The Demon King's Return
The three human hunters belonging to the demon-hunting organization Kerks—Marco, Jiren, and Louis—were seized by a dark excitement as they gazed upon their latest prize: the high-ranking demon known as the War Dancer. She was the one whose very epithet struck terror into the hearts of men. Countless heroes had fallen to her hand, and to face her on the battlefield was to invite death itself.
Yet despite that fearsome reputation, the creature before them now had the tendons in both wrists severed, carried no weapon, and was utterly drained of strength. To the three men, she was nothing more than a fragile female demon with horns sprouting from her head. Her striking beauty and slender yet alluring figure only sharpened their hunger. Though she was merchandise, they saw no reason to refuse such a finely prepared meal. Any concerns about virginity could be handled with magic, and since they could not even be certain she was a virgin to begin with, the three felt no hesitation whatsoever.
However, just as they finished savoring the first taste and prepared to indulge in earnest, the three men encountered a situation they had never imagined.
“Kuh… heh… heeeh…”
“M-Marco!”
Marco, who had been the first to reach for her, collapsed to the ground with a scream of agony. He did not know exactly what had happened. The only certainty was that the hand he had extended toward the demon’s most intimate place was now rolling across the floor, spurting blood.
“Wh-what the hell is thiiis!!!”
Marco’s voice twisted into a pig-like squeal. Yet the scream that echoed through the air was suddenly cut short.
“K… k… k…”
“Too noisy.”
A figure had appeared before him without warning. From the black horns at his temples, it was clearly a demon. In his hand he held a blood-and-saliva-covered bone—Marco’s own vocal cords.
“D… d… d…”
Marco flailed his severed arm, unable to produce a sound. Then—
Thud!
“!!”
His vision lurched violently. What filled his sight was something Marco knew all too well: the armor he always wore. The one wearing it was… his own body, blood gushing from where the head had been.
“…?!?!”
Crash!
Marco’s headless corpse collapsed completely. Seeing their comrade slain in an instant, Jiren and Louis shouted in fury.
“Y-you bastard!”
“Who the hell are you? How dare you kill Marco—!”
“…”
The demon who had suddenly appeared and killed their companion had reddish-brown hair, golden eyes, and a cold expression. Black horns rose from his temples, and his lean, lightly muscled frame marked him as a formidable warrior at a glance. Yet the two men did not even consider defeat. The intruder wore nothing but ragged trousers and had used only his nails to kill Marco. They believed such a thing could never threaten steel weapons. Moreover, the slain Marco had been the weakest of their trio, his mind clouded by lust, his weapons and armor discarded. Killing him by surprise would have been easy even for them. In contrast, the two remaining hunters were fully armed, aware of the enemy, and had already manifested sword aura with their mana. Their preparations were perfect; they were certain that seasoned demon hunters like themselves could not lose.
‘It’s a shame about Marco, but an unexpected catch like this might actually be a blessing…’
‘It’s a pity he’s male, but there’s still demand for that sort… With Marco dead, my share just got bigger…’
Revenge for their comrade mattered, but the profit awaiting them after the hunt was far more important. With that thought, the two men moved at once. Gripping their poison-coated sword and spear, they slowly approached the demon. The toxin could paralyze any demon with even a minor wound, so there was no need to risk fatal blows. The target wore no armor whatsoever. No matter how swift his movements, landing a single scratch and injecting the poison would be trivial.
Convinced this would be another routine hunt, the two men charged. Their coordination was flawless—short, precise, and mutually supportive. Even if the enemy blocked one attack, stopping the second would be nearly impossible. For them, a single scratch was enough to guarantee victory.
Yet the male demon simply stood there, quietly watching them. Seeing this, Jiren and Louis’s lips curled into confident smiles.
‘He’s not refusing to react—he can’t react!’
‘I don’t know where this stray came from, but he’s finished!’
Believing victory certain, they swung their weapons simultaneously. Their blades should have cut into the prey’s body…
“Huh?”
“Wh-what…?”
They felt only emptiness. Though they had clearly struck, their weapons met nothing but air. Startled, Louis whipped his head around.
“Wh-where is he? Where did he disappear to—!”
At that moment, something appeared directly in front of Louis’s eyes. He never had time to recognize the black, razor-sharp object that filled his vision.
Thud!
“!”
“L-Louis!”
A sickening sound rang out as black claws pierced Louis’s eyes and skull. His comrade died without even a scream. Only then did Jiren realize something had gone terribly wrong.
“Th-this… what the hell is happening…?”
Their perfectly coordinated, fully armed assault had been shattered in an instant, and another comrade had fallen. Unlike Marco, Louis had been stronger than Jiren himself. Watching him die without even raising a hand filled Jiren with a terror that replaced all previous confidence.
“Ugh… ugh…”
Thud!
The demon tossed Louis’s corpse to the ground and slowly walked toward Jiren. Jiren, trembling with fear, barely managed to raise his sword. His earlier bravado was gone; his entire body shook and his legs had lost all strength. He had believed he had long since overcome the fear of death in this line of work, yet now he felt the crushing weight of that delusion.
“Ugh… uwaaah… aaaaah…”
Clang!
Unable to endure the heart-wrenching terror any longer, Jiren dropped his sword. Following his primal instincts, he fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground.
“I-I’m sorry! I was wrong! Please—!”
Jiren’s voice was desperate. He had never imagined the day would come when he would beg a demon for his life. He had always been the one receiving pleas—the demon soldiers throwing down their weapons, the demon women begging for their children’s lives, the young demon children sobbing and pleading for mercy. Their screams as he killed or sold them had always brought him a deep, satisfying pleasure. The sight of the weak crawling like insects before falling into the abyss had been his greatest entertainment.
Yet now, pride and dignity meant nothing. Only the raw, instinctive desire to survive remained.
“Please spare my life! I’ll do anything you say! So please… please…”
Thud!
A sharp impact struck the back of his head. Jiren lost consciousness, carrying the terror of death with him until the very end.
*
The demon with brown hair, green eyes, and a white horn on her forehead—the War Dancer, Hela Ragnarun—watched the sudden turn of events in stunned silence. The human hunters who had been about to violate her were now either dead or unconscious on the floor. Yet what shocked her even more was the identity of the one who had appeared and saved her.
The male demon who had knocked out the last human slowly turned his head toward her. When Hela saw his face, she could not speak. Though he wore only ragged trousers, she knew exactly who he was. He was the one she had believed she would never see again—the lord to whom she had sworn eternal loyalty.
The Demon King.
His sudden appearance made her wonder if she was dreaming.
“Are you all right?”
“!”
That voice, clear in her ears, was the one she had longed to hear even once since the tragedy of that day. As the Demon King extended his hand toward her, Hela spoke in a trembling voice.
“D-Demon King…? Is it… is it really you, my lord?”
The fear that this might be a dream gripped her. If it were a dream, she never wanted to wake.
“…!”
As if to dispel her anxiety, the man—Demon King Arcadia Armageddon—leaned closer and took her hand. It was warm yet firm, the same grace she had received only once before. Overwhelmed, Hela heard her lord speak in his characteristically quiet, majestic voice.
“Yes. It is I. So you may rest easy now, Hela.”
“Ah… aah…”
His words washed away her fear. Hela felt the tension she had barely maintained finally release as she lowered her head deeply.
“H-Hela?”
“Hic… hic… sob…”
All the despair and pain she had suppressed for months burst forth at once. Tears streamed down her face—tears of joy that her true master had returned, and another emotion she could never speak of to anyone else.