Balk's words gave me no small amount of shock.
I had known the true identity of the magical reaction for quite some time.
However, hearing it stated so plainly made it impossible to keep my composure.
To me, the Demon Lord was an entity with that deep a history of entanglement.
"Hahaha, what a wonderful reaction! I'm delighted! This is exactly what I wanted to show you."
Balk clapped his hands gleefully, then raised his right arm for all to see.
As he did, his green eyes darted toward me with a sharp glance.
"Dwight, I know what you want to ask. Why does the right arm still exist? Am I right?"
"…Yes, you're not wrong."
I nodded honestly.
My thoughts had been seen through.
If that was the case, then it would be wiser to be honest and draw out information.
As expected, Balk spoke with a smug look on his face.
"This is something I reconstructed. Using the Demon Lord's horn as a catalyst and multiple forbidden curses to build it. The horn was something he granted me during his lifetime. After three days and three nights of pleading, he bestowed it upon me personally."
Balk solemnly gazed at the right arm, then suddenly began pressing his cheek against it.
He had a dazed look on his face, grinning sloppily.
"This overwhelming magical power and miasma… ahh, it's unbearable. And this is just the right arm! Now you can see just how magnificent he was!"
"What terrible taste. You're using the arm of your object of worship as a substitute for a staff?"
"It's not a substitute. I'm borrowing his power. Can't you understand what an honor this is?"
Balk's expression turned to one of mockery, and he pulled his face away from the right arm.
In response, I declared:
"I have no desire to understand."
"Haha, I suppose this is still too much for you. Well, if you think it stops at just the right arm, you're sorely mistaken. Let me show you what comes next."
Balk placed the right arm beside him.
The cross-section of the arm writhed and swelled eerily.
From it, shoulders and a torso began to sprout.
Then a neck, a lower body, and what appeared to be a left arm all began to swell outward.
It was nothing more than a lump of flesh for now, but it was gradually taking on a humanoid form.
(Leaving this alone would be bad.)
I moved to strike it down, but stopped just short.
I had instinctively sensed the danger.
This was that person's battle instinct.
It whispered that I must not approach carelessly.
Instead, I fired several types of magic at it.
All of them were absorbed by the flesh lump without a sound.
It wasn't damaged in the slightest.
(An impossibly high conversion rate.)
It had absorbed every last bit of the magical power and miasma from the spells that hit it.
If I attacked with my sword, it would instantly drain all my power.
The flesh lump was displaying extreme regenerative ability.
Balk, having watched my actions, wagged his finger and clicked his tongue.
"You'd better not do anything unnecessary. I can't control it in this state either. All that's left is for it to manifest."
What had been only a right arm was now rapidly changing shape.
It was approaching a form I recognized.
The instant I recognized it, countless scenes flashed through my mind.
"…!"
A dull pain hit my head, but I maintained my vigil without letting my guard down.
If there was even a moment's opening, I had to strike it.
Contrary to my thoughts, the flesh lump's growth showed no signs of slowing.
The shape of the full body was already complete, and it was now working on the finer details while spraying blood.
If I interfered in its current state, I'd likely sustain fatal injuries in the crossfire.
(In that case, it would be safer to attack the already-stabilized parts.)
After observing, I reached my conclusion.
Interfering here recklessly would end badly.
There was nothing more dangerous than half-activated magic.
In the past, there were stories of entire cities destroyed by failures in basic magic.
From here, the Royal Capital was visible in the distance.
I should proceed with caution here.
Meanwhile, Balk nonchalantly changed the subject.
"Come to think of it, you've been wondering why I'm alive again, haven't you? Consider this a parting gift—I'll tell you."
He was convinced of his victory and wanted to boast of his accomplishments.
I'd just let him talk.
Complacency always creates openings.
Listening to his ramblings was irritating, but relatively speaking, it benefited me more.
"Ten years ago, I certainly died by your magic. However, I was spared the complete annihilation of my consciousness. My obsession must have made it possible. You should be the same, by the same principle. Facing each other like this, you can tell."
Balk's observation was correct.
The fact that I, who had been executed, was alive—that was purely the fruit of obsession.
Amid a maelstrom of various emotions, before I knew it, I had become a fragile undead.
I had endured ten years of life, endlessly repeating my internal dialogues.
"After that, it was simple. Over the course of many years, I repaired my damaged soul, then seized a human body that was compatible. As the finishing touch, I shattered that human's mind, and my resurrection was complete."
Having learned of Balk's circumstances, I was impressed by his tenacity.
He spoke of it casually, but its contents were beyond imagination.
For one who had met death to repair their own soul—that was simply not something that could be done.
Yet Balk had overcome it through sheer obsession alone.
It was easy to see just how much he burned with the desire for revenge.
At that moment, flames of miasma erupted from the flesh lump mixed with scales.
