Chapter 237 - Damn Reincarnation

Lehein

The demon sword Glory.

It was the reason Gavid Lindman was called Incarceration’s Sword, his cherished blade bestowed upon him by the Demon King of Incarceration himself. The only sword capable of withstanding the terrible light of the Moonlight Sword Vermouth had wielded.

He had scarcely drawn it in the three hundred years since then. No amount of neglect would damage its blade. Even so, Gavid sharpened and polished his beloved sword every day.

Tonight, he felt a particular urge to do so.

He recalled Moron as he had seen him a few hours earlier, and the fighting spirit he had exuded. Even the memory sent a pleasurable chill through him. Meeting Moron had brought back the battlefields of three hundred years ago.

‘I thought there might be a little...’

Gavid held the pitch-black blade upright as he reflected on Moron’s dull, sunken eyes.

Three hundred years was by no means a short time, even for a demon.

For a human, it would be unimaginably long. No matter how strong or exceptional a human might be, the long passage of time would wear them down. Just as a great boulder weathered beneath years of wind and rain, so too must a human.

‘...something to look forward to.’

There was a madness in Moron Ruhar born of the three hundred years he had endured. Secretly, Gavid had hoped to see that madness erupt into violence.

But Moron had done no such thing. He had heaped insults upon Gavid, but he had not drawn his weapon and charged at him with a savage roar as he once would have.

“A human who is anything but human.”

Gavid murmured as he gazed at the demon sword drinking in the light.

Moron’s fighting spirit had set his blood afire. He had hoped Moron would attack. Since that had not happened, Gavid had no choice but to take out his sword and soothe his own roused fighting spirit. The demon sword Glory. The glory bestowed upon him by the Demon King of Incarceration. Whenever he felt the urge to run wild, Gavid took out Glory just as he was doing now. Sharpening and polishing its blade quieted that urge.

Just as Glory soothed Gavid Lindman’s madness, Moron must have something that did the same for him.

It was too soon to call it kinship, but that was Gavid’s conjecture. As Moron approached from across the snowfields, his eyes had been as savage as a wild beast poised to tear through its leash. Yet by the time he reached the gates, that savagery had vanished as though it had never existed.

‘Was it because his blood descendants were watching? Or... because he saw the imitation incarnation who looks exactly like Anise Slywood? Or was it because he sensed Vermouth Lionheart’s blood?’

Eugene Lionheart did not resemble Vermouth Lionheart in appearance.

But he possessed the same brilliance Vermouth had. A talent so extraordinary it scarcely seemed human. One day, that talent would produce a hero capable of reaching even a Demon King’s throat. The blood of Vermouth, who had reached those heights, flowed through Eugene Lionheart’s veins.

Moron must have sensed that blood as well. A warrior who had fought beside Vermouth could not have failed to sense him.

... Whatever the reason, it was a disappointment to Gavid. Had Moron surrendered to his madness and attacked, Gavid would have had justification to fight him, claiming he had no other choice.

“Don’t just stand there. Come in.”

Gavid murmured as he sheathed his demon sword. The tent flap lifted of its own accord, revealing Amelia Merwin smiling on the other side.

“Rather humble lodgings for a duke of Helmuth, aren’t they?”

“This is not my territory, is it?”

“They would surrender the castle if you asked. Or shall I build you one?”

“As rude as ever, I see.”

Gavid nodded with a smile. Amelia Merwin. The woman addressed everyone with the same casual familiarity, regardless of who they were. The only person that insolent black mage treated with respect was the Demon King of Incarceration. Had she been rude even to him, Gavid would have cut off her head long ago.

“An amusing offer, and I appreciate it, but I must decline. I find this tent quite comfortable enough.”

Amelia snorted at his answer. The darkness at her feet rose to form a chair. She sat down opposite Gavid and crossed her legs.

“And your tastes remain as appalling as ever.”

Hemoria stood behind Amelia’s chair with a bone clenched in her mouth. Breathing hard, she stared murderously at the top of Amelia’s head, only to flinch and hunch her shoulders when her eyes met Gavid’s.

“Quite a mixture.”

Hemoria’s red eyes. The sharp teeth gripping the bone. Gavid sensed several other things as well. She looked human, but she was not.

“Are you still obsessed with such beings?”

“Have you forgotten how much I dislike that question?”

“Ah, forgive me. It has been so long since we last met. Was it seventy years ago?”

“I’ve forgotten such ancient history.”

Amelia answered with a smile. She playfully ran a hand along Hemoria’s leg behind her as she continued.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”

“We have known each other for two hundred years. We may not have met often in that time, but I know you are a very spiteful mage. On that basis, I suspect you have come to ask me to join some spiteful scheme.”

“They intend to use monsters in the joint exercises.”

Amelia shrugged as she spoke.

