The next morning, I stood upon the castle balcony.
A bottle of wine was in my hand. I pried the cork loose with my fingers and tilted the bottle back to take a long draught.
The wine that entered my mouth simply spilled back out with a wet, splashing sound. My jaw, cervical vertebrae, and ribs were soaked without mercy, and dark stains began to spread across my robes.
I let out a low groan at the peculiar discomfort.
"As I thought, eating and drinking are out of the question..."
While sight, hearing, and touch remained, I had lost my sense of taste and smell. I wondered by what mechanism a body consisting of nothing but bone could feel anything at all. Even the fact that I could speak was a mystery. The biology of the undead was truly beyond my understanding.
Having finished my brief verification, I shifted my focus to the ground below.
Countless undead were overflowing in the courtyard. They were the former citizens of the Royal Capital, now transformed into ghouls. Most had lost their lives after being tainted by the miasma, and I had simply made use of their corpses. Those in advanced states of decay were likely the ones who had been buried; they had risen from their graves under the influence of my power.
There were also many among them who were little more than skeletons.
The undead were packed together in a suffocating mass. Unable to fit within the castle grounds, they spilled out into the streets of the surrounding town. The majority of the legion—those who were not gathered here—were currently prowling the outskirts of the capital. I had set them there as a perimeter, ensuring that I would sense it immediately if anything occurred.
(For now, the preliminary preparations are complete.)
I gazed out at the cityscape of the Royal Capital from my high vantage point. An air of gloom hung over every corner. A thick mist of miasma had settled over the streets, creating an environment that would repel any living being. It now bore a striking resemblance to the Valley of the Dead.
When I thought about how all of this had been executed by my own hands, it gave me much to ponder. However, I did not feel the slightest shred of regret. My ten-year-long revenge was complete. It had proceeded so smoothly it was almost anticlimactic.
Of course, this was nothing more than a prologue. The real performance began now.
My next goal was true world peace. It was an abstract expression, but I had already decided on the specific path I would take. Through the years of suffering and conflict I endured in the Valley of the Dead, I had made a discovery.
As long as a great evil looms over the world, humanity stays united. In the face of a common threat, a fleeting peace is constructed. Prioritizing the survival of the human race, they refrain from their petty, internal conflicts.
The former Demon King was the one who once shouldered the role of the world’s ultimate evil. Whatever his ideology or objectives might have been, it was an undeniable fact that his existence prevented conflict between nations. Everyone devoted themselves to the subjugation of the Demon King. There was a solidarity back then that transcended national borders.
We were the ones who broke that distorted equilibrium. After a life-or-death struggle, we killed the Demon King. Of course, we did it to save the world. The people, too, had prayed for his death.
However, reality is heartless. The wheel had turned, and things had come around to bring about this current situation. The Hero was executed, the Sage was transformed into an undead, and the Royal Capital became a land of the crawling dead. As the conclusion of a heroic tale, it was a far too gruesome development.
The idea that cutting down a great evil would bring about a golden age of peace was a mistake from the start. What actually awaited beyond that victory was conflict between humans—the beginning of an ugly age where nations slaughtered one another. The disappearance of the deterrent known as the Demon King was the primary cause. Once a common enemy was gone, people became capable of turning their blades even against their neighbors without a second thought. The execution of the Hero and myself was simply a part of that cycle.
I did not know the current state of world affairs, but I was certain that similar tragedies were being repeated across the continent. Such a world was not desirable. It was far from peace; rather, it was the polar opposite.
True world peace is established through the reign of an immortal evil. In other words, I simply needed to become the Demon King and provide a constant source of terror to the nations of the world. By maintaining a permanent premonition of ruin, I would ensure they could not even consider fighting amongst themselves. If I did that, the people would naturally unite as one. They would join hands for the sole purpose of killing me.
Of course, I had no intention of actually destroying the world. But I must never let them suspect that. And I must never be defeated by anyone. I would have to threaten humanity forever. That was my burden—the responsibility I incurred for having killed the necessary evil known as the previous Demon King. It was a role that only I could fulfill.
(For that purpose, I must continue my preparations...)
As long as I claimed the title of Demon King, I had to establish a proper foundation. First, I needed subordinates. Since I already had numbers, what I sought now were lieutenants with high individual combat power.
