I Became the Mentor of the Weakest Demon King

1

Breeding Simulation Game, Ebel Queen Maker.

This game, whose goal is to raise the young Demon King ranked at the very bottom to the greatest Demon King, is a game that gained attention for adopting the unique premise of “raising the Demon King.”

Looking at its commercial success alone, it wasn’t that big of a hit, nor was it that much of a flop; it sold decently, but it was highly regarded by players whose tastes aligned with it, thanks to its detailed settings and story, as well as its successful reimagining of the simulation games that were popular in the early 2000s for the modern era.

And I, too, was one of those players who praised it.

Objectively speaking, there was no other stupid black cow out there. I’d post all sorts of glowing reviews on community boards, engage in flame wars with trolls who left senseless negative comments whenever they saw the game, and even get into arguments over height comparisons.

There was no dumber guy out there.

Just a while ago, I had clearly called it an excellent game, so why was I being so pessimistic about myself?

Well, because the game tanked.

You might ask how such a highly regarded game could fail so abruptly. But games often fall from grace due to one bad update or a mistaken operational response.

Ebel Queen Maker fell victim to the former. Despite its sales being average, the game was well-received, and the developers boldly released a DLC less than a year after its release. The issue? It was this very DLC.

Players, including myself, rejoiced at the addition of new content but soon grew infuriated upon discovering the added endings.

In any raising simulation game, endings are the most important element. As the name suggests, players breed their characters to experience various endings; thus, they form one of the game’s main attractions.

But what if those endings were absurd? Or if they frustrated the players by offering unwelcome scenarios?

The new endings were spectacularly bad. While some endings were passable, many had significant issues.

For instance, there was an ending where the character the player had raised betrays them. Another forced a premature ending if a health stat was neglected, disregarding any requirements for other endings.

One of the most controversial additions was where the character the player had raised ended up marrying an enemy Demon King after being defeated.

This particular ending, loaded with Non-consensual Intimate Relationship (NTR) elements, caused massive backlash, and the game community erupted into chaos.

Previously holding steady at ratings in the upper 80s across various gaming review sites, after the release of the DLC, the game’s ratings plummeted below 60. Reviews on the game’s purchase page were flooded with negativity, turning from praises to harsh criticism.

And among those harsh critics was me.

I couldn’t contain myself. The thought of losing the character I had painstakingly raised — not just to anyone, but to an enemy — was infuriating. That they would live happily ever after was absurd.

Such thoughts naturally led to verbal onslaughts. A fan who used to spam communities with praise for Ebel Queen Maker transformed overnight into its staunchest critic.

And just recently, I had written a scathing review of over 10,000 words on the purchase page.

“Haa….”

I finally felt a slight relief. It was clear now why they added such endings — there must be someone within the development team harboring these NTR ideals. They ought to be struck with an axe…

Just then, a notification chimed. Someone had commented on my long review.

“Huh?”

Assuming it was probably from someone who sympathized with me, I clicked the notification but instantly doubted my eyes. It was the development team, known for their silence in the face of harsh critiques, now responding directly.

“Are you serious!?”

I was baffled by this unforeseen situation. Slowly scrolling down, I read the developer’s reply.

“‘Then why don’t you make a better ending yourself?’… Really?”

What kind of person is this?

Caught off-guard by the developer’s response, as I prepared to pen an additional comment, an unknown light burst from my monitor.

Suddenly, the emitted light enveloped me.

“Eh?”

Regret immediately followed.

Ah, this is why I should have invested in an anti-glare monitor.

#

As my vision recovered from the glare-induced assault due to lack of an anti-glare monitor, I looked around warily and cursed under my breath.

“What the hell is this?”

Where am I exactly?

Regardless, looking at the gloomy aura emanating from the massive castle ahead, this was definitely not reality. I was filled with a sense of surreal disorientation as I stared at the castle, yet somehow I felt strangely familiar with it.

How is this situation so familiar?

I’d never seen this castle in real life before. Moreover, the world around me doesn’t feel real at all.

Did I faint out of anger over the development team’s reply? Or is this a dream?

If this is a dream, something came to mind. That castle, without a doubt…

“Ah, it’s the Demon King’s Castle.”