“They will summon a very, very large number of monsters. The mages of Aroth, and those of Nahama. Naturally, I have agreed to help them with the summoning.”

“Have you?”

“If you were to contribute a little magical power, I could cause a truly splendid commotion here. What do you say? You could find all sorts of amusement in it yourself.”

“An intriguing proposal.”

Gavid nodded with a low chuckle.

“But I must decline. Personally, I am interested in the commotion you intend to cause, but the Demon King of Incarceration would not wish it.”

“After coming all this way?”

“I did not come north to lend you my aid. I merely wished to see the Hero and the Saint for myself and take their measure. In truth, didn’t you expect this answer?”

Amelia did not deny it. As Gavid said, she had expected him to refuse.

She had not been serious about her proposal in the first place. Even if she summoned a vast army of savage monsters, the forces gathered for the Knight March would dispose of it in no time.

‘There’s no point unless he helps directly.’

Amelia abandoned the idea without regret.

“Then let me ask something else. You have probably guessed as much, but there is something I have wanted to do for a long time. It is why I stayed holed up in that sand-blown desert.”

“Are you worried I might interfere?”

“The other dukes won’t interfere. Noir Giabella will find it all terribly amusing to watch, and Raizakia, that demon dragon, will do the same. But you are Incarceration’s Sword, aren’t you? If I were to do something that threatened the peace the Demon King of Incarceration desires...”

“The Demon King of Incarceration respects his servants’ freedom.”

Gavid did not know exactly what Amelia was plotting. But he knew she had spent a long time preparing for it. He also knew that the Demon King of Incarceration was not wholly unconnected to it.

It was not just Amelia Merwin. The Three Demons contracted directly to the Demon King of Incarceration—Edmond Codret and Balzac Ludbeth as well—harbored the sort of cherished ambitions typical of mages. Gavid considered those ambitions utterly arrogant and presumptuous, but the Demon King of Incarceration placed no restrictions on his servants’ aspirations. Instead, he granted them boundless freedom and helped them achieve their desires.

“I do not know what you intend to do. The Demon King of Incarceration surely does, but he has not told me to stop you.”

“I would prefer a definite answer. Tell me you won’t come to kill me, no matter what I do.”

“That is not for me to decide. If... what you do proves so excessive that the Demon King of Incarceration sorrowfully orders me to bring him your head, I must obey without question.”

Amelia did not like that answer. Still, she accepted that it was the best answer she could expect from Incarceration’s Sword. She nodded without pressing him further.

“I will give no such order.”

There was no reason to remain in the tent, so she had been about to leave. But she could not. A voice had suddenly drifted out of the shadows beneath the lamplight.

There was no great weight or presence to the voice. It was simply a voice. Yet Gavid and Amelia knew all too well what it was.

Both sprang to their feet, their faces turning pale. Hemoria, who had been standing vacantly behind them, tilted her head, unable to make sense of the sudden voice.

“I have no wish to trample upon your efforts and labors.”

Eyes opened in the darkness. Still, there was no sense of presence. Unlike the voice, however, those eyes robbed Hemoria of consciousness the instant she met their gaze. She collapsed, but Amelia could not turn to look at what had happened directly behind her.

“... Your Majesty...! What brings you to grace this humble place with your presence...?”

Gavid bowed his head deeply as he spoke.

He had often heard the voice descending from the highest floor of Babel, the Demon King’s castle. But even for Gavid, it had been a very long time since he had felt the Demon King of Incarceration’s presence and met his gaze like this. It made his body tremble with rapture.

“I have not come to rebuke you.”

The Demon King of Incarceration spoke, still revealing only his eyes within the darkness. Amelia clenched her fists as she felt herself trembling.

“... Then... have you come to rebuke me?”

“I believe I told you. I have no wish to trample upon your efforts and labors.”

“...”

“If your ambition is fulfilled, you will gain great glory. If you fail to achieve it, you must pay the price. Amelia Merwin. All my servants, yourself included, have made the same contract with me. Have you forgotten?”

“... How could I forget? You give me as much magical power as I desire.”

The contract with the Demon King was simple. Whenever Amelia wished, she could draw upon his magical power. It was an immense power, but she could not wield it freely. The power of a great Demon King would destroy even the black mage contracted to him.

It was possible, however, to regulate it: to draw only as much as she needed, when she needed it, without destroying herself. Not only Amelia, but all of Incarceration’s Three Demons possessed that degree of skill.

A contract with a demon always demanded a price. The most common was one’s soul. Upon death, that soul became the property of the demon with whom the contract had been made. A contract with a Demon King was no different. When Amelia died, the Demon King of Incarceration would claim her soul.

And that was not all.

Demon Kings drew strength from awe. Just as worship and faith made a god divine, awe of a Demon King made a Demon King what he was. That was the absolute distinction between a Demon King and a demon.

