Self-Proclaimed Demon King (2)

Items to serve as sacrifices for the exorcism ritual—the possessions of demons. I'd stocked up on them well in advance. There'd been no trouble acquiring them. The reconstruction of the Yusra Kingdom had progressed beyond imagination. Basic shops had opened alongside an auction house. One run by the Arcana system, no less. And this was all for an exorcism ritual prepared against a demon king.

'Thank goodness I hustled to earn that money.'

A few demon items? They wouldn't even dent my bank balance.

It hit me anew. Grandfell aside, I was definitely a slave to capitalism.

I pulled out the demon items one after another. The more sacrifices, the stronger the ritual's effect.

I added those items as sacrifices for the exorcism ritual.

With that, the ritual began. I manifested magic without delay.

Sss—

Searching for the ash particles floating in the air.

Interfering with them using my aesthetics stat.

I manifested flames infused with an aesthetic sense.

Whoosh—!

"Shut that hideous maw of yours first, self-proclaimed demon king."

With his exceptional aesthetic sense, Grandfell couldn't help but loathe such ugliness above all else. Decarabia was especially hard to stomach in that regard. He looked like something out of a horror flick—a gory one at that.

But I didn't look away.

'My opponent's a demon king.'

Considering the level of a demon legion commander, this guy's was at least 600. He might even surpass the Seven Deadly Sins' Gluttony in its normal state—who knew? Gluttony hadn't exactly been at full strength, after all.

I couldn't afford to get distracted. And besides.

Whoosh—!

Frost's residents had been swallowed by the bastard. Amid the flesh burning in those flames enhanced by aesthetic sense—sublime flames—were those people. Their final moments. Grandfell's pride wouldn't allow him to turn away from that.

Decarabia writhed in the blaze and cried out.

"……You, you're!!"

Me? What about it.

I didn't answer. Unnecessary chatter with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠prey was beneath me.

At my icy response, the thing seemed to boil over with rage on top of burning.

It shook off the flames and continued.

"……I see. So I've been drawn into a 'ritual.'"

As expected of a demon king, king of demons. He'd figured out the exorcism ritual.

Not that it was surprising. An Akkshan demon hunter's words suddenly came to mind.

—Few demon hunters survive encountering a demon king. They're not to be trifled with, enough to be called the nemeses of demon hunters.

Tzzzzz—

Decarabia's burning flesh began to regenerate. A creepy chuckle followed.

"Arrogant human. To invite a demon king—this body—into your ritual."

Decarabia shuddered as if nostalgic.

"This sensation isn't unpleasant. Very well, I'll play along."

As expected, unlike the demons helpless against the exorcism ritual, Decarabia showed no panic. He even seemed leisurely. Just as the Akkshan demon hunters said—demon kings could turn the tables and devour their natural enemies.

But I knew better.

"Know your place."

『Perhaps the greatest threat to demons isn't the demon hunter class of Grandfell Claudi Arpeus Romeo, but Grandfell himself.』

Demon king or not, he couldn't scratch Grandfell's lofty sense of self.

A battle of wills in the exorcism ritual? The victor was decided from the start: Grandfell. Me.

So.

"I have no intention of stooping to the level of an inferior being like you."

Search, interfere, manifest.

I pressed Decarabia relentlessly. Without a hint of hesitation.

So what if I couldn't manifest stone pillars? Those were just mana-saving spells for raw destruction. A desperate measure for free gains with minimal investment.

Far more potent magic—one I'd never used since entering Frost...

The implication was simple.

'I've got plenty left.'

I had mana to spare. Naturally, I had no intention of wasting it.

[Natural Enemy] activated.

Even with my mana boosted, my pitiful level meant the absolute value was still pathetic.

'It's all about cost-performance.'

As always. My way.

I'd use everything at my disposal, great or small.

Whoosh—!

A fusion of entirely different concepts: magic and science.

I manifested Marcelo's inspiration as advanced magic.

'Fancy words, but...'

It was just elementary science level.

But its efficiency was proven. I could sustain magic indefinitely without extra mana expenditure.

'Regardless of the spell's power...!'

The storm of flames showed no sign of dying. Swallowing Frost's hellish inferno, it blazed even fiercer. Infused with aesthetic sense in the interference phase, it moved like a living thing—for judging the demon king alone. Like flames descending from heaven.

"Wait, a path just opened?"

For those preparing a joint assault, it cleared the way.

"……Insolent!"

It sealed Decarabia so he couldn't twitch a finger.

"Whoa! That's insane!"

Even Jessie, the Shining guild's mage called the mages' mage and grand archmage's disciple, clutched her pointed hat in awe. It was only natural.

But it was too early for amazement. My desperate struggle was just beginning.

Sss—

I drew up mana repeatedly.

'I'm no Jessie—I can't spam spells like that.'

This time, not ordinary mana, but apt mana.

Not from stats. From the caster's life and past.

'...Whatever the source, good is good.'

Middle school chuunibyou or not.

I hadn't wasted the black magic talent acknowledged by Matis Din Karl, founder of black magic studies.

I manifested the intermediate black magic, Black Gaze.

Its effect: stripping the target's senses.

"……!"

The first to go was his mouth.

But the mouth was just the beginning. Black magic was still magic, after all. Black Gaze had ongoing effects.

Precisely—every time he faltered in fear, another sense vanished into deep darkness.

I spoke to the frozen Decarabia.

"Self-proclaimed demon king."

I threw his words back at him.

"How does it feel to have your arrogance smashed into the dirt?"

*

……Demon hunter! Now I understand. How a mere human could be so brazen.

Decarabia didn't panic.

"……I see. So I've been drawn into a 'ritual.'"

Demon hunters? He'd slain plenty during the Holy War. Distant memories now, but they were moth-like fools even then.