I remembered seeing it. The Demon King’s Castle was the central hub of the Ebel Queen Maker game, where the protagonist and their characters lived. The large horse-emblazoned insignia on the castle’s walls was its symbol.

Then, after some thought, I felt an intense shock at a fact I myself had acknowledged.

“Why is this here in front of me?”

Even though I didn’t want to believe it, if you’re even slightly familiar with modern gaming culture, understanding the gravity of this situation wouldn’t have been difficult. Likewise, it wasn’t hard for me either.

Though I didn’t want to accept it, the probability of me being wrong was slimmer than the chance of the horse insignia on the castle wall actually being a deer.

“This is madness…”

This is inside a game.

Upon realizing this fact, I began to regret my previous actions, namely that overly harsh and lengthy review I had written.

If I had only stuck to 5700 characters instead of 10,000, would I have avoided being brought here?

While slightly regretting my actions, I pondered how I could return to reality. Fictional stories often feature a way back to the real world when someone is pulled into a game world.

As heroes usually endure hardships to find the way back, it’s a classic cliché. However, having such a clichéd journey ahead of me was a problem.

Then suddenly, I recalled something the developers mentioned when they spoke to me before I entered this world. They had told me to try making a better ending.

“…So I need to see an ending?”

#

Even though I realized I was in the game world, I wasn’t sure what I had to do to achieve that ending. This was because I didn’t know who I was.

I was a heavy user who experienced all the endings of this game, with the exception of the absurd DLC endings. But I had no idea what role I played in this game.

“Strange appearance.”

I briefly glanced at the face and figure reflected on the bars that surrounded the castle and didn’t recognize it as any known character. Not even the characters introduced in the DLC.

At first, I naturally assumed I’d explore what kind of endings were available. I wasn’t the type to criticize something I hadn’t tested. I criticize after I test it thoroughly.

And even then I didn’t remember seeing a character like this. As I contemplated this, an all-too-familiar face appeared through the bars. He didn’t seem to know who I was, but I knew him all too well.

“Cain?”

Cain was one of the supporting characters of Ebel Queen Maker, acting as a steward in the Demon King’s Castle and assisting the protagonist.

“Uh?”

It seemed like he noticed me. His gaze was slightly sharp, prompting me to recall something I hadn’t thought of yet.

“Ah.”

Indeed, right now, I probably just looked like some random intruder at the castle gates.

Realizing this, I hesitated and turned to escape. Cain was an experienced character with significant combat prowess in the game.

Even if he wasn’t a warrior per se, I doubted I’d stand a chance against him, so fleeing seemed best.

However, Cain’s next words confused me.

“Oh, isn’t that Nahun?”

“…Excuse me?”

Nahun? Who’s that?

Despite racking my brain, the name didn’t ring a bell.

Among the fifty-plus endings of Ebel Queen Maker, not one mentioned someone named Nahun. Who could this character be?

“I apologize for making you wait out here, Your Honor. Please come in. The Demon King awaits in the reception hall.”

“Huh?”

This line sounded…

Surprisingly familiar. Though I had been introduced to Nahun for the first time, his words were incredibly familiar.

That’s because these were the very first lines Cain spoke to the player in the game.

I stood stunned for a moment before Cain queried.

“Why the long face, Nahun? Are you unwell?”

“Ah, no… I’m fine.”

Though I verbally assured him that I was fine, my mind was in chaos. It was slightly shocking.

This name, Nahun, referred to me. The situation implied that Nahun was a teacher, a playable character training the Demon King.

Most of the character-raising simulation games tend to keep the teacher’s or parent’s appearance invisible, allowing users to immerse themselves more deeply.

Ebel Queen Maker adhered to this principle. The player was addressed as “Teacher” or a more formal “Royal Tutor,” but their appearance or even name was never revealed.

Thus, it was no wonder I didn’t recognize anything. I wasn’t privy to hidden settings as I wasn’t part of the development team.

Regardless, that wasn’t the important part. If I’m a playable character teaching the Demon King…

“I never expected that anyone willing to teach our Demon King remained. We are deeply grateful.”

So, am I supposed to personally instruct the Demon King?

#

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