I halted my blade at the final moment.
There was a segment of Machia’s words I simply could not overlook. Suppressing my killing intent, I stared down at her in silence. Her breath was ragged, yet she managed a thin, mocking smile.
“Didn't you hear me? I said you despise humans—that you find pleasure in the slaughter.”
“I do not particularly dislike humans, nor do I hate them. I am simply killing as a matter of necessity.”
“Then why are you tormenting me like this? Why not end it in a single stroke? Isn't it because you want to watch me suffer?”
Machia forced herself to her feet. Her once-pure white cloak was now a grisly tapestry of blood. She kept the hand with the severed fingers hidden behind her back. As if driven by some inner impulse, she continued her interrogation.
“It was the same with the soldiers. You cornered them with your magic. You went out of your way to trap them in that absurd barrier, only to roast them alive.”
“...That was the result of prioritizing efficiency and safety. The more cruelty I display, the more effectively I can crush their morale. For a lone combatant, it was the optimal solution.”
I offered my counterargument quietly. In that phase of the battle, I could not afford to be conservative with my resources. It was vital to whittle down the enemy forces quickly and precisely. Had they fled into the ruins of the city, the situation would have become far more complicated; I had no choice but to utilize such tactics.
“...Ugh.”
Machia stumbled, her balance failing for a moment. It was likely the blood loss taking its toll. She bit her lip hard, fixing me with a sharp, piercing gaze.
“Efficiency and safety, is it? Then why are you standing before me with a sword? Someone of your caliber could have ended me from a distance with a spell. There is no logical reason for you to approach a woman who is alone and devoid of magic just to use a blade. Did you want to feel my pain that badly?”
“............”
“You have no excuse, do you? I’ve struck a nerve.”
Emboldened, Machia sneered at me. Even with my sword raised high before her, she showed no hint of fear.
“Tell me, why are you even playing at being a Demon King? Is it because you truly love murder?”
“It is for the sake of world peace. By reigning as an absolute power, I can act as a deterrent to prevent humans from warring with one another.”
“A deterrent? Ha... I had no idea the Demon King harbored such lofty delusions. What a pathetic, transparent excuse!”
Machia, who had been nodding along until the middle of my sentence, suddenly screamed. To my surprise, she shoved her one good hand against my chest.
“There’s no way you can do that! You’re just looking for reasons to justify your bloodlust. You’ve convinced yourself you’re just ‘playing the villain’ to sleep better at night. You’re nothing but a coward!”
She pressed her point with terrifying intensity. Her words were fueled by pure, unadulterated rage. She hurled her emotions at me like physical blows.
“............”
I did not retaliate. I found I had no words to deny her claim. I lowered my sword and simply listened.
“You... something happened to you in the past that made you resent the world, didn't it? I can see it. I’ve seen the ugliest sides of humanity since I was a child. You must harbor a despair deeper than anything I can imagine.”
“A deep despair...”
I ruminated on her words. Countless memories raced through my mind. My chest and my empty eye socket throbbed with a faint, phantom pain.
“Demon King... what you want isn't to be a deterrent. You want revenge. You’re committing atrocities under the banner of world peace to justify your own violence. It’s the most wretched thing I’ve ever seen. You know I’m right, don’t you? You know it in your heart, but you’re too afraid to look at the truth.”
“What are you trying to achieve with this?”
When I asked, Machia’s rage vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She gently rested her palm against the chest she had just shoved.
“I’ll help you. I’ll help you with your revenge. You’re a monster, certainly, but you’re a pitiable one. I can only imagine the cruelty you endured to make you hate humans this much. You poor, broken thing.”
Machia smiled with a gaze that was soft and sympathetic. It was a warmth so profound it made her previous vitriol feel like a fever dream.
“Why this sudden change in heart?”
“I lost the war. I can’t go back home; they’d execute me for losing the elite army. In that case, siding with you is the only logical choice left, isn't it?”
The hand on my chest moved, sliding up to cup my cheek. Her eyes were moist, and her face was faintly flushed. Standing on her tiptoes, she whispered as she slowly brought her face closer to mine.
“Only I can truly understand you. Only I can heal those wounds. I’ll do anything you want. So—”
“I decline.”
