I stopped my sword just inches away.
Because there were parts of Makia's words I could not ignore.
I suppressed my killing intent and looked down at her in silence.
Makia, panting heavily, managed a faint smile.
"Didn't you hear? I said you hate humans and enjoy killing."
"I do not hate humans, nor do I despise them. I only kill as a necessary act."
"Then why do you hurt me like this? Not killing me in one blow, watching me suffer—isn't that for your enjoyment?"
Makia stood up.
Her once-pure white coat was now soaked in blood.
The hand missing its fingers was held behind her back, unseen.
As if driven by some impulse, Makia continued her interrogation.
"The soldiers too. You cornered them with magic. You trapped them in an absurdly large barrier, roasted them with flames, and burned them to death."
"...That was the result of seeking efficiency and safety. The greater the cruelty, the more their morale would crumble. It was the optimal way to fight as an individual."
I countered quietly. In that situation, conserving energy was not the priority. Quickly and precisely reducing their numbers was crucial. To avoid the trouble of having them flee into the city, I had no choice but to employ such tactics.
"...!"
Just then, Makia swayed slightly.
It must have been the effects of blood loss.
She bit her lip, then fixed me with a sharp gaze. "Efficiency and safety, hm? Then why are you standing before me with a sword? You could kill me from afar with magic, couldn't you? There's no point in personally killing a powerless girl like me with a sword when I'm all alone. Did you really want to inflict that much pain?"
"..."
"Can't come up with an excuse, can you? I hit the mark, didn't I?"
Triumphant, Makia openly mocked me.
Even with a sword raised before her eyes, she showed no fear.
"In the first place, why are you even playing the Demon King? Is it because you just like killing people?"
"For world peace. By reigning supreme, I can relatively prevent conflict among humans."
"So you're a deterrent? Huh, I had no idea the Demon King thought of such things... That really is a pathetic excuse!"
Makia, who had been nodding up to that point, suddenly screamed.
The nerve of her—she shoved my chest with her uninjured hand.
"That's impossible! You just want an excuse to kill humans! You've convinced yourself you're just playing the villain, haven't you? You're nothing but a despicable coward!"
Makia attacked me with furious intensity.
What radiated from her was pure anger.
In her rage, she hurled words at me without restraint.
"..."
I didn't retort.
I had no words to deny her argument.
I lowered the sword and listened to her claims.
"You've had reasons to resent humans in the past, haven't you? I can tell. I've only ever seen the ugly side of humanity since I was young. You must harbor a deep despair toward them."
"Deep despair..." I chew on those words.
Countless memories race through my mind.
My chest and remaining eye throb, pleading with faint pain.
"Demon King... what you want isn't to be a deterrent. It's vengeance against humanity. You're just wielding violence under the pretense of world peace. The most vile, despicable act there is. You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Deep down, you understand. You're just averting your gaze from it."
"What... are you trying to say?"
When I asked, Makia's fury suddenly subsided.
She gently placed one hand on my chest, which she had just shoved.
"I'll help you get your revenge. You're certainly vile, but you're pitiable enough. I think there was a past that made you hate humans so much. How cruel it must have been, for you to end up like this."
Makia smiled with a gentle gaze.
The fierce condemnation from moments ago was now a warmth that seemed almost unreal.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Having lost the war, I can't return to my country. I'll be executed for letting my elite army be destroyed. It's smarter to lend you a hand, don't you think?"
The hand on my chest moved, now resting against my cheek.
Her eyes glistened, her face faintly flushed.
Standing on her toes, whispering, Makia slowly drew her face closer.
"Only I can understand you. Only I can heal you. I'll do anything. So—"
"Keep dreaming."
I cut Makia off, thrusting forward my heirloom sword.
The tip pierced through her torso.
Judging from the sensation, the blade must have pierced clean through to her back.
I lifted the sword.
Makia, suspended in the air, coughed blood.
It came raining down on me mercilessly.
White smoke rose.
The saint's blood burned where it touched me.
Makia dropped something.
It was a short sword with a holy attribute.
A cord was tied to its hilt.
