Chapter 3: Demon King

In various parts of the Demon Realm, it was common to see broken stone fragments rolling across the ground.

One might think it’s natural for stones to roll on the ground,

but few knew that some of those buried fragments once came together to form an image of the Demon King.

As time passed, the art carved into the stones had faded,

and no one would remember a king who no longer even existed in the stones.

Three hundred years had passed since the Demon King’s power was shattered by the Hero’s courage, and the Demon

Realm had fallen into a colony of the Human Realm.

In the resurrection chamber of the now abandoned Demon King Cult, a small heart was beating.

The Demon King clearly remembered the moment when his heart was pierced by the Hero’s sword. Rather than the

fear of pain or death, the feeling that overwhelmed him first was the realization that he had been defeated.

This is how my era ends.

I am no longer the king of the Demon Realm.

Though the Demon King himself felt regret,

he could still say, with the many accomplishments he had achieved, that he had led a splendid life.

No one would dare challenge that assessment.

Above all, the Demon King did not worry much about the Demon Realm after being defeated by the Hero.

There was no need for reasons. The Hero was the leader of the enemy, after all.

The Demon King knew very well what kind of world the Hero desired.

The Demon Realm’s living space had been confined to the Demon Realm itself,

and the Hero, who had longed for peace, would surely never sow the seeds of another war.

A Hero with both skill and purpose would never act in a way that would bring about a new war.

However, the Demon King’s consciousness did not follow the death of his body.

“…What is this place?”

The Demon King’s consciousness was seated on an unnamed throne in a space devoid of anything. He could not die

even after death, and while alive, he could do nothing.

It felt as if he was trapped in a coffin, spending meaningless time.

The only thing in that space was the throne, and nothing else.

When he opened his eyes, there seemed to be something beyond the darkness,

but when he closed them, nothing but the throne could be felt.

In this place, the only thing the Demon King could do was reminisce about his past life.

The conclusion of all his memories, trapped in the contradiction of his death and failure, was nothing but bitterness.

Since there was no clock, he couldn’t tell how much time had passed.

There was no movement, so he couldn’t even feel the passage of time.

There were no numbers, and thus, he was trapped in endless time.

The Demon King’s mind was not something that would crumble even in such a world.

Even if time passed here for what felt like centuries,

he would simply stroll through his memories when bored, or think about this space when frustrated.

He had hundreds of years of ruling experience and thousands of loyal subjects, as well as knowledge that might help

him deduce something about this space.

Such a sturdy mental barrier could not be breached by time or loneliness.

Still, there was something that would catch the Demon King’s curiosity.

The one thing he was curious about was what had become of the Demon Realm.

Had a new Demon King risen to restore order after my death?

How many of my loyal subjects had turned to the new Demon King? One of them might have even become the

Demon King.

How did the war end? Surely, the Hero would have chosen the path that spilled the least blood.

If only he could know, he would be so pleased.

What kind of emotions would the Demon King feel if he could see the Demon Realm now…?

After another long stretch of time,

one day, a sound began to emerge from the throne where his consciousness sat.

At first, when the sound was faint, it seemed like a clue to solving the mystery of this space.

But as the sound grew louder and became intelligible,

the Demon King’s consciousness finally began to waver.

The sound was the prayers of the Demon King Cult’s priestesses, asking for salvation.

“Did the Hero… turn my Demon Realm into a colony?”

Before anger, doubt filled his mind.

The fragments of stone that rolled across the ground were a common sight in the Demon Realm.

Although one might think that it’s natural for stones to roll around on the ground, few knew that some of the

scattered fragments once formed the shape of the Demon King.

Over time, even the art carved into the stones had faded, and now, no one would remember the king who had once ruled the realm.

Three hundred years after the Demon King’s power crumbled before the hero’s courage, and the Demon Realm had

fallen into the hands of the human world as a colony, small hearts began to stir in the abandoned resurrection

chamber of the Demon King’s church.

The Demon King clearly remembered the moment his heart was pierced by the hero’s sword. More than the pain or

the fear of death, the realization that he had been defeated was the first thing that struck him.

“My era ends here.”

“I am no longer the king of the Demon Realm.”

Though the Demon King himself felt regret, even if he considered his life a success standing atop countless

accomplishments, no one would dare challenge his self-assessment.

Above all, the Demon King was not particularly concerned with the state of the Demon Realm after his defeat.

There was no need for an explanation—after all, the leader of the enemy was the hero.

The Demon King knew very well what kind of world the hero sought.

The influence of the Demon Realm was confined to the Demon Realm itself.

