Thirty seconds.
It was far too short a time for Demon Lords who had devoted most of their lives to the Mountain Faction to decide whether or not to betray their faction. But even Barbatos must have known that in moments like these, time was more effective when not given generously. The Mountain Faction Demon Lords were visibly shaken.
"……."
Perhaps ten seconds had passed. An old man lowered his weapon and trudged over to the Plains Faction. The Mountain Faction Demon Lords cried out in shock.
"Morax!"
"You plan to betray the faction!"
It was Morax, formerly ranked twenty-first among the Demon Lords. With a face lined deep with age, Morax turned to look at his comrades—no, at those who had once been his comrades.
"I have not betrayed the faction. The one who truly betrayed the Mountain Faction is Sitri. Lord Paimon always thought first and foremost of the well-being of the Demon Realm's citizens, and above all else, he considered the future of demonkin. It was Sitri who betrayed that vision of Lord Paimon. I've had enough of this."
Morax let out a sigh. The old gentleman's beard trembled faintly.
"The grand ideals are gone, and all that remains is political infighting based on faction logic… So even if we claim to rebuild the Mountain Faction anew under Sitri's leadership, what would be left in it? The ideal of protecting demonkin? What right do we have to call ourselves Demon Lords when we slaughtered a hundred thousand of our own kind?"
Morax stared intently at Sitri. Hidden behind deep wrinkles, the old man's eyes glared with hostility.
"It was none other than I who first suggested to Belial that he change factions."
"What…!"
"I wanted to see how Sitri would respond if someone defected."
As the Mountain Faction Demon Lords buzzed with shock, only the two at the center of it—Morax and Sitri—quietly glared at each other. Morax parted his thick lips.
"You may call it an old man's little test, if you like. Either way, Sitri was already a criminal who had massacred countless civilians. I could have left the faction back then and it would have been fine, but I wanted to test her one last time. Whether she was truly worthy of succeeding Lord Paimon… or not."
"……."
"As you can see for yourselves, the result is clear. Sitri didn't even give Belial a chance to voice his dissent publicly. That summary execution was utterly lawless and barbaric. I realized then—Demon Lord Sitri is nothing more than someone who knows only how to solve every problem with blood!"
Morax spoke with desperate fervor, as though wringing the very breath from his lungs.
Sitri offered no response to any of it. Her violet pupils never wavered, not once, from the moment she entered the holding room. She simply fixed her gaze straight ahead, clear and unwavering, upon the others. I caught a faint trace of sorrow in those eyes.
Ah.
Here, only I—
Only I understood what Sitri was trying to say.
—If Paimon unnie truly meant so much to you, then why didn't any of you ever save her before?
Sitri said nothing, yet I could read a thousand words and a hundred sentences in her gaze. No—that wasn't quite right either. Sitri was speaking through her eyes. It was just that I was the only one who could hear.
—When Paimon unnie nearly died in the Crescent Alliance Army's war. When her mana was shattered and she was on the brink of death, and the right to decide her fate passed to Dantalion—why did none of you run to Dantalion and beg him to let her live?
—Why?
—How come out of all the factions, I—the only one from the Mountain Faction, supposedly the largest in numbers—was the only one who barged into Dantalion's tent and groveled on my knees?
—Hypocrites.
The tip of Sitri's sword tilted ever so slightly.
While she remained silent, the Demon Lords of the Mountain Faction began inching away. With Morax having fled first, the pressure must have eased—one by one, they slowly peeled off from the ranks. Even as this happened, Sitri held her sword aloft, straight, endlessly straight.
—You're all hypocrites.
—When it's convenient, you obediently follow the faction. You praise unnie's attitude and drape it in lofty words like "ideals" and whatnot, decorating it with every flowery term you can find. But the moment the tide turns even slightly against you, you pretend you never knew her at all.
—You deliberately did nothing when it looked like Paimon unnie was going to be executed. You were afraid that if you were seen as one of unnie's inner circle, you'd be next.
—Unnie was—
—My unnie was so much more… so much more worthy than the likes of you.
—All of you should have died instead, and unnie should have lived.
—That's how the world should have been…!
More than five minutes had passed.
