The Turning Point of the Journey (1)
I was right. Creating Kaira’s Secret Diary had been the right decision.
As we drew closer to the heart of the Demon King’s domain, even the most ordinary-looking forests and deceptively peaceful fields threw threats at us, large and small. The frequency of minor injuries rose accordingly, and so did the need to mend them.
Taerei’s Memory Preservation had been designed around the assumption it would only be used twice a day, which was a clear drawback. Still, my modified version—Kaira’s Secret Diary—could be cast about twice between morning and evening, provided my physical condition held. Developing anything more advanced with my current skill was out of the question.
Even so, the ability to completely erase the scars of battle—including light wounds—twice per day seemed to give my comrades significant psychological relief. After all, only two of us were usually the ones getting hurt.
For the next month I practiced Kaira’s Secret Diary without fail.
Simple as it was, the spell was still more complex than Taerei’s Memory Preservation. I couldn’t cast it completely silently, without a grimoire, gestures, or reagents, relying on pure will alone. The best I could manage was a slight wave of one hand.
Before long my companions caught on. Whenever they saw the little wizard make that particular motion, they knew healing was coming.
I was no longer the party’s dead weight. I remained useless during actual combat, but I could now fully handle the duties of a living matchstick, a water bucket, and a wind-up clock.
…Or so I had believed.
Right up until the moment our journey’s end arrived without warning the instant we met the Demon King.
The encounter was abrupt. While we observed an ominously silent village from a distance, Mervin spotted a figure clad in black-gray armor that covered the entire body, mounted on a horse the size of an elephant. At first I thought we had a chance to eliminate one of the Demon King’s high-ranking lieutenants—one of the Five Heads—and we planned to track and kill it.
The moment I saw the black knight, I spread Enholt’s Veil around my comrades, bending the light to hide our presence.
But I knew. This was not one of the Five Heads. The closer we drew, the more frantically my instincts screamed in warning. One look at my companions’ faces told me they had already guessed the truth. This was no mere lieutenant. This was the Demon King himself.
To fight a stage-one boss and immediately face the final boss felt like the work of an idiot game designer, but this was not a staged game. It was a real assassination mission in a real world.
We paused briefly to discuss our options. Should we continue shadowing the Demon King until we were far enough from the village to launch a surprise attack, or let him go and first eliminate his remaining Five Heads to help the imperial army gain the upper hand?
Azalea, Kadros, and Glazalus insisted we strike the Demon King directly here and now. Even after cutting off the remaining heads, we would have to face him eventually. If the central figure—the Demon King—disappeared, no matter how strong his lieutenants were, they would become nothing but puppets.
Mervin and I opposed the idea.
“We don’t know the Demon King’s full strength. If we act rashly and fail, every one of our peoples will be placed in danger.”
Coming from the usually laconic Mervin, that counted as a very long speech. I nodded in agreement with him.
Since the vote was split, we decided to follow the will of the three who formed the majority.
Besides, defeating all five heads wouldn’t grant us items, raise our levels, or apply any special debuff to the Demon King. No matter how many lieutenants we killed, his power would remain unchanged.
Our mission was to eliminate the Demon King. Sooner or later we would have to confront him. If so, now—when he was separated from the rest of his heads and guarded by only a small escort—was the perfect opportunity.
We kept Enholt’s Veil active and followed until the Demon King had moved far enough from the magic-corrupted village. We closed the distance slowly, carefully, at a pace they would find difficult to detect.
A wide, snow-swept wasteland. In this place where there were neither villages nor forests, the corrupted human soldiers and grotesque demonic horde accompanying the Demon King suddenly halted their march.
At that exact moment the enormous horse the Demon King rode slowly turned its hooves until it faced us directly. My heart froze in terror; I nearly lost control of the veil spell.
The Demon King stared straight at where we stood and spoke. Or rather, the word “spoke” felt wrong. His tone was far too quiet for that.
Yet his voice reached us across that great distance like a vibration that drilled directly into our skulls, a low, numbing resonance that swallowed us whole.
“Reveal yourselves.”
The sound of it shook my head and threatened to burrow into my soul. I almost obeyed and dropped Enholt’s Veil on the spot. Only Azalea’s tight grip on my arm kept me from losing consciousness.
We did not dispel the magic. Instead we walked briskly toward the Demon King’s halted party—close enough for Glazalus’s scattershot cannon to be effective.
And then we struck first.
Glazalus’s massive bronze cannon roared, shaking the earth as it belched fire. Dozens of soldiers and demons escorting the Demon King were shredded by sharp iron fragments and collapsed in sprays of blood. Though demons were mixed among them, most were humans corrupted by demonic energy.
Immediately afterward, Saint Azalea and Kadros—son of Andrak the White Hammer—burst from the veil and charged like living flames. Several of those guarding the Demon King actually shielded their eyes from the holy radiance burning around the Saint.
