I Became the Mad Demon in a Novel - Chapter 15

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: DereKimchi

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I Became the Mad Demon in a Novel ◈

Chapter 15: Fate Lot Pavilion Master

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What is hegemony built on?

Anyone from the modern world who had studied human history would reach roughly the same conclusion.

Monopolizing information, creating justification, and concentrating resources.

But all of that required human resources. In other words, it required grinding people down.

And people were driven not by altruism or loyalty, but by calculations of profit and loss.

Money.

The force that ran through all human affairs.

The Demonic Cult was no different.

In the end, competing against the Heavenly Demon's three sons, the Demon Lords, was a contest of who could throw around more silver.

But.

No matter how hard I thought back on the original, I couldn't come up with a solution.

I might have been an obsessive reader, but Mad Heaven Records was nothing but people beating the shit out of each other.

The author only cared about combat scenes filled with smashed heads and severed limbs.

There hadn't been a single line about boring financial matters like the Demonic Cult's budget.

Where the money to feed all those Demonic Cult bastards came from? The author probably didn't know either.

"Ah, damn it."

After looking through all of Revered One Hall's finances, I finally understood why the Mad Demon only had the Ten Armies of the Mad Demon around him.

Could anyone be this broke?

The budget allotted to us was pathetically small.

The Ten Armies of the Mad Demon did not even have established monthly stipends.

They remained only through a tight bond, loyalty like that between brothers.

No matter if I was the Mad Demon, could this sort of "do-it-for-me" relationship really last forever?

'...'

Only a week remained until the Demon Muster Edict.

If I did a good job acting as the Heavenly Demon's mouthpiece, couldn't I crush every bastard in the Demonic Cult?

I wasn't that naive.

What if they bowed their heads on the surface while their eyes rolled beneath it?

I'd be living with ticking bombs that could stab me in the back at any moment.

Whether it was positions or money.

Right now, I had nothing at all to offer them as a carrot.

In the end, I opened the gallery.

Title: Gui (“Return”) (Private)

Hey, Return Seekers.

I've got a question about the Demonic Cult.

I'll be waiting, so give me an answer.

After posting privately to the gallery, I waited patiently.

But even after an hour, the view count did not rise.

Hm. Were they all too busy because of the Demon Muster Edict I had announced?

With no other choice, I called Que Biao.

"Que Biao. Who's the richest person in our cult?"

Que Biao looked at me with wavering eyes.

"Why are you suddenly asking that?"

Those were the eyes of someone looking at a troublemaker.

I'd let the informal speech rule go on too long, and now even their eyes had started rebelling?

"Ahem. I'm still the Chuk-ang."

"Y-Yes, Chuk-ang."

"That's better."

When I smiled and glared at Que Biao, they finally spoke carefully.

"If you speak of wealth, it would likely be one of the Five Great Demonic Clans..."

"Not a clan or faction. Just a person. A rich person."

Of course, the demonic clans with their long histories and traditions would be the wealthiest.

But making a move against such a large power could not be done just by winning over a few people.

It would require thorough planning and long-term work beneath the surface.

And luck would have to be on my side as well.

"If you mean a person..."

Que Biao pondered for a moment, their gaze darkening.

"It would be the Fate Lot Pavilion Master."

"The Fate Lot Pavilion Master? Who's that?"

"...You do not know the fate lots?"

"Fate lots?"

"If you correctly match four numbers from the bone tiles numbered one through twenty-five..."

The more I listened to Que Biao's explanation, the more I tilted my head.

Wait.

A game where you won a fortune by matching four numbers from one to twenty-five?

'That's the lottery?'

I immediately asked with deep suspicion.

"How much does it cost to draw those tiles once?"

"Ten pieces of silver, Chuk-ang."

"Ten pieces of silver? Then what's the prize?"

"Thirty thousand pieces of silver."

Wait. Wow...

I was speechless.

After doing the mental math for a while, I figured the odds were roughly one in twelve thousand.

According to the original's setting, there were about thirty thousand Demonic Cult members.

If all of them bought lottery tickets, that meant two or three first-prize winners every week, statistically speaking.

"How many of these fate lots do the cult members buy? Do most of them buy them?"

"There are Venerables who purchase dozens every fortnight."

"Hell."

"It is a bone-tile game created last year, but it has become quite popular among the cult members."

What if all thirty thousand Demonic Cult members bought them as a matter of course?

That meant sales of three hundred thousand pieces of silver every fortnight.

They sold one entry for the massive sum of ten pieces of silver, then gave only two or three people thirty thousand pieces of silver each and called it a day?

Even if there were multiple first-prize winners, they would still be steadily earning at least one hundred thousand pieces of silver every fortnight.

I couldn't even imagine how greedy that was.

My mouth would not close.

'One hundred thousand pieces of silver every fortnight. Two hundred thousand a month. In a year...'

As I ran the numbers in my head, I could only swallow a hollow laugh.

At that point, they weren't merely rich.

'What kind of lunatic is this?'

There was a Galler who had openly transplanted a modern invention like this into the Demonic Cult?

No, that wasn't it.

I was thinking too simply again.

They might only be secretly pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

The moment their identity was exposed, they would obviously face interference from every direction.

It was hard to imagine a Galler taking such a dangerous risk.

'Wow. This is incredible.'

They had actually thought of settling inside the sinister Demonic Cult and sticking in a straw.

They were certainly bold and meticulous.

"Where's the Fate Lot Pavilion?"

"...Pardon?"

Que Biao's eyes wavered again.

* * *

West of the Demonic Cult's main headquarters.

