received a number of letters, probably averaging one a month, although some were duplicates. I think they sent several copies of each to increase the odds of one getting through. They also wrote to Hungerford, but he didn't enlighten me as to the contents of his, and I didn't dare ask.

Both he and I wrote back of course. Hungerford instructed me in how to send a letter, escorting me into the village, and to the shop, an old fashioned – from my perspective at least – version of the US Postal Express, with riders carrying bags of mail on horseback for urgent deliveries. Other post and parcels went by carriage that also took passengers.

Their letters contained a lot of reassurance that they were okay, and a lot of thinking about me. Mother stuff, which, whilst not very exciting, warmed my heart. I, in return, gave reports on my progress with Hungerford, and how the farm was doing. Certainly nothing about Gisel.

I was actually living alone in the house with Freia most of the time, as Hungerford stayed in his hut. Now, you can't live with someone without bumping into them, even at night, and I had to say that Freia walked around in quite the revealing night dress. It wasn't low cut or anything, but it was simple, fairly thin, had a rather low top, and was quite short, which allowed me a fantastic view of her very shapely legs.

It caused me to pause on occasion, as she flounced around in such an outfit. Freia, thanks to her lifestyle and training, was superbly fit. She didn't have big titties, but they were nice all the same, and I'd always been a fan of the pert body. Maybe it was because I was so young she didn't care, but I was treated to a delightful view sometimes as she leaned over. Oh dear! If only I was older!

I even managed to contrive to walk past the bathing area a couple of times, as she was using it. I'd done this before on occasion, but not so much as my mothers were around then too. Freia didn't seem to care that the door was ajar, which was nice for me. The steam obscured most of the view, but the images I caught I resolved to remember clearly, until my body was old enough to do something about them! If only I had a camera. Maybe for the best I didn't.

I tittered evilly, and then scampered off as she called out.

Apart from those distractions, the season went by uneventfully, and the next thing I knew, it was winter. My meetings with Gisel were cut off as the snow came in with a vengeance. Even my training was paused for a while as the world outside was buried in white.

"It's not usually this bad," Freia said, as we sat around the table eating dinner. Sadly the cold meant that she was bundling up more. Today she was clad in a long, furry robe that went from her neck to her feet. "In fact, I can't remember snow and cold like this." As if to emphasise her point, she stood up and added another log to the fireplace.

"It is not the worst I have encountered here," Hungerford said.

My sword master had moved into the house when the cold weather hit, as his hut was simply not warm enough.

"However, I haven't seen anything quite like this for some years. It is of concern."

"Why is that master?" I asked, spooning some chicken broth into my mouth.

"Because the last time this happened, it was demonic influence. They were trying to weaken us before a spring offensive. Of course, that was a time of war and chaos."

"You were in a war?" I asked. Hungerford was not usually forthcoming about his past.

He nodded, slowly, in way of reply. "I am not at all old enough to have been in the last major demon war," he said. "However, there are occasional smaller conflicts between the human and non-human. The last of any significance was, perhaps, thirty years ago, before your mothers were born even." He gave me a smile.

"Oh?" I tried to put on a surprised face, like this was so long ago I couldn't imagine. In fact, thirty years ago I had... My first life. I guess. It seemed like five minutes to me sometimes.

There was an Orc lord, he united the clans, which happens every so often, and gathered a large army to invade. To weaken us, his shamans employed some dark magic that gave us a terrible, and long, winter. Our spies though, had warned us of this, and we were prepared. When they did attack, expecting us to be terribly weakened, we were ready for them. It was still a hard battle, but, in the end, we won decisively."

"I wish I could have fought beside you!" Freia said, showing her fiery nature.

Hungerford gave her a sad smile. "I hope you never have to fight in something like that lass," he said, which put our maid back down in her seat. "I still have scars from that time." He tapped his head, and then his heart, indicating he wasn't speaking of physical injuries.

PTSD, I thought.

"But the fight! The glory of battle!" Freia wasn't so easily discouraged.

"That glory is written by bards," Hungerford responded. "Who haven't waded through the blood and gore. Who haven't seen their friends, even their loved ones, brutally cut down. War is not glory lass."

"Oh." Freia sagged further. I think Hungerford saw this.

"That said, don't let this discourage you. Your blade work, with more practice, will be even more advanced than mine, so I think. And an honourable battle won is something to be proud of. The butchery of war... that has no glory."

"I understand master," she replied.

From my perspective, from one who had seen the less savoury side of life and death, I understood what Hungerford was talking about. And yet, to try and explain that to a young, eager, teenager, was not easy. She would find out in time, as millions had done before her.