The peaceful era the hero so longed for would come, and the hero, who possessed both strength and purpose, would never sow the seeds for another war.

However, the Demon King’s consciousness did not follow his body’s death.

“…Where am I?”

The Demon King’s consciousness sat upon a nameless throne in a space that seemed to contain nothing. He could

not die, even after dying, and now, though still alive in a way, he could do nothing.

It felt as though he were trapped in a coffin, passing time without meaning.

The space contained nothing but the throne, and there was nothing else.

When he opened his eyes, it seemed there might be something beyond the darkness, but when he closed them, nothing but the throne could be felt.

In this place, the only thing the Demon King could do was dwell on the memories of his past life.

The conclusion of all his memories was his death and failure, and in this paradox, his only remaining retainer—his memory—served him nothing but the bitterness of the past.

With no clock, the passage of time was unknown, and with no movement, he could not even sense the flow of time.

Without numbers, the Demon King was trapped in infinite time.

His mind, however, was not something that could simply fall apart because of a little time or solitude.

No matter how long he was trapped in this place, his strong intellect allowed him to endure.

When boredom set in, he wandered through his memories, and when frustration arose, he pondered the nature of this space.

His mind had been built through centuries of ruling and knowledge of thousands of loyal followers. This mental barrier would not be easily breached by time or loneliness.

Yet, there was something that piqued his curiosity.

What had become of the Demon Realm?

Had a new Demon King risen to restore the chaos after his death?

Which of his loyal followers might have defected to the new Demon King? Perhaps one of them became the new Demon King?

What of the war? Surely, the hero would have chosen the path of least bloodshed.

If only he could learn the answers, he would feel a great sense of joy.

As he entertained these thoughts, after what seemed like another incredibly long stretch of time, a sound began to echo in the throne room.

At first, the sound was faint, and the Demon King considered it a clue that might lead to unraveling the mystery of this place.

However, as the sound grew louder and intelligible, the Demon King’s mind began to waver.

It was the sound of prayers from the priestesses of the Demon King’s Church, beseeching for his return.

“…The hero… turned my Demon Realm into a colony?”

Before hatred, doubt arose first.

That couldn’t possibly be true.

The one who had never bent, no matter the hardship, would never have changed.

If that were the case, then the current state of the Demon Realm couldn’t be the hero’s work.

Who dared interfere with the world the victor of history wanted to create?

If the hero was not the victor of history, then who else had defeated the hero?

The Demon King began by denying the voices.

This must be the work of the one who trapped me here.

No matter how great a nation is, it cannot avoid screams.

If only the screams were gathered and presented to me, they could make me believe anything.

The Demon King had to erect new mental barriers to protect himself from these whispers. Without them, he would not have been able to withstand the screams.

These voices, after all, came from the Demon Realm he loved.

Who could turn a blind eye to the screams of those they loved?

The Demon King had always loved the Demon Realm, and now its screams slowly gnawed at his sanity.

No matter what the Demon King tried, he couldn’t close his ears to the voices.

The voices of the people were something the Demon King could not ignore. If someone was deliberately trying to manipulate him, it must be someone skilled in such tactics.

Thus, the Demon King decided to confront the situation head-on, seeking contradictions in the prayers.

But this, too, turned out to be a mistake.

The Demon King was too skilled.

The prayers of the priestesses were desperate, and many of them were filled with contradictions—logical inconsistencies.

At first, this reassured him. These inconsistencies seemed to confirm that this was just some elaborate scheme.

However, as time passed, the numerous prayers began to connect in a way that couldn’t be ignored.

It was a curse born of knowledge.

His brilliant intellect pieced together the countless stories and truths buried in the prayers.

This was something all wise beings instinctively did from birth.

Even if he didn’t want to, he could not stop it.

He couldn’t ignore the suffering of his people as the voices continued to pile up, constructing a picture of the current Demon Realm.

A place that had lost all resemblance to its former glory—a place where suffering and fanaticism consumed everything, leaving behind nothing but rotting corpses.

“Demon King! When will you return to us? Where are you, abandoning us?”

“The children are in danger, Demon King. I can do nothing. Please…”

“Why must I suffer like this? Why must I endure such sorrow? If you’re alive, please answer me!”

“Why should I call you a god? They say their gods always answer when needed. What are you fighting against now, Demon King? A failed king, indeed…”

“…The Demon Realm… should have had another king.”

The image of a living hell in his mind became undeniable, and as voices of despair echoed endlessly, the Demon King simply sat upon his throne, shedding tears.

He had never felt such helplessness in his life.

If there was a problem, he could always solve it.

