The Audience Chamber had been cleared of its corpses.
I placed a crystal the size of a man’s embrace onto a pedestal. Within its translucent depths, her remains were sealed—a precaution I had taken by reinforcing the glass with magic.
I traced the surface of the crystal with a cautious hand.
"As I thought, you still won't return to me..."
The whisper escaped my lips unbidden. I felt a surge of self-derision at the sentiment. Even with my current power, her remains were the one thing I could not turn into an undead. Was it because her soul refused me, or was the obstacle rooted in my own emotions?
Either way, I had to keep her under strict guard. If she were lost now, there would be no undoing it. That was why I had sealed her within the crystal. I planned to release her only when the time came for her resurrection. Until then, I would ensure she remained safe.
As I gazed silently at the crystal, the sound of the heavy doors opening echoed behind me.
Entering the room with a stooped posture was the ox-headed undead. The flames within his eye sockets flickered with their usual intensity. Grom marched across the carpet with brisk, disciplined movements.
"Lord Demon King! Your meal has been prepared. Please, come to the dining hall at once! I, Grom, have poured my very soul into this culinary endeavor!"
"I appreciate the gesture, but I cannot eat or drink," I replied, remaining seated upon the throne. "One look at my form should tell you as much."
Grom expressed his shock with a series of wildly exaggerated motions. He stumbled back, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"How could I...? What a wretched oversight! This Grom has committed the blunder of a lifetime!"
The ox-head—Grom—clenched his fists in a display of profound regret. A moment later, he clapped his hands together as if struck by a divine revelation.
"Then what of your attire? If you command it, I shall scour the Royal Capital and bring you the finest garments in existence! For a color that suits the Demon King, I would suggest—"
As Grom prattled on, steering the conversation wherever his whims took him, I pressed a finger to my temple. I felt the phantom sensation of a headache. Had I been alive, I would have been massaging my brow. Before this subordinate, who was now vibrantly listing various wardrobe options, I could only lament my situation.
Honestly, how did it come to this?
Three days had passed since I first encountered Grom. In that time, he had become my most loyal retainer. His former insolence had vanished as if it were a fever dream, replaced by a manner of speech that was consistently, if excessively, polite. His personality had mellowed out entirely.
According to Grom, he had been deeply moved by my goals and my very existence. He had formally declared his intention to serve as a high-ranking executive in my service, and he had been acting like this ever since.
I was the one who had named him Grom, taking the moniker from a saint in historical records. He seemed to have taken an immense liking to it. Despite the horrific damage he had sustained during our duel, he had regenerated in the blink of an eye once I provided him with miasma and magical power. Now, he was moving about with boundless energy. As an entity with power rivaling a Demon King, his vitality and restorative capabilities were truly extraordinary.
Over the last few days, I had also discovered that Grom was both dexterous and remarkably knowledgeable. His dexterity was one thing, but it was strange for a newly created being to possess such a depth of information. My investigation into the matter revealed a curious truth.
Grom was a collective entity—a mass of grudges and miasma. My necromancy had fused these elements together, allowing him to establish an ego as a new individual. As a result, Grom had inherited fragments of the experiences and memories belonging to the dead used as his raw materials. This explained why he possessed common sense and could wield magic.
He was a remarkably convenient existence. Even the meal he claimed to have prepared likely relied on the culinary skills of some deceased chef. Grom was far more capable than I had initially imagined. While he occasionally lacked a sense of moderation in his attentiveness, he was a fiercely obedient and reliable subordinate. I knew he would never betray me. He was an undead truly worthy of being called a loyal retainer.
"Grom."
"Yes! Whatever you require!"
Grom replied with glee, snapping his spine straight. The posture was comically ill-suited to his monstrous appearance.
I rose from the throne. "Stay here until I issue further orders. I am going to procure supplies."
"What are you saying, my Lord? If it is menial labor you require, please leave it to me! There is no need for the Demon King to trouble his own hands."
Grom stepped in front of me, blocking my path. He seemed even more agile now than he had been during our battle. The flames in his eye sockets were brimming with a sense of duty. I wondered what could possibly drive him to such lengths. He had truly undergone a total transformation since our first meeting.
Ultimately, I decided to yield. I tasked Grom with the procurement of supplies within the city, mostly because persuading him to stand down would have been too much of a hassle.