The pre-arranged thirty seconds had long since passed, but Barbatos pretended not to notice and extended the grace period. As time ticked on, more and more Demon Lords of the Mountain Faction naturally drifted away from Sitri's side. Sitri did not so much as open his mouth to them, nor did he spare them even a single glance.
The result.
The Demon Lords who remained at Sitri's side—two.
There were only two.
Out of ten, a full eight had defected. Eighty percent. An overwhelming proportion. Truly an overwhelming proportion—as the Demon Lords of the Mountain Faction betrayed the very faction they had owed their existence to for anything from centuries to millennia.
"Pfft."
Barbatos burst out laughing. It was the kind of laughter born from pure, uncontrollable amusement.
"Look, gentlemen. This is the essence of it. The so-called ideals and convictions that that bitch Paimon spouted off about with such pride—this is their true nature! The reality of a faction where everyone supposedly participates in equality and harmony is this wretched!"
Barbatos's expression twisted into a grin. His entire face was contorted with a ghastly, demonic aura, making him look utterly vicious.
"The pretext that the Mountain Faction no longer has the ideals it once had! Now they can justify their betrayal—or rather, convince themselves that it was never truly betrayal at all! And on top of that, the very real threat! 'If I don't betray them here, I might actually die'—now they have every reason to betray!"
Barbatos bared his teeth in a wide, white grin and laughed with genuine delight.
"When you combine those two things—ah, when those pigs have both of those ingredients, they can shatter even an oath spanning thousands of years in an instant! This is the Mountain Faction! This is the true face of the faction that bitch Paimon boasted would be the future of the Demon Realm—a filthy, lowly pigsty!"
"What…"
The atmosphere shifted in an instant. The eight Demon Lords who had switched sides looked around frantically at Barbatos's venomous tirade. Before they could formulate a rebuttal, Barbatos threw his head back in boisterous laughter and roared out his command.
"Gentlemen—cut the throats of those squealing piglets who don't even know their own place!"
And then, blood sprayed in every direction.
Lord Beleth struck. Lord Zepar struck. Every single Demon Lord of the Plains Faction swung their weapons in unison. The eight traitors, who had sensed something ominous and been keeping watch. And along with them, the three remaining Mountain Faction Demon Lords—Sitri among them—thrust their weapons forward as well.
The banquet hall was reduced to a battlefield in an instant.
"Gaaah! My leg! My leg!"
"Th-this isn't what we agreed to, is it! Lord Barbatos! Didn't you promise that if we defected, our future positions would be guaranteed?!"
Morax screamed. Indeed. I had been wondering why the seemingly cautious old man had pulled such a drastic move to betray first, but it turned out Barbatos had plotted this in advance... He was still an airtight bastard.
I had no talent for fighting to begin with, so I had already stepped back a pace and was being shielded by the Neutral Faction demon lords. The Neutral Faction demon lords and unaffiliated demon lords were prepared to jump in if things went south, but in practice, they didn't intervene in the fight. Naturally. This was, after all, a duel between the Mountain Faction and the Plains Faction...
"Hmm? I don't know what kind of nonsense you're babbling."
"Gghhhk...!"
It seemed he had allowed a surprise attack early on, because Morax sank to his knees on the ground. As far as I knew, Morax was a mage. In a place where powerful anti-magic had been deployed, it would be nearly impossible for him to display his true ability. On the other hand, Barbatos was a warlock, but his former occupation had been a warrior. There was no contest.
Morax clutched the blood streaming down his forearm and screamed.
"Y-you're playing dumb now?! The pact! The pact is different, Lord Barbatos!"
"Like I said, I don't know what kind of nonsense you're spouting."
Barbatos grinned and swung his massive scythe in a wide arc.
"I'm not your 'Lord,' you worthless piece of shit."
The scythe sliced clean through the exact center of Morax's neck. Morax tried to resist by thrusting out his right arm, but the raised arm was severed along with it. It was a terrifyingly swift beheading.
"..., ..."
Morax's head stayed attached to his body for a moment. But after one second, two seconds passed, the skull tilted and slipped free, rolling across the floor. The old man's face was twisted with humiliation and pain.
"Brutal."
Marbas, standing beside me, muttered.
"Brutal to the extreme."
"That's unexpected, Sebastiankrator. Haven't you witnessed scenes more horrifying than this countless times?"
