Following the road, I soon arrived at the Royal Capital.
The main gate was sealed.
Soldiers stood watch atop the walls surrounding the city.
It seemed they had detected our approach and decided to barricade themselves in.
They likely intended to annihilate us with magic or arrows.
Not a bad plan.
We are undead.
A one-sided attack from a distant position could be considered the optimal solution.
While pondering this, the soldiers launched their attack.
A volley of arrows.
A rain of missiles arcing through the sky poured down upon us.
"..."
I remembered the scene of my execution.
The crowd's derision.
An arrow piercing my heart and one eye.
Overwhelming despair.
Her body falling into the gorge.
When I came back to my senses, the skeletons and ghouls following me were skewered.
Their limbs pinned to the ground by arrows, immobilizing them.
That single volley had already disabled dozens of undead.
Looks like they've got some decent archers over there.
Left unchecked, a second volley will follow.
But I won't panic.
Their miscalculation is thinking this raid is nothing more than an undead flood.
They probably haven't received word from the fortress at the Valley of the Dead.
They're not careless, but there are signs they're underestimating us.
The fact that they're holding back their magic is good proof of that.
Time to show them the truth.
"Now, watch closely."
I raise my hand forward.
A small fireball was born in my palm.
Pouring mana into it, it rapidly swelled until it was large enough to engulf an entire building.
With a pushing thought, the fireball was launched with tremendous force.
The fireball flew in a straight line and obliterated the main gate into splinters.
Along with it, the blast wave and scorching heat ravaged the soldiers atop the wall.
"Ugyaaah!"
"Hyiii!?"
"W-water! Someone bring water!"
Those near the main gate suffered severe burns.
Some screamed as they tumbled from the wall.
Soldiers with light injuries rushed about to provide treatment.
The single blow had already caused immense damage.
"Hmm..."
I stared intently at my bony hand.
I had only intended to breach the gate, but the results far surpassed that.
My magic was incomparably stronger than in life.
The output was on a different level entirely.
It must be because I absorbed the magic power of the Valley of the Dead.
While the soldiers were in disarray, I advanced with my undead in tow.
We passed through the shattered main gate and infiltrated the Royal Capital.
The city's inhabitants were fleeing in panic.
Their evacuation seemed slow.
They likely never expected the main gate to be breached so early in the assault.
Despite having once gleefully cast us down, they now presented a pathetic sight.
They shoved against each other, desperate to put any distance between themselves and me.
Some fell and were trampled underfoot by the crowd.
The sight almost stirred a sense of pity in me.
To them, I must have been a demon threatening their very existence.
Amidst the stones hurled in my direction, curses included voices calling us exactly that.
I had, quite fittingly, become the kind of existence they desired.
"Now! Pour everything you've got into them!"
"Use fire magic on the ghouls! Get more mages over here!"
"Don't leave gaps in the incantation! We can spend all our mana here!"
Shouts echoed from the rear. Arrows flew, interspersed with sporadic bursts of magic.
The trailing undead were taking fire.
It was the work of the soldiers on the wall.
They were desperately trying to halt our advance.
"How pointless..."
Annoyed, I glanced up at the battlements.
Then, about a hundred undead began to scale the wall.
Supporting each other's bodies, they climbed with surprising speed.
Once on top, the undead overwhelmed the soldiers with sheer numbers.
Skeletons snatched weapons from soldiers and wielded them wildly.
Ghouls bowled soldiers over and sank their teeth in.
The soldiers, busy dealing with the breach, were in no state to fight us off.
They were wiped out in moments.
As soldiers, now ghouls themselves, rose to their feet again, I strode down the main thoroughfare.
I ignored the residents for now and pressed on.
There was a place I had to reach first.
Fine details could wait. After proceeding for a while, I spotted soldiers arrayed ahead. They had also formed ranks atop the roofs. On their commander's signal, they nocked arrows. These weren't ordinary shafts. The arrowheads glowed with a faint white light. It appeared they were imbued with holy magic. Against the undead, this was the most straightforward and effective method. (So the soldiers at the main gate were just stalling for time…) In this street, flanked by buildings on both sides, dodging arrows would be difficult. Coming to that conclusion, I decided to stand still and wait. An idea for what I wanted to try had just come to mind. I took the cloth bundle containing that person's bones and protected it completely with magic. It simply wouldn't do for it to be damaged. Almost immediately, the holy arrows were loosed. Dozens of streaks of white light traced beautiful arcs as they closed in. I, leading the charge, was trampled across my entire body. I perceived the agony of my bone frame being successively shattered and purified. As I felt my form crumbling, my vision went dark. And then, it switched immediately.
Scattered before me were countless skeletons, collapsed and strewn about.
Arrows were embedded everywhere without a single gap.
I glanced behind me.
There, held in reserve, were skeletons and ghouls who had been outside the range of the volley.
Next, I looked down at my own body.
The once-white bone was transforming to a pitch-black hue in an instant.
The seeping miasma permeated my entire being, wreathing me like a flame.
"...As I thought, it wasn't an issue."
I had revived using one of the skeletons as a medium.
My essence resided within every undead I controlled.
