The maid squad is too strong, what use is there for me, the Demon King?

"3."

"Your Majesty!"

"???"

"airplane!"

"Pass."

"...I can't afford it."

"A perfect pair! Springtime!"

"??????"

"Boss, what kind of luck do you have?"

Inside the tent, a middle-aged man cried out in surprise.

Seriously, he could hold back his screams even when he was stabbed in a vital spot during a mission, but playing cards broke his defenses.

"A bet is a bet. If you lose, the winnings will double in the spring, and each of you will get two knocks on the head."

The middle-aged man reluctantly stepped forward and offered his head. He was hit twice by each person, for a total of four hits, which made him see stars.

He only called for the landlord position because he thought his hand was pretty good. His bottom cards were also good, except for a single card. He thought he could just pass it, but he was stunned by the boss's combo and cursed his bad luck.

They were brothers from the same mercenary group, and gambling hurt their friendship, so they wagered on a flick on the head.

The bet is serious, and no mercy will be shown. These are all strong, middle-aged men, and you can imagine the power of a single flick on the head. Even two flicks can cause immense suffering, let alone four flicks in a row now that the stakes have doubled.

It hurt him terribly.

"No, let's try again and again, to avenge this defeat!" the burly man shouted.

Their card-playing urge kicked in, and they engaged in another fierce battle, all shouting with delight.

"These playing cards issued by the Grand Chamber of Commerce are really awesome! The rules are simple, and the gameplay is diverse. They are the perfect way to kill time. A deck of cards doesn't even cost a few copper coins. The person who invented this thing is a genius!" someone exclaimed sincerely.

The middle-aged man suddenly seemed to have a doubt: "Speaking of which, we've accepted a commission from the Golden Weasel Merchant Guild. Is it really okay for us to use products issued by other merchant guilds while the Golden Weasel Merchant Guild is involved?"

The "boss" they were talking about sneered: "What's there to be afraid of? It's just a deck of cards, what can he say about me?"

One person added, "Boss, you're saying the Golden Weasel Merchant Guild paid us to come here just to sit here? They said they'd be there to oversee the defeat of the invaders, but we haven't seen a single person in days."

The "boss" raised an eyebrow: "What, you think the job is too easy? Isn't a job with no danger and good pay good enough?"

The man continued, "No... it's just... if we didn't actually do any work, will those merchants acknowledge the payment? Won't they use that as an excuse to pay less?"

As he spoke, he glanced sideways at the greasy, fat man outside, his face full of grease. He looked at the fat man with disdain, but in reality, he envied him for not having to risk his life like him, barely making any money, while the other man could grow up so fat without doing anything.

This isn't contempt, it's envy.

Upon hearing this, the "boss" waved his hand and said, "They are a major chamber of commerce, so they have a certain level of credibility. They won't shortchange us. Don't worry, we've done a lot of business with them before, we're regular customers, so you can rest assured."

Upon hearing this, the man had no further doubts and continued playing cards.

The fat man patted his body, occasionally picking up a piece of "high-carbohydrate compound" and stuffing it into his mouth.

Even fat, greasy people have their reasons for saying that.

He was doing just fine in the Chamber of Commerce building, doing clerical work and even getting some kickbacks. Wasn't that what he joined the money-grubbing and greedy faction and became a cultist for?

Unexpectedly, disaster struck when the archbishop suddenly ordered everyone to gather in Westperwin.

The archbishop's orders could not be ignored, so he had to travel through the night to reach Westperwin.

Once everyone had arrived, the archbishop held a meeting with the bishops and deacons.

The specific details were beyond the knowledge of an ordinary believer like him; all he knew was that after the meeting, tasks were assigned to each believer.

His mission was to stay here with some mercenaries and defend against foreign invasion.

Besides him, many other believers were assigned similar tasks.

This suddenly made him feel a sense of crisis.

This commotion was so big that he knew something extraordinary had happened.

When it comes to defending against foreign enemies, he immediately tenses up.

An external enemy? The Church of Holy Light? Or some faction within the Church?

However, the higher-ups were vague about this so-called foreign enemy, afraid of saying too much, which led to his lack of understanding of this so-called foreign enemy.

After the mission was assigned, he was on high alert for the first few days, constantly watching for the appearance of the "external enemy".

This was the first time he had experienced such an emergency in his cult career. He was afraid that something might happen to him and he would die there without knowing why, so he decided to escape as soon as he noticed anything was wrong.

Life after converting to a religion can be extravagant, but one must be alive to enjoy it.

As for what he should do after leaving, and how he should survive, he hadn't considered it at all.

It's easy to go from frugality to extravagance, but difficult to go from extravagance to frugality. After enjoying so many days of luxury, he can no longer go back to the impoverished days of the past.

He remained on guard for several days, only to find that nothing had happened during that time.

Gradually, he became somewhat lax.

That's true. If you ask someone who sits in an office all year round and doesn't exercise much to suddenly do some physical labor, how could they possibly manage?

The situation is the same now. Even if he understands that something terrible is about to happen, he has been lazy for many years and his nerves are dulled, so he can't maintain a state of alert for long.

Before you know it, you're back to eating, drinking, and having fun, trying every way to kill time and get through this period of incomprehensible time.

He sat outside because the mercenaries inside were playing cards, chatting, and making a lot of noise.

He couldn't stand the noise and was too lazy to curse the mercenaries. To find some peace and quiet, he simply picked up a small stool, slipped outside, and enjoyed the tranquil "Shangri-La."

But they forgot the priest's instructions.

"When the time comes, you'll be stationed with the mercenaries in the camp. A few mercenaries will be assigned to watch over you, while the rest of you will go outside to remain vigilant. Remember to maintain communication between the inside and outside of the camp and send people in and out from time to time to check on the situation."

These words, the strategies from above, things that could increase the survival rate, had by now been completely forgotten by him.

The current situation is completely contrary to what was required by those above.

The cultists were outside the tents, while the mercenaries were inside.

There's a reason why the higher-ups made that request.

The abilities of the Wealth and Greed faction can be simply summarized as summoning and manipulating monsters, that is, summoners, noble mages, and the main damage dealers in the back row.

The longer you live, the greater the benefits, since you can continuously summon monsters to assist you in battle.

Mercenaries are hired to act as front-line soldiers or cannon fodder for cult members, allowing the cult members to survive longer.

Now, the obese, sluggish man sitting outside the tent, completely unprepared, is an easy target for assassination; he can't even summon a single monster.

The greasy fat man suddenly felt a bit sore in his eyes and subconsciously rubbed them.

In the instant that vision was obscured, a cold glint flashed past!

That careless fellow, his head was severed from his body!