"If we're judging purely by how horrific something looks on the surface, then yes. But what's unfolding before my eyes right now isn't simply someone killing someone else. It's us. The demon lords' army is collapsing..."
So that's what it meant. I silently watched the bloody scene. Of course, that's how it would appear to Marbas.
The bloodbath ended in twenty minutes.
The victor was, naturally, the Plains Faction. It was already a fight that favored them. On top of that, the Mountain Faction had split into traitors and loyalists. Perhaps they deserved credit for holding out for twenty minutes.
That was mostly thanks to Sitri's fierce resistance. Despite Elder Beleth and Elder Zepar attacking him together, Sitri had inflicted severe injuries on both of them. Sitri dominated the battlefield with the ferocity of a berserker.
But it was a shame. While the two elders kept Sitri's feet pinned down, Barbatos led the Plains Faction's Demon Lords to cleanly eliminate the remaining stragglers.
The Plains Faction's Demon Lords sustained minor injuries, but that was all. After mopping up the stragglers, Barbatos joined the elders and easily subdued Sitri. Barbatos had achieved a decisive tactical victory……
"You're putting up quite a fight, you damn she-beast."
Barbatos spat with a "ptoo." The red saliva fell onto Sitri's face on the ground. Sitri was barely breathing with one arm and one leg severed. Her entire body was drenched in blood.
"Zepar. Useless wretch. You let yourself get battered up like that just to capture one woman?"
"My apologies, Lord."
Elder Zepar was relatively better off since his right arm had been cleanly severed—at least in the sense that he could still stand on both feet. As Barbatos saw it, that didn't even qualify as a serious wound, and he berated Zepar without hesitation.
"Damage report. Report."
"Eight enemies were killed and three enemies were captured alive. On our side, one was killed and three were severely wounded."
"Huh? Three severely wounded? You bastard Zepar. Don't tell me you classified yourself as one of the severely wounded. If you'd lost a leg like Beleth, that'd be one thing, but what are you doing putting on airs with one missing arm?"
"……I'm sorry. The severely wounded are two."
Barbatos let out a snort of derision.
There was a paradox in Elder Zepar's report. Eight enemies had been killed and three enemies had been captured. The eight referred to the Demon Lords who had betrayed the Mountain Faction.
Even though Barbatos hadn't given any prior warning, the Plains Faction's Demon Lords had shown no mercy in crushing the traitors, yet they had managed to capture those who had remained loyal to the end. In fact, this was what had caused the Plains Faction's casualties to be greater than expected.
Killing Sitri alone, who was rampaging like a madwoman, would have been difficult enough, but capturing her on top of that? They had to be out of their minds. It was the kind of stunt only martial-obsessed warriors—or in other words, the Plains Faction's Demon Lords—would pull, treating the loss of limbs as nothing.
"Well now. The great and noble new leader of the Mountain Faction, I presume."
Barbatos grabbed Sitri by her hair. Unable to even squirm, Sitri was dragged over in this direction.
The one presiding over tonight's proceedings was Marbas. Barbatos tossed Sitri at Marbas's feet. Sitri collapsed to the ground lifelessly. She lay motionless, like a corpse. No—she was merely a corpse that still breathed.
"Phew."
The calm after the storm had settled. Barbatos stretched luxuriously, savoring the satisfaction of a job well done. The Plains Faction demon lords sat on the floor, propping themselves against their weapons. Every last one of them was exhaling deeply to cool the heated blood in their veins.
At that moment, a faint murmur spread across the mortuary floor.
"…S…ry…"
The demon lords turned their gazes.
There was Sitri.
Barbatos scowled menacingly.
"Hm? What was that?"
"…S…rry…"
Something trickled onto the floor. It wasn't blood. It was a more transparent, more hazy liquid.
—For the first time that day, Sitri broke through her cold, expressionless mask and shed tears.
Her limbs had been severed, leaving her unable to even lift her head. This could well be her final words. Her voice was drowned in blood. Yet Sitri panted and struggled, forcing herself to enunciate as clearly as she could, gradually spitting out something that had built up inside her. Something redder than a blood clot—she desperately heaved it up.
"To… Paimon… sister…"
"…"
"Tell sister… I'm… sorry…"
Sitri was screaming those words out.