The Demon King's End
He wiped the blood from his blood-soaked face. The dark corridor of the Demon King's Castle, lined with ornate statues, reeked of slaughter, the blood pouring from countless monster corpses staining the floor like a crimson carpet. He flicked the gore from his Holy Sword and advanced slowly. At the end of this hall lay the grand audience chamber. Surely, the one he sought—and the one awaiting him—was there.
As he neared the doors, a massive shadow loomed overhead. Looking up, he saw a demon wreathed in roaring black flames blocking the entrance, glaring down at him. The demon glanced indifferently at the sword's blade, now glowing white-hot, and spoke.
"You cannot pass."
The corridor shuddered at the demon's resonant command, dust sifting from the ceiling. He replied in kind.
"Step aside."
In an instant, the dark inferno surging around the demon was crushed, bending low. The corridor flashed bright as the Holy Sword carved a dazzling arc, and the demon's head tumbled to the floor. He kicked it aside and shoved open the doors to the grand audience chamber.
The heart of the Demon King's Castle. A place where monsters and traitors who had surrendered to evil once gathered daily to praise their lord. Now empty, its vast expanse echoed hollowly—save for the throne at the far end, where the Demon King sat waiting.
Clad in dragon-leather garb, goat-like horns sprouting from his head, the demon lord blended into his black robes and throne, his pale face floating ghostlike in the void. His red eyes brimmed with venom, radiating menace. Severing that neck was his final mission.
"Come down here, Demon King."
"Fuck off."
The Demon King spat coldly. No surprise there. Without that kind of grit, he wouldn't have wreaked such havoc all this time. Striding up the steps, he stood before the throne. The king stared back without flinching.
"A puppet of the Goddess, no less..."
The chamber blazed like lightning-struck as the Holy Sword flared. The Demon King's head, twisted in a sneer, rolled down the dais. Mission complete. His tiresome hero days were finally, truly over.
He had an audience with the king, who praised his labors and handed over a reward voucher and pension guarantee. The sum was staggering—money he couldn't have touched in years without tightening his belt on any other job. The pension would pile up monthly in his name at the bank.
Seated beside the king, the Princess glared daggers, grinding her teeth. She'd just been ranting about how no pension should go to a thug like him, prattling on about royal fiscal integrity. Probably still sore he'd turned down her confession. As if a princess of the realm would confess to a commoner swordsman like him.
"And what do you plan to do now, hero?"
With only departure left, the king inquired.
"Open an inn."
"An... inn?"
The king blinked in surprise. Indeed, an inn. Why an inn? Because he wanted one, simple as that.
As a hero rampaging across the world, he'd stayed in countless inns. Places offering rest to the weary, meals to the hungry, booze to the lonely. Where adventurers and travelers gathered and parted, birthing legends and hero tales. How romantic was an inn!
He'd dreamed of owning one even amid his duties. Now flush with cash, it was time. He'd cater to folks like himself, hear the world's tales from them, and spend his days that way. Off to that small city he'd scouted years back. If business boomed, maybe franchises. Who knew—he might end up the kingdom's inn king.
"Once you're settled, drop by. Room's on the house."
"Father! Confiscate that wretch's Holy Sword!"
The princess's eyes flashed serpent-like.
"Now that's troubling, Princess. The Goddess herself gave it to me."
The king chuckled heartily; the princess trembled, calling him insolent. Whatever. It was finally done.
He galloped across the bright spring fields. But he didn't know then. That the world still brimmed with people in need of saving.