Even if my body was destroyed, I could resurrect from any one of them.
This was one of the authorities I had gained in the Valley of the Dead.
As long as my subordinate undead existed, I could not be annihilated.
Truthfully, the holy arrows had held no significant power.
My soul had suffered not a single fragment of damage.
The pain of purification was something I could simply endure.
Even if struck by thousands of arrows, I would revive without issue.
"You've revived...?!"
"Undead are supposed to be weak against holy magic! How is this possible?!"
"Don't slack off! Nock your arrows, damn it!"
A wave of panic rippled through the soldiers.
They must have mistakenly believed they had slain me, their leader.
Hurriedly, they prepared a second volley and loosed their arrows all at once.
I hated to disappoint them, but the test of my abilities was already complete.
There was no need to deliberately take the hit this time.
I swept the arrows aside with a gust of magic.
The rain of arrows, knocked off course, plunged one after another into the buildings of the city.
Naturally, not a single casualty was sustained on our side.
I held my hand out over the scattered remains of skeletons ahead.
The miasma that flowed forth polluted the debris.
Bone fragments writhed and interlocked, assembling themselves into new shapes.
What emerged were dozens of wolves made of bone.
Because their original forms had been humanoid, the shapes were grotesque and oversized.
The soldiers let out a collective murmur of dread.
Listening to them, I issued my command.
"Devour them all."
The bone wolves broke into a clattering sprint, their skeletal frames rattling with each stride.
Their movements were far too swift to be mistaken for undead.
The wolves lunged at soldiers who had not yet finished preparing their defense, and in the blink of an eye, their formation crumbled.
With terrifying leaps, they also descended upon those stationed on the rooftops.
With its powerful jaws, it seized a living man's neck and tore it away in a savage motion.
The dead soldier became a ghoul, falling under my command.
Then it set out to swell its ranks.
I walked on, surveying the gruesome scene.
Along the way, I picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle.
I brushed it off with my hand, shaking free the dust.
There was no sign of damage.
The defensive magic woven into it seemed even stronger than it had been in life.
I passed through the decimated soldiers.
Having rallied the bone wolves and additional ghouls, I pressed forward once more.
I was careful not to let my footing slip on the blood-slick cobblestones.
Beyond this, I continued my advance through the Royal Capital.
Several counterattacks by soldiers came, but I crushed them as before.
With each battle, my forces multiplied at an accelerating rate.
This was because I could turn the dead into undead under my command.
Even those reduced to a state where they could no longer act, I could reassemble their remains into new undead.
The skirmishes along the way served as useful practice for testing my own strength.
Eventually, I arrived at the Royal Castle.
The drawbridge leading to the castle was raised.
Before it, soldiers stood in formation.
They had raised defensive barriers and positioned themselves to block our approach.
Here they intended to hold the line.
(What futile efforts...)
Before they could act, I unleashed a fireball that shattered their magical defenses.
Where their formation broke, I sent the bone wolves charging through.
The soldiers were annihilated without much difficulty.
The gulf between us was not of degree, but of existence itself.
Even a brute-force blow without strategy could settle the battle in an instant.
In place of the raised drawbridge, I commanded a dense mass of skeletons to extend themselves across the gap.
It was the same method I had used to build the bridge in the Valley of the Dead.
Crossing this bone bridge, I reached the front of the castle.
I destroyed the sealed gates with magic and strode onto the grounds with impunity.
From there, the merciless rampage of the undead continued.
The squads of mages stationed at various points were crushed in a single sweep, and the elite royal knights were every last one transformed into ghouls.
Thousands of undead were deployed throughout the castle, increasing the toll of victims.
The chaos spread with accelerating momentum, creating a hell of shrieks and screams.
In the midst of it all, I advanced through the castle without hesitation.
I had visited this place many times in the past.
I knew the interior layout.
And so I arrived at the very top floor.
Before me stood a gold-worked door, securely locked.
The entire floor had been converted into a single chamber.
This was the king's private room.
Scrying with divination magic, I found the room's master had secluded himself within.
He had barely moved since my assault began.
He must have thought that by holeing up, the soldiers would handle it.
If so, his assumptions were dangerously naive.
Even if he attempted escape, I possessed the confidence to ensure he would not get away.
I had come all this way, just to meet that man again.
By whatever means necessary, I would capture him.
"Hmm..."
I analyzed the door's mechanisms through the flow of mana.
Multiple layers of barrier magic, woven by magical devices, were interwoven around it.
Traps were also set to unleash curses upon those who touched it without permission.
Clever, and perhaps suitable for fortification.
I seized the barrier with both hands and tore it apart in a single motion.
With the sound of shattering glass, the meticulously crafted spellwork collapsed.
The curse traps that activated instantly were absorbed by my body.
The curses were swallowed by the miasma and rendered harmless.
With the obstructive fixtures removed, I casually kicked the door open.
There stood a spacious, lavishly furnished room.
Ornate furnishings lined the space, along with paintings and gemstones adorning the walls.
At the far end of the room, frozen in place as he looked my way, was the king.
His red mantle and splendid crown remained unchanged.
Yet he looked far older than what I recalled.
