45. The Resignation Letter of the Longest-Serving Loyal Subject
45. The Resignation Letter of the Longest-Serving Loyal Subject
'I have to say it.'
There was no other choice.
For demons, what they build through desire is their foundation, their secret art — their everything.
If a past bound by fealty existed, then to begin anew, that past had to be put to rest.
Even if the act might drive him to his own death.
'I must speak... to my liege.'
Amid that growing impatience, his lowered head slowly rose, and the figure of the lord he served began to materialize hazily before his eyes.
-Wooong, wooooong.
No — barely its outline was visible at best.
The torrent of power that filled his body devoured the very form meant to be seen, rendering his appearance impossible to grasp with the naked eye.
Depending on the angle, he looked like an adult, then like a child — impossible to tell whether he was man or woman, human or beast...
"...Four Heavenly Kings."
They faced him in that unknowable form.
Then the Demon King slowly parted his lips, breaking the heavy silence.
"My loyal vassals... have all of you gathered here?"
Goosebumps rose at his voice, distorted by the torrent of power.
The first to speak in that moment was Beelzebub, who served as general affairs officer of the Demon Lord Army.
"Yes, my Demon King. All Four Heavenly Kings have answered your summons. Please, tell us why you have called us here."
Though his words carried his characteristic courtesy, he still could not entirely suppress the trembling of his body.
That was only natural. The being before them possessed such overwhelming power that his mere presence in that spot could crush everything around him.
On the other hand, everyone gathered here believed that simply by following the path he forged, they could indirectly fulfill their own desires.
That expectation was the very reason they could face the being before them without feeling nothing but terror...
"My Demon King, before we receive your command, just a moment..."
"Ah, wait — before that. Hey, Demon King! There's something I need to say, if you don't mind?"
Taking advantage of that breathing room to voice his own intention — a hand went up first. Grizzville.
Mephisto, whose hand had been prepared to deliver a resignation letter, silently turned his gaze toward the one who had risen.
Toward the most avaricious demon, who constantly eyed his rank even at a moment like this.
"Alright, you lot, listen up! Right here, in the presence of the Demon King, I'm going to make a declaration."
Soon, he drew everyone's attention as he spoke.
Somehow managing to overcome even the aura radiating from the Demon King with the force of his own prodigious, innate desire.
"Mephisto Rage. Right here, under the Demon King's gaze, I challenge you to a duel!"
After that, Grizzville turned his eyes toward him and said exactly the words Mephisto had expected, cracking a bitter smile.
As Mephisto stood there quietly under that gaze, Grizzville burst into triumphant laughter, as if the silence itself was beneath contempt.
"You'd better not think it's strange. Considering everything you've done in the Demon Lord Army up to now, everyone here knows that second-in-command is wasted on a clown like you."
"...Oh dear."
"Pffft~"
Beelzebub shook his head as if troubled by Grizzville's words, and Yasmo Deus burst into laughter as if amused.
The same sentiment applied to the other demons surrounding them.
Rather than consternation, there was interest — even admiration and longing that someone dared say such a thing openly before the Demon King...
The atmosphere that formed was generally leaning in favor of Grizzville.
'But none of that matters to me.'
Yes, because he was a Clown.
Rank, feats, strength...
If none of it helped make his liege smile, then it had never been worthy of his attention in the first place.
"Demon King, you think the same, don't you? Don't you find it laughable that a worthless clown who contributes nothing to your army presumes to stand as your right hand?"
And yet, there was only one reason he still did not step forward.
He believed he first had to confirm how his liege would receive those words.
If he were to so much as agree with what had just been said —
"I...."
If he were to express even the faintest emotion at that insolent remark —
Then Mephisto could even consider tearing up the resignation letter he held against his chest.
"Why must I concern myself with such matters?"
But in the end, the words that emerged were precisely what he had foreseen from the start.
The moment that voice quelled the disquiet in the chamber, a flush of bewilderment began spreading across Grizzville's face — the face that had, until now, been brimming with confidence.
"...What?"
"I cannot comprehend why you ask such a thing of me."
The Demon King spoke, looking down on the flustered Grizzville.
"Matters of rank are for you all to settle among yourselves. Why should I trouble myself with something so trivial?"
Drop.
The murmuring that had been rippling through the chamber died in an instant.
Only two people in that place maintained their composure, having anticipated those words.
The Clown, who had predicted his state from the very beginning.
And the Reaper, Mongma, who in that moment stared not at the Demon King but at the Clown.
"Demon King, what are you saying right now? If you didn't like the rankings, you were the one who told us to crush each other with force and prove it before you..."
"M-My Demon King!"
Before Grizzville, who failed to notice and still blurted out his confusion, Beelzebub urgently raised his voice.
"P-Please ignore Grizzville's proposal for now and tell us why you summoned us. Surely there is a reason you called all Four Heavenly Kings here?!"
