A steel ship forged ahead through the desert, unleashing a heavy bombardment.
As the artillery shells closed in at high speed, I twisted my body mid-air to evade them. But they banked sharply behind me, looping back for another pass. Plumes of black mist leaked from the projectiles—a clear sign of embedded curse magic.
I flipped through the air with a leap-like somersault, dodging them once more. I unleashed a Forbidden Magic spell, encasing the shells in shards of black ice. Rendered useless, the shells plummeted and slammed into a tank directly below, triggering a massive explosion.
(Tracking types are a nuisance...)
As I gazed down at the burning wreckage, I felt a sudden prickle of killing intent from my flank. A steel bird was diving straight toward me. According to John's boasts, this weapon was called a "fighter plane."
John and Barulk were both inside. I could see them in the cockpit, their eyes gleaming with malice as they watched me. The plane's mounted guns spat tongues of flame.
I parried the hail of bullets with my magic sword. The sword shattered instantly under the impact, but I could regenerate it as often as necessary. Besides, the rounds were slow enough for me to track clearly.
The plane stopped firing but maintained its collision course. They showed no sign of slowing down; they likely intended to use their sheer momentum to ram me out of the sky.
I dove beneath the craft to evade it, carving through its fuselage with my magic sword as it passed. Trailing black smoke, the plane plummeted and disintegrated in a violent mid-air explosion. Flares of explosive fire rained down onto the desert sands.
Under normal circumstances, that would have been an instant death for both, but they would undoubtedly resurrect nearby in seconds. It had become a monotonous, familiar sight.
The battle had already raged for over half a day. And yet, we continued our cycle of mutual slaughter. John and Barulk had died hundreds of deaths, yet each time they returned as though nothing had happened. Tirelessly, they kept throwing themselves at me.
I, on the other hand, had not died once.
Gwen had warned me that I wouldn't share their privilege of resurrection. Her words were inherently untrustworthy, but I suspected she was telling the truth. My instincts told me as much.
This mental world was a unique, bounded space. Unlike Gwen, who came and went as she pleased, or John and Barulk, who lacked physical bodies in reality, I was likely bound by specific constraints. After all, I had only managed to enter by allowing my physical vessel to be destroyed.
My situational disadvantage was clear. Regardless of the details, one thing was certain: I could not afford to die here. Thus, I fought with meticulous care. As a result, I had yet to be pushed into a true corner.
(I’ve largely deciphered their tactics.)
They relied on overwhelming firepower and a complete disregard for their own lives. By maintaining this suicidal pressure, they likely hoped to wear me down through exhaustion or mana depletion. Ordinarily, it would have been a sound, effective strategy.
In this specific instance, however, it was utterly futile. They had fundamentally misjudged my nature as a Demon King.
I drew a constant, inexhaustible supply of magic power and miasma from the Valley of the Dead. That connection remained intact even here, granting me the fuel to unleash high-level spells indefinitely. Fatigue and mana depletion were non-factors for me.
So long as I remained cautious, their attacks could never kill me. They had played their trump cards several times already, but I had countered every single one. Now that I knew their hand, I simply had to respond with composure.
The momentum was shifting steadily in my direction. Conversely, John and Barulk were growing visibly agitated. Their coordination had become sloppy over the last few rounds, their attacks predictable and monotonous. They clearly realized the tide had turned.
Gwen watched the exchange with a suspicious, scrutinizing expression. She looked annoyed, but when she caught me looking, she fixed a shallow, practiced smile on her face.
She was hiding something. I was wary of her motives, but engaging her directly while the other two interfered was a tall order. It was better to deal with her only after I had cleared away the distractions. For now, Gwen seemed content to stay on the sidelines. If all three were to coordinate an assault, things would take a far more complicated turn. The current arrangement suited me well enough.
(Still, it’s about time I made my move.)
Suspended in the air, I weighed my options while parrying the latest salvo from the mechanical fleet. John and Barulk were losing focus; their movements had become frayed and reckless. Gwen looked bored, clearly having no intention of lending them a hand.
I had plenty of ways to handle "immortal" enemies. During my journey for the Demon King Subjugation, I had faced and overcome such foes many times over. Now that I fully understood their patterns and habits, the risk of failure was negligible.
The time had come to put an end to this tedious stalemate.