I landed beside the hero and launched a magical attack without pause.
Ten consecutive shots of miasma lances.
"Gu... damn it."
The hero wielded his holy sword with unrestricted freedom.
He sliced through the miasma lances, dispersing them into mist.
Without taking so much as a single wound, he weathered them all.
"Hmm..."
I silently observed him.
His swordsmanship was refined.
For his age, one could call it the realm of genius-level skill.
Given another five years of training, he would surely grow into a remarkable swordsman.
Of course, his life would end tonight.
That was a future that could never come to pass.
The sword he used was nothing more than a magical weapon.
Yet it seemed to have holy light imbued within it.
Likely an ability he had acquired upon awakening as the hero.
(A powerful anti-evil force. It's specialized for killing the undead.)
If struck by that holy sword with a fatal blow, there was a risk of damage to the soul.
It could impede resurrection.
An opponent against whom even immortality's advantages left no room for complacency.
It was an ability clearly meant to kill me, the Demon King.
"..."
The hero stood with his holy sword raised, staring at me.
He seemed to want to say something.
Given his actions up to this point, I had expected him to attack without question.
Eventually, the hero opened his heavy lips.
"Why... why are you doing this..."
Hearing the hero's question, I understood his feelings, albeit vaguely.
This wasn't an attempt to stall with conversation.
He wanted to know the reason for my slaughter.
It was only natural.
I could have answered by attacking instead, but I decided to respond, since the opportunity arose.
I thought it was also a necessary action for me.
I wanted to hear the words of this generation's hero.
Lowering my sword for the moment, I answered the hero's question.
"Because I am the Demon King."
"Because of you, my family died. I had to kill my sister who became a ghoul...!"
"I see."
My actions had spawned countless tragedies within the kingdom.
Continuing to assault human living areas with undead armies, and at times annihilating them myself with magic.
The number of victims would be immense.
I bear sins beyond atonement.
I know this well.
I had understood that would be the case when I carried it out.
Therefore, I am unmoved by any denunciation.
I stand here, fully aware of every evil.
The hero stared at my composed demeanor, speechless.
Then, a dry laugh escaped him.
"Hahaha... your heart doesn't ache at all, does it? As expected of the Demon King."
The hero suddenly looked down.
When he raised his head, his eyes brimmed with intense killing intent.
The radiance of the holy sword grew stronger.
The hero pointed its tip at me.
"I am the hero. Following my destiny, I will defeat you."
The hero declared with resolute bearing.
His face was utterly devoid of the slightest hesitation.
That sight brought a flicker of nostalgia.
It almost felt like I was looking at my former self.
"…………"
I reach for my heirloom sword.
I hooked my finger on the hilt and drew the blade in one smooth motion.
Adopting the same stance as him, I faced the Hero of the Holy Sword.
Silence stretched between us, maintaining our distance.
Noise reached us from the rear.
The fortress forces must be clashing with the Demon Lord's army.
I couldn't afford to split my attention.
A single moment of distraction would be fatal.
"Hah!"
The Hero moved first.
He closed the distance in a blink from a low, creeping stance.
I sensed the activation of magic power.
He was using a highly refined physical enhancement.
I quickly deployed my own magic.
Black vines sprouted from the ground, writhing to ensnare the Hero.
"Annoying!"
The Hero made a small leap.
With minimal movement, he slashed the vines away.
He kicked off the ground, accelerating further.
Now he had me within range of the Holy Sword.
(He's growing during the fight...)
Compared to our first encounter, his reaction speed had clearly increased.
As expected of the hero.
The absurd justice beloved by the world.
But I cannot allow myself defeat.
If I perish here, tragedy will repeat itself once more.
Conflict between humans will only intensify.
In a world without the Demon King, this hero too would become an excessive force.
Those who feel threatened by his power would surely plot to dispose of him.
It would be the same end that I, and that person, once met.
Even if that didn't happen, he would be used as a convenient weapon of slaughter.
The holy sword would be wielded in wars against hostile nations.
In either case, much blood would be spilled.
And it would all be done by the hands of humans themselves.
Such a future is undesirable.
I wanted to change it somehow.
Even if the configuration had to be distorted.
Even if it meant using the Demon King—the embodiment of the world's evil—as a pretext, I wanted humans to join hands.
Peace cannot be spoken of with ideals alone.
"It's over, Demon King!"
The hero unleashes an upward slash with his holy sword.
It is a trajectory that would bisect my torso.
If left unchecked, the Holy Sword would certainly annihilate this era's Demon King.
(But I will not allow that to happen.)
I focus my consciousness.
Gazing intently at the Hero's striking form, I perceive every minute motion with crystalline clarity.
Simultaneously, I intuitively understand how I must respond.
It is the swordsmanship of the previous Hero, dwelling within my soul, that guides me.
I turn my wrist, moving in perfect counter to the descending blade of the Holy Sword.
Our swords collide.
Sparks erupt with a piercing shriek.
The Holy Sword's slash does not touch my body.
At the thinnest margin, it is stopped by the blade of my keepsake sword.
"Wha—what...!?!"
The stunned Hero tries to force through with brute strength.
But the Holy Sword moves no further.
All it does is grind against my blade with a rasping sound.
"Futile."
I swing my sword, deflecting the Holy Sword aside.
Wary of a follow-up, the Hero leaps backward.
A thin red line now marks his cheek.
A faint trickle of blood seeped through.
My blade had grazed him.
"..."
The Hero wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, confirming the bleeding.
He swallowed hard, his expression rigid.
There was fear of the Demon King in his eyes.
For an instant, he had thought himself outmatched.
He must have imagined his own death as well.
Even as the Hero, he realized victory was not absolute.
"It must be frightening. There is no shame in it. It is an emotion all can feel."
I held my heirloom sword with leisurely poise.
My free other hand rose above my head.
The surrounding space wavered, and hundreds of malefic stakes materialized.
Floating in mid-air, they encircled the Hero from every direction.
Every pointed tip was aimed at him.
"What..."
The Hero was rendered speechless by this.
He grimaced, as if enduring pain.
To yield to despair was to invite death.
Even knowing that, mustering the will to fight was difficult.
Human spirit is fragile.
I knew that better than most.
When we fought the Demon King, the only reason I didn't die halfway was because he was beside me.
The current hero was alone.
No one was coming to help him.
Behind him, in the fortress, soldiers were likely waiting for their hero to save them.
As I watched the sun sink completely below the horizon, I addressed the hero.
"I present to you the Demon King. I'll teach you true despair."