017. Have You Gone Mad?
Bam! Bam! Bam!
The air whistled with impacts that seemed impossible for mere fists colliding, whipping Roger's hair wildly.
What should I do?
Roger weighed his options. His future boiled down to two paths.
Side with the Demon King and be branded a traitor to humanity forever.
Or get handed over to the princess and rot as her slave for life.
Wondering which was better was pointless. Both were the worst of the worst.
But if he had to pick the lesser evil, it was the former.
The Demon King isn't just some vicious monster from the rumors.
He was bizarrely unique, but that very oddity gave Roger a sliver of breathing room.
The princess, on the other hand...
Her madness was infamous even in the kingdom. Her obsession with fine weapons and jewelry—especially her fixation on the craftsmen who made them—bordered on insanity.
If she catches me, she'll squeeze me dry.
He'd get squeezed by the Demon King too, but not to that extent.
It helped that Berge's identity as the Demon King hadn't been exposed yet. To the world, Roger was just a craftsman who'd fled rather than make weapons for the princess—not a betrayer of humanity siding with the Demon King.
And above all...
Roger touched the necklace around his neck. The moment he sided with the princess, it would kill him. No way the Demon King would let him off easy.
With his resolve hardened, Roger crawled toward the magic artifact on all fours.
Even at top speed, it'll take at least ten minutes.
He had to sever the connections wrapping around the entire workshop.
Can't take the whole stem. Just grab the core first...
Roger's hands moved frantically. But without tools, progress was agonizingly slow.
If only I had a knife or an axe...
As long as the core survived, it didn't matter—whether he detached the connections or hacked them off with an axe, the result was the same.
That's when he spotted the half-finished metal lump in his peripheral vision. It was meant to be a sword.
The problem? It was rolling right in the middle of the Demon King and princess's battlefield.
Gulp.
Go for it, and he'd end up as dwarf paste—Roger stew.
"That sword! I need the sword!"
In the end, begging was his only option.
Fortunately, the Demon King understood. Unfortunately, so did the princess.
"How dare you..."
Their gazes clashed. Both reached for the blade at once.
The princess seized the edge first. But a kick came flying right after.
Thud!
She swallowed hard. Even through the dizzying shock, her grip didn't loosen. That was her misfortune.
Her opponent was the Demon King—no mercy for princesses.
Crack!
Her fingers shattered under the vertical heel drop. A tiny scream escaped with the half-made blade, sailing through the air into the Demon King's hand, then to Roger.
"Thank you!"
The fight that followed was ideal for Berge and a nightmare for the princess.
Her obsession with the blade had led to her fingers snapping all too easily, slashing her combat power.
One-sided offense. One-sided defense.
The pattern was the same, but the roles reversed.
"...!"
Wounds began accumulating on the princess's body, one by one. Against that viscous killing intent, all she could do was resist and thrash.
And luckily, her thrashing worked.
"Princess!"
"Enemies!"
Knight reinforcements arrived at the commotion, weapons drawn.
"It's done!"
Right on cue, Roger shouted. Berge kicked the princess square in the gut, sending her flying. The massive magic artifact vanished without a trace.
"Your Highness... your hand!"
"..."
The princess gazed mournfully at her fist. It was small. Unlike the burly hands of other dwarves, hers was delicate and refined—even half-broken.
It hurt. But the mental distortion outweighed the physical pain.
If it hadn't been so small.
If it had been big and thick like the other dwarves'.
She wouldn't have let it slip away so futilely.
Wouldn't have broken and lost so pathetically.
Her aimless rage naturally turned toward her guards.
"What the hell were you doing?"
"...We're sorry."
"Why didn't you come until I was dead?"
"...We're sorry."
"Does 'sorry' fix my hand? Does 'sorry' mean go catch those bastards right now? Quit apologizing and chase them down that passage. Order the lord to hunt them down no matter what!"
"As you command!"
A few knights plunged into the passage. Messengers bolted for the lord's castle.
"...We're heading back to the capital."
"Princess?"
"I need to see Father."
It wasn't Roger who'd done this to her. But his voice echoed clearly in her mind.
—I need that sword!
If she hadn't gotten distracted and fixated on it, her hand wouldn't have snapped so pointlessly.
She wouldn't have lost so stupidly.
If that damn Roger hadn't abandoned his weapons mid-craft and vanished.
None of this would have happened.
The princess ground her teeth.
"Roger Friedri defied my orders and deceived me. He'll pay the price."
"I'll beg Father myself to let me capture him."
She'd make him regret today for life.
Without fail.
She vowed it.
The dwarves' pursuit was relentless.
Their short legs moved with surprising speed and agility. But their quarry was a Demon King.