'The most foolish of humans.'

To dare summon a demon king into their own ritual.

In that instant, Decarabia decided.

'Strip away that presumptuous ego, and it's an excellent vessel.'

Once he crushed Hoyeol's will in the exorcism ritual, he'd claim the body. So many possibilities with it.

'No need to overdo it.'

Facing the masses was a burden even for him. Not cowardly flight—just biding his time, like when he conquered Frost.

"Very well, I'll play along."

But that plan crumbled.

'What is this?'

He was definitely inside the guy's ritual. A demon king, evoking terror by presence alone. Most demon hunters went mad just from that.

Yet Hoyeol was fine. More than fine—he was overwhelming him.

Whoosh—!

"!"

Soaring flames. A vortex linking to the sky.

Decarabia chided himself.

'This isn't reality.'

Just the guy's exaggeration. But even realizing that begged the question. How could a pathetic human overwhelm a demon king mentally?

'Know your place, to me...?'

Decarabia wouldn't yield. Flames? He'd block with transmuted minerals. Frost had plenty of stone and ore.

That was when.

"……Mmph?!"

His tongue wouldn't move. No voice came.

He knew instinctively. The bastard had done something...

'Magic? No, not ordinary magic...'

But knowing that didn't explain the situation.

As Decarabia hesitated, something flew through the flames.

Shuu! Shuu!

Arrows!

Puk! Puk!

Decarabia raged at the arrows in his flesh.

'...A mere human dares!!'

Without that obscuring flame storm...

But the arrow barrage was just the start. Magic and daggers flew from all sides. Some dealt critical damage.

Decarabia couldn't hide his shock.

'Me...?'

A perfect descent with countless sacrifices. Why was he so powerless...?

No. Not yet.

Decarabia strained to cry out.

"……Mmph!!"

Demon legion commanders, what are you doing?! Your king is under attack! Sacrifice yourselves for me!

But then he realized.

"……!"

The demon legion commanders, his demon army—gone. He'd devoured the survivors as sacrifices.

Hoyeol's cold voice echoed.

—Self-proclaimed demon king.

Yes. No one left to call him king.

Then.

Beee—

His ears rang. No sound at all. Not even his own cries.

Decarabia glared at Hoyeol.

'...I won't end like this.'

He knew demon hunters' dangers. Death by their hands meant no resurrection.

Flash—

Thousands of eyes sprouted from his flesh.

He had to find a way to break it. The eyes halted in unison.

'...Yes.'

More sacrifices. More blood and flesh.

Decarabia targeted easier prey.

'You thought I didn't notice you hiding.'

Frost's residents in buildings. He'd spared them because their fear fueled him.

But now.

'Become blood and flesh obediently.'

His omnidirectional eyes spun. Frost's mineral buildings? Trivial for one who knew all minerals.

Behold. Now.

No collapse sounds—hearing gone. But he saw: buildings crumbling, dust rising.

Yet...

'Why this time?'

No blood or flesh.

Tap tap— Something poked his flesh. Tiny flying stones.

A glimpse through flames: Frost's residents.

"?!!"

Frail humans and their young, who should be cowering in shadows—throwing stones at him.

His eyes fixed on their faces.

'...How?'

No fear from those weaklings.

Those eyes—like soldiers clutching weapons in death throes. Just like Frost's soldiers.

His flesh rippled. Unfathomable. Not just Hoyeol—all humans.

Decarabia screamed.

He'd killed them all! Mothers protecting young! Children before mothers!

Yet they wouldn't submit. Didn't grasp fear.

Did humans' foolishness blind them to terror?

Confused, Decarabia froze amid the flames.

His final struggle foiled, nothing left.

Flames consumed his flesh.

In blurring vision, he gazed at Hoyeol.

'Others can't hear, but you will.'

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

This was his ritual, his mind.

Decarabia asked.

'Why? Why won't humans yield?'

Why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rise after falling? Why plunge into fear despite knowing it's unbearable?

No kingly pride left. He wailed.

'...Please! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I beg you! Tell me!!'

No answer. Hoyeol's lips sealed—like refusing talk with prey.

'Please!! Pleeeaaase!!'

.

.

.

"Die with your doubts. That's your punishment."

Beginning, crisis, climax, resolution.

That simple truth. Decarabia could never grasp it.

I watched the flames devour him.

Blazing fiercely, unquenchable.

Thud—

Frost's survivors collapsed.

"......It's over."

"Ugh... hu... hu..."

"Father, Mother... hu... hu..."

And sobbed.

Mourning those lost first.

The flames cremated Decarabia—and those he'd devoured—leaving not a trace, sublime to the end. Only then did they fade.

Soon, messages filled my view.

Innumerable messages, too many to scan at a glance.

Through the cluttered view, something white began to scatter.

Harcon Kingsguard spoke softly.

"My liege. Did you know? In Frost, they call snow a gift from the heavens. There's a superstition that refusing it brings divine punishment. In this snowy north, it was just a tale to motivate clearing the drifts."

He continued bitterly.

"Yet today, I want to believe it's truly a heavenly gift."

I looked up too.

Snow from the North Sea poured over Frost.

*

No one needed prompting. Players checked their contributions.

"......Ha, what's your contribution?"

"You first."

"Yours? Over two thousand?"

Better or worse than expected. But at this moment, most players shared the same thought.

How much contribution had Lee Hoyeol racked up? What rewards would that bring?

All eyes turned to Hoyeol.

"Around ten thousand...?"

"What? It'll blow past that easy."

"Why's his face like that? Lower than he thought? Not even ten thousand?!"

But peering at his expression revealed nothing.

"Hoyeol always looks like that anyway."

.

.

.

I checked my contribution.