I cut her off mid-sentence and thrust the Keepsake Sword forward. The blade tore through her torso. Based on the sensation, the steel had pierced all the way through her back. I hoisted the sword upward.
Suspended in the air, Machia coughed up a spray of blood that splashed mercilessly across my form. White smoke began to curl from my skin as the Saint’s blood seared my flesh.
Something slipped from her grasp and clattered to the ground. It was a Holy-Attribute Dagger with a cord tied to its hilt.
“I see.”
I glanced at Machia's fingerless hand. Wrapped around her wrist was a loosening string and a piece of jewelry—the same cord that was attached to the dagger. She had been concealing the weapon the entire time, having lashed it to her arm so she could still deliver a killing thrust even without fingers. At point-blank range, even a clumsy strike could be fatal to the undead. It was the only move she had left in a game she had already lost.
“You tried to destabilize me with harsh accusations, then immediately followed up with honeyed words to catch me off guard. Quite the improvised plan for such a desperate situation.”
I addressed her directly. I had known she was hiding the dagger since the moment she stood up. All those condemnations were a calculated distraction. I doubted it was all an act, but that was precisely what had given her performance such a haunting sense of reality. Machia had weaponized her own emotions to try and kill me.
(She refused to surrender until the very end, searching for a single opening to turn the tables. In that regard, Machia was undoubtedly a hero.)
I felt I finally understood why she, a girl with no extraordinary talent, had been chosen by the will of the world. It must have been this indomitable spirit. Those who can still seek a path to victory while staring into the abyss of an overwhelming power gap are rare indeed. Certainly, Machia was immature, conceited, and arrogant, but at her core, she possessed the soul of a hero.
“Ah... haha... So I... still couldn't... reach you...”
Machia laughed weakly, the light in her eyes beginning to flicker out. The blade through her chest was a mortal wound. Finally accepting her defeat and her death, she let her limbs go limp.
“...Hey. Tell me... the truth.”
“Tell you what?”
“What I said... about humans... what do you... really think of them...?”
I fell silent. I pondered her question deeply, feeling that a deceptive answer would be a disservice to her final moments. After a long pause, I finally confessed.
“—Deep in my subconscious, I suppose I do hate them. It would be impossible for me not to harbor resentment. I... no, we... were subjected to far too much.”
I could no longer deny it. I acknowledged the dark stagnation at the bottom of my heart—an emotion I had spent a long time avoiding. I did harbor despair toward humanity. It was because I despaired, and because I realized that humans would never change, that I became the Demon King. I had chosen to set the world on fire.
In the end, I am human as well. Despite my transformation into a hideous undead, my essence remained the same as it was when I was Dwight Harvelt. No matter how I tried to mask it, my heart had not vanished. It was impossible for me to cast aside my personal feelings entirely to pursue world peace.
“However, my goal of peace is sincere. It is not a mere pretext for revenge. I truly intend to change this cruel world.”
If achieving that goal requires me to fuel my progress with my own filthy, personal grudges, then I welcome it. I am in no position to preach platitudes. I have to build a lasting peace from the ruins of my own transgressions.
“I know this is not the most righteous path. But I will see it through. I carry the lives of every victim on my back as I move forward.”
“What a... stubborn pride... It makes me... want to vomit...”
Machia gave a pained, bloody smile. The crimson flow from her chest traveled down the length of the sword, staining my hand, though its pulse was weakening. There was simply no blood left to give. Her gaze grew distant; it was doubtful she could even see me anymore.
I gave her my final declaration.
“Saint Machia Rhyn Meaditortia. I acknowledge you. But I am the victor. Sleep now, and let your regrets be your only company.”
“In a moment like this... aren't you supposed to... say something kind? You really are... heartless...”
She spoke as if chiding me, a weary, exasperated smile on her lips.
“My apologies. I could not think of anything appropriate to say.”
“...I see. That’s... fine... then.”
She whispered the words brokenly before closing her eyes. Her head slumped forward, her strength vanishing completely. She did not move again.
Standing alone in the city at dawn, I lowered the Saint’s body to the cold ground. A dry wind swept through the ruins. I pulled back my hood and looked out at the cityscape as it prepared to greet the morning. The city, so full of death, was ironically, hauntingly quiet.