Chapter 13: The Price of Power

One.

The hero’s body can only be harmed by the power of the Demon King.

Two.

Even among heroes, it is impossible to damage each other’s bodies.

Therefore, with the Demon King now vanquished, the only way to eliminate a hero is to secure an item infused with the Demon King’s energy—mana—and use it for an attack.

Just like now.

Slash!

I swung the cursed sword, slicing off a hand.

The back of the hand and the fingers were severed cleanly.

No blood flowed. There was no blood left to bleed out anyway.

Min Sena’s hand had already become a lifeless sculpture, and no matter how much I swung the cursed sword, I couldn’t further damage it.

Not because of my ability.

But because of efficiency.

“Ugh, damn it. This efficiency is terrible.”

I withdrew the cursed sword and checked the state of the magic power within it.

“Crammuta, how many more times can I swing this thing?”

[Depends on how you swing it. If you push it to the limit, you could exhaust the remaining magic instantly. Use it sparingly, and it might last you over ten years.]

“Does the magic decrease even when fighting non-heroes?”

[Of course. Magic doesn’t discriminate between heroes and ordinary humans.]

Since revealing my true nature, Crammuta had been cooperative.

[Based on the magic you used to chop off Femme Fatale’s wrist, you might have about 30 swings left.]

Now, it even detailed the state of the sword to this extent.

“Damn it. There’s so little magic left.”

[Then why didn’t you save some of it here? Or hand it all over to the Demon King?]

“Are you insane? If the Demon King had wielded this sword, we wouldn’t have won. Honestly, the Demon King was an idiot for sharing his weapons with others. And how was I supposed to know I’d need this thing now?”

I couldn’t blame anyone for the lack of magic left in the cursed sword.

“The sword wasn’t destroyed because it couldn’t be; that’s why it was sealed. If it could’ve been broken, we’d have smashed it on the spot.”

It was a relic our allies had risked their lives to seal.

“And you think I’d give it to the Demon King? Don’t be ridiculous.”

[Hmph. It was sarcasm. Who would sincerely suggest that?]

If the sealing had failed, we all would have died. The Demon King wasn’t just a murderer; he was an unthinking butcher who exterminated anything that wasn’t a demon.

– “D-Demon King! I surrender! Please, spare my li—ack…?! Why…why would you…?”

– “Humans must die. Heroes, deserters, all without exception. Wipe out every man, woman, and child.”

The idea of handing the sword back to the Demon King, charging it with mana, and then using it to eliminate the heroes? That was absurd.

I’d just have to use it as it was.

“Is there any way to recharge the magic?”

[You could absorb it from other items imbued with magic. But do you think humanity would have left such things lying around? And didn’t you say the Demon King’s castle was reduced to rubble? Where would you even find such items now?]

“…Tch.”

Crammuta was right. There was a method, but no means to execute it.

The Demon King’s castle was destroyed, and the Demon King was dead.

Unless there was some hidden magic stone filled with the Demon King’s energy, there were only four items in the world that contained such power.

The four sealed weapons, including the cursed sword Crammuta.

But even these were merely the remnants of the Demon King’s strength, not sources that could be replenished.

“I’ll just have to rely on the other demon generals’ weapons and hope some of the Demon King’s power lingers in them.”

Using the cursed sword recklessly wasn’t an option anymore.

If I wasted its energy, I wouldn’t have it when it truly mattered—when I needed to cut down a hero.

“Looks like I’ll only be using this thing for critical moments. Once it’s drained, it’s not even my primary weapon anymore.”

Though it was a fine blade, if it became no better than an ordinary sword incapable of harming a hero, there’d be no reason to use it.

[Hey. You’re not going to toss me away just because I’m drained of magic, are you? Right?]

“That depends.”

[Depends on what?! Have I ever gotten in your way?]

“You’ve killed nearly ten heroes. Yourself.”

I pressed my thumb hard against Crammuta’s core.

“Just because those women were despicable doesn’t mean I’ll forgive you or the other demon generals. Got it? You’re nothing more than tools for me to use.”

[…Hmph. Do as you please. I’m just using you too. Once you’re gone, we’ll reclaim our bodies and free ourselves from this cursed sword. Then we’ll reform the Demon King’s army.]

“Go ahead and try.”

I only needed to leave with the one I loved.

“Whatever you four decide to do—whether it’s holding hands and destroying the world together—it has nothing to do with me. Just don’t stop me from leaving this world with her or drag me back here later.”

