A Warrior Race (1)

It took a full week for the Demon Lord Gallery to return to anything resembling normal after weathering the massive retaliatory offensive launched by the Heroes.

Five ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠days had been spent repelling the onslaught, followed by two agonizing days of cataloging casualties, assessing devastation, and restoring broken infrastructure. By any metric, it had been a catastrophe of historic proportions.

The registered user OneEyedGeezer casually brushed it off as an annual tradition—nothing worth sweating over—but for the life of me, I couldn't comprehend how anyone could view such madness as insignificant.

Once the dust settled, the state of the gallery could be summed up in a single phrase: pure, unadulterated pandemonium.

It was not as though the Demon Lord Gallery had ever been a bastion of civility, but the present chaos stemmed from a specific catalyst: postwar cleanup. True to the term, the board was engulfed in flames over tallying the fallen, distributing reparations, and, above all else, hunting down and executing traitors. It was prime firewood, and the entire board was ablaze.

A single glance at the front page revealed the sheer spectacle of the meltdown.

Virtually the entire catalog centered on a single registered user—the notorious Hero collaborator known as Equilibrium.

At first glance, an outside observer might have sighed and declared, This place is cooked; witch hunts, callout threads, and cliquey drama have ruined the forum. But in reality, that wasn't the case at all. For once, this particular firewood and target had been formally sanctioned by the moderation team.

"...Wait, those last two lines are new to me."

I had been well aware that the user Equilibrium had abused his dual identity as both a Hero and a Demon Lord to play both sides, selling out Demon Lord intel and actively assisting the Hero Gallery. But logging in on burner accounts to wage psychological warfare and spam griefing manifestos? That was news to me.

Then again, he was technically a Demon Lord, so absurd treachery went with the territory. Still, pulling stunts like that made it entirely natural that the entire user base wanted him strung up by his heels. Thus, Equilibrium's formal punishment had been decreed—and was currently being carried out live.

As for why it was unfolding in real time...

In essence, it was an ancient Roman gladiatorial sentence, dragged kicking and screaming into the digital age. The only real difference was the compact duration of twenty-four hours, but given that every single challenger was a full-fledged Demon Lord, it was far from a light ordeal. Whatever its severity, the announcement had ignited the forum into an absolute frenzy.

Was it that Demon Lords were inherently a warrior race, or did being a warrior race naturally turn someone into a Demon Lord? I didn't know which came first, but one reality was undeniable: every soul on this board was utterly intoxicated by the promise of violence.

"What on earth is getting them this worked up?"

Watching the posts roll in—each dripping with a healthy splash of genuine insanity—I found myself bewildered by their manic jubilation.

My skepticism was entirely reasonable. Over my three-odd weeks browsing the forum, I had spectated several arena matches myself. The dimensional video feeds of Demon Lords clashing had been amusing at first, but the novelty wore off fast. Stripped down to its core, their arena battles looked virtually identical to the endless supernatural skirmishes I had spent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my youth slogging through on Earth. Furthermore, modern visual effects back home could recreate that tier of cinematic destruction with ease.

I posted my question into the digital ether, but perhaps because the forum was moving at breakneck speed, several minutes passed without a reply. Just as I was about to give up and dig through the archive tabs myself, our resident explainer made his customary entrance.

Seeing the two reliable regulars respond, a spark of genuine curiosity caught in my chest. I immediately navigated back to the notice board, opened the pinned thread, and tapped the arena link nested under clause 2-1.

A bizarre prompt hovered in the center of my vision. I stared at it for a few quiet moments, completely unsure of what to make of the request. Shoving the prompt off to the periphery of my vision, I quickly fired off another inquiry to the gallery.

The reply arrived almost instantaneously.

With an explicit guarantee from the self-proclaimed encyclopedia of the Demon Lord Gallery, I saw no further reason to hesitate. I focused on the prompt, confirmed the authorization, and pressed the arena link once more.

A familiar, sharp luminescence bloomed across my retinas, blotting out my vision for a split second. When the glare dispersed, what greeted my eyes was a colossal, ancient colosseum.

"...What in the world?"

Disoriented, I scanned my surroundings. A staggering circular amphitheater carved of weathered ash-gray stone soared upward, enclosing a vast circular pit of white sand at its heart. The towering spectator tiers were eerily vacant, while the central pit below was stained with a chilling amount of dried crimson gore. Taking in the tactile reality of the chilled breeze and the faint scent of copper, realization set in.

"Is this... the new spectator mode?"

Nothing else made sense. Based on forum chatter and archive records, physical dimensional transfer was an astronomically difficult feat, nearly impossible for casual viewing.

"Spot on. Given what you've survived, you seem far less shaken than most would be."

