Pen and Paper Translations

Most of the truth about the Demon King and the hero was hidden by false records.

It was the ducal house of West that wrote false histories and deceived the world.

They began arbitrarily smothering truth with lies three hundred years before Reinhild was born, starting from the time of the previous Demon King and hero’s battle.

The previous hero was a bastard.

Of all things, a bastard was born as the first blood of the ducal house of West and thus destined to be the hero.

The Duke of West of that era fervently hoped that no Demon King would appear in that generation.

If no Demon King appeared, the child could not become the hero, and the first blood of the next generation would be put forth as a hero candidate.

But as if to mock that duke, a Demon King appeared.

The Duke of West could not proclaim that a child born of his affair with a commoner had become the hero.

He had no intention of making known to the world even the bastard’s existence, let alone that he was the hero.

So, with no choice, he falsified the truth.

He covered the glorious line “the hero is always produced by House West” with the lie that the one with the character closest to that of a hero is chosen.

It was a choice made even at the cost of abandoning the family’s glory to hide his own shame, yet laughably it became an opportunity to elevate the standing of House West.

When it was believed that only the successor of House West could become the hero, people used to link every little deed of the hero to House West.

Whatever achievement he made, they thought, “naturally that’s a matter that House West ought to resolve,” and at the hero’s slightest mistake, they blamed the ducal house.

Those very people, from the moment they learned the hero was not fixed to a particular family but chosen, changed their attitude.

They praised House West as “a noble house that sacrifices its heir to protect the world.”

House West gained the image of being “the distinguished house from which those chosen as heroes most often come.”

Seeing that falsifying history had drawn an even better response, House West became more aggressive in revising history in ways advantageous to themselves, so that House West would be perceived by all as a house of heroes.

The only ones who knew the true history were the Duke of West and his successor.

Was their refusal to deceive even themselves because they wished to revel in the sense of superiority of knowing a truth unknown to others?

Watching the commoners swayed by the slightest gesture of their hands, they fell into the delusion that they were gods.

What I decree is truth, and that truth is history.

Once they fell into that delusion, they could no more escape it than one can escape a bog.

So when the oracle foretelling Reinhild’s birth descended, the Duke of West was frantic.

“A Demon King appears when we have no heir!”

He had already been continually anxious for lack of news of an heir.

And now, on top of that, the Demon King’s return. It could only be called bad fortune.

If the people began to doubt the continued absence of a hero? And then began to suspect the distorted history, and the truth came to light?

Then the ducal house would be finished.

Even if a child were born tomorrow, they would have to wait eighteen years before that child could be proclaimed the hero. Could the people endure a world with a rampaging Demon King for eighteen years without a hero?

If luck were good, perhaps instead of doubting the ducal house they would praise it as the glorious house that finally produced a hero.

But the fate of House West’s very existence could not be entrusted to luck.

There was no guarantee an heir would be born any time soon.

So the Duke of West decided once more to falsify the truth. He prevented the oracle announcing the Demon King’s birth from being made public.

Unaware that a Demon King had appeared, the people continued their peaceful days.

Reports increased day by day of monsters growing stronger and of demonfolk being seen descending into towns and cities. That was a phenomenon that occurred when a Demon King appeared, yet no one suspected that the Demon King had returned.

Because no oracle had descended.

The Duke of West fretted over how long he could stall.

And at last, good news came.

“My son—our hero!”

Rexion West had been a hero since the moment of birth.

Unlike the previous “first blood” who might become the hero should a Demon King appear, this child bore the glorious name of hero from the instant he was born.

The duke pondered how he might use this child to exalt the family’s glory.

What if, when the boy turned thirteen, they announced to the world that the Demon King had returned?

If the people quailed in fear for about five years, then on Rexion’s eighteenth birthday the oracle would descend—

—an oracle declaring that he was the hero, and the one who would erase from this world the terror called the Demon King.

Having finished all his plans, the duke cherished Rexion and raised him with utmost care.

As befitted a hero who would face the strongest Demon King, Rexion was strong even at a young age.

