Carpediem (6)
Demons are, by nature, immortal beings.
Ordinary methods cannot kill a demon. Unconventional means—starlight, holy power, or the sheer weight of transcendent physical force—can destroy them, yet even those fail once a demon’s rank climbs high enough.
Beyond the highest ranks, past the threshold of transcendence itself, stand the Demon Kings.
Even a mortal human becomes immortal the moment they touch transcendence. What, then, of a creature that was already immortal when it crossed that same threshold? The result is a monster of appalling, unkillable vitality.
To slay such a being one must shatter its very concept, collapse its mindscape, carve its flesh into pieces, burn what remains, pour starlight over the ashes to halt regeneration—and even then wage a grinding war of attrition until the Demon King’s rank itself is dragged down.
In other words, to kill a Demon King you must first demote it into a mere demon. Killing one while it still wears the mantle of a Demon King is all but impossible.
That is why Demon Kings never feared death.
They simply lacked the terror of dying.
At least until a thousand years ago.
A thousand years past, the seven Demon Kings who ruled the Outer Land were slaughtered to the last. Scores of supreme-rank demons who served them, and the hundreds beneath those, were butchered without exception.
The unkillable demons died. The immortal Demon Kings were erased from existence.
From that day, that single moment, demons learned the terror of death. The two syllables of the word were carved deep into their souls. They were no longer immortal, nor even undying.
One human alone had made them mortal.
The Demon Slayer—Arthur.
The being who had gripped Excalibur, scattered platinum sword-aura across the land, and slaughtered nearly nine-tenths of every demon that walked it. Fear of that name had sunk roots into the deepest core of every demon’s being.
A thousand years later, that truth remained unchanged.
“······Ah?”
Carpediem’s pupils shook.
She did not know Arthur. She had never seen her, never witnessed the platinum sword-aura said to have been hers. Yet Carpediem’s body trembled. Her eyes quivered, her breathing fractured, her fingertips shook, and the tremor raced through her entire frame.
“Ah… aaah······.”
Her soul—the terror engraved upon that soul, the terror once felt by every demon who had ever worn the concept of “Scream” before her—swallowed Carpediem’s mind whole. It was a fear older than thought, pure instinct.
Sword-aura blazing platinum.
Before that light a Demon King was reduced to a mere demon. Carpediem tried to deny it, yet—
Hssst.
The instant Najin’s released aura grazed her skin, Carpediem felt agony so pure her soul seemed to burn. The touch had been the lightest brush, yet she suffered pain she had not known in centuries. Reason shattered under the weight of it.
“———————!”
A ragged scream tore free. The demon who had collected human screams now screamed herself. All the majesty she had worn vanished; Carpediem began to scramble backward.
“Aaaah, aaaaaaah!”
Still shrieking, she flailed her arms. Lightning crashed down; the earth heaved. She remained a transcendent, that much was true—yet she was no longer immortal.
She was only a cowering insect, terrified of death and desperate to flee the death that now walked toward her.
Carpediem’s demeanor had changed completely.
The warrior who once scorned death itself was gone; in her place stood a terrified coward. Watching the Demon King thrash her arms and scream for them to stay away, the transcendents narrowed their eyes.
Seongyuksin. Yuel Razian. Caron. Gerd.
Each of them had reached transcendence in a human body—born mortal, yet now immortal. They had long since conquered the fear of death, or else possessed wills that would not kneel even if the fear remained.
“Hah.”
To their eyes Carpediem looked pathetic beyond words.
The atmosphere among the transcendents shifted at once. Facing a warrior who charged ready to die was difficult; facing a coward fleeing death was simple.
The First Star—Gerd’s constellation—blazed.
Beneath eight stars Gerd’s blade severed Carpediem’s legs. She regenerated them almost instantly and fled on all fours like a beast, yet—
The Polar Night Star—Seongyuksin’s constellation—shone next.
Six stars flared; a pillar of light punched through Carpediem’s spine and pinned her to the earth. She spat blood, but such wounds could not kill her. What she feared was not this.
Carpediem screamed and swept her arms wide.
The sky blackened; lightning exploded outward in a circular wall, trying to bar pursuit.
The Heavenly Slaughter Star and the Thousand Sword Star ignited together.
Two streams of sword-aura sliced the lightning apart.
The transcendents now understood exactly what Carpediem feared. They cut her legs, severed her arms, shattered her spine, crushed every attempt at resistance, and opened a clear path.
“Aaaah, aaaaaah, aaaaaaaaaah!”
Carpediem’s screams climbed higher.
Please, please!
The demon fled death. She ran and ran, abandoning even the dignity of a Demon King, crawling on both hands. Yet death did not recede. In her ears the measured sound of footsteps—tak—kept ringing closer.
The footsteps drew nearer.
Death drew nearer.
······Death, after all, is always like that.
It is terrifying, endlessly terrifying; everyone flees it, yet no one escapes. Death always catches up.
Tak.
Carpediem looked back.
Death stood there.
A sword steeped in platinum aura fell toward her neck like a guillotine blade.
If only Carpediem had not turned her back and fled.
If only she had faced the terror of death and fought.
She could have taken one—perhaps two or more—of the transcendents gathered here with her into the grave. She was a constellation of that magnitude.
Perhaps.
If the stage had not been shattered.
If her mindscape had not collapsed.
If the Praise Pavilion still lived.
If she had not borrowed the Revelry Emperor’s star.
If she had not wasted her strength at the very end.
