Following the highway, I soon arrived at the gates of the Royal Capital.
The main gates were barred. Soldiers stood ready atop the massive walls encircling the city; it seemed they had detected our approach and committed to a siege. They likely intended to wipe us out from above with a hail of arrows and sorcery.
It was not a poor strategy. We were undead, after all. Attacking unilaterally from a distance was, in fact, the optimal solution.
As I considered this, the soldiers commenced their assault. A volley of arrows tracing a parabolic arc began to rain down upon us.
"……"
The sight triggered a memory of my execution. The jeers of the crowd. The arrows piercing my heart and my eye. The crushing weight of despair as she plummeted toward the valley floor.
When I returned my focus to the present, the skeletons and ghouls behind me had been impaled. Their limbs were pinned to the cobbles, their movements halted. Dozens of my undead had been neutralized in that single instant. It appeared they had gathered a contingent of skilled archers. If left unchecked, a second volley would surely follow.
However, I did not panic. Their primary miscalculation lay in the belief that this was merely a common undead outbreak. They had likely received no word from the Fort of the Valley of the Dead. While they were cautious, they were clearly underestimating the threat—the fact that they were conserving their magic was proof enough of that.
It was time to show them the truth.
"—Witness."
I extended my hand. A tiny spark of flame ignited in my palm. As I fed it my mana, it swelled with terrifying speed until it was large enough to consume an entire house. With a single thought, I unleashed it.
The fireball flew in a straight, searing line, blowing the main gates into smithereens. The resulting blast and heatwave swept over the walls, overrunning the soldiers above.
"Aghaaaaah!"
"Hieeeee! Water! Get some water!"
Those nearest the gate were horribly burned. Some screamed as they tumbled from the ramparts, while those with minor injuries scrambled to provide aid. A single blow had wrought immense devastation.
"Hmm..."
I stared at my skeletal hand. I had only intended to breach the gate, but the result exceeded my expectations. My magic was incomparably more powerful than it had been during my life. The output was on an entirely different level, likely due to the massive amounts of miasma I had absorbed within the Valley of the Dead.
Taking advantage of the chaos, I led my undead forward. We passed through the scorched remains of the gate and entered the Royal Capital.
The city’s residents were fleeing in all directions, their evacuation clearly delayed. They likely hadn't imagined the main gates could be breached so easily. Though these people had once taken such delight in our public humiliation, they were now a pathetic sight. They trampled one another in their desperation to flee, their previous malice replaced by blind terror. Some fell and were crushed under the feet of the crowd.
I felt a ghost of pity at the sight. To them, I was undoubtedly a demon threatening their peace. Among the insults hurled at us ten years ago, many had called us exactly that. I had simply become the monster they had always wanted me to be.
"Now! Fire everything you have!"
"Use fire magic on the ghouls! Bring more mages to the front!"
"Maintain the chants! Don't let up!"
Shouts echoed from the rear. In addition to arrows, sporadic bursts of magic began to explode among the ranks of my followers. The soldiers atop the walls were desperately trying to stall our advance.
"A futile effort..."
Annoyed, I glanced up at the ramparts. In response to my will, about a hundred undead began to scale the walls. They used one another’s bodies as ladders, reaching the top with surprising speed. Once there, they began to massacre the soldiers through sheer numbers. Skeletons seized the soldiers' own weapons to turn against them, while ghouls pinned men down to feast. The soldiers were soon too occupied with their own survival to hinder my progress. They were decimated in moments.
Leaving the fallen soldiers to rise as ghouls, I strode down the main thoroughfare. I ignored the civilians for now; there was one specific place I needed to reach first.
As I advanced, I found a line of soldiers blocking the street ahead, with more stationed on the rooftops. At their commander's signal, they readied their bows. These were no ordinary arrows; the heads glowed with a pure white light. They had been imbued with Holy Magic—the simplest and most effective way to destroy the undead.
(So the gates were merely a stalling tactic...)
The street was narrow, flanked by tall buildings that made evasion difficult. I chose to simply stand my ground. I had thought of something I wanted to test. I wrapped the cloth bundle containing Claire's remains in a shroud of protective magic; I could not bear the thought of her being harmed.
