I am the Demon King of the Dungeon!

The next morning, before dawn.

Arthas sat on his throne, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the armrests.

Dracula stood by the long table and handed the resumes to Alsace, each one pinned with an evaluation written by Balzer.

"Are they all here?" Arthas took the documents.

"Three have arrived. The Black Emerald Dragon hasn't come yet; it said it needs some preparation." Dracula adjusted his glasses. "Shall I go and fetch the first one?"

Alsace nodded.

A moment later, the doors to the throne room were pushed open.

The young man who walked in was thin, with short gray-white hair and very light silver-gray eyes. He wore a dark robe that had been washed until it was faded, and he walked very lightly, his hands clasped together in front of him, his knuckles turning white.

"Name." Arthas looked at the information.

"...Vestan Il." The young man spoke softly, as if afraid of waking something.

"Level 347?"

Vestan nodded, his silver-gray eyes timidly lifting as he saw the face on the throne—the pinnacle that all dragons looked up to, the progenitor dragon god.

His pupils contracted sharply, he lowered his head, avoided eye contact, and his lips moved, but he didn't utter a single word.

The throne room was quiet for a full five breaths.

Vestan stood there, his shoulders slightly hunched, his breathing as soft as a cat hiding in a corner. His gaze wandered, from the armrests of the throne to the reliefs on the dome, from the reliefs to the candlelight, from the candlelight to the resume in Dracula's hand, but he dared not look at Arthas.

"Vystein".

Vestan's shoulders twitched: "...Here."

"Your demeanor is too weak."

Vestain's lips moved, as if he were organizing his thoughts. After a moment, he managed to stammer, "When I... become someone else, I don't get nervous." He paused, then added softly, "Theoretically..."

Alsace leaned back in his chair.

The shapeshifting ability of the Abyssal Mimic Dragons is a racial talent; they are born with the ability to transform themselves into another being, perfectly replicating everything from their appearance to their magical energy fluctuations.

"Give it a try."

Vestain raised his head, his eyes finally meeting Arthas's gaze. He paused for only a moment before looking away, but that moment was enough. His body began to change; his short, gray hair turned black and grew longer, his slender frame was elongated and broadened, his dark robe transformed into jet-black scales, and his silver-gray eyes melted into amber-colored vertical pupils.

A few breaths later.

Another Alsace stood in the center of the throne room.

They look exactly the same.

The magical fluctuations are at least 90% similar.

Vestan stood there, his hands still clasped together, but at least his eyes were no longer wandering around.

"Not bad." Arthas stood up and walked around Vestan. His gait and posture were both up to standard.

"What are the drawbacks?"

Vestan was silent for a moment, then he gave a timid smile using Arthas's face.

"After I became you... I became even more nervous because... because I am you now, and it feels very... offensive."

Dracula shook his head, made a helpless note on the resume, and pushed it in front of Arthas.

Excellent at physical transformation, but lacking in expressive ability.

"Next." Arthas looked at the next resume.

When the Black Flame Dragon walked in, the temperature in the throne room suddenly rose several degrees. In human form, he was a burly middle-aged man with short, dark red hair like burning charcoal and fiery golden-red eyes. He walked with a gust of wind, each step heavy, as if the ground owed him money.

He walked to the throne, but instead of bowing, he crossed his arms, raised his chin slightly, and looked down at Arthas with his nostrils flared.

"Salo Ken Julius, I heard you're going to hire someone to impersonate you? How interesting."

Arthas looked at Sargeras's "I'm the best in the world" face and didn't dislike him; on the contrary, he was somewhat expectant.

"Can it transform into human form?"

Saroo snorted, and his body began to swell. His dark red skin was covered with jet-black scales, his short hair grew into pale long hair, and his golden-red eyes turned into amber vertical pupils. The transformation lasted for about half a minute.

Although much slower than Vestan, the final product was flawless.

The problem is temperament.

Despite having Arthas's face on his back, Saro still crossed his arms and raised his chin, completely unable to control his temper.

"Tell me about your fighting style," Arthas asked.

"Crush them head-on." Saros's lips curled into a vicious grin. "Charge in, breathe fire, and stomp them flat."

"Have you been blacklisted by three dungeons?"

That's because they don't know its value.

"You burned down your employer's office."

"That was an accident."

"You've come for an interview to play the fake Demon King. The job involves impersonating me, sitting on the throne, reciting your opening remarks, and then being defeated by adventurers." Arthas looked at Saroo. "Being defeated—can you accept that?"

Saros exhaled two streams of hot air from his nostrils, and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly.

"...Does it have to be a fake fight?"

"No need, you'll definitely lose."

"Lose? Not necessarily!"