The hearts of men were but toys in his hands, and the fertile lands, with their buried treasures, could be obtained at his will.

He had never once felt this powerless, listening to nothing but complaints.

What had happened to his loyal followers who once shared his vision? What had happened to the cities he built, the golden plains?

Where had everything he had fought for gone?

Where was he when everything collapsed?

“Demon Realm…”

Why do you still consider me your king?

Why do you, the faithful, still pray to this failed king, shouting for his resurrection?

What exactly did the hero fail at, and how did my loyal followers fall?

Do you still carry the light of the Demon Realm’s golden age?

Answer me, this incapable king.

The Demon King was not the type to ignore the voices of his people.

He was willing to offer his mind to those who had nowhere else to turn.

And so, he slowly began to crumble.

But it was the voices of the people that had brought this fallen king back to life.

“Greetings, Demon King. A new day has begun.”

“…?! Who’s there? Is someone there?”

Hearing a voice different from the previous prayers, the Demon King called out with hope and opened his eyes.

The throne remained unchanged. He was still alone in his solitude.

“It’s almost the season for flowers to bloom. I hope they bear good fruit this year.”

“…What is this…?”

He couldn’t fathom how long he had been carrying the sorrow within him.

But in all that time, this was the first time he had heard such warm words, so it wasn’t surprising that the Demon

King was startled.

The ones who spoke these warm words were a new sect that had recently emerged within the Demon King’s cult.

They believed that ever since the Demon King’s heart had been pierced, he could never die and was condemned to suffer.

Rather than leaning on the Demon King, they believed they should raise him up again.

Their reasoning was eerily similar to the current state of the Demon King.

“There may still be geniuses in the Demon Realm. They say the child we’ve been raising in hiding learned math at an incredible speed.”

“We are waiting only for you, Demon King. We hope that on the day your great strategy is completed, you will use us.”

“We believe the Demon King will surely overcome this.”

“Once the Demon King is revived, I want to call that day the ‘day of rebirth.’”

Below, in the Demon Realm, it was impossible to know how much time had passed.

Yet, throughout all that time, the Demon King had only betrayed their expectations.

And still, they continued to believe in him.

Why?

Even the Demon King himself struggled to accept such trust.

But within those warm words, the Demon King’s spirit was swiftly restored.

Thanks to that, the Demon King regained the brilliance of his prime.

At some point, he realized something.

Even though his body was dead, his mind had not perished. Something was binding his consciousness.

Whoever had placed him on this throne and continued to let him hear the voices of the Demon Realm — was it a

punishment for failure?

If so, who was judging him?

If it was some divine being who imprisoned him here, they would have revealed their purpose by now.

If it was a curse from the hero, there should have been a crack of some sort once the hero had failed.

None of the countless theories could explain why the Demon King remained bound to the throne.

But there was one theory that, to the Demon King, seemed extremely convincing.

And it was a theory he truly wanted to believe in.

What if all of this was the will of his people?

What if it was the desires of the countless inhabitants of the Demon Realm that kept him in this place?

If they still wanted him to be their king, to be their god, and their wishes manifested in the form of this throne, then so be it.

Demon Realm, sing of hatred, vengeance, pain, and sorrow.

If all the time he spent on this throne was an accumulation of the will of the Demon Realm, then he would gladly smile and embrace that pain.

No longer would the Demon King’s mind be infiltrated by anyone.

Within the prayers of the priestesses, the Demon King awoke with the sharp eyes of his prime and watched the flow of time.

And once again, after countless moments, the time came when he finally heard the prayers not of a priestess, but of an ordinary Demon Realm inhabitant.

“Here, there is blue.

It is the dream held by the children.

These children, centered around one who wishes to become a magician, nurture each other’s dreams.

That dream is the very color the Demon King wishes to see.”

A blue flame appeared on the opposite side of the throne, beginning to shine.

Though the flame was small enough to be contained in two hands, the light it emitted was anything but small.

With that dazzling light, it revealed to the Demon King the form of Lerege.

As the Demon King saw Lerege and the blue flame, he instinctively realized:
That child.

That child would be the one to free him from this prison of a throne.

But for now, that child needed help.

If left as they were, they would never escape from the dreadful fate ahead.

So, the Demon King gave his command.

As the true ruler of the Demon Realm, as the king they truly desired:

“Demon Realm, I am still your king. If I am to be a new god, then yes, I command as the Demon King.”

The Demon King reached out towards the blue flame.

“Bring that child to me. I need that child.”

And a Demon Realm inhabitant answered that command.

“…Demon King?”

That was the essence of the dream the grandmother had seen.