The Demon Lord and the Grim Reaper (3)
Neromeltia di Isis’s favorite sweet pastries and fragrant rose tea were served. Before Iel deet Jiskil sat a glass of red wine accompanied by a few pieces of fruit. Once the tea service was prepared, the banshees took their places behind Neromeltia and Iel to attend them, two of them standing at their sides with the wine and teapot in hand. Whether it was Iel drinking wine instead of tea or Neromeltia devouring pastries as though it were a meal, neither of them quite fit the image of a proper tea time.
“It seems our pleasant daily routine together will soon be set aside for quite some time.”
“…Hm? Why?”
Neromeltia, who had been savoring a butter cookie topped with whipped cream and cherries, her cheeks faintly flushed, looked puzzled by Iel’s unusual tone. Sensing something oddly out of place, she turned to him, but Iel merely smiled enigmatically and gazed back at her.
“I’ll be back in no time anyway. Why act like we won’t see each other for ages?”
“I wonder.”
Iel simply sipped his wine. His expression was calm, yet there was a hint of loneliness that was absent from his usual demeanor. Suddenly, Neromeltia decided to turn the strange atmosphere against him and teased, “Are you worried I’ll succeed in resurrecting and never come back? After all, who else would play with a weirdo who drinks wine at tea time besides me?”
“Haha. You were the one who used to demand beer and meat the moment you arrived. I was the one who advised you to at least observe the etiquette of tea time.”
“Beer or wine, they’re both fermented drinks! Meat or pastries, they’re both food you eat!”
“Every occasion has its own appropriate atmosphere, does it not?”
The banshees had never seen their master wear such a peaceful smile. He had always been cold and composed, and when someone dared to defy him, a mad frenzy would overtake him. Yet ever since he had come to know this otherworldly Demon Lord, something about his presence had softened, even acquiring a touch of gentleness. He had always been a benevolent ruler to his subordinates and subjects, but the aura he carried was still the very symbol of destruction and death. For the servants, seeing such tranquility settle over him was a most welcome sight. That was why they quietly looked forward to Neromeltia’s visits, and why they enjoyed the warm, friendly atmosphere between the two.
One of the banshee maids standing behind Iel could not hide her emotions and let a faint smile bloom on her lips.
“Oh my, young lady. Care to play with me?”
“Ever since you told me not to covet the children, your tea has yet to even cool.”
“How terribly strict of you.”
Neromeltia had caught that tiny smile with frightening speed and immediately shot her a flirtatious glance. When she displayed the kind of brazen attitude one might expect from some ill-mannered middle-aged man, Iel promptly reined her in. Looking thoroughly displeased and disappointed, Neromeltia downed the tea he had mentioned in one gulp, and the banshee holding the teapot promptly refilled her cup.
Neromeltia watched the demure banshee maid pouring tea with a pleased expression. Observing her, Iel spoke with a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
“Did you not say there are many waiting for you in Terraris? Since your resurrection is nearly upon us, you might as well enjoy yourself to the fullest before you go.”
“You corpse of a friend, that’s a bit much even for a joke.”
Knowing full well that she was bound to the Underworld for a thousand years, unable to return even if she wished to, Neromeltia found it difficult to take the remark as a lighthearted jest. It was hard to believe that the friend who understood her sorrow better than anyone else in this realm would say something so inconsiderate. Still, their relationship was so absurdly casual that she could let it slide.
“The ones you’ve been longing for. Are you not curious how they’re faring?”
“That’s enough. You’re not going to tell me anyway, spouting nonsense about the rules of the world or whatever. You can peer into any dimension you please, yet you won’t say a single word. How heartless.”
Neromeltia’s somewhat sulky attitude seemed to amuse Iel, and the conversation continued without pause. Iel smiled more deeply, as though recalling something, and added one remark after another.
“I wonder if your beautiful First Blood is doing well.”
“A-Ahh!! Stop!!”