If only, if only, if only······.
Perhaps······
another ending might have existed.
In her final moment the demon regretted—exactly as humans do when death stands before them.
Thud.
Carpediem’s head fell.
Headless, Carpediem thrashed and poured out power at random. She flailed without reason, yet the outcome of the battle did not change.
Carpediem had lost.
She was merely thrashing like a fish still flopping after its head is cut, spending every last scrap of strength left in the body. The transcendents left her to it; there was no need to engage further.
For a long while she rampaged, reducing the entire area to scorched ruin. Her domain turned to ash; the remaining court jesters were caught in her lightning and vanished into handfuls of cinders.
At last, having expended everything, Carpediem herself crumbled into ash that drifted away on the wind. A wretched death, if one insisted on calling it that.
“Hah.”
Watching from a distance, Caron muttered,
“All that power, and she managed only this? Surprising, in an entirely different way.”
“It should have been a far harder fight,” Yuel added. “Carpediem was a Demon King of eight stars. She was never an opponent we should have defeated so easily.”
“She reigned as a Demon King for five hundred years. She was that powerful, and her immortality was such that, by simple calculation, one would have needed to carve her heart into pieces dozens of times before it even began to fade.”
Yuel was the Executioner of the Holy Blood Church. As befit a great warrior of a demon-hunting order, she was thoroughly versed in demons and could gauge their rank by eye alone.
“A battle that should have taken three days was shortened to a single hour. That is remarkable. Yes—my Lord is expressing astonishment as well. Najin.”
Yuel glanced sideways at him.
“Najin? I am extremely rational and objective.”
“······Pardon?”
“The world may call me lunatic, madwoman, butcher, murderess—yet I define myself as a rational, reasonable individual.”
Caron and Seongyuksin, overhearing, wore exquisitely complicated expressions. Yuel continued regardless.
“Therefore, operating under a rational framework, I venture one conjecture.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Was it you who drew Excalibur, Najin?”
The instant the question left her lips, every transcendent’s gaze turned naturally toward Najin. Caron, Seongyuksin, Gerd—all watched him in silence.
At this point, not knowing would have been stranger.
Najin had begun to stand out the moment Excalibur was drawn, and in less than two years he had piled up feats that defied common sense. Until now it had remained mere suspicion—yet—
“Your sword-aura.”
Yuel pointed at his blade.
“Your sword-aura was originally white and gold, separate. It resembled King Arthur’s, yet was not the same. What I just witnessed is different.”
White and gold fused into one.
Platinum sword-aura.
In all human history there had been wielders of white aura and wielders of gold, but only one had ever possessed platinum.
“That is King Arthur’s sword-aura.”
A boy who rose the moment Excalibur was drawn, who achieved the impossible, who at nineteen already carried six stars—and who now wielded even King Arthur’s aura.
“I can only conclude that you are Excalibur’s master.”
Najin said nothing.
He had drawn the platinum aura because he judged that without it his allies would suffer grievous losses. He had also judged that the people present here could be allowed to see it.
Only six had witnessed the platinum light:
Yuel, the Martyr of the Bramble, Gerd, Caron, Seongyuksin—
and the Revelry Emperor, who was surely watching from afar.
“That is······.”
Najin began to speak, but—
“No, that can’t be right.”
Seongyuksin cut in, looking at Yuel as though she had just heard pure nonsense.
“Excalibur was already sighted near the Eternal City. I told you I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“Perhaps you were mistaken?”
“Hey, I wasn’t the only one who saw it. Don’t you remember the sky splitting open and the whole mess that followed? Over a hundred constellations descended on the spot.”
Surely a hundred constellations hadn’t all gone blind at once, she grumbled.
“It vanished inside the Eternal City afterward, but it was definitely there—someone holding Excalibur.”
“Hmm.”
Yuel stroked her chin, regarding Najin with lingering suspicion. She was not the only one thinking along those lines.
Gerd, Yuel, Caron—all three had long ago been named candidates who might draw Excalibur, and all three had harbored quiet doubts about Najin. They had simply never been certain. The moment they saw the platinum aura, those doubts hardened into near conviction.
Excalibur sighted near the Eternal City.
Only that piece of information kept them from absolute certainty.
“I had no intention of interrogating you,” Yuel said at last, exhaling a long breath.
“I was merely curious. Najin? If you did draw Excalibur, then I must duel you without fail. I am desperately curious what sound it makes when struck.”
She shrugged as if either answer suited her fine. Caron’s reaction was much the same.
“Think I could take a swing with Excalibur sometime?”
“······Pardon?”
“Well, you’ll have to reveal it eventually, won’t you? Lend it to me just once when that day comes. I’d love to give it a proper swing.”
“······.”
“I’m joking. We don’t even know if you drew it or not.”
Caron laughed.
He called it a joke, yet it did not sound entirely like one.
And Gerd—
Gerd approached Najin without a word. He asked neither whether Najin had drawn Excalibur nor what the platinum aura meant. He simply clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“The Empire owes you another great debt. Well done. Your contribution to this victory was decisive.”
He turned to the others.
“My gratitude as well to the Holy Blood Church, the Holy Body Sect, and the Sword Church for their aid in this subjugation. The Empire will not forget this grace. We shall repay it handsomely.”
Having set the situation in order, Gerd exhaled.
“There is much to discuss,” he said briefly,
“but first I must ask this. How did you know to come here? You already seemed aware that the Praise Pavilion was a traitor.”