She stood drenched in rain, draped in pure white garments.
At first glance they appeared ordinary clothing, but every thread was woven from magical power.
More durable than any half-forged armor, surely.
From afar, she fixed her gaze upon me.
Her bearing was precisely as I remembered.
This was no illusion.
She truly existed before me.
And yet, there was one difference from the person I once knew.
Her body harbored an overwhelming quantity of magical power.
It no longer fell within the domain of humanity.
With the will of the world also residing within her, the power she concealed was unfathomably vast.
It was as though the world itself had been given human form.
Yes—the spell I had cast was not, strictly speaking, a resurrection.
It was more akin to positioning her as the dominant personality within a body I had constructed through various extraordinary methods.
It was possible that something had gone wrong, altering her personality or memories.
Tensing myself, I steeled my resolve and spoke.
"Hero..."
"Dwight. It has been some time. I never imagined I would see you again."
She spoke softly.
Her composed, dignified presence was exactly the same as it had been back then.
It evoked her travels during life.
At this point, I realize her personality hasn’t transformed.
Despite having the concept of the World’s Will embedded within her, she hasn’t lost herself.
She stands there as a resolute individual.
I attempt to explain the sequence of events.
But she raises her hand to cut me off.
"I understand the situation. You’ve resurrected me."
"…Yes. I wanted you to see the current world."
Due to the nature of the ritual, she is connected to the World’s Will and the Sword of the Memento.
It seems she has grasped information she hadn’t witnessed or heard through those links.
The perceptive woman accepted her own resurrection and the passage of over a decade without much confusion.
"When I was executed in the Valley of the Dead, you were filled with deep remorse and sorrow—along with a powerful fury. I didn’t expect you’d become the Demon King, but it is like you."
She speaks while looking at me.
Even before me, now an undead, she shows no agitation.
She doesn’t lament my fall into darkness, nor does she rebuke me.
On the contrary, she even says it is like me.
Her steady gaze holds me with an intelligent light.
Receiving that fact, I lower my gaze slightly.
"…I’m sorry."
"Why do you apologize?"
I rejected your wishes and stained my hands with forbidden power rather than accept a quiet execution.
"But you did not become the Demon Lord solely out of a desire for revenge. Am I wrong?"
She asked this with an air of certainty.
She did not doubt her own conjecture for a moment.
Without my saying anything, she had seen through my true purpose.
This was something she could not have known merely from obtaining the records.
It was likely a guess informed by her knowledge of my character.
(I cannot hide things from you...)
We were comrades who had entrusted our lives to each other.
To some extent, we could sense each other's thoughts and feelings.
Her powers of insight, in particular, were startlingly sharp.
When I brooded alone in the shadows, she would immediately urge me to consult her.
There was no need for clumsy evasion or lies.
I decided to reveal my true feelings.
"I wanted to maintain the world's peace. It was different from the future you envision, but it was my own answer."
I would not say I held no desire for revenge toward humanity.
It was true that I left the Valley of the Dead harboring personal grudges and attacked the Royal Capital.
My disappointment and resignation toward humankind remained, and that was precisely why I reigned as the Demon Lord.
At the same time, my desire to realize world peace was genuine.
I wanted to carry on what she had been unable to achieve.
By shifting my approach, I had tried to guide things toward success.
It wasn’t the optimal path, perhaps, but I had given my all in my own way up until today.
Upon hearing my confession, she offered a familiar, warm smile.
It was an expression I’d missed.
"You’ve always been earnest in thinking things through," she said. "If anything, you were more of an idealist than I was, and yet simultaneously a pragmatist."
"...What exactly do you mean by that?"
"I have no intention of denying your vision of world peace. That is the answer you arrived at after ten long years. Hold it high with confidence."
With that decisive statement, she placed her hand on the hilt.
Slowly, she drew her blade.
Aiming the tip toward me, she spoke in a calm, unwavering voice.
"And with that understanding, I must stand against you."
"So it comes to this after all."
"I resonate with your way of thinking, but I cannot endorse it. Therefore, as the Hero, I must stop you."
She spoke without a hint of hesitation.
Despite Diera’s warnings, the Hero truly possessed the spirit befitting the role.
The person I had admired most of all carried an undimmed nobility.
In this moment, I understood.
Our reunion held a profound significance.
I hadn’t resurrected her to gain her approval for my goals.
Nor, of course, was it simply to be destroyed by her.
It was, in his capacity as a modern Demon King, to surpass the world's greatest hero.