The Holy Arrows were released. Dozens of white streaks traced beautiful arcs through the air. As the leader of the march, I took the brunt of the assault. My skeletal body was shattered, and I felt the searing agony of purification. As my form collapsed and my vision faded into darkness, it immediately flickered back to life.
Before me lay the shattered remains of my previous form, riddled with arrows. I looked behind me at the skeletons and ghouls who had remained outside the blast radius. Then, I looked down at my new body. The white bone was instantaneously stained jet-black. Oozing miasma permeated my frame, smoldering like dark flames.
"...As I suspected. No problem at all."
I had reconstituted myself using one of my skeletons as a vessel. My essence resided within every undead under my command; even if my current form was destroyed, I could return through any individual unit. This was the authority I had claimed from the Valley of the Dead. As long as my legion existed, I would never truly perish.
In truth, the Holy Arrows held little power over me. My soul remained untouched; I merely had to endure the momentary pain of purification. I could be struck down a thousand times and I would still return.
"He... he resurrected!?"
"The undead are supposed to be weak to Holy Magic! Why won't he die!?"
"Don't just stand there! Notch the next volley!"
The soldiers were thrown into a panic. They had clearly believed they had killed the mastermind. As they scrambled to fire again, I decided I had seen enough. I didn't need to take a second hit just to prove a point.
I unleashed a blast of wind magic, knocking the arrows off course. The rain of light struck the surrounding buildings instead, leaving my forces unscathed. I held my hand over the remains of the shattered skeletons before me. Miasma flooded the fragments, contaminating them. The shards of bone squirmed and knitted together, forming dozens of Bone Wolves.
Because they were crafted from humanoid remains, their shapes were distorted and hulking. The soldiers cried out in horror as I issued a final command.
"—Devour them."
The Bone Wolves lunged forward with a clattering of bone. Their movements were incredibly agile, far beyond the capabilities of normal undead. They pounced on the disorganized soldiers, shattering their ranks and leaping onto the rooftops to hunt the archers. Their sturdy jaws snapped necks and tore through flesh with savage efficiency. Every soldier who fell rose again as a ghoul, adding to my strength.
I walked through the carnage, pausing to pick up the cloth bundle from the ground. I brushed the dust from it carefully. It was undamaged; my defensive spells were evidently as potent as my offensive ones.
With the Bone Wolves and a fresh contingent of ghouls, I continued my march. I was careful not to lose my footing on the blood-slicked cobblestones.
As I carved a path through the Royal Capital, the soldiers attempted several more counterattacks, but each was crushed as easily as the last. My army grew exponentially with every street we took. Any undead that were too damaged to move were simply reassembled into new forms. The skirmishes served as excellent practice for gauging my new limits.
Finally, I reached the Royal Castle. The drawbridge was raised, and a final line of soldiers stood before it, bolstered by defensive magic.
(Utterly futile...)
Before they could act, I launched a fireball that shattered their barriers. I let the Bone Wolves loose on the survivors, annihilating them in seconds. The difference in our power was absolute; even a crude, planless strike was enough to decide the battle.
Using the same technique I had employed in the Valley of the Dead, I had my skeletons huddle together to form a bridge of bone across the moat. I crossed it and reached the castle doors, blowing them open with magic and stepping into the halls of power.
The massacre that followed was merciless. I brushed aside the units of mages and turned the elite Royal Guard into ghouls to a man. Thousands of undead now swarmed the castle, turning the halls into a living hell of screams and shadows.
I navigated the interior without hesitation. I had walked these halls many times in the past; I knew every corridor and secret. My path led me to the highest floor, to a set of ornate, gold-trimmed doors.
The entire floor was a single suite: the King's private chambers. My detection magic told me the master of the house was still inside. He had barely moved since the start of the invasion. Did he truly believe his soldiers would save him if he simply hid? If so, his naivety was staggering. Even if he had tried to flee, I would not have let him escape. I had come all this way specifically for this reunion.
"Hmm..."
I analyzed the enchantments on the door. It was protected by layers of barriers and traps designed to curse any unauthorized person who touched it. Petty, but expected of a coward. I gripped the magic with both hands and tore the barriers apart. With a sound like shattering glass, the spells dissolved. I simply absorbed the curses into my own miasma, neutralizing them instantly.