"Leave it to me! Unworthy as I am, I, Grom, shall surely fulfill your command—oh! Is that dust? This simply will not do! I must clean this at once!"
Grom’s gaze snapped to the corner of the room. He produced brooms and rags in his eight arms, putting them to work simultaneously to scrub the chamber. Once satisfied, he gave an elegant bow and retreated from the room. His behavior was reminiscent of a doting, overbearing old butler.
Watching the entire display from the throne, I felt a heavy sigh build in my chest.
No... regardless of his quirks, Grom is undeniably capable.
Securing such a powerful undead as a subordinate was a fortunate turn of events. I was willing to overlook a few eccentricities; after all, his desire to serve me was a sentiment I needed to encourage.
Grom aside, I had more pressing matters to attend to.
This morning, I had sent word to every territory in the kingdom regarding my presence. I made it clear that I would not attack those who swore their submission. I had no desire for the indiscriminate slaughter of those who surrendered; if they were willing to follow me, I would welcome them. It was a necessary first step toward true peace.
I was also curious about the reactions of the neighboring nations. The fall of the Royal Capital to the undead was likely common knowledge by now. How would the world respond to the manifestation of a new Demon King? It was a certainty that they would eventually form a Subjugation Force. They wouldn't simply leave me to my own devices. Even now, they were likely scouring the land for masters of Holy Magic.
I must prepare the foundations of my reign.
I wanted to develop this land and raise more subordinates—allies with actual personalities, like Grom. They were essential for any kind of organized military action. I intended to give this Kingdom of the Undead the proper appearance of a nation before eventually forming an army. To remain the world's ultimate evil permanently, I needed to be prepared.
I wonder if there are any others who would wish to serve me?
During my life, I knew of small cults that worshipped the Demon King. If my existence became widely known, those factions might attempt to make contact. However, such groups tended to run wild in ways I didn't approve of. I needed people I could truly trust. Gathering subordinates would remain a task for the future.
As I sat deep in thought, I heard footsteps approaching from outside. They were hurried and frantic—not the way a typical undead walked. I knew immediately who it was.
"Lord Demon King, I have a report!"
"Has there been a development?" I asked as Grom burst through the doors.
The flames in his eyes flared as he nodded. "Yes. It seems an army has been dispatched from the nearest territory. In their arrogance, they are marching straight for the Royal Capital."
"A Recapture Army. A predictable response."
With the heart of the government destroyed and the King dead, the nobility couldn't afford to sit idle. This was a crisis that threatened the very survival of the kingdom. I had expected them to come for my head with everything they had.
However, the fact that they had mobilized in just three days was impressive. Had a brilliant commander organized them with such speed, or was this merely a mob of fools driven by emotion and a thirst for glory?
"What are your orders, my Lord? I could easily annihilate them myself."
"No, I shall go. I must ensure the world understands that the Demon King has returned. Grom, I leave the castle in your hands."
I would make an example of the Recapture Army. They would serve as the fuel to spread the news of my threat across the globe. If I followed the fall of the capital with the total decimation of their forces, the people would finally understand how much danger they were in.
As of yet, none of the territories had responded to my demand for submission. Perhaps this incident would encourage them to express their intentions more clearly.
"Understood! I shall guard your fortress with my very life!"
Grom placed a hand over his chest and dropped to one knee. It was a reassuring answer. With his strength, he could handle almost any interloper. He possessed power on par with the previous Demon King; even an entire army wouldn't be able to touch him.
"Then, I am off."
"Wait, my Lord! Just a moment!"
Grom stopped me just as I was about to depart. He looked incredibly grave. I wondered if he had forgotten some vital part of his report.
"What is it?"
"We must change your clothes! This is your grand debut on the world stage. We must show these wretched humans exactly what a Demon King looks like!"
Grom declared this with immense pride, the twin flames in his sockets roaring with excitement.
I used Teleportation Magic to reach the Recapture Army’s location.
During my life, I could only teleport within my line of sight. I had sometimes used it as a desperate measure to escape the front lines, but it had always taken a massive toll on my body. Now that I was an undead, that power had been magnified. I could use it almost limitlessly, and the range had extended significantly. I was being forced to learn the vastness of an undead’s power while being reminded of the pathetic limits of humanity.
My vision shifted the moment the spell activated. I found myself cast out into the open sky, the earth stretching out far beneath me. As I began to fall, I manipulated the air to create a solid force field beneath my feet.
