The Demon, with a pair of rough, ugly curved horns on its head, wore a look of rapture, as though it was not looking at Ruger but admiring some rare treasure of the world.
It was Ruger's first time feeling uncomfortable under a gaze that held no hostility. It was less reassuring than surging malice.
Fortunately, his skin was thick enough that the discomfort amounted to only a little.
"Tut, tut, tut! Truly marvelous. Such a wondrous creation could only be born through the intervention of the great Abyssal Will. Every Demon is a work of art of the Abyss," the Demon clad in bulky clothes said, turning to look at the towering mount again. "Tut, tut, this one isn't bad either. It looks a little stupid, but it's also a mutant Demon. Mm, truly not bad..."
"A Demon that wears clothes cannot be considered a true Demon," Ruger said in a low voice.
This time, he adjusted his accent slightly according to the strange Demon before him, adding a trace of hoarseness to his deep voice.
The swaying Demon suddenly froze.
"Another ignorant fellow... But at least your Abyssal tongue is fairly standard. When those fellows speak, it's like they have a bone clenched between their teeth, and their words don't even connect... Remember this: in the eyes of truly powerful Demons, in the eyes of the lords, those things that do not understand how to wear clothes are not true Demons at all. They are merely lowly, brainless creatures..."
As the Demon spoke, it let out a sigh, like an elderly old man.
This puzzled Ruger even more. How could a Demon grow old? Only powerful Demons could live long, and even after being scoured by the years, powerful Demons rarely showed signs of age.
Thus, the existence