Accelerated Doom and the Demon King's Fabrication

The underground decisive battle and the surface's desperate lie.

"……Fuck."

A hollow curse slipped from my lips. The price for grinding down a core item from the original story just to earn a measly 50,000 SP. It was a horrific butterfly effect that advanced the apocalypse countdown by a full two months.

I suppressed the urge to scream at the system window. In a world hurtling toward destruction, even anger was a luxury. What was spilled was spilled—if the water was already gone, I had to at least splash it on my face to snap out of it.

No choice. Cut losses and move to the next step.

I approached the rickety table in the corner and yanked out the starter item: a crude military laptop. I'd briefly powered it on before and shoved it away, but now with power supplied, there was no need to baby the battery. I roughly flipped it open, created a file on the desktop called [Apocalypse_Survival_Masterplan.xlsx], and started organizing.

Tap, tap-tap-tap! In the dim bunker, dry, irritable keystrokes echoed sharply. My eyes gleamed coldly in the monitor's glow.

"Hydroponic farm setup schedule, originally D-365 days—shorten it. Introduce water purification filter replacements early. Ammo and SP farming schedule…… Compress everything into 10 months."

I muttered impassively, but veins bulged on my typing fingers. In apocalypse survival, the most precious resource is time. Losing two months meant my schedule—scraping SP through legal loopholes while dodging the world's compulsion force and noble eyes—had turned brutally insane.

"Goddamn it. Already hiding to pick up trash because of those overwhelming powerhouses, and now time's stolen too?"

Watching Excel cells flood red with warnings, I slammed the laptop shut. Adrenaline tore through my veins like it would burst them—sleep was a luxury. Besides, more lethally than the countdown, a threat was lurking right outside the bunker entrance, strangling my neck.

The Imperial Knights.

Victory over Aura Master Kellun and his men? I wasn't dumb enough to get high on that shallow thrill. It was purely a gimmick from information asymmetry. Aura manifests through the user's focus. The 9-Bang flashbang's 170-decibel roar and 7-million-candela flash obliterated their sight and hearing, letting the beanbag rounds land. I exploited the gap when their auras weakened.

But if Kellun came back for revenge, armored with earplugs and a heavy helmet, aura shield up? Who the hell knew how many shotgun blasts it'd take.

"I need absolute firepower to shred an aura shield itself—within the framework of legal self-defense."

I summoned the system shop into the air again. Time to supply ammo for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Gatling turret I'd just installed. Standard rounds felt unreliable.

"Buy 10,000 rounds of CIWS-exclusive 20mm tungsten armor-piercing tracer ammo (AP-T). Connect directly to the magazine now."

"Oh, install surveillance CCTV too."

SP evaporated in seconds, but a strange relief filled me. If dense tungsten penetrators poured out at 3,000 rounds per minute, even a Sword Master couldn't withstand the cumulative kinetic impact—their mana would deplete.

Whirr, clunk. The two CIWS units hanging from the ceiling flashed red laser sensors, locking onto the entrance. Glancing at the corner, Ayla was dead asleep, oblivious, while I'd been working. I scratched my head and gave her wounds a quick patch-up. Not severe, so she'd recover soon enough.

Finishing treatment, I glared at the CCTV monitor with hollow eyes and muttered indifferently.

"Come on, you lunatics. I'll give you a taste of 3,000 rounds per minute of capitalism."

Same time. On the surface, in a shady back alley outside the Imperial Palace in the empire's capital.

"Urghhh!"

The manhole cover of the stench-filled sewer flew open, and two men in wretched states tumbled onto the muddy ground. They were Kellun, the Aura Master Knight Captain boasting the empire's top prowess, and his adjutant.

"Cough! Hack! Captain… are you alright?!"

The adjutant clutched his filth-smeared face, staggering up. Thin blood trickled from his ears—aftermath of ruptured eardrums.

Kellun's state went beyond wretched to humiliating. His ornate mithril breastplate and fine sword were all stripped by the underground "monster," leaving him in nothing but tattered tunic like underwear. A watermelon-sized purple bruise from the beanbag round marred his abdomen grotesquely.

"Wh-what the hell…! What was that sewer monster?! No mana fluctuations at all—just lightning from a black metal lump and a roar that shattered our auras…!"

The adjutant shrieked, trembling like a leaf in terror. But dominating Kellun's mind wasn't physical fear—it was suffocating political terror. Inhaling the frozen night air, he grasped the bone-chilling reality.

How to report this to His Majesty the Emperor and Crown Prince…

Went to capture Erzen Duke's lady, got done in by a mana-less "commoner" in the slums' sewer with unknown dark weapons, stripped of gear, fled in underwear? Reporting that straight would enrage the Emperor and get his head from the Crown Prince. The Imperial Knights, symbol of might, defeated by a rat? Utter incompetence worthy of clan extermination.

