My vision stained deep crimson.
A copious amount of backwash blood had soaked me.
Without wiping the fluid that ran down my entire body, I stood there quietly.
The hero was touching the place where he had been cut.
Fresh blood intermittently spurted out.
Even though he pressed his hand against it, the force did not weaken in the slightest.
The blood continued to well up without ceasing.
"..."
The hero's mouth moved slightly, but no sound came out.
He staggered and coughed up blood.
Listening closely, he was groaning like a beast.
(He's finally at his limit.)
I judged the hero's condition by his appearance.
The heirloom sword had split his torso.
It wasn't a shallow wound.
It was clearly a fatal injury.
This was not something willpower could fix.
"...uh, ah"
Just when I thought he would collapse, the hero took a clumsy step forward.
He approached, biting off each step as he spilled blood.
Even when nearly stumbling, he never slowed his step.
Eyes burning with sheer willpower, they locked onto me alone.
The raised holy sword trembled, poised only to deliver a single strike to my body.
Summoning the last embers of his fading life, he pushed forward.
And at last, he brought me within reach of that holy blade.
"...!"
The hero let the sword fall as if collapsing mid-swing.
The blade descended slowly, grazing the side of my neck.
Holy light scorched the surface of my bone and sought to sink deeper.
But that was as far as it went.
The holy sword traced a line from my shoulder down to my torso.
The full-force slash did no more than tear the robe I wore.
The hero froze in the posture of his completed swing.
He didn't budge an inch from that spot.
Not even a faint breath could be heard.
I leaned in to peer at his face.
His vacant expression held not a single blink.
Both eyes had lost their light.
He wasn't looking at anything anymore.
The hero was dead.
In the end, he had not fallen easily, enduring even the miasma's power, fulfilling his duty as a human hero to the last.
There was nothing to do but respect the sight of him fighting beyond his limits.
A small crack sounded.
A fracture ran through the holy sword.
The white light dissipated, and the blade shattered into powder.
It vanished, leaving only the hilt behind.
The hero's wish had been to defeat the great evil and bring peace.
It was the same as my own, once.
Though I could not know what developments awaited beyond, his love for peace was surely genuine.
I turned on my heel and headed back toward the fortress.
The fortress blazed crimson, illuminating the night.
There were no screams or death cries to be heard.
It had already been seized by the demon army.
To prove it, new undead wandered its perimeter.
This was the expected outcome.
Without the hero's power, there had been no means of resistance.
I had not confirmed it directly, but I could only assume a one-sided battle had unfolded.
"My Lord!"
Grom, who had spotted me first, sprinted over at a breakneck pace.
Just before impact, he came to an abrupt halt and kept checking whether I was hurt.
He must have been truly worried.
I gently pulled Grom away from me.
"I'm not hurt. I'm fine."
"I-I see... I am relieved to hear you are unharmed..."
Grom visibly relaxed.
The opponent had been the Holy Sword Hero.
He must have been considering even the slightest possibility of disaster.
In the end it proved to be unfounded worry, but his concern was hardly unreasonable.
"Hey there, Chief. Looking hale and hearty."
Henry appeared alongside a casual greeting. His demeanor was nothing like what you'd expect right after a battle.
But the red stains on his clothes and his blood-caked fists told their own story of what had transpired.
He must have laid low an enormous number of soldiers.
For him, taking and giving lives seemed to be no different from any ordinary day.
"I would've liked to fight the Hero myself too. Were they strong?"
"Very. They lived up to that title in every way."
"Now that's something to envy."
Henry said it with genuine wistfulness.
He was, after all, a born combat maniac.
He repeats killings for his own pleasure.
With no particular desire for revenge against humanity, he will do anything on a whim.
His membership in the Demon Lord's army stemmed solely from his enjoyment of war.
His nature is by no means that of a good person.
Yet, he has already become an indispensable man within the Demon Lord's army.
After all, I myself am in no position to criticize anyone based on good or evil.
My plan is to continue collaborating with him based on mutual interest.
"Demon Lord Summer!"
Luciana swoops down from the fortress.
She spreads her arms and leaps towards my neck.
Grom tries to intercept her at the last moment, but Luciana nimbly avoids him.
"Incredible! Defeating the Hero—that's a true feat for a Demon Lord."
"Is it really something to be so happy about?"
When I can't help but question her excitement, she furrows her brow slightly.
"Of course it is! The previous Demon Lord, Sammer, couldn't achieve that. He was defeated by the previous Hero and by you."
"...I suppose that's true."
Her words bring back memories.
Looking back, everything feels nostalgic.
What happened then was already a full decade ago.
The time spent in the Valley of the Dead had been terribly stagnant.
I could only hold his corpse and repeat my questions to myself.
(—There will be time for recollection later. This is not the time for sentiment.)
I needed to face reality, rather than linger on a past that was already gone.
This was no time to let my guard down.
Sensing my inner turmoil, Luciana stepped away from me as if nothing were wrong and delivered her report.
"The fortress has been completely secured. The surviving soldiers have been captured, and no one can resist. What are your orders now?"
"Our objective—the subjugation of the hero—has been fulfilled. The Demon King's army will withdraw. Proceed with preparations immediately."
Upon receiving my command, the three of them returned to the fortress.
It was best to leave the rest to them.
I remained where I was and realized I was still holding my sword.
With a single horizontal sweep, I flung the hero's blood from the blade.
I carefully wiped the edge with my robe and gently sheathed it.
I happened to glance up at the sky.
There, a vast expanse of stars stretched across the heavens.
It was beautiful, almost frighteningly so.
Against the backdrop of the tragedy on the ground, a fantastical spectacle unfolded.
Unconsciously, I spoke aloud to myself.
"—As the Demon King, I have killed the hero. This is an act that directly defies the flow of the age."
The world's tide of history had surely desired the hero's victory.
Evil is meant to be repelled by an irresistible force.
Throughout all ages, this has been deemed acceptable.
In my former life, I was one who believed so.
I aspired to use my talents for good.
There was no way massacring humans could be right.
Manipulating their corpses to wage wars of conquest was an act that could never be forgiven.
It was the very evil I hated above all else and sought to eradicate.
Now, having become its very incarnation, I cannot help but feel the cruel irony of fate.
"But I shall continue down the path I have chosen. If it is to realize world peace, then I shall fall as far as necessary."
To achieve my goal, I will not hesitate to make any sacrifice.
I am the worst demon king the world has ever seen.
I shall accept all infamy and blame.
Only a mad being can correct a mad world.
"When you are resurrected, I shall show you a new world."
An empty vow that will reach no one.
I spoke it to the night sky.