Making a sizzling sound, it finally began transitioning into a stable form.
Balk raised both hands in excitement.
"Look! It is reborn! Behold!"
The flames, having reached their peak, gradually subsided.
Standing in the aftermath of the flames was a humanoid being.
Its entire body was clad in a mixture of scales and shell, like armor.
Not a single bit of skin was exposed.
Its appearance was reminiscent of a heavily armored knight.
(—How nostalgic. I can remember it as if it were yesterday.)
Ten years ago, the archenemy of humanity who had plunged the world into chaos.
The embodiment of evil who had fought me and that person to the death.
The Previous Demon Lord was there.
"Ahahaha! This is the supreme being! This is the end! The Demon Lord has finally been resurrected! I thank you, Dwight. This great feat was made possible thanks to you."
"What do you mean?"
I felt a sense of unease at Balk's boisterous words.
I had no recollection of cooperating in the Demon Lord's resurrection.
If I could have prevented it, I would have dealt with it at a much earlier stage.
"In addition to the horn, I used another catalyst in the Demon Lord's right arm. Any idea what it might be?"
"…………"
"The remains of the current Hero and the Holy Saintess. The ones you cremated and buried."
Balk's explanation made sense.
I had handled the two bodies.
After burning them to ash, I had buried them at the places where they had each fought.
Balk must have unearthed them.
In the brief time I had been away at the Republic's capital, he had stolen the remains of the two.
He must have researched the locations in advance and been waiting for the right opportunity.
"The remains held no power whatsoever. However, their magical value is immense. If anyone could figure it out, it would be the man called the Sage. What meaning do the remains hold?"
"—Those who would defeat the Demon Lord. Those who were killed by the Demon Lord."
I answered on instinct.
Nothing else came to mind.
Then Balk, tears streaming down his face, pointed at me.
"Magnificent! That's exactly right, Dwight. These two meanings are what matter. The first draws forth events that will bury you. The second, in turn, implies the Demon Lord's survival. Both are indispensable elements for this great one's resurrection! It was precisely because you killed the Hero and the Holy Saintess that I could make it happen!"
"One who would defeat the Demon Lord" referred, in its literal meaning, to an existence that would kill me.
"Those who were killed by the Demon Lord" could be twisted to define that the Demon Lord had not been killed.
The logic was: if one side died and became the loser, then it would be strange for the Demon Lord, the winner, to be dead.
It was somewhat of a leap, but it wasn't impossible to interpret it that way.
By using remains that contained these meanings, Balk had established the effect of his spell.
(Impressive. There's nothing else to say but that.)
Magic existed in many different schools.
The curse magic that Balk excelled in drew its power from piling up sophistry, deception, and strained reasoning.
What seemed like nonsense at first glance was given meaning.
As a result, the world itself was warped.
This resurrection spell was a concept unique to Balk as a curse magic user.
Even given the condition that first-rate catalysts were available, it was a method that no ordinary person could replicate.
The contradiction of a Demon Lord being born for the purpose of killing a Demon Lord.
Balk had pulled it off.
"O false Demon Lord. I shall lay you to rest and revive the true Demon Lord's army."
Saying this, Balk rolled up the sleeve of one arm.
A formula was carved into his arm.
Balk had the Demon Lord touch it.
The formula turned into countless snakes that crawled up his arm and permeated into the Demon Lord.
It seemed to have fixed the soul into the body.
It maintained a far higher stability compared to when it was still a lump of flesh.
Balk placed his hand on the Demon Lord's shoulder.
"I've implanted a subjugation spell into the Demon Lord's soul. He has his own consciousness, but he will never be able to defy me."
"Weren't you supposed to be worshipping him?"
"That's precisely why! I want the Demon Lord to remain the ideal being. By reflecting my intellect, that will be made eternal. Ah, what an honor! There has never been something I've awaited this eagerly!"
Balk cried out in ecstasy.
His eyes were completely consumed by madness.
Alongside his worship, he was savoring the pleasure of domination.
Balk, weeping uncontrollably, addressed the Demon Lord.
"My Lord, do you see the undead before you? That is the Sage Dwight. Let us have you dispose of him with your own hands."
"…………"
The Demon Lord slightly raised its head.
I felt a gaze from behind the shell covering its head.
I could not read its emotions.
Magical power began concentrating in one of the Demon Lord's hands.
Scales and shell overflowed from its fingertips, forming a spear.
It was the weapon that had once tormented us.
The demonic spear that no multitude could withstand.
"Fuahahahahaha! Dwight, this is the end for you! Now, become a sacrifice for the age of darkness!"
Balk declared with an evil tone.
Immediately after, the Demon Lord's arm moved and the spear became a blur.
I tensed reflexively, but was immediately struck dumb.
—The Demon Lord's godspeed thrust had pierced straight through Balk's torso.