"Hmm."
I glanced at Makia's fingerless hand.
Her wrist bore the loosened cord and ornamentation.
They were of the same kind as the cord tied to the dagger.
Makia had hidden the short sword in her concealed hand.
She must have forced it into place with the cord and ornaments.
I think she rigged it so she could thrust even without fingers.
If you forced it in at close range, even without momentum, it could deal a fatal wound to the undead.
If the outmatched Makia was aiming for anything, it had to be that.
"Trying to unsettle me with a sharp rebuke, then immediately attempting to coax and lull me with sweet words. To come up with that on the spot in this situation." I told Makia.
The moment she stood up, I already knew she'd been concealing a dagger.
Makia had been putting on that entire performance of accusations to divert my attention.
Of course, not all of it was acting—which is precisely what made it so convincing.
Makia had been using even her own emotions as tools, plotting my murder.
(That spirit, refusing to concede victory until the very last moment, grasping for the one move that could turn the tide. Makia is undeniably a hero.)
I felt I finally understood why someone without extraordinary talent had been chosen by the will of the world.
It must have been for this strength of spirit.
Very few can act toward victory even while fully grasping the overwhelming difference in power.
Admittedly, Makia was immature, and her pride and arrogance were glaring.
Yet, at her core, she possessed what it takes to be a hero.
"Ah, haha... As expected... I couldn't... reach you..."
Makia laughed weakly, the light fading from her eyes.
A sword had pierced her torso.
It was undoubtedly a fatal wound.
Even she, in the end, must have realized her defeat and impending death, as she let her limbs hang limp, making no further move to resist.
"Hey... tell me..."
"Tell you what?"
"What I said earlier... about humans... what do you really think...?"
Makia's question hung in the air. I remained silent.
I pondered over it carefully, turning my thoughts over and over.
I felt I couldn't keep up the pretense here.
After a long silence, I confessed to the saint.
"In my heart of hearts, I do hate them. It would be impossible not to feel resentment. I was... we were, subjected to that kind of treatment."
It could no longer be denied.
I recognized the stagnant pool of emotion deep within my soul.
It was a feeling I had never consciously touched upon before.
I suppose I also hold despair towards humanity.
It was precisely because I despaired, because I realized humanity would never change, that I became the Demon Lord.
And chose the path of tearing the world apart.
After all, I too am human.
Even transformed into the grotesque form of an undead, my essence remains the same as when I was Dwight Harvelt.
No matter how I put on a brave face, the heart within does not vanish.
It meant it was impossible to cast aside personal feelings and work towards world peace.
"But my goal of world peace is genuine. It is not a pretext to satisfy my thirst for revenge. I am thinking of changing this cruel world."
If it serves my purpose, I will gladly use even my sordid personal feelings as fuel.
If that brings world peace closer, then I welcome it wholeheartedly.
I am in no position to speak pretty words.
I must build peace from the depths of depravity.
"I know this is not the optimal path. But I will see it through to the end, for I am moving forward, carrying the weight of my victims' lives."
"Defiant, are we? ... Makes me want to puke."
Makia managed a bitter smile even as blood streamed from her wounds.
The fresh crimson flowing from her torso ran down the blade of her sword, wetting my hands.
Even that flow was beginning to weaken.
There was simply no blood left to spill.
Makia's gaze was becoming unfocused.
It was questionable whether she could even still see me.
I delivered my pronouncement anew.
"Saint Makia Rin Midiltirtia. I will affirm you. But I am the one who won. Sleep with your regrets."
"This isn't... a place for gentle words, is it? How... heartless," Makia chided me.
She laughed, looking exasperated.
"My apologies. I couldn't think of anything clever to say."
"...Fine. It doesn't... matter."
Murmuring in fits and starts, Makia closed her eyes.
Before long, she went limp and slumped forward.
She did not move again.
Left alone in the city at dawn, I lowered the Saint's body to the ground.
A dry wind swept through the city.
I removed my hood, gazing upon the streets as they prepared to greet the morning.
The city full of death was, ironically, quiet.