Page 60 of The Dark Lord Awakens
“General,” Lord Lucien turned to Smashington, “send scouts to find these goblin tribes and bring them in. They need food and shelter too.”
General Smashington looked as if he might protest, then thought better of it. “As you command, my lord.”
15
Azrael
As the day progressed, more and more citizens arrived from the city, and with them came unexpected refugees from the forest. The goblin scouts returned with reports of not dozens but hundreds of displaced forest dwellers—goblins mostly, but also a small clan of cave dwarves driven from their underground homes and a handful of reclusive forest elves whose groves had been destroyed.
By midafternoon, Azrael stood beside Lord Lucien as they surveyed the unexpected additions to their relief effort. Nearly five hundred goblins had been gathered in what was rapidly becoming their own district of the camp, complete with smaller tents sized for their diminutive stature. The dwarves, stubborn and proud despite their circumstances, had immediately begun improving the camp’s defenses, reinforcing the palisade with stone work. The elves, few in number but skilled in healing arts, had joined Healer 47’s team in the medical tents.
“We’re going to need more supplies,” Lord Lucien mused, watching as Sir Formalitee’s assistants struggled to register the influx of new arrivals. “And we should find out what exactly is driving them from the forest.”
“Lady Shadowfax’s scouts report unusual shadow activity deep within the Howling Forest,” Azrael informed him. “They dare not venture too far, but they describe disturbances consistent with the goblins’ accounts—large entities consuming both physical matter and magical essence.”
Lord Lucien frowned. “That doesn’t sound good. Keep the scouts at a safe distance for now, but I want regular reports. If whatever’s in there decides to come out…”
“I will ensure we are prepared, my lord,” Azrael assured him. The thought of some unknown threat endangering Lucien sent a cold fury through his veins. Whatever lurked in the forest would face the full extent of his power if it dared approach his master. He would rend it limb from limb, would bathe in its blood, would craft trophies from its remains to adorn his lord’s chambers.
As evening approached, the transformation of the Ashen Fields was complete. What had been an empty gray plain that morning was now a sprawling encampment housing thousands. Tents stretched in orderly rows, water stations operated continuously, and the food distribution centers served a steady stream of citizens.
Sir Formalitee approached with a clipboard, bowing deeply before Lord Lucien. “My lord, I have the preliminary census figures as requested.”
“Let’s hear it,” Lord Lucien said, accepting a cup of something steaming from a passing server—a new beverage called “hot chocolate” that had rapidly become popular among the camp’s children.
“We have registered thirty-six thousand four hundred and twelve citizens from the city proper,” Sir Formalitee reported, consulting his clipboard. “This represents approximately ninety-one percent of Iferona’s total population. The remaining nine percent consists primarily of noble households, merchantfamilies, and various professionals who have elected to remain in their residences in the western districts.”
“So, basically the whole city’s here except for the rich folks,” Lord Lucien summarized.
“Precisely, my lord,” Sir Formalitee confirmed. “Additionally, we have registered four hundred eighty-seven goblins, thirty-two cave dwarves, and fourteen forest elves. The total camp population stands at thirty-six thousand nine hundred and forty-five individuals, organized into seven thousand three hundred and eighty-nine family units or communal pods.”
Azrael observed his lord’s reaction carefully. Such numbers would have overwhelmed any conventional relief effort, yet the camp functioned with remarkable efficiency. The void provisions continued to arrive at regular intervals, each delivery met with reverent awe by the citizens.
“And the medical cases?” Lord Lucien asked.
“Healer 47 reports one thousand seven hundred and forty-two cases of severe malnutrition, of which one thousand two hundred and thirteen have already shown significant improvement after consuming the void supplements. There have been…” Sir Formalitee hesitated, adjusting his spectacles. “There have been no deaths since the camp opened, my lord. Not one. This is… unprecedented.”
Lord Lucien smiled, a genuine expression of satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear. And the food supplies?”
“Sufficient for current needs, my lord, though Magister Wiggles suggests increasing the variety. The ‘cup noodles’ are popular, but he believes additional options would improve overall nutrition and morale.”
“He’s right.” Lord Lucien nodded. “I’ll arrange for more diverse meals. Something heartier for dinner especially.”
As darkness fell, the camp transformed once again. Bonfires were lit between tent clusters, creating warm pools of light where citizens gathered. The atmosphere had changed dramatically from the morning’s fearful uncertainty. Now there was cautious joy, quiet conversation, even occasional laughter.
Azrael followed Lord Lucien as he walked among his subjects, stopping occasionally to speak with families or check on the distribution of evening meals. The dinner offering had expanded beyond cup noodles to include what Lord Lucien called “bento boxes”—compartmentalized containers holding rice, roasted meat, and vegetables. These were received with even greater enthusiasm than the earlier provisions, many citizens weeping openly at the abundance and variety.
“This is… real meat?” one elderly demon asked, poking at a slice of roast pork with reverent disbelief.
“Yep, genuine pork,” Lord Lucien confirmed. “And those are actual vegetables, not shadow fungi or whatever you guys usually eat.”
“But… for everyone?” The demon gestured at the thousands gathered around the fires. “Even the lowborn?”
“Everyone eats,” Lord Lucien said simply. “That’s the rule now.”
Word of this declaration spread through the camp like wildfire, repeated in hushed, wondering tones.Everyone eats. The dark lord has decreed it.
As they continued their circuit of the camp, Azrael noticed figures at the perimeter—well-dressed demons observing the proceedings with expressions ranging from curiosity to outright envy. The nobles and merchants who had remained in their comfortable homes had come to witness the phenomenon that had emptied their city.