"Captain! Hurry back to the palace, gather the grand wizards, and—"

"Shut up!"

Kellun snarled like a beast, yanking the adjutant's collar. His eyes were bloodshot with survival instinct.

"You wanna report we got done by a commoner's dark weapon and chased out in our undies? When His Majesty asks if an Aura Master like you got stripped by scrap metal, you gonna say yes and offer your neck?!"

The adjutant's face paled. The horrific political despair finally sank into his bones.

"Th-then… what do we…"

Kellun whispered slyly into the adjutant's ear like a serpent, brainwashing him.

"Listen well. We didn't lose to a commoner. Today… we battled a 'unknown demon king' sealed in an ancient ruin's abyss."

"D-Demon king?!"

"Yes! Erzen's lady contracted the demon king at a hidden devil altar in the bunker! That monster's light was the 'abyssal blaze burning souls,' and the roar blasting us was the 'demon king's roar shredding mana'!"

A desperate fabrication for survival. Perfect frame manipulation, twisting modern weapons' mechanics into romance-fantasy common sense.

"We heroically retreated to halt the demon king's descent. Got it? It's the only way to save our necks!"

The adjutant nodded frantically. Admit to scrap metal? Execution. Fought demon king? Honorable defeat.

"Let's go. Time for the report of a lifetime—my life on the line."

Kellun strode heavily toward the palace, tattered tunic flapping dramatically.

Imperial Palace, deepest audience chamber. Hundreds of mana stone chandeliers blazed like daylight in the opulent throne room. The massive golden doors burst open with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whoosh.

"Y-Your Majesty—!"

Kellun crawled in on the red carpet, a pitiful sight. The aged Emperor lounged askew on the throne, golden-haired Sword Master Crown Prince Kasian beside him—their brows furrowed.

"Knight Captain Kellun…? What the hell is that getup! You dumped the Knights' dignity in the gutter?!"

As the Emperor bellowed, Kellun prostrated, secretly biting his inner gum till it bled. Salty blood filled his mouth. Bowing his head, he spewed it onto the marble floor.

"Cough, urk…! Y-Your Majesty! Forgive me… but the empire is in danger!"

"Blood…? Raise your head and speak!"

Kellun's bloodied lips quivered as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he launched into an all-out performance blending shame and survival instinct.

"Ayla Erzen… colluded with an 'ancient demon king' sealed in the empire's Zone 17 underground, summoning devils to the mortal plane!"

"What?! Ancient demon king?!"

"Yes, Your Majesty! Without mana incantation, it stole knights' sight with 'soul-burning light,' shattered aura shields with 'mana-shredding roar'! This one sacrificed his mithril breastplate to block its demonic energy and save his men… cough!"

Kellun faked collapsing, vomiting more blood. The Emperor paled, gripping the throne arms. An ancient devil under the capital horrified the old ruler.

"Mobilize the Magic Corps and Knights at once to strike—!"

"Wait. Father, calm yourself."

Silent Kasian cut in coldly. With Sword Master arrogance and sharp gaze, he descended the dais slowly. Thud, thud. Each bootstep hammered Kellun's heart.

Kasian grabbed Kellun's collar, yanking him up. His icy stare probed the purple bruise on Kellun's gut.

"Demon king? Demonic power? Convenient excuse."

Kasian sneered, jabbing the bruise hard.

"Arghhh!"

"Don't whine. You can't fool my eyes. That's no soul-scorch from demonic energy. Just… crude blunt trauma from something fast and heavy."

Kellun's pupils quaked at the prince's keen insight. Beanbag was pure physics, no magic. Couldn't fully deceive a Sword Master.

"Whatever happened, you got careless, thrashed by back-alley mercenaries, gear stolen. Ashamed of your Knight Captain post, so you cover incompetence with 'demon king' nonsense?"

"N-no, Your Highness! I swear on my aura, only truth…!"

"Your paltry aura's worthless."

Kasian flung him aside, icily ordering the chamberlain.

"Contact the Sun God Church now—summon the empire's top chief priests here!"

"P-Priests?!"

Kellun's face ashen. Kasian passed death sentence with contemptuous eyes.

"Yes. Verify with priests' holy power if even a speck of 'demonic energy' clings to these wounds. If it's mere blunt force and you've deceived the throne…"

Cold sword aura emanated from Kasian's hand.

"Before sunset, your head hangs from the palace square."

The reaper's scythe whispered in Kellun's ear. His desperate ploy to package modern weaponry's physics as "demonic curse" landed on the chopping block of the romance-fantasy world's top "medical experts"—the chief priests' scientific(?) scrutiny.