Beyond the Myriad Demon Gate, the Fate Lot Pavilion stood on the outskirts, and its surroundings differed from the entrance onward.

Instead of damp demonic energy, the Fate Lot Pavilion radiated the hot fever of desire.

Colorful lanterns shone everywhere, while the finely carved marble exterior delighted the eye.

Even in broad daylight, the area around the Fate Lot Pavilion was dazzlingly extravagant.

"Here it is."

Que Biao, following behind me, muttered quietly.

Before I knew it, I was staring at a huge entrance shaped like a bone tile plated in gold.

"Come on! One through twenty-five! Match four numbers and turn your life around! Why envy a Venerable? Silver's what you should envy!"

At the barker's cry, the Demonic Cult members crowding around the stalls erupted into chaos.

"Move! I'm first!"

"L-Lord Hall Master? But I've been waiting since midafternoon..."

"Get lost!"

"Urgh!"

The Demonic Cult bastards, normally as stiff as jiangshi, had lined up with the eager eyes of little brats.

I couldn't help being impressed.

"This really is a massive hit."

What sort of person was this bold designer who had made the flower of capitalism bloom in the heart of a demon den?

They had adapted to Mad Heaven Records with footwork of an entirely different kind.

They were truly fresh and remarkable.

"Ch-Chuk-ang!"

One Demonic Cult member who spotted me hurriedly planted their head on the ground.

The ones who had just been grabbing each other by the collars to draw first threw down their bone tiles and slammed themselves to the floor.

"Greetings to the Chuk-ang!"

"The Divine Cult Rules All Under Heaven; Ten Thousand Demons Bow in Reverence!"

Heh. Was this the authority of a madman?

I leisurely walked down the path the Demonic Cult members made for me.

Every time I passed one, they shook like aspens.

The insane Mad Demon.

The greatest lunatic of the Hundred Thousand Mountains.

Once again, I felt the weight carried by the Mad Demon's name.

"Hm."

I passed through the gilded entrance and entered the Fate Lot Pavilion.

The interior was far more extravagant than it had looked from outside.

The silk carpeting beneath my feet was so thick that I could not even hear my own steps.

And at the farthest end of that splendor, deep within the Fate Lot Pavilion, an elderly man sat at a desk.

'Hm?'

He had several maidservants attending him on either side, so he did seem to be the Fate Lot Pavilion Master.

But still.

For someone who had set up a giant gambling operation in a dangerous place like the Demonic Cult...

He definitely seemed a little, no, very lacking.

The Fate Lot Pavilion Master rose from his seat, clasped his hands, and offered a fist salute.

"The Divine Cult Rules All Under Heaven; Ten Thousand Demons Bow in Reverence. I greet the Chuk-ang, master of the demon soul. What brings you to this humble place?"

I stared indifferently at the Fate Lot Pavilion Master, with his goatee and narrow eyes.

"You're the Fate Lot Pavilion Master?"

"Why do you ask such a thing...?"

How many Venerables would someone need to bring to their side to build a business this large within the Heavenly Demon Divine Cult?

As a newcomer, I honestly had no sense of the complicated interests involved.

That utterly ordinary old man had built such an enormous business?

Hm. No matter how I looked at him, he seemed like a figurehead.

"This business. I'm thinking of trying it too."

The Fate Lot Pavilion Master stood there stupidly.

"Your business. The fate lots. It looks like it makes quite a bit of money."

"Huh? What are you suddenly saying...?"

"Your stall has low-class barkers who do nothing but whistle for customers. But I'm the Chuk-ang. If I start handling fate-lot tiles myself, many things will change."

The sparse goatee dangling from the Fate Lot Pavilion Master's chin trembled.

"What's wrong?"

"Th-This is too sudden, Chuk-ang."

"If we're working together, can we really argue over whether my blade comes first or yours?"

"However, other Venerables already..."

Just as I thought.

I laughed quietly.

How could someone who let information slip out so carelessly be the Fate Lot Pavilion Master?

By now, I was certain.

That old man was neither the Galler nor the Fate Lot Pavilion Master.

But then.

"Can the Chuk-ang truly promote our bone tiles?"

The one who suddenly cut in was the maidservant standing to the Fate Lot Pavilion Master's right.

"Who are you?"

"I am merely a servant who assists the Pavilion Master at his side."

"Hm. Is that so?"

Her hair was neatly braided into two pigtails.

She had the youthful face of a middle schooler, no older than her early teens at most.

And yet.

Could a mere maidservant in this world really look the Mad Demon directly in the eye and speak so freely?

'A Galler?'

I couldn't be certain yet.

"What is there that I can't do?"

"The Chuk-ang is the peerless Venerable who commands the demon soul. I fear that having such a sacred Venerable hold our bone tiles and call out to customers would damage your reputation."

"It's not for a wench like you to worry about that. What matters is compensation. If I promote the bone tiles and expand the Fate Lot Pavilion's business, how much silver can you give me? No, before that, can you even decide something like this?"

The maidservant with the pigtails spoke with an expressionless face.

"We shall offer all additional revenue generated to the Chuk-ang."

"...All of it?"

At my question, the young maidservant tilted her head and smiled.

Her gaze was overtly greedy, completely unsuited to that youthful face.

Without showing my surprise, I twisted my lips into a smile.

"It feels like I'm the only one benefiting. Usually, that doesn't make for a deal, does it?"

"There is a condition."

They were boldly setting a condition before the insane Mad Demon.

"Let's hear it."

The young maidservant stepped forward, then immediately prostrated herself at my feet.

"Please draw the bone tiles yourself every fortnight, Chuk-ang."