I kicked the doors open.
The room was vast and opulent, filled with fine art and jewels. At the far end, standing by a window, was the King. He wore his red cloak and crown just as he had ten years ago, though he had aged significantly. His hair was white, and his face was etched with deep wrinkles. He glared at me with eyes full of venom.
"You monstrous undead... what do you want?"
"Dwight Harvelt. Surely you remember the name."
The King turned pale. He let out a low, bitter groan.
"Impossible... you... No, that cannot be. That man died ten years ago!"
So, ten years had passed since our execution. It explained his aged appearance. I kept my voice flat and detached.
"It is only natural that you find it hard to believe. I was surprised myself."
Several ghouls, still clad in their soldier's armor, entered the room behind me and pinned the struggling King to the floor.
"W-What are you doing! Do you have any idea who I am? Release me at once!"
The King ranted and raved as he was pressed into the carpet. I looked down at the powerless monarch and spoke the truth.
"I have returned from the Valley of the Dead to bring peace to this distorted world."
"Nonsense! That is impossible! Countless people have been sent to that valley, and not one has ever returned as an undead!"
The King's protests were meaningless to me. I ignored them, thrusting the cloth bundle toward him.
"Why did you frame us? She did not deserve that end. She prayed for peace. She loved this world. She was a true Hero in every sense of the word."
"That is exactly why she had to be removed," the King spat, his voice low and trembling.
"What?"
"After the Demon King fell, the world had to change. A hero with such immense power is a nuisance in times of peace. Such individual strength is not just unnecessary—it is a threat to the state itself."
"...You murdered her for nothing more than political expediency and your own survival?"
"Yes! Exactly! I am the King! It was your own fault for being such useful fools!"
The King threw his head back and laughed. It was a crazed, desperate sound. He had clearly realized there was no escape and had abandoned all pretense of dignity.
I looked away from him. I wanted to sigh, but I no longer had the lungs for it.
"—Enough. I have heard all I need to. Silence him."
At my command, the ghouls tore into the King. There was a sickening sound of rending flesh. His arm, braced against the floor, snapped with a sharp crack.
"Gwoaaaaagaaaaaaaah!"
He screamed as the ghouls began their feast. He was no longer a king; he was merely meat. The expensive carpet beneath him began to soak up his life's blood.
"Y-You... you have become a Demon King! I was right to kill you! I did it for the sake of the world...!"
His voice grew faint, eventually becoming nothing more than a gurgle that was drowned out by the sounds of the ghouls chewing. His crown rolled across the floor and stopped at my feet, stained with blood. I picked it up and placed it on my own head. It was a hollow gesture; the object held no value, but the irony was fitting.
As I surveyed the room, my eyes caught a sword hanging on the wall. It was her weapon. It possessed no legendary enchantments, but it was the blade that had slain the former Demon King. To me, it was a priceless memento. I hadn't expected to find it gathering dust in a place like this.
"I'm taking this back. It belongs to her."
The moment I gripped the hilt, it felt perfectly natural in my hand. I knew how to wield it without even trying, as if I had trained with it for a lifetime. When I had absorbed the miasma of the valley, I had apparently inherited her memories and experiences as well. I now possessed the sword skills of the Hero herself.
I felt a flash of pride, followed quickly by a sense of unworthiness.
(I'll consider it a parting gift from her.)
I had no choice but to use this power. To let it sit idle would be the true insult to her memory.
With my business in the capital concluded, I walked back through the blood-stained castle to the Audience Chamber. I descended the crumbling stairs and entered the hall, where ghouls were busy feasting on the remains of the nobility.
I ignored them and took my seat upon the throne. I placed the bundle of her remains on my lap and rested her sword against the floor.
Outside, the screams were finally beginning to fade. By dawn, the city would be silent. The Royal Capital had fallen. The debt from ten years ago was paid, and I could finally begin the work of bringing true peace to this world.
(How ironic...)
I watched the skeletons and ghouls wandering the hall. That the Sage who once fought to slay a Demon King would return as one to conquer the very kingdom he saved... Life is a series of unpredictable tragedies.
—Thus, I became the new Demon King and established my Kingdom of the Undead.