This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

Mammon cleared his throat.

“Before we begin,” he said mildly, “let’s confirm attendance.”

Wrath’s brow furrowed.

‘Attendance?’ As previously stated, the affairs discussed in the council weren’t so important since they’d just follow the Great Mother’s will, naturally there was no history of taking a strict roll call of the attendees.

There was a faint ripple of interest around the arena as they seemed to catch on before the slow witted Wrath.

Mammon unfolded a thin piece of parchment containing condensed abyssal script and glanced down at it.

“Litharch,” he called out.

Silence.

A few demigods exchanged looks of amusement. Meanwhile Wrath’s eyes narrowed as he caught on. Litharch was the name of the former Earth Elemental King that had been corrupted by the Abyss and had been assigned to attack the same human fort as him.

Mammon waited a heartbeat longer than necessary, then looked up in faux surprise.

“Not present?”

Another pause.

“Oh. That’s right,” he said, snapping his claw-tipped fingers as if coming to a sudden realization.

He smiled faintly.

“He’s dead.”

The word echoed.

Wrath’s jaw tightened.

“Next,” Mammon continued evenly. “Fulgarion.”

Stillness.

But a faint chuckle rang out from another nearby Abyssal whose laughter resembled thunder. As a demigod of the same attribute, he’d never gotten along with Fulgarion, barely suppressing his desire to eat him. Indeed, Fulgarion was the name of the lightning-attribute colleague that had attacked the fort with Wrath.

Mammon tilted his head. “Ah… look at my bad memory”

A soft chuckle came from the surroundings.

“He’s also dead.”

Leviathan let out a low whistle. “Incredible. It had been years since an abyssal demigod had died. Just how weak and useless must they have been to die together in such a short time?”

Mammon nodded and went on.

“Noctyrix.”

This time, someone laughed outright.

Naturally, the horned demigod skilled in gravity manipulation did not answer.

Mammon sighed. “Also dead…At this point such large scale decimation could only be explained away as the idiocy of themselves and all that went with them.”

Wrath’s domain rippled.

Fine cracks spider‑webbed through the stone beneath his feet—then sealed themselves.

Mammon didn’t even look at him, instead staring down at the paper as if really diligently taking roll call.

“And finally,” he said gently, “Mirex.”

Of course the semi-liquid abyssal that liquefied everything around it did not respond.

Silence stretched.

Mammon rolled back up the parchment.

He looked directly at Wrath for the first time.

“Dissipated. Nothing left.”

A pause.

Then Mammon clasped his hands together.

“Well,” he said pleasantly, “that concludes the roll call.”

Leviathan leaned back, grinning. “Attendance seems a little… thin on your side, Wrath.”

Belphegor rumbled, eyes half‑lidded. “That was supposed to be an easy assignment.”

Lilith hummed thoughtfully. “A human fort,” she said. “Only one opposing 9-star beast tamer with a single demigod contract.”

Her eyes flicked to Wrath. “Even if your domains were suppressed, I personally can’t imagine being suppressed in a 5 vs 2 scenario.”

Mammon nodded. “And you requested it, if I recall correctly. Said you wanted to be among the first to strike this world. So the rest of us went toward conquering Planet L-9425 (Oceania).”

In the corner, three newly arrived demigods that looked like blue humanoids with octopus heads, shuffled awkwardly. Clearly, they were newly corrupted demigods from the recently conquered Oceania planet.

Wrath’s claws flexed.

“Yes,” Mammon continued, gesturing vaguely toward several demigods along the ring, “while others were conquering entire worlds for the Great Mother.”

A few presences stirred—pride, satisfaction.

“You,” Mammon said softly, “were given four allies and a weak planet without even a god overseeing it.”

Leviathan chuckled. “You outnumbered the enemy.”

“Outmatched them,” Beelzebub added.

“And still,” Lilith said gently, “you were forced to flee with your tail tucked between your legs.”

She smiled.

A black dragon concealed in the shadows flinched. After all, every word they were using to disparage Wrath could also apply to himself.

‘No! I was only defeated because I was imprisoned for millennia and weakened. If I had been in perfect condition, there’s no way I would have lost…’

The black dragon went deeper into the shadows, hoping that the others would forget that he even existed.

Not that he truly believed they would go that far.

Even among the newer demigods—those who had never known him before his imprisonment—Wrath’s status was common knowledge. He was not merely another abyssal demigod. He was their mother’s favored creation, a being whose very nature accelerated conquest itself, hastening the theft of fate from targeted worlds. Losing him would be… inconvenient. Punishing him too harshly would be wasteful.

Mammon finally lifted his gaze fully, greed flickering nakedly across his features.

“How do you suppose such a catastrophic failure should be addressed?” he asked mildly. “After all, even civilized militaries have consequences for failed operations.”

‘Who are you kidding?! Civilized?! YOU?!’ Wrath thought, while shaking with rage.

For the first time since entering the hall, Wrath noticed something else—something that had nothing to do with Mammon’s words.

The other demigods were not arguing. Not posturing. Not interrupting.

They were watching.

Closely. Intently.

As if this moment mattered far more than the humiliation itself.

As if the roll call had never been the point.

As if Wrath were already being evaluated—not as a peer, but as a resource.

Wrath’s fury stalled—not extinguished, but redirected inward, folding back on itself in an unfamiliar way.

He had been mocked before. Challenged before. Even opposed openly.

This was different.

No one was preparing to argue with him.

No one was waiting for his response.

Their gazes lingered with the same detached focus used when assessing a battlefield after victory—counting losses, measuring gains, deciding what could still be salvaged.

For the first time, the realization settled fully into place:

This council was not deciding whether he would be punished. In their minds, he’d already lost. A prize of war for them to do with as they wished.

And worse still—

Wrath recognized that look.

He had worn it himself, long ago, when standing in judgment over another.