Such was the nature of a Demon King. Other beings holding the name “Demon King of Incarceration” in awe. Fearing him. That alone elevated the stature of Helmuth’s ruler and strengthened his power. To a Demon King, fear was one sweet variety of awe.

If Amelia ran wild in pursuit of her ambition, the world would tremble at the name of Amelia Merwin, the woman contracted to the Demon King of Incarceration. Even that fear would become his strength.

And when Amelia eventually died, the soul of the terrible black mage the world had feared would be added to the Demon King of Incarceration, along with all her lifetime’s achievements, her accumulated power, and the world’s fear.

Amelia shuddered at the thought of that end. Naturally, she had no wish to meet such a fate. The same was true of every black mage contracted to a Demon King—no, to any demon. With a soul as the price of a contract, death could never offer rest. That was why so many black mages struggled desperately to change their fate, and Amelia was no exception.

“Has Moron come?”

The Demon King of Incarceration murmured.

BOOOOM!

The instant he finished speaking, an immense force blew Gavid’s tent away. Only the tent was blown away. The moment the force struck, Gavid had raised his magical power and protected the space with a barrier.

“How dare you!”

Gavid roared and seized his sword’s hilt. But he did not draw it. The Demon King of Incarceration had not told him to do so. Though his sword remained sheathed, the immense killing intent pouring from him spread beyond the barrier and engulfed their surroundings.

The Black Mist had already gathered behind Gavid. As the mist cleared, the demon knights knelt in unison.

A wavering strand of darkness. Red eyes open at its center. Not one of the Black Mist’s knights had ever met the Demon King of Incarceration, but instinct told them to whom that darkness and those eyes belonged.

“Moron Ruhar.”

The eyes shifted.

Moron straightened from his crouch. He had flown straight from the top of the fortress’s castle. Until moments earlier, he had been happily drinking with Eugene and Anise, but now not a trace of drunkenness remained. There was only immense hatred and killing intent.

“Incarceration...!”

Moron parted his tightly pressed lips and called the Demon King’s name as though coughing up blood. He had been the first to burst onto the scene, but others soon followed. Wreathed in purple flames, Eugene landed beside him. Anise stopped behind Moron with her Wings of Light spread wide.

“I had no wish to cause a commotion.”

The darkness writhed, and the voice flowed out.

People began gathering. The first to arrive were Yuras’s Blood Cross Knights. Raphael’s expression changed as he ran at their head. Darkness. Red eyes. The instant he caught sight of them, he drew the claymore from his back and launched himself off the ground.

“Stop!”

Anise shouted. The immense godly power in her cry brought Raphael to an abrupt halt in midair. He looked up at her in astonishment, then nodded slightly and lowered his claymore.

The Blood Cross Knights faced off against the Black Mist. Soon, the Lionhearts and Kiel’s White Dragon Knights arrived as well. The ever-growing number of knights encircled the Black Mist, cutting off their escape.

That was how it looked, at least. Eugene clenched his fists and glared at the darkness.

The continent’s monarchs arrived.

The Pope of Yuras gasped for breath, clutching his throbbing chest. Though he had performed no miracle, blood flowed from the stigmata engraved on his body.

The emperor of Kiel stared at the darkness with bloodshot eyes. He did not glare. He could not. Unwilling to surrender his dignity, he held his back rigidly straight, but his legs obeyed their instincts and trembled.

They might both be emperors of empires, but the Demon King had reigned through sheer strength for untold ages. And the Demon King of Incarceration was a great Demon King, exceptionally powerful even among the many Demon Kings who had existed. The emperors’ authority meant nothing before his overwhelming strength.

“I do not wish to be misunderstood.”

The Demon King of Incarceration murmured. The darkness writhed and moved.

“Ahhh!” Gavid sank to his knees with a cry full of awe. Amelia could no longer remain standing either. Arrogant as she was, she had no choice but to kneel now.

“I have not come to break the promise.”

The darkness became flesh, became clothing. And so the Demon King of Incarceration stood there, fully embodied. His was a man’s body, with bloodlessly pale skin and red eyes, yet so beautiful that it scarcely seemed male. Stroking the horns that rose through his hair, he continued.

“If my appearance has given you cause for suspicion and alarm, I ask that you put such thoughts aside.”

“... I heard you issued a warning to the world.”

Moron glared at the Demon King of Incarceration with bloodshot eyes.

How could he ever forget that figure? Three hundred years ago, in that dreadful castle of the Demon King of Incarceration, they had met him in this very form on Babel’s highest floor.

And they had despaired.

“I did.”

The Demon King of Incarceration nodded.

CLINK.

Every movement of his hands made the chains binding his wrists ring.

“But I left you a choice. If you hold me in awe, I will respect you. So long as you do not overstep the goodwill I extend to you, I will not be the first to end the peace.”