[Fine. And just so we’re clear, don’t come back to ruin things when we’re conquering the world, got it?]

“What does your world domination have to do with me? Do I look like someone who’d dedicate his life to protecting this world as a hero?”

[Glad to hear it.]

Whether this world perished or thrived, I’d return to Earth and never look back.

Was it irresponsible?

The true irresponsibility lay with the goddess who summoned us here.

We defeated the Demon King for her; the rest was her problem.

I’d cleaned up the mess—did she expect me to scrub the floor too?

[So, what are you planning to do with that severed hand? Toss it to the beasts as fertilizer?]

Crammuta gestured at the five pieces of the severed hand: four fingers and the palm with only the middle finger intact.

“Good idea.”

[Right? If some beast devours it, no trace will be left. It’ll all be digested.]

“Assuming there are still beasts left around.”

[…How about the flames of the underworld?]

“They were extinguished with holy water, blessed by the Saint herself.”

[All of them? Geez, humanity’s something else.]

“Humans will do whatever it takes to survive. To pierce the Demon King’s ‘impenetrable shield,’ we gathered and destroyed all 108 pieces before launching an attack.”

Many died in the process.

Though there were 108 pieces, it wasn’t as simple as assigning one to each person to destroy.

The surviving four, including Femme Fatale Min Sena, likely never even saw the fragments.

“I’d love to chop it into one-centimeter pieces, but the situation doesn’t allow for that. Tch.”

Using the cursed sword to cut it further would mean wasting precious energy.

A clear dilemma.

[Then what’ll you do? You can’t keep carrying that thing around—it’s unsettling. Just toss it somewhere?]

“I will. But not without a plan.”

Thinking back to a scene from a movie I’d seen on Earth, I decided to use a similar method.

“It’s about time… Ah, perfect timing.”

Wrapping Crammuta in a cloth to hide it, I prepared to meet the person who had just knocked roughly at the door.

“…Hmph.”

“Maestro. Long time no see.”

A stout middle-aged man, shorter than me by about two spans, stood before me.

A dwarf.

His beard was bushy, his hair a wild mess, and his face carried the weight of countless battles and craftsmanship. This was Meister Rachdarmas, a man with whom I shared a deep connection. He was the one who had forged the weapons and armor for the heroes.

“Meister Rachdarmas, it’s been a while,” I greeted him formally.

This man had lost his brother on the same day I had lost eight of my comrades—during the infamous assault on the Goddess’ church. Despite retreating to live quietly in the southern continent, his skills as a craftsman remained unmatched.

“I need your assistance,” I said directly.

“Just call me Rach,” he replied gruffly. “You’ve earned that much. Now, what do you want? I’ve been living a quiet life in this backwater village, and here you are, stirring up trouble again. Everyone’s talking about you these days.”

“It’s all baseless accusations,” I said, dodging his gaze. “The Goddess told me only one other person and I could return to my original world. Just one.”

This part, at least, was true.

“I suspect that the other three women have fallen victim to the Demon King’s curse,” I continued.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s not something I can openly discuss,” I said, lowering my voice. “But I can tell you this: if they band together to kill me, I won’t be able to defend myself. All my comrades who could have helped are gone, lost in the war against the Demon King.”

Rachdarmas looked at me silently, his expression hard to read.

“…So, what is it you’re asking of me? Don’t tell me you want the ‘re-forging of the Demon Sword.’”

I shook my head. “No, Meister. I have a different request.”

I placed the box I’d brought onto the table and opened it. Inside were severed fingers and a hand.

The sight made Rachdarmas recoil in disgust.

“This… Is this the hand of her? Femme Fatale?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “It’s her hand, severed by my blade.”

“And what do you plan to do with this?” He shot me a sharp glance. “Besides, even harming another hero like this is… impossible unless…”

“I used the Demon Sword,” I admitted. “But I assure you, I’m not cursed by the Demon King.”

I spread my arms wide, showing him I had nothing to hide.

“Oh, former King of the Dwarves, please help me. I am innocent,” I said solemnly.

Rachdarmas’ eyes narrowed. “Undertaker… What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Before I leave this world, I plan to dismember the cursed heroes into 108 pieces and scatter those pieces across the lands. But not just scatter them…”

I mimed pouring something from a bottle.

“I’ll encase each piece in molten metal, let it harden, and sink it into the depths of the sea.”

Rachdarmas stared at me, horrified.

To dismember. To encase. To sink.

It was a cruel, deliberate method of ensuring no one could ever put them back together again.