If they carelessly unsettled his mood, they could not rule out the possibility that his demonic hand might reach out against them.
At those urgently spoken words born of that judgment, Grizzville belatedly grasped the situation and forced a laugh.
"R-Right, right, Demon King. Let's hear it! What is the reason you personally summoned the four of us here!"
Everything they had achieved up to now had been possible only because of the Demon King.
If he took displeasure in their current actions, everything they had built could turn to foam.
The cold sweat streaming down Grizzville's face taught that the arrogance of the Plunderer did not extend to the Demon King himself.
"We've brought ruin to many worlds, but you've almost never personally summoned the four of us like this, right? I-It must be because there's something that can only be accomplished by calling on us. Huh? Am I wrong?"
"...Yes, indeed. There was something I desired from you."
Grizzville smiled brightly, thinking he had fortunately managed to appease him.
It was surely an expression of relief that the situation had been smoothed over, and anticipation for what was to follow.
"Heh heh! And come to think of it, this world is completely unlike anywhere we've trampled so far. Not just those weak, pathetic humans, but living corpses, monsters that have transcended humanity... and even those so-called Heroes have appeared!"
A world overflowing with things on an entirely different level from the trivial worlds they had passed through.
So, in this world, surely there was much to be attained.
Guessing that this was what had stimulated his desire and made him summon them, Grizzville began burning with zeal, as if proclaiming himself the Demon King's trusted confidant.
"So just give us any order, Demon King! Whatever you desire, we'll achieve it with our own hands!"
Destruction, plundering, violating — they could do it all.
If the entire army combined their strength, dominating and trampling a single world like this one to dust would be nothing at all.
"You would do anything for me, is that it?"
Demon King Solomon rose from his throne at that proof of loyalty.
Soon, his crimson eyes flashed as he spoke toward Grizzville.
"Then die for me."
"...What?"
-Kwaaang!
A thunderous noise.
As the body that had launched from the throne crashed down, a fountain of blood erupted from that spot and began spreading in all directions.
At a speed none present could even perceive.
"Wh- wha...?"
By the time they desperately chased only the afterimage with their eyes, everything had already ended.
Severed limbs squirming scattered across the floor, and beneath them, thick blood spreading viscously...
The final end met by the demon called the Plunderer was a wretched ruin, just like the weaklings they had trampled until now — that was all it was.
"Looking back, I have lived having done everything that could be done."
As everyone held their breath and watched that sight,
the Demon King, standing above it, raised his head and murmured in a low voice.
"Fighting to live, finding value in those fights, roaming battlefields — repeated over and over. Destroying everything I wished to destroy, and when even that was not enough, I broke through the walls between dimensions and pressed onward."
-Squish.
Even the chunks of flesh being crushed underfoot —
the moment they evaporated into the torrent of power, turning to smoke and ash.
"Men, women, beasts, monsters... even things beyond those. I destroyed them all as much as I wished, violated them, devoured them, played with them, or created them with my own hands."
At the place where even that powder and smoke vanished with a wave of his hand,
a hollow voice began leaking through the fingers that now clutched his own face.
"None of it has any meaning. I feel nothing. No matter what I do, no matter what I try...."
"M-My Demon King. Please calm yourself. I-I don't know what this is about, but.... Gack!"
Had they still not grasped the situation?
Reflexively, Beelzebub, who had approached his side, was seized by the throat by the Demon King's hand. His body heaved, suspended helplessly in the air.
"But when I heard Mephisto had returned, one thing came to mind — something I had never tried."
-Crunch!
"Ahh, yes. Come to think of it, the only thing... was that I had never killed my loyal vassals — those who swore fealty to me — with my own hands."
"Kagh, aaa, aagh!"
Even though he had protected himself with magical power as much as possible, the moment he felt his neckbones begin to give way under the sheer force of that grip —
the corners of the Demon King's lips, watching his subordinate's desperate struggle, slowly began to curl upward.
"But still, one isn't enough to know. Right now, I can't tell what it is I'm feeling."
It was unquestionably something one would call a smile, but Mephisto, who had been watching the scene, had already guessed.
That it did not stem from joy, but was merely the result of tracing back memories of a time when he had once felt joy.
"Then... a little more slowly...."
Yes, the Demon King was hoping.
For what might be the first time in his existence — what kind of feeling he might experience if he personally disposed of his most loyal subordinates.
A hope that the intensity born from it might finally fill his emptiness.
"Then... if I kill them a little more slowly, wouldn't I be able to find out?"
"Aaa, aaaaaagh! M-My Demon King! Please come to your senses! I-I don't know what you desire, but pl-please calm...."
The moment Beelzebub's agonized scream resounded,
his mind surely guessed that the Demon King's state was not normal, but even so, his obsession with material treasures kept his loyalty toward him intact.
For someone who had collected valuable items across many dimensions, betraying his loyalty to the Demon King meant losing everything he had ever preserved.