“... Demon King of Incarceration.”

It was neither an emperor nor a king who spoke. Gilead, the head of the Lionheart family, stepped forward. He wanted to collapse where he stood, but gritted his teeth and resisted the oppressive force radiating from the Demon King.

“I am... the head of the Lionheart family. Gilead Lionheart.”

“I know your name. Descendant of my dear Vermouth, what do you wish to ask me?”

“I wish to ask about... the conclusion of your warning. You made my adopted son the messenger of that warning. You said the end of the promise was drawing near.”

“The promise was never eternal.”

The Demon King of Incarceration tilted his head slightly. His red eyes turned beyond Gilead to Eugene.

“Three hundred years ago, your ancestor, my dear Vermouth, made a promise with me. A promise for peace.”

“...”

“I will not speak of that promise. Vermouth did not wish me to. But, his descendant, do not misunderstand its ‘end.’ The end of the promise is inevitable. Even if you hold me in awe and respect me, even if I extend my goodwill to you, the end will come one day.”

“Then...! Could we not simply make the promise anew? If necessary, I will...”

“Who could take Vermouth’s place?”

The Demon King of Incarceration smiled as he spoke. His words were not directed solely at Gilead. They were addressed to everyone present who looked upon him, and his gaze rested squarely on Eugene’s face.

“No one can take Vermouth’s place. That promise could be made only because it was Vermouth Lionheart.”

The Demon King of Incarceration fell silent. His gaze left Eugene and settled on Moron.

“Enough of your recklessness, Moron Ruhar.”

Moron was in an alarming state. Harsh breaths escaped between his clenched teeth. His muscles twitched as though he might fly into a frenzy at any moment.

“Even if you kill me here and now, nothing will change. Drawing near me will only cause you suffering.”

“Grr...!”

“Do you not have another duty besides killing me?”

CRUNCH!

Moron’s teeth shattered. He glared at the Demon King of Incarceration with eyes red and bloodshot, then drew a deep breath.

“You’re right.”

Moron murmured with a nod. He blinked several times, then gave a hearty laugh and took a step back.

“I want to kill you this very instant. I want to accomplish what we could not three hundred years ago.”

“Do you think you alone, as you are now, can accomplish what you failed to do even while fighting alongside Vermouth, Senya, and Anise?”

“No, I don’t. I thought I wanted to attack you and die.”

Moron answered honestly.

“But I cannot die that way now. So I will not attack.”

The Demon King of Incarceration’s smile changed slightly at that answer. He watched Moron with smiling eyes, then nodded.

“I respect your answer.”

The smile vanished from his face.

“Not only yours, Moron Ruhar. Monarchs of the continent, knights who serve them, mercenaries who roam the battlefields, warriors. I respect your will. I know why you have gathered here.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“And so I shall withdraw. If you desire war, come to my domain, Pandemonium, as your ancestors did three hundred years ago. Ascend Babel, my castle, and point your swords at me.”

The Demon King of Incarceration’s body began dispersing into darkness.

“If that is your wish, I will gladly await you there. Is this sufficient reprieve, Eugene Lionheart?”

The Demon King of Incarceration suddenly called Eugene’s name. Even as he dissolved into darkness, he watched Eugene through narrowed eyes.

“Master of the Holy Sword. Descendant of Vermouth.”

Eugene gave no answer, only glaring at him.

“Will you ascend Babel?”

The Darkroom.

Vermouth’s voice came back to him.

[“Stand before the Demon King of Incarceration’s throne, as you did before, and meet his true self. What happens after that is something you must experience yourself.”]

“Yeah.”

Eugene twisted his lips into a smile. He raised his middle finger pointedly at the dispersing Demon King of Incarceration.

“I don’t know when it’ll be, but I’ll be there.”

“You bastard!”

Gavid bellowed, never having imagined that Eugene would make such a gesture at the Demon King of Incarceration. But the Demon King laughed as though delighted. Catching Gavid by the shoulder as he tried to rush forward, he shook his head.

“Do not be rude.”

“Your Majesty...!”

“He is my guest.”

The Demon King of Incarceration whispered. Gavid bowed his head, his face contorted.

Just before he vanished, the Demon King of Incarceration looked at Eugene with smiling eyes.

“I eagerly await the day you come to Babel.”

With those words, the Demon King of Incarceration disappeared.

Gavid remained kneeling with his head lowered until the very moment his king was completely gone.

... His guest. That was unquestionably what the Demon King of Incarceration had said, and Gavid harbored no resentment toward those words. Eugene Lionheart’s blasphemy deserved hundreds, thousands of deaths, but the Demon King had told Gavid not to be rude.

‘Until he comes to Babel.’

Gavid chewed his lip and calmed himself. Only then did he rise.

No—before he could rise, Eugene suddenly charged, his sword descending toward Gavid’s head.