Iel’s sparkling tone, like that of a prince in a play, was utterly ridiculous. The banshee maids, who rarely saw their master behave so informally, struggled more and more to suppress their laughter, and several of them even let out giggles. Neromeltia, on the other hand, felt her face burn as Iel openly referenced the embarrassing stories she had blurted out while drunk in the past. Mortified, she buried her face and shouted at him.
“I wonder if your young and adorable demon is doing well.”
“Aaaahhh!! Stop!!”
“I wonder if your romantic black knight is doing well.”
“Kyaaaaaaaah!!!!!”
Now covering her ears and screaming, Neromeltia made Iel laugh as though he found her endlessly entertaining, and the banshee maids joined in with their own refined chuckles. Seeing the woman who had been flirting like a middle-aged man moments ago now acting like an innocent maiden filled them with affection. Though Neromeltia, with her face buried and ears covered, did not notice it, every laugh in the room was laced with warmth.
“Rise, my friend the Demon Lord. It is time.”
Before she knew it, Iel had stood and approached her side. Neromeltia looked up at him, sensing yet another shift in his demeanor. She rose as well and stood before him.
“Seriously, what’s with you today? Did something happen?”
“You truly do not know?”
“No, I really don’t. You’re completely different from usual. Isn’t it always just ‘I’ll be back’ and ‘Mm’ or ‘Welcome back’ and ‘Mm’ on this day?”
“Heh heh heh. Well, this too is a form of amusement.”
A brilliant light began to descend upon Neromeltia’s head. It was the same radiance that led to the mortal realm, one she had experienced nine times before. Piercing through the darkness of the Underworld, the dazzling light seemed to radiate vitality just by its presence. It gently enveloped Neromeltia, and surrounded by the glow, she looked around. Everyone was smiling at her—pure, radiant smiles blessing her. At the center of them all, the Grim Reaper extended his hand and spoke.
“In the name of Iel deet Jiskil, Grim Reaper, I acknowledge the resurrection of Neromeltia di Isis, Demon Lord of Terraris and sovereign of Hemonigent.”
“What is wrong with you today!! What’s going on!!”
The atmosphere was utterly unlike any previous resurrection. Neromeltia could only shout at Iel in confusion. The light grew stronger, and Neromeltia, at its center, gradually lost sight of her surroundings. As her vision began to blur within the brilliant radiance, Iel’s fading figure whispered his farewell.
“Do not forget me even in the mortal realm, and summon me from time to time. My only friend.”
It was a deeply kind and affectionate remark. Listening to the soothing whisper, Neromeltia’s soul vanished into another dimension.
Rumble rumble rumble!
A vast hidden cavern within Barkus Volcano. The site of the tragedy where the Humians had once poured concentrated fire upon the Demon Lord’s resurrection, waiting only for that moment. A sorrowful space where the Demon Lord’s resurrection and death had occurred simultaneously, time and again. The Resurrection Temple. Atop the altar in its center, a tremendous concentration of Luina began to coalesce, forming a single body. The figure gradually took shape, acquiring flesh and bone, skin and hair, until it regained its original form. The appearance that had existed in Terraris a thousand years ago was at last manifesting once more in this world.
Her jet-black hair, reaching down to her waist, shimmered faintly under the red glow of the luminous stones embedded in the cavern ceiling. A pair of Demonic horns extending forward gave her an air of antiquity, like a laurel wreath or tiara. Her exceptionally large and supple breasts, matched by her equally prominent hips, accentuated the seductive allure of her beauty, captivating all who beheld her. Her slender waist and elegantly curved figure flaunted the charm of womanhood to the fullest, adding the standard of a noble work of art. A naked beauty so exquisite one might mistake her for the goddess of beauty herself materialized upon the altar.
As she opened her eyes, ruby irises that seemed to hold blazing flames took in everything around her. More concerned with the quiet atmosphere surrounding her than with her own bare form, the woman was filled with questions, yet she knew one thing for certain: she had succeeded. Neromeltia di Isis’s resurrection had come to pass after ten deaths.