"Beelzebub, my loyal vassal... please, for my sake, die right here!"
"N-No, I can't do that...! Caugh!"
"No, struggle more... resist for my sake. Flail to survive, and make the sensation of killing you all more vivid...!"
"Wh-What are you all doing?! The Demon King... Quickly, calm the Demon King doooown!"
The instant he felt even that desire being devoured by his survival instinct, the power emitted from his body began spreading to the demons trembling all around.
Pheromones. A power born of his collecting desire, granting him absolute command over those who willingly took his bodily fluids into themselves.
A power that could only be exerted with the other party's consent — but Beelzebub had established it widely under the pretext of 'trade,' placing a vast number of minions beneath him.
Truly, among those belonging to the Demon Lord Army, those who had never borrowed from his treasures could be counted on one hand.
"Huff, haah!"
"Wh-what...? My body's moving on its own.... Uwaaah!"
The demons, thus drawn forward by the pheromones, were either crushed by the torrent of power and collapsed, or staggered and hacked as their breath was choked off.
Even those who barely closed the distance fared no differently.
With the power that burst forth at a mere flick of the Demon King's finger, their bodies were compressed into fistfuls of gore and did nothing but shed blood.
"Ah, aah. Th-this can't...."
The small fry were useless.
In Beelzebub's eyes, which desperately sought some avenue of escape from that despairing situation, a woman in a tuxedo taking out an instrument far away came into view.
"Shall I help you?"
The Frenzied Clown, Mephisto.
The moment a violin and a bow to scrape its strings were summoned into her hand, Beelzebub felt his heart sink.
"Mephisto. What are you trying to...."
"Because you seemed so pitifully pathetic."
There was no malice.
Just, with a 'what if' sort of feeling, through her own performance —
"If you stay like this, you'll just die. Shouldn't I at least give you a chance to struggle?"
Because there was an expectation that perhaps, just perhaps, by amplifying even the feelings born from killing his own loyal vassal, she might somehow awaken something in him.
"St-Stop it. Yo-Your power is dangerous in a situation like this...."
-Screeeeech!
"Ahh, no. St-Stooop!!"
"I have no ill intent."
An honest answer.
And the strength that filled her hand, ignoring all dissuasion.
"Because from beginning to end, I am nothing more than a Clown who only ever wished for the Demon King's smile."
If even the faintest possibility existed, and it revealed itself in this final moment —
-ScreeeeEEECH—!!!
Along with the stroke that carried that will, a blood-curdling sound of strings being scraped resounded.
The demons, stimulated by that performance, soon began throwing themselves toward the Demon King, drawn by Beelzebub's pheromones.
Like moths rushing into a flame.
-Kaboom!
Into the calamity that crumbled everything in sight.
Having forgotten fear until the very, very end.
***
"Aaa, aaaaaaaahhhh!"
No — it was not even a slaughter.
A result so predictable that calling it a collective suicide would not be strange.
"Nothing... I feel nothing...."
Having created that despairing scene, the living catastrophe began to wail, standing atop a lake of gore that left not a single shape behind.
"My subordinates... my loyal vassals who believed in me...!"
It was agonizing.
The reality that he felt nothing, even after destroying with his own hands what he himself had built.
"Even killing them with these hands, I feel nothing. Nothing... absolutely nothing!!"
The Demon King bellowed, clutching his own throat with both hands as if parched with thirst.
But his attention never turned to the blood pooling on the floor.
Because he had realized long, long ago that no matter how much blood and flesh he crammed down his throat, the thirst would never be quenched.
"Just what must I do to quell this thirst? Just what in the world...!!!"
It was something he had already guessed ages ago.
That the vessel of his desire was as vast as his mighty power, so that nothing he did could ever fill it.
A sovereign who had lost his smile because of it and could feel no stimulation from anything.
It had never been strange that at any moment, he would shatter everything he had built with his own hands.
"...My Demon King."
And that limit had finally been reached — only after coming to this world.
Mephisto, who had sensed this, soon tossed the resignation letter she held against her chest onto the floor before the collapsed Demon King.
"...Wh-what is this."
"A resignation letter. Among humans, I heard they submit a single document to their master when they wish to end their work."
A single sheet of paper with nothing written on it.
A piece too shabby to even be called a stage prop, possessing only the barest pretext.
"...End, you say."
"My Demon King. I am disappointed in you."
So much so that this much of a pretext was sufficient to get past this situation.
His oldest loyal vassal was feeling nothing at the sight of her broken liege now.
"You are nothing to me anymore."
There was no sadness, no despair, no sense of betrayal or resentment.
She had long anticipated that such a time would come, and had long since prepared the resignation with which to express her acceptance.
"I, too, must surely be nothing to you now."
"Is that not reason enough to leave your side?"
Indeed.
To put an end to a paltry tale that could not even become a tragedy — was this not a fitting object, after all?