Those tasked with kidnapping princes and princesses prioritized stealth above all.
Tracking a Demon King through the wilderness was impossible for them.
"...We might never go back to the kingdom now."
Roger whimpered gloomily.
"Wrong assumption. It's not 'might'—we can't. The second we show up, it's straight to the capital's underground dungeon. Execution's unlikely, though. With your talent, they'll keep you around to exploit. Royal slave, or maybe the Second Princess's personal one—locked in a workshop all day."
"..."
The vivid nightmare paled Roger's face.
"Y-you think?"
"Certain. If it's the Second Princess I know."
"You know her well, then."
"Well enough."
It was a stubbornly enduring bad blood.
Heroes were warriors chosen by the dimension itself to fight invaders, but not all powerhouses were heroes.
Heroes just had aptitudes perfect for battling invaders—not everyone weaker was non-heroic, and vice versa.
Rare as they were, the Berft Kingdom's Second Princess was one such powerhouse.
"Doesn't matter, right? I don't let things that fall into my hands go easily anyway."
"...Of course, my lord."
The dwarf hero's last flicker of "what if" hope snuffed out.
Three months had passed since the hero's march began.
Hillon deliberately progressed north at a snail's pace, meeting locals along the way.
His followers grew.
No enemies blocked their path.
To outsiders, it looked like a smooth hero's journey. People mocked that the Demon King, terrified of Hillon's fame, wasn't sending monsters.
But Granada sensed growing discord from within.
"Damn, what kind of hero march has zero monsters?"
"Where are they? One ogre shows up, hundreds swarm it, and we get a single handaxe?"
"The strong ones snag all the good stuff anyway. Are we here for charity?"
"At least the feasts are frequent."
Hillon's generosity toward local lords and nobles kept dissatisfaction minor, but Granada saw its mere existence as significant.
Master's hunch wasn't entirely off.
Any Demon King would build on that for deeper schemes.
Granada sipped his drink, pondering. This feast was hosted by a noble inviting the heroes.
Packaged as "befitting a hero," but the goal was shares—of the Demon King's tower treasures upon conquest.
What faces will they make if they learn there's nothing?
Granada chuckled.
Then, a tipsy Barkat approached.
"Boss, heard the rumors about the Demon King?"
"Demon King?"
Granada flinched briefly.
Did they figure I'm his subordinate? No way.
The Demon King hid his identity meticulously. No leaks that Granada knew of.
And indeed, his worry was unfounded.
"The one who built the tower in the Erjest Mountains wields fire."
"Fire?"
He did wield fire. Granada had seen the black flames up close.
But never in front of humans, as far as he knew.
"Where'd you hear that?"
"It's buzzing among the nobles. Spread to our marchers too. Talk of gearing up accordingly."
"Flame-resistant gear?"
"Wouldn't bet against it. With Hildean Kingdom backing and merchant sponsors, they can afford it."
"Is it confirmed he uses fire? No one's even seen the Demon King."
"Dunno the details. Just hearsay. But folks are treating it as fact."
Granada rubbed his chin.
It reeked of something off, no matter how he sliced it.
Need to contact Master.
Elves loathed it, but sworn oaths meant giving foes their best.
"Rumors I'm a fire wielder?"
Berge scowled. The report upon returning to the tower was far from pleasant.
He didn't need to ask how.
He hadn't slipped up around humans.
Only demons in the know—and among them, only one would maliciously spread rumors to screw him.
"That filthy beast bastard."
"Not just Drakson Dolph's doing."
Gordon bit his lip.
The Beast Demon King was Alkain Daegong's most loyal dog. If he moved, it was on his master's command or whim.
Gordon recalled right before departing for Alein.
The Archduke had cursed Berge's death—pure malice, already exiling him.
Damn it, how'd I end up like this...
Top graduate should mean smooth sailing, yet he was plummeting.
"What will you do? This could be dangerous..."
"Nothing."
"Pardon?"
"You know what's on the first floor, flame resistance aside."
"Ah."
Mana cannons and dwarf traps. Some spewed fire, but sparingly. Rush in cocky with flame gear, and they'd honeycomb you.
"Erjest Mountains dump blizzards year-round. They'll learn how pointless flame resistance is there."
Weakened prey would get a monstrous welcome.
Those who broke through? Mana cannons and traps.
Those who survived that?
"They'll meet the princess."
"Even if heroes come, you'll leave her be?"
"Imagine a hero who clawed his way up meets the princess... and she backstabs him."
The thought thrilled him.
"...You're not planning to pit the princess against the heroes, are you?"
"..."
"Forgive my impertinence, but... have you gone mad?"
"Insolent."