Barulk’s words struck me with no small amount of shock.
I had known the true nature of that magic power reaction for quite some time. Still, hearing it stated so explicitly made it impossible to maintain my composure. For me, the Demon King was a figure of profound significance—a ghost from a past I could not escape.
"Hahaha, what a delightful reaction. It warms my heart; this is exactly what I wanted to show you."
Barulk clapped his hands gleefully and held up his right arm. As he did, his green eyes glared sharply in my direction.
"Dwight, I know what you want to ask. How does his right arm still exist? That is it, isn't it?"
"……Yes, you are not mistaken."
I nodded honestly. He had seen through my thoughts, and in this situation, it was wiser to be straightforward to draw out more information. As expected, Barulk began to boast with a triumphant look on his face.
"This is something I reconstructed. Using the Demon King's Horn as a catalyst, I built it through the application of multiple forbidden spells. I was granted the horn while he still lived. After three days and nights of begging, he presented it to me with his own hand."
Barulk stared intently at the right arm before suddenly beginning to nuzzle his cheek against it. He wore a vacant, slovenly smile.
"This overwhelming magic power and miasma…… Haa, it’s irresistible. All this from just the right arm! You can clearly see how magnificent that gentleman was!"
"You have poor taste. Are you using your object of worship’s limb as a substitute for a staff?"
"It is no mere staff. I am borrowing his power. Do you truly not understand the honor?"
Barulk pulled his face away from the arm, his expression turning to one of mockery.
"I have no desire to understand," I stated flatly.
"Hah-hah, it seems the concept is still beyond you. Well, if you think this ends with just a right arm, you are greatly mistaken. I shall show you the rest now."
Barulk placed the right arm on the ground beside him. Immediately, the cross-section of the limb began to wriggle, swelling up ominously. Shoulders and a torso sprouted from the stump, followed by a neck, a lower body, and a left arm. It was currently little more than a mass of flesh, but it was rapidly taking on a humanoid shape.
I considered attacking, but I stopped myself at the last moment. I had intuitively sensed a profound danger. It was her Battle Instinct whispering to me, warning me not to approach carelessly.
Instead, I fired off several types of magic. Every spell was absorbed by the mass of flesh without a sound. It remained entirely undamaged.
The conversion rate was staggering. It was greedily consuming every scrap of magic power and miasma from the spells that struck it. If I were to attack with a sword, my strength would likely be sucked dry in an instant. The mass was exhibiting an extreme level of regenerative power.
Seeing my attempt, Barulk clicked his tongue while wagging a finger.
"It would be best if you didn't do anything unnecessary. Even I cannot control it in this state. All that remains is for the manifestation to complete."
What had been only an arm was rapidly shifting. It was approaching a form I knew well. The moment I recognized it, a flurry of memories flashed through my mind.
"……Ngh."
A dull pain throbbed in my head, but I forced myself to keep watch. If an opening appeared, even for a second, I had to strike.
Contrary to my hopes, the growth of the flesh did not slow. The body was already complete, and it had begun refining the finer details amidst a spray of blood. Interfering now would likely result in a fatal counter-reaction.
I reached a conclusion after careful observation. To strike now would lead to disaster. Nothing is more dangerous than a half-activated magic spell; there are even historical accounts of entire cities being wiped out by a single failed basic ritual. Given that the Royal Capital was visible from here, I had to be cautious.
Meanwhile, Barulk nonchalantly changed the subject.
"By the way, you were wondering how I’m alive, weren't you? Consider this a parting gift for the afterlife."
He was clearly convinced of his victory and felt the need to boast of his achievements. I let him talk. Complacency always creates a crack in one’s defenses. It was galling to listen to his nonsense, but the information was valuable.
"Ten years ago, I certainly died by your magic. However, I managed to preserve my ego. My obsession allowed it. I imagine it was the same for you; I can tell just by looking at you."
Barulk’s assessment was correct. The fact that I survived my execution was entirely due to my own tenacity. Amidst a whirlpool of conflicting emotions, I had realized I had become a fragile undead. I had survived those ten years in a state of constant internal dialogue.
"After that, the rest was simple. I spent years repairing my shattered soul and then hijacked a human body with high compatibility. Once I crushed the original owner's spirit, my resurrection was complete."
I found myself impressed by his sheer persistence. He spoke of it lightly, but the reality was beyond imagination. For a dead soul to repair itself is an almost impossible feat. Barulk had overcome that barrier through spite alone. It was clear just how hot his desire for revenge burned.