Azalea swung her sword, nearly as tall as I was, wreathed in sacred fire, carving through the Demon King’s royal guard. Demons touched by the blade’s trajectory crumbled into ash. Humans blackened, shriveled, and slowly became charred corpses.
Beneath the flickering shadow of Azalea’s flames, the dwarf clad in sturdy dwarven alloy armor smashed the heads of the royal guard with his shield, swung his axe to turn armored demons into powder, and sliced through the bodies of human soldiers in the same motion.
Soon a blizzard-laden whirlwind enveloped what few of the Demon King’s lieutenants remained. They covered their faces and closed their eyes, but the wind only grew stronger, tearing their bodies apart. Mervin stood with an unreadable expression, quietly extending one of his elven blades toward the center of the vortex.
The demons killed by the heroes’ assault scattered as if they had never existed in this world. All that remained were the burned, crushed, and torn bodies of the Demon King’s soldiers—beings who had once all been human.
I… could not do it. I could not slaughter people as if cutting down straw dummies. In the middle of such fierce combat, the only things I could manage were support and healing spells. Repeating that to myself like a mantra, I simply stood there trembling.
What kind of hero party included someone as useless as me? Self-loathing flooded through me.
Amid that scene of slaughter, only one being—only one enormous presence—remained utterly still atop a horse as massive as a mountain. Clad in black armor that showed not a single inch of skin, the Demon King stood in perfect silence.
He was the Demon King indeed. We had effortlessly eliminated every soldier guarding him, yet he had uttered only a single sentence.
“What you have just annihilated were none other than the army I newly conscripted from the village you saw earlier.”
There was no trace of humanity or emotion in the Demon King’s voice, yet somehow… it felt as though he was mocking us.
“Until just moments ago—until I covered that village with my blessing—those beings were innocent humans. And now they have all been killed by you. That is the only meaning behind what you have just done.”
An attempt to shake our minds, perhaps. Even if his words were true, none of us would fall for such a cunning tongue.
“You pitch-black bastard! If you’ve got time to flap your gums, use it to swing that hammer of yours!”
…It was Kadros’s provocation. Even as the dwarf spat those rough words, he never lowered his guard. He raised his shield and advanced on the Demon King, massive axe in hand, every sense alert.
My legs were shaking violently, but from a distance I quietly opened my grimoire, tore a page covered in charcoal sketches, and made a small gesture. I had to cast Veltara’s Transparent Shield on Kadros—an invisible shell that might soften a surprise blow.
“Are you agents? Assassins?”
The moment Kadros came within striking distance of the Demon King’s neck, the Demon King slowly turned his head toward him.
I did not see what the Demon King did.
All I saw was Kadros’s dwarven shield shattering into pieces along with Veltara’s Transparent Shield, and the dwarf himself being hurled backward at several times his charging speed, armor hanging in tatters.
Glazalus roared and charged the Demon King. Realizing his scrap-metal cannon could not wound him, he swung the weapon like a club, aiming for the Demon King’s head.
This time I think I saw it—the slight lift of the Demon King’s shoulder. That was all.
I never saw how Glazalus’s bronze cannon crumpled like an empty soda can, or how the thick steel plate protecting the ogre’s protruding belly shattered like a porcelain plate.
“You are all quite strong. You possess more value as my servants than the army I conscripted earlier. I shall soon grant you my blessing, so until then, come at me with everything you have.”
I could not simply stand still out of fear. Desperately, I cast Melville’s Fireworks right in front of the Demon King’s eyes.
An illusion spell that created dazzling flames visible only to the target, chaotically scrambling their vision and clouding their judgment. Azalea and Mervin, who had seen my gesture and understood my intent, raised their swords and charged the Demon King from front and back.
Whether thanks to the elf’s centuries of sword training or my distraction spell, for the first time I managed to perceive the movement of the Demon King’s mace. The result was Mervin’s twin elven blades, now broken into four pieces.
I do not know whether it was the power of centuries of martial training, but unlike the others, Mervin somehow twisted his body and succeeded in dodging the blow. Blood streamed from his mouth, but he had survived.
And then there was Azalea. If anyone in our group deserved the title of hero, it was her.
Unlike the other three, Azalea’s burning blade succeeded in meeting the Demon King’s mace—and in withstanding the impact. The Demon King instantly disentangled their weapons and swung his left arm, sending Azalea’s entire body flying, but I clearly saw that the upper edge of the pitch-black mace had been slightly shaved away.
“Power granted directly by the god you serve flows within you. What a truly tempting vessel you possess.”
Azalea immediately regained her balance and charged the Demon King again, wreathed in light.
After pondering something for a moment, I charged alongside her. I activated Mobia’s Haste, greatly sharpening my reflexes. I needed to touch the Demon King’s body.