Arthas waved towards the door.

Before Saroo could say anything more, Dracula had already walked up to him and politely gestured for him to leave.

The door closed.

Dracula crossed out Salo's name.

Bronze Dragon was a lean young man with neatly combed, bronze-green short hair, manicured nails, and a black robe that was ironed without any wrinkles.

He walked to the guest chair in front of the throne, took out a handkerchief from his sleeve, bent down, and carefully wiped the chair surface three times before sitting down, placing his hands flat on his knees and sitting up straight.

"Bronze Wyvern, Bartholomew, Level 377, Greetings, Your Majesty the Demon Lord."

Arthas glanced at Bartholomew and raised an eyebrow.

Dracula made two notes on the resume.

What are your thoughts on combat?

"Fighting is necessary," Barthol answered crisply, "but hygiene is equally important. Adventurers sweat, and sweat contains salt and oil, which can corrode scales when it comes into contact with them. Bleeding is even more troublesome, as blood dries and hardens, clogging the gaps in the scales, which is very unhygienic."

The throne room fell silent for a moment.

"You had sixteen complaints against you in your last job," Arthas said. "The reason was that you went to wash your hands halfway through a call."

"Those were all malicious complaints." Barthol's expression remained calm. "I didn't leave the battlefield when I washed my hands; I just used water magic and then continued fighting."

"The task of impersonating the Demon King requires you to face adventurers who will sweat, bleed, and unleash various dust-generating spells. You need to maintain the Demon King's dignity in front of them and cannot wash your hands halfway through."

Barthol's Adam's apple bobbed. He looked down at his neatly trimmed nails and remained silent for a moment.

"...May I wear gloves?"

Dracula simply crossed out his words.

……

The Black Emerald Dragon was a full half hour late, but the moment she stepped into the throne room, Arthas understood why Balzer hadn't rejected the candidate monster.

Her human form is that of a tall woman with long, jet-black hair styled into an exquisite bun at the back of her head, adorned with a classic jade hairpin at her temple.

Her deep green eyes were like two polished gems, with vertical pupils. Paired with her sharply defined face, they looked both sharp and elegant. She wore a dark green long dress, the fabric of which looked very expensive. She walked unhurriedly, her high heels clicking on the obsidian floor with a rhythm as steady as a metronome.

She walked to the throne, but did not sit down. Instead, she gave a slight bow, performing a standard noble greeting.

"Black Emerald Dragon, Celine. Level 467, fluent in Common, Elvish, Draconic, and Dwarven. She has served as a boss in three epic dungeons, and her departure was not due to any issues with her work ability."

She pulled a neatly bound document from her sleeve, presented it with both hands, and said, "This is my resume, along with letters of recommendation from my three previous employers."

Dracula took the document, opened the first page, raised his eyebrows slightly, read a few more lines, and then spread the document out in front of Arthas.

All three letters of recommendation were written with great sincerity.

One letter said that Celine was "highly obedient and carried out orders without fail"; another said that Celine had "a strong presence and solid acting skills, and once improvised in a BOSS battle, moving the adventurers to surrender on their own initiative"; the third letter directly stated, "If your budget allows, she is currently the best BOSS on the market, bar none."

Alsace put down the documents.

Celine stood upright, her expression composed, displaying none of Vestan's timidity, none of Saros's mania, and none of Baser's fastidiousness. A high-ranking dragon of level 467, she possessed well-rounded abilities, rich experience, and impeccable manners.

There is only one question.

"What is your expected salary?"

"Twelve thousand five hundred magic crystals per month," Celine answered without hesitation, her tone polite yet firm. "The contract is for at least six months. In addition to salary, you will also need an independent cave, a private hot spring, and three servant monsters personally selected by me. Thank you."

Dracula silently did some calculations in his mind.

Twelve,500 magic crystals, which would amount to seventy-five thousand in six months. Add to that the cost of renovating the independent cave, the cost of digging the private hot spring, and the wages of the servant monsters, the total cost would be around one hundred thousand magic crystals, equivalent to more than half a year's profit in Dark Hemkas...

Arthas leaned back on his throne.

"You only have one month to complete the task, and there is only one thing you need to do: sit on my throne, wear my face, and be defeated by the adventurers. Once the task is done, the reward will be a fixed price, not a monthly salary."

"However, I can give you a letter of recommendation in my own handwriting."

Celine's eyebrows twitched slightly.

"If I may ask, are there any legendary humans among these adventurers?"

"No, you'll be told the details when you start working."

Celine nodded slightly, as if she had reassessed the value of the mission in her mind. She did not bargain or make any other statement, but simply bowed slightly.

"Let me think about it and I will get back to you tomorrow."