At that moment, flames of miasma erupted from the scale-covered mass of flesh. With a searing sound, the figure finally stabilized. Barulk held up both hands in a state of high excitement.
"Look! He is reborn! Feast your eyes!"
The flames peaked and then gradually subsided. Standing in their wake was a single demi-human. He was encased in a mixture of scales and carapace that functioned like heavy plate armor. Not an inch of skin was visible. His silhouette was that of a massive, imposing knight.
It was nostalgic. I could remember it as if it were only yesterday.
The nemesis of humanity who had plunged the world into chaos ten years ago. The incarnation of evil with whom she and I had fought a desperate, life-or-death struggle.
The Previous Demon Lord was standing there.
"Hah-hah-hah-hah! This is the supreme! This is the end! The Demon King has finally been resurrected! You have my thanks, Dwight. It was a feat made possible only because of you."
"What do you mean by that?"
I felt a snag in Barulk’s words. I certainly had no memory of aiding in a resurrection. If I could have stopped it, I would have done so long ago.
"For the Demon King's Right Arm, I used another catalyst besides the horn. Can you guess what it was?"
"……"
"The Ashes of the Current Hero and Saint. The ones you cremated and buried."
Everything clicked. I was the one who had handled their remains. I had cremated them and buried them in the places where they had fallen. Barulk must have desecrated those graves. In the brief window while I was at the Republic's Capital, he had stolen their ashes. He must have scouted the locations and waited for the perfect moment.
"No power remained in the ashes themselves, but their magical value was immense. Surely a man hailed as a Sage can deduce it? What meaning did those ashes hold?"
"—The one who defeats the Demon King. The one killed by the Demon King."
I answered based on a flash of intuition. There was no other possibility. Barulk pointed at me, tears of joy streaming down his face.
"Wonderful! That is exactly right, Dwight. These two meanings are paramount. The former draws in the event that will see you entombed. The latter, in turn, dictates the Demon King’s survival. Both were indispensable to this gentleman’s return. It was only because you killed the Hero and the Saint that I could achieve this!"
"The one who defeats the Demon King" referred to an existence that would kill me, the current Demon King. "The one killed by the Demon King" was used to define the logic that the Previous Demon Lord had not truly been defeated. Since one side was the loser who had died, the logic followed that the victor—the Demon King—could not also be dead. It was a leap in reasoning, but magic often operated on such conceptual distortions.
By using catalysts imbued with these concepts, Barulk had stabilized the ritual.
It was a magnificent piece of work. There were many systems of magic, but the curse magic Barulk specialized in drew its power from sophistry, deception, and forced logic. What seemed like nonsense on the surface created a conceptual anchor. As a result, reality itself was distorted. This Resurrection Formula was an idea that only a curse user like Barulk could conceive. Even with the necessary catalysts, it was a method no ordinary person could replicate.
The contradiction of a Demon King being born specifically to slay a Demon King—Barulk had actually done it.
"O false Demon King. I shall entomb you and restore the True Demon King's Army."
Barulk rolled up his sleeve, revealing a magic formula engraved on his skin. He pressed his arm against the Demon King. The formula transformed into countless snakes, slithering across the armor and sinking into the body. He was tethering the soul to the physical vessel. Compared to its state as a mass of flesh, the entity now possessed a high degree of stability.
Barulk placed a hand on the Demon King’s shoulder.
"I have embedded a Subservience Formula into the Demon King's soul. He retains his ego, but he can never defy me."
"I thought you worshipped him?"
"That is exactly why! I want the Demon King to be an ideal existence. By having my own intellect reflected in him, he shall remain perfect for eternity. Oh, what an honor! Never have I looked forward to anything so much!"
Barulk let out a cry of pure ecstasy. His eyes were steeped in madness. He felt the thrill of worship and the pleasure of dominance simultaneously. Weeping with joy, he spoke to the Demon King.
"Demon King, do you recognize the undead before you? That is the Sage, Dwight. Let us dispose of him by your hand."
"……"
The Demon King raised his head slightly. I felt a cold gaze from deep within the carapace covering his face, though his emotions remained unreadable. Magic power began to pool in his hand. Scales and carapace overflowed from his fingertips, forming a single weapon.
It was the very weapon that had once pushed us to our limits. The Matchless Magic Spear.
"Fuhahahaha! Dwight, this is the end for you. Now, become a sacrifice for the Age of Darkness!"
Barulk issued his command with a wicked grin. Immediately, the Demon King’s arm blurred. I instinctively braced for the attack, but I was instantly stunned.
The Demon King’s god-speed thrust had driven clean through Barulk’s chest.