I worked alongside countless others, each a different "director" of the operation.
Specifically, we were making minute adjustments to the magic circle.
We had to ensure that, when the spell was triggered, mana would circulate without obstruction.
This was fundamental to any sorcery, yet it remained the most critical phase.
Neglecting it could cause the spell to malfunction.
For a simple incantation, the consequences wouldn't be so severe.
At worst, it would only increase mana consumption.
Even if it failed, the resulting damage would be negligible.
However, matters changed entirely when the goal was resurrection of the dead.
This was among the highest-tier spells in sorcery, and its difficulty was matched only by its danger.
Even after acquiring immense power in the Valley of the Dead, it was something I had failed to achieve for years.
The reason I could finally enter this final stage was thanks to several exceptional presences.
It was a realm I could never have reached with my own strength alone.
So convoluted was the spell that I could declare with certainty there was none more so; it demanded an almost unbelievable level of precision.
Therefore, even the slightest imperfection had the potential to trigger a fatal outcome.
“……… ”
For these reasons, the directors were operating at the peak of concentration.
They were so absorbed in their task that my voice couldn't reach them.
Occasionally splitting into multiple selves, they divided the labor to adjust the magic circle.
Every nerve was focused, and their expressions were utterly, deadly serious.
I had never seen her look so serious.
Not a trace of her usual eccentric demeanor remained.
Not to be outdone by her intensity, I turned my attention to the task at hand.
When the series of checks was finally completed, the director looked up.
She let out a long breath, then addressed me with a refreshed expression.
"We'll handle the fine-tuning from here. Everything is in order, so please go rest, Lord Demon King."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely! We have plenty of hands on deck, after all!"
At her words, the surrounding directors reacted in unison.
They nodded with expressions of quiet competence.
It wasn't bravado—they genuinely seemed to have it under control.
"My apologies, then."
"Not at all! We'll call you when preparations are complete."
Trusting the director's sincere words, I stepped away.
Lingering any longer would only become a hindrance.
Once clear of the magic circle, with nothing else to do, I activated my sensory magic.
Just then, a presence flickered into existence nearby.
The point where it appeared, accompanied by a ripple of mana, indicated it had arrived via teleportation.
I turned in that direction.
Standing there in silence was Grom.
He advanced with awkward movements.
When he reached me, he offered his usual bow.
"Ah, Demon Lord. How... how are you feeling today?"
The greeting sounded unnatural.
His voice was strained.
For some reason, he was sweating as well.
Grom was visibly tense.
He looked as though he had been entrusted with a vital mission, though that was not the case.
His demeanor concerned me, so I asked.
"Are you alright?"
"Y-Yes! I am in perfect condition! I am ready to serve the Demon Lord at any time!"
Grom replied with forced enthusiasm.
He was clearly trying to lift his own spirits.
I considered the cause and quickly realized it.
It was rare for Grom to be this flustered.
He would likely not be this shaken even if his own death were imminent.
Therefore, there could only be one cause.
Grom, the Demon Army's most loyal retainer, was afraid of the death of his master—me.