Currently, I possessed the Authority of the Valley of the Dead—a high-tier ability of Necromancy. I intended to synthesize the gathered undead to create a single, powerful entity. I had tried it a few times during the fall of the capital, so I had a grasp of the process.
There were advantages to creating strong subordinates. In addition to strengthening my forces, it served as a precaution for emergencies. As long as my subordinate undead existed, I would not truly perish, as it was possible for me to be resurrected from any of my lingering servants. To put it another way, they were equivalent to the number of lives I possessed. Due to this characteristic, preparing a sturdy individual was a wise move. It would reduce the risk of my destruction.
It was unacceptable for me to be subjugated. In order to prevent the tragedy of human conflict from repeating, increasing my immortality was an urgent matter.
"I shall become the new Demon King."
Having reaffirmed my resolve, I directed my focus toward the undead below. I held out my arm and swung it in a sharp horizontal line, exercising my authority.
Suddenly, the undead were engulfed in Purple Flame. The fire spread instantly, covering the entire courtyard until it was a sea of violet. Shrieks of resentment rose from the ground; the souls of the dead were crying out in agony. The miasma swirling in the atmosphere grew thick and heavy. I felt the very land being polluted through my skin.
The Purple Flame that had enveloped the undead eventually converged, swirling into a single, massive shape. Finally, the flames vanished, leaving behind nothing but a plume of white smoke. The thousands of undead who had been standing there were gone, burned away without a trace.
In their place stood a single Bone Monstrosity.
"Is that the result of the synthesis?"
I leaned over the railing to observe it closely. It was tall enough to rival an ogre, and while its primary skeleton was humanoid, three pairs of auxiliary arms grew from its ribs. Its head was the skull of a bull with magnificent, sweeping horns. In its eye sockets, twin red flames flickered. It wore dense, swirling miasma like a tattered robe.
I could tell clearly just from the pressure it exerted—this was an undead of tremendous power.
(The highest tier of the skeleton species?)
Judging by the massive amount of mana it radiated, it also possessed the characteristics of a Lich. Without exaggeration, this creature likely rivaled the Demon King we had previously killed. It was unexpected that such a powerful individual would be born. Even considering I had consumed thousands of undead, this clearly exceeded my expectations. Perhaps the various factors had aligned perfectly during the process.
As I was lost in thought, the previously motionless Bull-headed Undead looked up and met my gaze. The flickering of the crimson flames in its eyes stopped.
"Was it you... who dared to create me?"
The voice was laden with hatred. He possessed a clear ego. On top of that, it seemed my control did not yet reach him. However, the fact that we could talk was a significant development. If communication was possible, we could proceed peacefully.
"It was indeed me, but—"
"Hah!"
As if to cut off my words, the Ox-head thrust out one of his arms. A bolt of Black Lightning shot from his palm, flying straight toward me.
(Conversation is impossible for now. He is acting on instinct.)
I threw myself from the balcony. The Black Lightning curved mid-air at an unnatural angle, tracking me with precision. It seemed to have a homing function, or perhaps the caster was guiding it at will. I fired a Water Bullet from my hand, striking the bolt to cancel it out. I then created a magical force field in mid-air to serve as a platform, maintaining a position where I could look down upon the Ox-head.
"Fuhahaha! You are not bad! You were indeed worthy of being my creator!"
The Ox-head transformed the miasma around him into wings. Flapping them to ascend, he began to radiate Black Flame from above. Like the lightning from before, the fire was composed primarily of miasma. This undead seemed to excel at manipulating the substance. In terms of raw versatility with miasma, I likely wouldn't be able to compete.
(However, I do not intend to lose.)
I pushed back with a blast of magical wind. The Black Flame held its ground for a heartbeat before being overwhelmed. The fire was blown backward, surging back to strike the Ox-head.
"Guooooooooh!"
The Ox-head let out a roar as he was bathed in his own Black Flame. His skeletal body was slightly scorched, but it did not seem to be a fatal wound. His durability was just as impressive as his offense.
"Behold... the full extent of my power!"
The Ox-head pointed his hands at me and unleashed a barrage of Black Thunderbolt. The density of the attack was like a torrential rain. Each bolt possessed enough destructive power to rival a high-level spell; an army of tens of thousands would have been easily annihilated.
