Fenrir's Resolve
The fooled, the deceiver, and the thoughtless 8. Torrential rain poured down, turning the earth into a devouring mire. From within that mire rose the hand of death, followed immediately by a new existence as the undead. Watching four distinct high-level spells weave together into a single outcome, I felt a genuine sense of exhilaration. It was an act no ordinary archmage would even dare attempt. With the authority that only the Demon King could wield, I had ground two thousand adventurers into dust.
At that moment, I glanced at Fenrir, who had been visibly restless for some time, and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Ah… no. It’s… it’s nothing. I’m just feeling a bit restless, that’s all.”
Fenrir turned her head slightly as she answered. For an instant, her eyes seemed to redden, but I dismissed it as a trick of the light. This was Fenrir, after all—the ever-boisterous and bright warrior who carried only laughter, never tears. Whether in the original story or in reality, she had always been consistent. There was no reason she would cry over a scene like this.
“It seems the operation is nearing completion.”
“Good. I’ll leave the rest to you. But do not let your guard down until the very end.”
“Of course. Let us go, Fenrir.”
“Huh?... Uh… yeah! Let’s go! Of course we’re going! I have to make sure they pay for all the humiliation they’ve caused!”
Fenrir flashed a bright smile, as if to prove my earlier suspicion had been nothing more than a misunderstanding. Watching her and Hela charge through the ruined enemy lines, I quietly began to consider what came next.
The Demon King’s authority remained overwhelmingly powerful, just as it had been in the past. Yet, unfortunately, my strength alone had limits when it came to achieving perfect revenge. Unlike the original story, the Demon Kingdom now lay shattered and divided. Even if I were to bring about the world’s destruction, I had no intention of allowing my people to be sacrificed in the process.
Perfect revenge meant stripping the enemy of everything while losing nothing of my own. With the first step toward that goal progressing smoothly, I looked out over the battlefield now teeming with undead and smiled coldly.
*
The scene unfolding before her eyes was crystal clear to the demoness, whose vision could pierce through darkness. Countless humans met their deaths without even managing a scream. They sank into the collapsing earth, perishing without a sound. Those who died soon rose again as undead and immediately turned their weapons on their former comrades still struggling nearby.
At first glance, it was a simple, almost hollow sight. Yet to her—to Fenrir—it carried an overwhelming sense of emotion. Her heart swelled with an uncontrollable tide of feeling. Her chest tightened and her nose stung. It was not merely the joy of victory. It was the sprouting of emotions she had long suppressed—feelings she had never been able to voice to anyone else, a burden she alone had carried.
Two thousand elite adventurers. They belonged to the adventurer’s guild of Sagunto, and for the past several months they had been an insurmountable wall to Fenrir. While defending Sagunto, they had also conducted regular subjugation campaigns against nearby demons. The demons who had barely managed to form settlements were slaughtered without mercy—all in the name of justice. Fenrir, who possessed what could barely be called military strength, had fought desperately to stop them.
Her individual combat prowess was something even powerhouses like Antonis could not handle. Yet no matter how fiercely she drove back the enemy, she could not overcome their overwhelming numerical disadvantage alone. Moreover, she had risen to her current position through sheer courage and strength alone. Strategy and cunning were foreign to her, while the treacherous humans knew exactly how to exploit that weakness.
In the end, no matter how hard she swung her sword or how many enemies she cut down, Fenrir’s only conclusion was to retreat with tears of blood, leaving behind the corpses of countless kin. Each time, the emotion that twisted her heart was the same: the crushing despair of being utterly powerless.
The Lord of the Flame Valley. One of the three strongest beings in the Demon Kingdom. Despite such grand titles, she had accomplished nothing. The Demon Kingdom had collapsed helplessly. Demons were violated and slaughtered by the filthy free races. At the scene of that catastrophe, she could only watch in powerless silence. Even after barely pulling herself together from despair, the situation remained unchanged. Every attempt at revenge against the filthy humans ended in failure, and the people she managed to save slipped through her fingers like water, dying one after another.