The wind whipped at my clothes. I was currently wearing a deep green hooded robe, its hem adorned with jewels that hummed with magical power. For me, the boost they provided was negligible, but the aesthetic was suitably regal.
The first thing the enthusiastic Grom had tried to put me in was a garish crimson robe, encrusted with gold embroidery and heavy gemstones. It was designed to glow brilliantly by reacting to the wearer's leaking mana. It was loud, flashy, and—to be blunt—in incredibly poor taste. It offered no practicality whatsoever. Some noble had clearly spent a fortune on it.
Grom had wanted me to look as "dazzling" as possible. He had even tried to insist I wear a crown, which I had firmly refused. After a lengthy negotiation, we had compromised on the green robe. He had looked disappointed, but I didn't care. The previous Demon King hadn't been one for gaudy displays either.
I walked through the air, creating steps of invisible force. Before long, I spotted the army marching below. They were flying banners, and as I narrowed my eyes, I recognized the heraldry of the nearby territory. This was the Recapture Army.
I watched their progress from high above. There were no fewer than twenty thousand soldiers—a respectable force. They were even maintaining a Holy Magic barrier, clearly a countermeasure against my undead. They were dead serious about taking back the capital.
To think they organized a force this size in less than three days.
If I allowed them to reach the city walls, they might actually cause some damage. Even if Grom could easily repel them, I wasn't kind enough to let them get that far. I would break their will here and now. If I did, perhaps they would stop sending their men to die in futile charges. In the end, it would save lives on both sides—a desirable outcome.
I didn't mind them hating me, but I would prefer they didn't rush to their deaths.
"This is an example. It needs to be spectacular..."
I leveled both hands toward the army below, palms open. I suddenly recalled my battle with Grom; there were many ways to utilize miasma. Since I had the opportunity, I decided to try something new.
I wove a spell by blending miasma with my own magical power, shaping the energy as I poured it into the world. What manifested was a black sphere. It floated before my hands, looking more like a concentrated gas than a solid object. Despite the high-altitude winds, its shape didn't falter. It simply existed, unchanging and ominous.
Did I fail?
Just as I began to doubt the spell, the sphere plummeted. It accelerated in a free fall toward the center of the Recapture Army.
The soldiers below looked up, their distant shouts reaching my ears. Some pointed in terror. They had noticed the sphere's approach. Arrows and spells were immediately loosed at the falling object, but the sphere didn't deviate an inch. It simply absorbed everything it touched as it continued its descent. The soldiers' attacks were as useless as trying to punch a wave.
The sphere struck the Holy Magic barrier. It shattered the defense without a hint of resistance before slamming into the heart of the formation.
The next second, the world erupted.
The soldiers at the point of impact were instantly pulverized into a mist of blood and bone. Even those further away were thrown back by the shockwave, suffering horrific injuries. The shattered sphere melted into a thick, swirling fog of miasma that blanketed the area.
Within the fog, the miasma condensed into thousands upon thousands of spectral black hands that reached out for the living.
"No... please... stop..."
"I don't want to die! Not like this!"
"Help! Someone, help me!"
Those caught by the black hands died screaming in agony. The moment they drew their last breath, they rose as undead and turned on their former comrades. Those who were devoured joined the ranks of the dead a moment later. It was a repeat of the carnage at the Royal Capital—a sight I was becoming all too accustomed to.
The synthesis of miasma and sorcery had proved successful. Depending on the mixture and the spells used, the possibilities were endless. The mana consumption was minimal; I would have to refine this technique.
A few soldiers noticed me in the sky and launched arrows and magic my way. I brushed them aside with a simple flick of Wind Magic. At this height, they wouldn't have reached me anyway.
As a "parting gift," I launched a few more black spheres to ensure the destruction was total. The soldiers' attempt at a counterattack crumbled instantly as they were forced to fight for their lives against their own fallen brothers. The chain of command was gone. Without any way to fight back, the army was systematically slaughtered. The formation broke, and the few who remained turned and fled in a desperate bid to save their own lives.
"That should suffice."
I took control of the undead on the ground, preventing them from pursuing the survivors. I needed those men alive to tell the world what they had seen.
Ten years had passed since the death of the previous Demon King. I had to ensure everyone understood that a new, far greater threat had arrived.
With the Recapture Army decimated, I watched the survivors flee, their retreating backs a testament to the message they would soon carry.