In response, I deployed a series of layered magical barriers. I manifested a hundred translucent, circular shields in an instant. The downpour of thunderbolts slammed into the barriers, resulting in a cacophony of sparks and explosions.
Cracks ran through the shields as they were shattered one after another. The aftershocks of the destruction reached the castle behind me, shaving away sections of the walls and toppling spires. The magical struggle ended in a flash.
Approximately half of my barriers remained intact; only the outermost layers had been destroyed. I remained completely unscathed.
(To think I could block that even with low-level defensive spells...)
Looking at the decimated terrain below, I was honestly impressed. That had been a fruitful test. Even in life, I had boasted a large amount of mana for a human, but there were still racial limits to what I could do. To oppose the demon race back then, I had to rely on countless ingenuities and refinements. It was only through that endless study that I had earned the title of Sage.
The current me, however, was strong without any tricks. In the realm of magic, I would allow no others to follow. As expected, the blessings of the Valley of the Dead were absolute.
"How... can this be..."
The Ox-head was visibly staggered. That rain of thunderbolts must have been his strongest attack. Seeing it weathered so effortlessly had evidently shaken him.
In contrast, I transformed my remaining barriers into dozens of spears. I adjusted their trajectories and locked my aim onto the Ox-head.
"Please, settle down a bit."
With a flick of my fingers, the spears were fired in a rapid, rhythmic sequence. Moving at a speed that left sound behind, the Ox-head was forced onto the defensive. He immediately deployed his miasma like a solid wall.
The spears collided with the wall of miasma, sending plumes of black mist into the air. The weapons rushed in one after another, relentlessly shaving away his defenses.
"This is... nothing!" the Ox-head screamed, desperately trying to endure the onslaught.
However, he was only buying time. I focused my will on the spears still on standby and drove them all home at once. The wall of miasma shattered like glass, and the spears pierced through, striking the Ox-head squarely in the torso.
"Gogah...!"
He plummeted toward the earth. With a massive hole torn through his midsection, he tried to deploy his miasma wings once more to arrest his fall.
"I won't let you."
I severed the wings with a Wind Blade. The Ox-head crashed head-first into the ground, rolling through the dirt and kicking up a massive cloud of dust.
"Gunu... Y-You..."
He managed to push himself up, groaning. The missing parts of his body were already being filled in by miasma. Being able to move despite such damage was a testament to the immortality of the undead.
"Will you listen to me now? I have no desire to fight you."
"Goah!"
As I landed on the ground, the Ox-head pounced like a wild beast. In his eight arms, he gripped weapons forged from miasma and mana, swinging them with chaotic, unpredictable movements.
(—I can see it.)
I manifested a sword of pure mana and imbued it with the fire attribute. Then, I read the trajectory of his attacks. This was the combat experience I had inherited from the souls in the Valley of the Dead; among those memories were the peerless sword techniques of the Hero herself.
I swung the flaming sword in a heavy overhead arc. I pulverized every weapon in my path and slashed diagonally through the Ox-head’s torso in a single motion.
"A-gaff..."
Bisected, the Ox-head collapsed. I thrust my sword into the ground behind his back and began to forcibly drain the mana and miasma from his frame. With his power stripped away, he no longer had the means to resist.
I looked down at the dying creature. The flames in his eye sockets flickered weakly, reduced to mere embers.
"—Kill me. I have lost."
The voice was a small, defeated murmur. The fierce, arrogant atmosphere from moments ago had vanished. Deprived of his strength, he had finally regained some semblance of reason. I shrugged my shoulders at the change.
"I have no intention of killing you. Why do you think I brought you into this world?"
"...What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously, the red flames in his eyes blinking with uncertainty.
I spoke with calm conviction.
"I want you to become my subordinate. I could force you to obey me, but I would much rather respect your free will. Will you lend me your strength?"
"............"
The Ox-head stared at my outstretched hand. Lacking a face, his expression was impossible to read, but he seemed utterly stunned. He was clearly struggling to process my words and understand their intent.
If he had continued to resist, I would have used harsher methods, but securing his proactive cooperation was the better path. An undead with a strong ego was a rare and valuable asset, and his combat ability was beyond question. Given my plans for the future, he was exactly the kind of ally I needed.
A long silence stretched between us. I did not add any more words, simply waiting for his answer.
"............"
Finally, the Ox-head stirred. With a slow, mechanical movement, the undead reached out and grasped my hand.