He heard, to the point of calluses forming in his ears, the flattering line that he was born with the destiny of the hero.

Even if he did nothing, the whole world praised Rexion. Whatever he wanted was placed in his hands before he even voiced the desire. Thus he forgot even how to want.

Even in lessons and training, he mastered everything without a shred of effort. In that way, Rexion forgot even how to strive.

There was nothing in this world that was interesting, nothing that stirred his curiosity.

He lived in that state for seventeen years, and soon his eighteenth birthday was approaching.

From the time Rexion was old enough to understand words, his father, the Duke of West, had told him he would become the hero and fight the Demon King.

Along with the words that he must begin preparations the instant he turned eighteen.

“No need to make a big production of ‘preparations.’”

The Demon King. That thing… surely he could crush it one-handed. What preparation could possibly be needed?

He was too strong, and everything else in the world was weak.

The Demon King would be the same.

Strength, power, wealth—even looks. Having everything, Rexion waited to meet the creature called the Demon King, having only character left unacquired.

“Am I the one who has to wait?”

The more he thought about it, the more it annoyed him.

How great could this so-called Demon King be, to make a person wait?

Rexion had never once waited for anyone.

If he wanted something, it had to be laid before his eyes before he even spoke of it.

If there was someone he wished to meet, that person had to appear of their own accord and kneel before him before he even gave the order.

And now he was supposed to wait to meet a mere Demon King?

Absurd.

“A Demon King is nothing special.”

Rexion snorted.

He had met people of every sort who were called great.

This one is great in such-and-such; learn this from him. That one is great in so-and-so; emulate that from her.

Taking their lessons or crossing swords with them, Rexion acquired their techniques with astonishing speed.

Those who at first marveled at how extraordinary he was changed their eyes when they saw the young Rexion overtake them with startling speed.

Some fell into self-loathing; others into envy and jealousy.

There was not a single person whom Rexion failed to catch up to.

Why would the Demon King be any different?

However terrifying he was, in the end he was fated to be dealt with by Rexion’s hand. That, after all, was the Demon King’s entire reason for existing.

To be miserably felled by the hero’s hand, a chess piece to raise the prestige of House West.

“I don’t understand why we have to put off slaying the Demon King.”

If it was something that had to be done anyway, wasn’t it better to get it over with quickly? For him, it would be simpler than eating a meal.

Talk of gathering companions only made him laugh. Who was supposed to help whom?

Companions, nothing—he would be fortunate if they weren’t just dead weight.

Rexion made up his mind.

“I’m going right now to slay the Demon King.”

And all of this… Reinhild was watching.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Hooray!”

More than eight years had passed since the crystal orb for communication had been thrown into Rexion’s hands, and Reinhild had continued to eavesdrop on Rexion’s life to this very day.

Keeping the crystal’s connection from cutting off required quite a lot of mana.

But it didn’t matter. Reinhild had such a vast amount of mana that that much was like scraps to him.

It was lucky that nine-year-old Rexion had thrown away the crystal he received as a gift. Because the orb rolled under the bed, it could remain undiscovered.

Had it been somewhere noticeable, Rexion or other humans might have put it away or broken it but fortune favored him.

Even the cleaning artifact only sucked up the dust under the bed and never touched the orb.

Reinhild began and ended each day with Rexion’s voice. To him, that voice was a morning alarm and a lullaby.

The voice that once always carried a trace of irritation grew gradually calmer as the years passed. That did not mean the irritation had subsided.

Rexion found the whole world boring.

“Just like me.”

That fact pleased Reinhild.

The hero, too, was bored in exactly the same way as himself.

There was only one reason to welcome this fact.

If Rexion could relieve Reinhild’s frustration, then Reinhild could relieve Rexion’s boredom as well.

Once he realized that, the hero would come to the Demon King’s castle more often. Then Reinhild would be able to feel more freedom.

Counting the days, Reinhild was longing for the hero’s next birthday to come.

And yet, before that day even arrived, the hero would come first.

Personally, all the way to this Demon King’s castle!

“This isn’t the time to daydream!”

He had to prepare to receive the hero.