A cultivated voice echoed from right behind me. For a fraction of a second, my body coiled, instincts screaming that an unknown trespasser had entered my blind spot. But my intellect and memory kicked in before violence could take over. I recognized that smooth cadence and measured timbre; there was no need to stay on guard. I turned slowly to find a man—or rather, a Demon Lord—standing calmly behind my seat.

"The Marquis?"

"By your timeline, has it been two weeks? Perhaps three? It is good to see you again, Demon Lord Shin Soohyun."

A raven gentleman clad in an immaculate black three-piece suit, leaning gently on an ivory cane. He looked entirely unchanged from our prior encounter.

"I certainly didn't expect to run into you here. Or... should I even be calling this place 'here'?"

"If virtual reality qualifies as a place, then yes," the Marquis replied with a subtle chuckle. "As you've likely deduced, this arena simply takes the dimensional three-dimensional feed you viewed before and layers a slight sensory modulation over your sight, hearing, and touch. For all intents and purposes, it is indistinguishable from reality."

"Is this magic as well?"

"Indeed. However, the activation parameters are extraordinarily stringent, meaning only those with managerial privileges are permitted to deploy it. That said, aside from the drastically enhanced immersion, it functions no differently than our usual arena."

Magic really is an all-purpose cheat code, isn't it?

I couldn't help but marvel inwardly. The cold stone bench beneath my thighs felt undeniably solid, and the blood-soaked expanse below carried a weight far more visceral than mere reality. There was nothing artificial about it.

"So down there in the center of the ring... that's where this registered user, Equilibrium, will be fighting?"

"Precisely. At present, he is granted a brief intermission. Let us see... eleven hours of his twenty-four have elapsed, leaving thirteen remaining. There will still be plenty worth witnessing; the vast majority of those who challenged him earlier were mere rabble."

"Is he really that impressive to watch?"

"Without question. Whatever faults one might find in his character, the swordsmanship of that Hero spy—pardon me, of Equilibrium—is pure enough to serve as an instructional textbook for any blade master across the cosmos. To witness the pinnacle of the blade, the absolute summit of dual-wielding wielded by a true Sword Master... that is a spectacle money simply cannot buy."

Listening to the Marquis's calm, measured praise, I felt an uncharacteristic heat kindle in my chest. A Sword Master wielding twin blades. For any man who had ever dreamed of martial perfection, the phrase alone carried an undeniable, magnetic romance.

"Hearing you say that actually makes me look forward to it."

"Ah, the upcoming matchups have already been scheduled. You should take a look. If you check your gallery interface right now, you will find a newly generated tab labeled 'Special Arena.'"

Just as he noted, a brand-new navigation bar had materialized at the edge of my field of view.

"Marquis, what are these entries in the middle where several names are lumped together on a single line?"

"Ah, those are precisely what they appear to be: multi-challenger handicap matches. As you have observed on the boards, that man possesses terrifying strength. Baal and I had to exhaust ourselves considerably just trying to balance the scales."

I glanced at the names. A twenty-versus-one? Even if they were attempting to compensate for an overwhelming gap in skill, could throwing twenty combatants at a single swordsman still be classified as a duel? The question hovered on my lips, but I swallowed it whole. Expecting conventional common sense from Demon Lords was an exercise in pure futility.

"Ah, the next match appears ready to begin," the Marquis observed, adjusting his cuffs. "I must return to my administrative duties and manage the forum. Enjoy the spectacle to your heart's content. The one-eyed elder will be joining you shortly, so feel free to direct any questions to him."

Much like his arrival, the Marquis of Wolves vanished into thin air without leaving so much as a whisper of wind behind.

"...And he's already gone."

Sitting entirely alone in the massive stone bleachers of a mythical arena felt profoundly strange. Should I have popped some popcorn before diving in? Just as the absurd thought crossed my mind—

Caw—!

A piercing raven's cry cut through the quiet air, followed instantly by the prickle of another presence beside me. My body moved on instinct, turning toward the sound. Standing there was a young man.

Neat, snow-white hair framed a striking face. A weathered leather eyepatch covered his right eye, a gnarled wooden staff rested in his grip, and a sleek black raven was perched comfortably upon his shoulder.

"...Who are you?"

"Ah, didn't anyone give you a heads-up? I could have sworn they said they'd let you know."

"Wait, are you... One-Eyed—"

"You've heard of me, then?" A faint, roguish smirk touched the corner of his lips. "Allow me to introduce myself. The High Sage, the All-Father, and countless other titles follow in my wake, but..."

The young man paused, letting the silence linger for dramatic effect, before speaking a name that sent an absolute shockwave through my mind.

"I'd much prefer it if you called me Odin."