My vision was stained a deep, vivid crimson.
A deluge of blood spray had soaked me through. I stood there in the quiet, making no move to wipe away the liquid trickling down my body.
The Hero clutched at the place where he had been slashed. Fresh blood pulsed intermittently from the wound. No matter how hard he pressed his hands against the gash, the flow showed no sign of slowing. It continued to well up from within him—a fountain that would not be stilled.
"…Gh."
His mouth moved slightly, but no sound came out. He staggered, coughing up a mouthful of blood. When I strained my ears, I could hear him growling like a wounded beast.
He is at his limit, then, I thought, observing his state.
The keepsake sword had carved straight through his torso. The wound was neither shallow nor survivable; it was a definitive, fatal blow. This was no longer a matter of willpower or determination.
"……Uh, ah."
Just as I expected him to collapse, the Hero forced himself to take a jagged, stumbling step forward. He advanced one agonizing pace at a time, blood spilling onto the grass with every movement. Even when his knees buckled, he refused to stop. His eyes, burning with a frantic obsession, remained locked on me.
The Holy Sword trembled in his grip, still raised high. He held it aloft for one purpose alone: to strike me a single time. Exhausting the final, flickering embers of his life, he fought for every inch of ground.
And finally, he brought me within his reach.
"—!"
The Hero swung the Holy Sword down, his body practically falling forward with the motion. The blade moved slowly, the edge eventually meeting the side of my neck. Holy light scorched the surface of my bones, attempting to bite deeper.
But that was the extent of his strength.
The Holy Sword merely grazed my shoulder and slid down my torso. His final, desperate strike succeeded only in tearing through my robe.
The Hero froze in the middle of his follow-through. He did not move another inch. I could not hear even the faintest whisper of breath.
I peered into his face. His expression was hollow, his eyes wide and unblinking. The light had vanished from his pupils. They were fixed on nothing at all.
The Hero was dead.
Standing tall until the very end, he had resisted the corrupting power of my miasma to fulfill his duty as a human Hero. I could offer nothing but respect for a man who fought so far beyond his limits.
A faint, brittle snap echoed through the air.
Cracks raced along the length of the Holy Sword. The white light flickered and died, and the blade disintegrated into a shower of crystalline shards. It vanished entirely, leaving only the hilt behind.
The Hero’s only wish had been to defeat a Great Evil and bring peace to the world. In that, he was exactly like my former self. Even if he died ignorant of what truly lay at the end of such a path, I could say with certainty that his love for peace was genuine.
I turned on my heel and began walking back toward the fortress.
The structure was engulfed in crimson flames, casting a harsh glow against the darkness of the night. There were no more screams, no more death rattles. It had already been occupied by the Demon King’s Army. As proof, I could see fresh undead wandering the perimeter.
It was the natural conclusion to the siege. Without the power of a Hero to bolster them, the soldiers had no means of resistance. Though I hadn't witnessed it personally, I imagined the battle had been entirely one-sided.
"Lord Demon King!"
Grom was the first to spot me, rushing over with startling speed. He skidded to a halt just before colliding with me, his eyes frantically scanning for any signs of injury. He had clearly been fraught with worry.
I gently moved his hands away. "I am unhurt, Grom. Do not trouble yourself."
"I... I see. It brings me immeasurable relief to see you safe..."
Grom exhaled a visible sigh of relief. He had been facing a Holy Sword Hero, after all; he must have been plagued by every possible worst-case scenario. In the end, his anxiety had been for naught, but I couldn't blame him for his concern.
"Hey, Boss. Looking good."
Henry sauntered over with a casual greeting. He looked entirely too relaxed for someone who had just stepped off a battlefield, though the red stains on his clothes and his blood-caked fists told a different story. He had undoubtedly slaughtered a vast number of men today. For him, the taking of lives was little more than a mundane chore.
"I wouldn't have minded a crack at that Hero myself. Was he any good?"
"Extremely. He was a man of ability truly worthy of the title."
"Damn. Now I’m jealous."
Henry sounded genuinely disappointed. He was a battle maniac through and through, a man who killed purely for his own gratification. He held no grudge against humanity; he simply did as he pleased, depending on his whim. He remained with the Demon King’s Army only because it provided him with the endless thrill of war.
He was far from a good man, yet he had become an indispensable asset to my army. Besides, I was hardly in a position to judge anyone on the merits of their morality. For now, our interests remained aligned.
"Maou-sama~!"
Luciana came soaring down from the fortress walls. She threw her arms wide and tried to cling to my neck, though Grom made a half-hearted attempt to block her. She dodged him with a nimble twirl and successfully latched on.
"Isn't this amazing? Killing a Hero! That’s a historic achievement for a Demon King."
"Is it truly something to celebrate so much?"
When I voiced my doubt at her excitement, Luciana knit her brows.
"Of course it is! The previous Maou-sama never managed it. He lost to the former Hero—and to you."
"…I suppose you’re right."
Her words pulled a memory to the surface. Looking back, everything felt like a distant, nostalgic dream. It had already been ten years since those events.
My time in the Valley of the Dead had been a stagnant eternity. I had done little but pace the shadows, clutching her remains and trapped in an endless cycle of silent introspection.
Enough. I can reflect later. Now is not the time for sentimentality.
I needed to focus on the reality before me, not the past behind me. This was no time to let my guard down.
Sensing my shift in mood, Luciana casually released me and gave her report. "The fortress is completely under our control. We’ve captured the surviving soldiers and neutralized all resistance. What are your orders?"
"We have achieved the Hero Subjugation. The Demon King’s Army will withdraw. Begin the preparations immediately."
Following my command, the three of them returned to the fortress. I could leave the logistics to them.
As I stood alone on the field, I realized I was still holding my blade. I flicked the sword to one side, clearing the Hero’s blood from the metal. Then, I carefully wiped the blade with my robe and sheathed it.
I looked up at the sky.
A vast tapestry of stars stretched out above me. It was beautiful—almost frighteningly so. It cast a dreamlike light over the landscape, indifferent to the massacre that had taken place below.
Without realizing it, I began to speak to the emptiness.
"—As the Demon King, I have slain the Hero. I have committed an act that defies the very flow of this era."
The world surely desired the Hero’s victory. Since the beginning of time, it has been ordained that evil must be purged by an irresistible force of good. I was once a man who believed in that order. I had once aspired to use my talents for the sake of others.
Slaughtering humans cannot be right. To manipulate their corpses to wage a war of conquest is an unforgivable sin. It is the very evil I once hated and vowed to eradicate. There was a bitter irony in the fact that I had become the incarnation of that malice.
"And yet, I will continue down the path I have chosen. If it is the price for world peace, I will fall as far as I must."
I would accept any sacrifice to achieve my goal. I was the World's Worst Demon King. I would bear every stigma and every curse the world saw fit to throw at me. To reshape a world gone mad, one must first become madness itself.
"When you are finally resurrected... I will show you a new world."
It was a hollow vow, heard by no one. I offered it nonetheless to the cold, silent night sky.