With her strength alone, she could neither rebuild the Demon Kingdom nor properly protect her people. Yet Fenrir could never show this pain to anyone. The only thing she could do was be a pillar of support for her anxious people and struggling subordinates. That was the sole task an incompetent and foolish woman like her could manage.
And every time she swallowed that unspeakable agony, one person’s face always surfaced in her mind—Demon King Arcadia. He was the one who had guided her foolish self, the only person she could truly rely on. He was the absolute sovereign to whom she had sworn loyalty, the one she had ultimately failed to protect.
When she learned that person had returned, Fenrir had been terrified. She had ruined her master’s plan from the very beginning. Though it had fortunately turned into a blessing in disguise, an unshakable fear still lingered in her brightly smiling heart—the fear of her own pathetic, unspeakable results.
Yet what came from her master’s mouth was praise. There was no anger or disappointment—only gentle words that seemed to soothe the pain she had hidden away. Starting with that comfort for her tormented heart, her master had changed everything for her. He had given direction to her life, which had been drifting without purpose, and began cleanly resolving matters she had never even imagined tackling.
And now, with a single gesture from that master, the source of the pain that had clawed at her heart—thousands of adventurers—were vanishing before her eyes. Fenrir made a vow in her heart. She needed that person in her life. He was her eternal sovereign, the only one she could trust and rely upon. And he was the man who could make her smile—not a forced smile, but a genuine one.
With that thought filling her heart, Fenrir arrived alongside Hela at the place her master had prepared with meticulous care—the very location where she could personally bring this matter to its conclusion.
“Prepare yourself, Antonis!”
*
Two female demons stood before his eyes. One had brown skin and wielded a greatsword blazing with flame—the Lord of the Flame Valley, Fenrir. Though he had faced her countless times before, today her presence felt especially terrifying, and Antonis could not help but furrow his brow.
“How fortunate. Honestly, I was worried you might have already been eaten.”
“Antonis, was it? Your lifespan is as tenacious as your filthy deeds would suggest.”
In contrast to Fenrir, the other figure had pale skin that emitted a faint glow and held a small dagger. Even at a glance, Antonis could tell she was highly skilled. Still in his nightclothes, he hurriedly grabbed the sword lying beside his bed.
“Hah! So you’re that dancer. I was planning to come find you once the battle started anyway. Thanks for showing up in person!”
Antonis spoke with a bold voice, his tone carrying the confidence that these two were nothing to him and that he could easily crush them if they dared attack. Yet beneath that bravado, his heart was filled with anxiety.
‘Damn it… what the hell is this situation…’
He could not know the details, but he understood that the situation outside was far from favorable. What was even more serious, however, was his current predicament. Fenrir alone was an opponent he and all his comrades combined could not handle. And beside her stood the famous dancer. If he could defeat these two, he could turn the tide in an instant—but Antonis knew better than anyone that such a thing was impossible.
Kneeling and begging for his life would yield the same result. So Antonis decided to bluff as much as possible and look for a way out.
‘That’s right… In this situation, if I use that method…’
Just then—
“Even in this situation, you still burn with fighting spirit. At least you have the basics of a warrior down.”
“Don’t say unnecessary things, Fenrir. This man is a vile piece of trash who has raped and murdered innocent young demons. He deserves a painful death.”
The dancer’s voice was filled with clear hatred. In response, Fenrir began to smile—a smile brimming with terrifying killing intent.
“Of course. I know that well. That’s why we came all the way here in the first place—to finish off this trash for good.”
With those words, the two women began radiating even more intense magical power. Simply facing that force made Antonis’s skin tingle, and his face was soon covered in unconcealable terror.
“Don’t worry. I’ll repay everything you’ve done—thoroughly and completely—until you’re utterly broken.”