"The hero is dead, then..."
I mull over the sub-god's words.
They resonate in my chest.
Honestly, it wasn't something I wanted to hear.
I feel a throb close to pain.
"You've even forgotten the one you buried with your own hands. The hero of the Holy Sword was killed by the Demon Lord, I hear. And the kingdom fell."
"Forget? Impossible—the hero was killed by me."
Facing the sub-god's probing, I murmur.
In essence, I drove two heroes to their deaths.
Both met their end at the culmination of their choices.
Had I acted differently, it might have been prevented.
In every age, I have always denigrated true justice.
(But that is my fate as the Demon Lord.)
Even justice must be fuel as I press forward.
Stopping is not permitted.
I have sacrificed far too many lives to hesitate now.
You might call it making excuses, and perhaps it is.
But I became the Demon Lord prepared to bear every accusation, every resentment, every hatred.
There is no lie in that.
I ready the memento sword and declare.
"I shall continue to reign at the pinnacle of evil. For all eternity, I have no intention of surrendering this position. Sub-God, I will have you die as well."
"You still have the audacity to boast in this situation? What remarkable confidence."
"Without at least that much resolve, one could never be the Demon Lord."
I begin to walk forward with sword in hand.
Once dragged into a subspace, wasteful expenditure of magic is strictly forbidden.
Moreover, magic's effectiveness is inherently diminished.
The fundamental approach remains unchanged.
I simply close the distance and cleave them down.
At my advance, the Sub-God lets out a sigh.
He wears a sardonic expression as he complains.
"...I have some complaints to raise with the folks of the Holy Staff Nation. They have misjudged this generation's Demon Lord."
"What do you mean?"
When I ask, the Sub-God's cheek twitches.
It seems he forced a bitter laugh.
"Information passed down from them. The current Demon Lord is an exceptionally powerful undead, immune even to the Saint's holy magic. That part appears correct, but they also said the Demon Lord was poor at close combat."
"Oh?"
"A typical magic-user, they said. The Demon Lord never takes to the front lines personally, leaving everything to subordinates. Therefore, once you close the distance, you can gain the upper hand. I even studied martial arts on that account, only to end up thoroughly humiliated."
Listening to the Sub-God's words, I am left with a feeling I cannot quite name.
This was the first I had heard of it.
The various nations, it seems, have completely misunderstood my abilities.
It is true that I rarely use a sword.
My days are spent buried in administrative work at the royal castle, seldom showing my face on the battlefield.
Even when I do participate, I only command the undead.
Since a lich is also one of my races, the impression of me as a spellcaster has overshadowed everything else.
As a result, my skill with the sword is not widely known.
The demigod must have acted based on such biased information.
That is pitiable, indeed.
One can understand why he feels like venting his frustration.
The demigod let out a sigh, but his gaze immediately sharpened.
The heavy fatigue seemed to have subsided.
"But I will never give up. Having cast everything aside, the only mission remaining to me is world peace. I will see it through to the end, perfectly."
"And what after you kill me and dismantle the Demon Lord's Army? By what means will you maintain world peace?"
"I will die gracefully. Maintaining peace is the duty of those left behind. A being like a demigod should not exist in the first place. We only become a cause of conflict and trouble for future generations. I, myself, do not want to be used as a weapon."
The demigod spoke in a somber voice.
His true feelings as a human were faintly visible within.
He continued his words as if monologuing.
"The demigod's role is nothing other than the dismantling of the Demon Lord's Army. I will intervene no further. To prevent the emergence of new demigods, I have destroyed all traces of the ritual magic. Now, this inhumane forbidden art can never be replicated."
The underground magic workshop had been meticulously cleansed of evidence.
I had thought he did it because he did not want to leave any weaknesses, but it seems it was actually to avoid creating more victims of the ritual magic.
It is somewhat surprising, but it is a reasonable motive.
Even if one does not go so far as becoming a demi-god, the art of deliberately creating heroes is dangerous.
It would invite great chaos into the world.
It could also lead to new forms of discrimination.
At the very least, it would push things toward a trajectory that is the polar opposite of peace.
In that sense, I could sympathize with the demi-god's act of trying to crush such possibilities.
I stopped when I had approached to a certain distance.
Then I addressed the demi-god, who tensed up.
"I understand your thoughts and your argument well enough. That said, there is something I want to say."
"What is it?"
The demi-god replied warily.
I raised my memento sword, and spoke in a voice that had gone utterly cold.
"I cannot leave the peace of the world in your hands. That will remain my mission from now on."