In the Demon King’s castle are vassals who will lend him strength.
They, too, must have grown stronger as the world changed.
Though asking others for help was shameful for a Demon King, it wasn’t entirely a bad thing.
The greatest joy of demons is tormenting humans, yet without the Demon King, the very source of their power, they cannot act rashly.
By now they must be sharpening their blades at the humans, endlessly awaiting their king’s return.
They will protect their weakened king, whether they wish to or not.
If I can just survive, regain my power, and sweep away every last human, that’s enough.
For now I might look like a feeble king, but once I carve a deed that goes down in history, no demon will dare ignore me.
There was still time…
… before the Hero realized who he was,
… before he gathered even one companion,
… before he tracked down the Demon King’s whereabouts.
He had to reach the castle first.
“After all I did to come back, I’m not dying here.”
But… how did I come back?
Truthfully, I don’t quite remember.
I sacrificed far too much in that last battle against the Hero five hundred years ago along with
parts of my own memories among them.
No matter. I haven’t the time to brood; survival comes first.
Reinhild returned to the cave to pack though “pack” meant gathering the drifts of mana that had scattered through the cave for five centuries.
To a king with no mana at all, even that was precious.
He scraped together those faint, precious traces, absorbed them, and set out.
The resurrected Demon King was penniless. He did not own even a tiny bundle. No coin, no spare clothes; one couldn’t visit a neighbor with fewer belongings.
Thankfully, even with many memories gone, he still knew where the castle lay, so he set off boldly.
“If I leave mana traces, that Hero brat might chase me, so I’ll walk,” he muttered to no one.
It was only an excuse; with mana empty he couldn’t teleport anyway.
He had no money to hire a horse or carriage.
Naturally, unable to find proper food, Reinhild trudged on, starving.
Perhaps the loss of mana weakened his once-sturdy body. After so little distance, his feet swelled and every limb ached.
He wanted to collapse, but he didn’t dare.
If he lay down, he might never rise again, not to mention a passing monster could kill him without a twitch.
So he dragged his exhausted body onward.
Fifty days later, Reinhild finally reached the Demon King’s castle.
“Haa… whew…”
He dropped to his knees before the fortress that still stood grand and unchanged after five hundred years. Dignity meant nothing now.
All he wanted was to get inside, eat something hot, bathe, and sleep on a soft blanket.
Life without mana was harsher than expected: legs trembling after a short walk, stomach churning after brief hunger, whole body aching, head pounding.
On the verge of death, he burst into tears at the sight of the castle.
He’d feared humans might have destroyed it, yet the fortress now radiated darker miasma than ever. The castle and demons were intact.
Reinhild rejoiced: his return after five hundred years.
“I have returned, my vassals!” he proclaimed, stepping inside, expecting welcoming demons to rush over.
“Your Majesty?”
“Is it really the Demon King?”
“The Demon King has come back!”
So far, things were as he’d hoped. Many demons had died in that old battle, but while he slept, they had multiplied and grown stronger—stronger even than the humans. Perhaps they could face a Hero’s party. Reinhild brimmed with hope.
Then things went awry.
“Why is the Demon King so weak?”
“Is he even the King?”
“That aura’s the real thing, but he’s far too feeble.”
“He’s grown weaker over time!”
“We don’t need an outdated King. We need a strong one. Our power depends on his. We waited for this? Waste of centuries.”
Disappointment spread. Some demons unleashed outright killing intent.
“If the old King doesn’t die, a new King can’t appear! We hid from humans for centuries because this weakling clung to life!”
“Right! It’s this so-called King’s fault no new Majesty arose!”
“Let’s kill him then a mighty new King will be born!”
“Kill him!”
“Kill! Kill!”
“…Uh… uh?”
Stunned, Reinhild made the wisest decision since resurrecting: he turned and fled at full speed.
I have to use mana! Exhausted, barely able to stand, it was his only escape.
He checked. What little mana remained had been drained on the journey.
Why? I didn’t even do anything!
He had no idea how dangerous nonstop movement without food was. His starved body had burned mana just to stay alive. Now the level was low enough to endanger his heart.
Using more mana is risky…
“Kill him!”
“Seize the Demon King!”
“Waaaah!”
No time for caution. Use mana and risk death or stay and die for sure.
Better to perish alone of mana exhaustion than be torn apart in disgrace.
Reinhild scraped up every last drop and cast teleportation.
It shouldn’t have been enough, yet, like a miracle, he landed far from the castle, alive.
“Did… it work?”
He staggered one step, then could move no farther: hungry, shivering, sad, resentful, lonely.
Tears welled.
Ssshhhhh—
Rain began to fall.
“Ha… I’m doomed.” He felt the God above laughing at him.
Thud. Reinhild collapsed. Strength fled; fever rose.
Is this how I die? So meaningless?
For five centuries of endurance, it was a pitiful death. Soon an oracle would proclaim the Demon King defeated.
Lucky Hero of this era, hailed without lifting a finger when in truth the King starved to death.
“That damn Hero… I’d at least like to see his face.” If he’d died by the Hero’s hand, it wouldn’t feel so unfair.
Even now, the thought made him snort a laugh. Vision blurred; eyelids drooped.
Hard rain pounded his fallen body. Shivering weakly, Reinhild lost consciousness.
Ssshhhhh—
The rain did not stop.
❖ ❖ ❖
Squelch.
Footsteps pressed the rain-soaked mud.
Their owner found the unconscious Reinhild half-buried and halted.
“……”
Ssshhhhh—
“…Uh…” Even in fainted state, Reinhild murmured something, perhaps dreaming.
The man bent closer, listening.
Ssshhhhh—
Through the harsher rain, a whisper reached him: “…Help… me…”
“……”
The man did not ignore the plea.
He hoisted Reinhild onto his back, stepped through the sucking mud, and retraced his path.
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