The wrinkles on his face had deepened, and his white hair had grown thicker.
Even so, there was no mistaking his identity.
Standing by the window, the king glared at me with eyes full of hatred.
"You abominable undead wretch... What is your purpose here?"
"Dwight Harvelt. That name ring a bell?"
My question drained the color from the king's face.
He grimaced and let out a bitter groan.
"I-It cannot be... No, that's impossible. He was executed ten years ago..."
Judging from the king's words, it seemed ten years had passed since my execution.
I could understand why I felt the passage of time so acutely.
Keeping my inner thoughts from showing, I continued in an even tone.
"It's hard to believe, I know. Even I am surprised."
From behind, several ghouls pushed their way into the room.
They wore armor, so they had likely been soldiers in life.
The ghouls subdued the thrashing king and pinned him down.
"What are you doing! Who do you think I am! Release me, you curs!"
The king, sprawled on the carpet, cries out in protest.
The ghouls ignore him, their role solely to restrain him.
Looking down at the powerless king, I deliver the truth.
"To bring peace to this twisted world, I have returned from the Valley of the Dead."
"Preposterous! That is impossible! Countless have been executed there, but not a single one has ever returned as an undead!"
The king desperately tries to refute me.
But such information no longer matters to me.
Ignoring his words, I thrust forward the cloth-wrapped bundle held in my hand.
"Why did you make us criminals? She should never have been killed. She constantly prayed for the world's peace and loved its tranquility. She was the true personage worthy of the name 'Hero'."
"Exactly why she was an eyesore."
The king, head bowed, speaks in a low voice.
His shoulders tremble in small shudders.
"What did you say?"
"After the Demon King's death, the world will undergo great change. In such times, a hero who possesses power far too great becomes an obstacle. That kind of individual combat strength is not only unnecessary, but poses a threat to the nation itself."
"...You're saying you executed her for your own self-interest and preservation?"
"Yes! That's exactly right! I am the king, after all! You were the fools who allowed yourselves to be used so easily!"
The king raises his head and laughs heartily.
His attitude is utterly defiant.
His eyes were crazy.
Faced with a hopeless situation, they had apparently abandoned all hope. Upon learning my true identity, they must have given up on survival. As unpleasant laughter filled the room, I looked away from the king. I tried to sigh, only to remember that my body could no longer do so.
"That is enough. I understand. Now shut that mouth."
I stated it coldly. Immediately afterward, the ghouls lunged at the king. With wet, tearing sounds, they bit into his flesh. The force of their attack bent his arms backward at impossible angles.
"Gaaahhhhhh!"
The king screamed. Pinned beneath the ghouls, he could not move at all. He was merely something being eaten. No different than livestock feed. The carpet on the floor soaked up the fresh blood, staining deeper and deeper.
"You... have become the Demon King! Executing you... was no mistake! I did it for the good of the world, for the kingdom..."
The king directed his final protest at me. His voice grew thinner and thinner, until eventually it was drowned out by the ghouls' chewing. Just then, a crown rolled to a stop at my feet. Blood clung to its surface, scattering across the metal like scattered droplets.
I picked it up and held it to my head.
It was nothing but a jest.
This thing held no value at all.
As I idly scanned the room, my eyes fell upon a single sword hanging on the wall.
It had been that person's weapon.
It held no special ability, but it was the famous blade that had felled the Demon King.
Most importantly, it was now a precious memento.
I never imagined it would be gathering dust in a place like this.
"I'll be taking this back. This is, that person's sword."
The moment I gripped the sword, a sensation of familiarity washed over me.
I knew how to handle it without even trying.
It felt as though I had been wielding it for years.
When I had absorbed the miasma, it seemed I had also taken in that person's experiences.
In essence, I had obtained the hero's swordsmanship.
I felt a surge of pride, but also anxiety—was someone like me worthy of mastering it?
(...Consider it a parting gift from that person.)
There was no need for idle worry.
It was power I required, so I had no choice but to wield it to its fullest.
To let this rust would be the true blasphemy.
Having concluded my business in the Royal Capital, I moved through the blood-soaked castle.
Our destination is the audience hall.
We descended the crumbling spiral staircase.
In the ruined hall, ghouls swarmed over corpses.
From their clothing, they must have been nobles.
They feasted in a frenzy, their fine garments drenched in blood and gore.
I ignored them and took a seat on the throne.
The cloth bundle containing the remains was placed on my lap.
The heirloom sword, sheathed, was planted in the floor for support.
Screams and death throes echoed throughout the castle, inside and out.
The surviving soldiers seemed to be putting up a fight.
By sunset, it would fall silent.
With this, the royal capital has fallen.
The grudge of ten years ago is severed, and I can move to the next stage.
That is, true world peace.
I shall advance my cause using this land as a base.
(...Even so, it is ironic.)
As I gazed at the wandering skeletons and ghouls, I thought suddenly.
Who could have imagined that the sage who participated in the Demon King's subjugation would become an undead and invade the land of humans?
Back then, it was utterly inconceivable.
Life, after all, is unpredictable.
Thus I became a new Demon Lord and built a kingdom of the undead.