"Who are you? This city is supposed to be sealed by a barrier—how did you get in?"
The girl spoke with an inquisitive tilt to her head, though her tone carried a blatant sense of contempt. The other soldiers of the Holy Staff Kingdom remained on high alert, ready to unleash their magic at a moment's notice.
"…………"
I covertly activated my sensory magic to scan the state of the city while engaging in conversation to buy time.
"...And who are you?"
"Me? I’m Machia Rhyn Meaditortia. If I call myself 'the Saint,' does that ring a bell? My job is to slaughter filthy undead like you."
Saint Machia spoke with absolute confidence. Her words were likely the truth. The holy aura radiating from her slight frame was extraordinarily dense. Simply staring at her brilliance filled me with an intense discomfort; had I still possessed eyes, they likely would have been scorched. Just by approaching Machia, ghouls and skeletons would be purified without question.
She was evidently the source of the purification field blanketing the city. This wasn't a large-scale ritual, nor even standard holy magic. Judging by her relaxed posture, Machia was emitting that level of aura naturally, without any apparent drain on her magic power.
She was no mere human. She was wreathed in a holy aura more powerful than anything I had ever witnessed—a presence closer to something out of myth.
(Saint Machia Rhyn Meaditortia. I know the name.)
She was the symbolic figurehead of the Holy Staff Kingdom in this era. According to my intelligence, she was a political puppet with little to no real power. While she could use holy magic, her skill was supposed to have been unremarkable. Clearly, some manner of transformation had overtaken the Machia standing before me.
"Answer my question. Who are you?"
I pulled my focus back to her inquiry and answered with dignity.
"I am the Demon King."
"Wait, really? You’re a lot more pathetic-looking than I imagined. Wouldn’t that undead over there be a better fit? He was fighting with such incredible bloodlust. Thanks to him, his lackeys managed to scurry away."
Machia spoke mockingly. Perhaps she was trying to provoke me into a lapse of judgment, or perhaps she was simply cruel by nature. Regardless, reacting to her taunts would be a mistake.
In the interim, I expanded the reach of my sensory magic. I located the interception army, led by Henry. They were hiding in a district some distance from here. Their numbers had been halved, and their presences were strangely faint. The elves accompanying them were likely using stealth magic to mask their location from the Holy Staff Kingdom. It was a wise decision under the circumstances.
"Oh well. Anyway, could you just die? I’d like to take a break soon."
With a sigh, Machia gave a casual wave of her hand. The ground at her feet began to glow, and over a dozen chains snaked upward. They lunged toward me with beast-like speed.
I stood my ground, severing the approaching chains one by one. No matter how fast they were, they were not so quick that the swordsmanship of that person could not keep up. I shattered every chain in an instant. Machia, watching the display, offered a lazy round of applause.
"Wow. To come through that unscathed, you really are the Demon King."
"Saint Machia. What is the source of your power?"
"Oh, you mean my Divine Magic? I just suddenly mastered it about ten days ago. My status jumped up overnight because of it. There wasn't really a trigger, so I figure it was a gift for being so devout."
Machia shared this freely. She called it "Divine Magic," not holy magic. Her power was indeed far too potent to fall under the latter category; she clearly viewed it as something distinct from existing arts.
If her story was true, she had gained this power through a sudden awakening, the cause of which even she didn't understand. It was an unnatural tale. Normally, I would have suspected a lie, but I knew of a similar phenomenon—namely, the current Hero.
That young man had received the backing of the world itself, suddenly mastering the power of the Holy Sword. A mere soldier had become capable of slaughtering an entire undead army alone. It was the stuff of fairy tales.
Saint Machia had been chosen as a savior of the world. If I assumed she had been empowered specifically to destroy an immortal Demon King, the inconsistencies vanished. It explained her sudden surge in power and why our elemental compatibility was so lopsided. Since she was a being designed to defeat me, it was only natural for her to hold the advantage.
"Anyway, just die already. Being the 'Demon King Slayer Saint' will really add some prestige to my name, don't you think?"
"Try it if you wish. I will be the one to kill you all."
I leveled the tip of my sword at her. Machia snorted, and the ground beneath her erupted in light. Countless chains surged forth.
"Ah-ha, saying that in this situation... die!"
Machia swung her arms, launching a massive torrent of light. Innumerable chains swept toward me like a flood.
(Killing the Saint is secondary.)
If I chose to fight here, I would lose the chance to save those who remained. I shattered the chains pinning Grom down, hoisted him up, and teleported.
We reappeared in a corner of the city, far from the Holy Staff Army. The area was littered with corpses—unarmed civilians who had lived here. They bore the wounds of spears and swords. There was no doubt this was the work of the Holy Staff Kingdom.
I felt a surge of indignation, but I couldn't afford to waste even a second.
"Grom, are you alright?" I asked, tapping his shoulder.
The cracked, ox-headed skull didn't respond at first. Just as I was about to call out again, a small flame flickered in one of his eye sockets. I felt his gaze settle on me.
"De...mon King... My sin...cerest... apologies..."
Even in his shattered state, Grom’s first instinct was to apologize. I shook my head.
"The match was poor. You are not to blame. I am the one who should apologize for being late."
Had I been faster to act, things might not have turned so dire. The responsibility was mine alone.
"I will handle the rest. Focus on your recovery."
With that, I teleported Grom back to the Royal Capital. I would leave him to Luciana. He was at death's door, but it wasn't too late. Once he was clear of this purification field, his natural regeneration would take over.
Next, I teleported to the site of the interception army. In a zone of collapsed buildings and rubble, Henry emerged from the shadows of the debris.
"Hey, Boss... you actually came."
Henry was dragging one leg, though he seemed to have escaped other major injuries.
"Can you move?"
"Good grief, I’m a mess. Took a hit while protecting my subordinates. I guess I’ve gone soft in my old age," Henry said with a self-deprecating laugh. He seemed genuinely exasperated by his own heroics.
He quickly turned serious, gesturing to the surrounding ruins. My sensory magic confirmed many living presences hiding nearby.
"The undead units are almost wiped out, but the monsters and elves are still hanging on. They’re scattered, but you can find them, right, Boss? If we get the wounded treated now, they’ll make it."
"Well done. You are an excellent commander."
"Hahaha, I’ll take the compliment. Treat me to a drink when we get back."
Henry raised a hand with a grin. I tilted my head at the gesture, and he prompted me to follow suit. I raised my hand in confusion, and Henry struck his palm against mine. Since I was made of bone, it failed to produce a satisfying sound.
(Was that some sort of signal?)
I had no memory of establishing such a code.
"...Well, whatever. That’s just like you, Boss," Henry said, shrugging. It seemed I had failed to meet his expectations.
Feeling a slight twinge of guilt, I gathered the survivors of the interception army and teleported them all back to the capital for treatment. As for the hand-striking gesture, I would have to ask Henry for an explanation later.
(First, I must finish what I started.)
Setting my resolve, I used my magic to return to Saint Machia and her army.