The approaching Demon Lord thrust her spear forward.
I read her movements, attempting to parry with my inherited sword.
At the moment of impact, the spear's trajectory shifted.
Its tip scooped my blade aside, then drove toward me as if to pierce straight through.
(She's reading my swordsmanship...?)
I understood instantly.
The Demon Lord was a master of the spear.
She was the only exceptional prodigy who could fight on equal terms with that person's sword.
If her experience from that time still lingered, my failed parry now made sense.
I lunged in as I tilted my head.
The spear's thrust grazed my forehead with a gust of wind.
The sound of bone scraping and cracking rang out.
A numbing pain shot through me, but the damage was ignorable.
I am an undead.
Unlike the living, I rarely sustain fatal injuries.
Even if my entire body is scattered to atoms, I can revive as long as a spare body exists.
Closing the distance, I flashed my blade.
"Ugh!"
The Demon Lord deflected it with her angled spear.
A hard clatter rang out as scales and chitin flew.
The slash shattered the spear.
"How about this, then?"
Even with her weapon broken, the Demon King did not flinch.
She gripped the broken spear in a reverse hold and lunged, striking with the butt end.
I caught it with a minimal barrier.
In the instant before it shattered, I leaped back to create distance.
The Demon King gazed at me, toying with the spear, and smiled.
She called out, her voice tinged with admiration.
"Good movement. Did you turn your hand to swordsmanship?"
"You should know. This swordsmanship is merely borrowed."
I replied firmly, without showing emotion.
It was not through mere effort that I reached this level.
Even with the semi-permanent lifespan of an undead, it would likely be impossible to replicate.
It was precisely because I absorbed skills and experience in the Valley of the Dead that I could pseudo-master it like this.
The Demon King let out a long, deep sigh.
Behind her helmet, her eyes seemed distant.
She spoke, her voice imbued with a complex mix of emotions.
"...Yes, how could I forget. The swordplay of the Hero who slew me. You wield it so adeptly. From how naturally you handle it, I'd say you've cut down more lives than you could count?"
"It was necessary for my purpose."
I answered her question.
What I had been repeating were countless acts of impermissible slaughter. Even the innocent were turned into undead without exception, their lives squandered by my own selfish hand. What I bore now was no longer just a mission. Tens of thousands of lives had been sacrificed for me to stand here. I absolutely could not stop. It was my duty to make the deaths I had brought about meaningful.
On the other hand, the Demon King looked at me, stroking her chin.
"Hmm. Come to think of it, I never asked. What is your purpose, you who call yourself the Demon King?"
"To become an eternal evil of the world, and to suppress conflicts between humans. And thereby realize lasting world peace."
Upon hearing the answer, the Demon King froze. She seemed lost in thought. A small groan could also be heard.
Eventually, she murmured.
"—Interesting. A noble purpose indeed. But that path is infinitely treacherous. Are you prepared to keep advancing?"
"..."
I pointed the tip of the heirloom sword at the Demon King.
Words were unnecessary. This was a declaration of will. It was no longer something that needed to be asked.
From the moment I became the Demon King, I had steeled myself.
Otherwise, I could not have come this far.
My spirit would have shattered.
Seeing my reaction, the Demon King let out a low chuckle.
In it, I could detect genuine affection.
"A fine expression you wear. Not bad at all."
From the Demon King's hand, a spear manifested once more.
It pulsed with a potent holy attribute.
I felt a sense of déjà vu.
That was the same one the current Hero had wielded.
Back then it was a holy sword, but there was no mistaking it.
(Have I gained its power by assimilating the relic ash?)
If that were possible, it was the only explanation.
The relic ash, which normally held no special effect, seemed to have truly exerted its power by being incorporated into the resurrection art.
It wouldn't have been strange if such a function existed.
More than anything, seeing the Demon King wield holy power before my very eyes, I could not deny it.
"Rest is over, then――here I come."
The Demon King assumed a charging stance.
Being wounded repeatedly by that spear would be disastrous.
For an undead like me, it could likely prove to be a fatal blow.
A soul could be damaged by this.
I unleashed a miasmic flame before she could move.
The fire burned everything in its vicinity to ash.
Yet the Demon King spun her spear, ensnaring the black flames, and extinguished them.
"A pity. Is that all you've got?"
I responded with magic, hurling a lightning strike and a wind blade from my free hand.
The Demon King generated a scale-and-chelae shield in her empty palm.
She blocked the magic while charging straight at me.
I fired a stake of miasma at her.
The stake embedded itself in the shield, but failed to wound the Demon King.
I fired another, with the same result.
The Demon King closed the distance without slowing.
(I put considerable piercing power into those, but her defenses are formidable.)
This time, I properly deflected the thrusting spear she launched upward.
For a fleeting instant, the Demon King's stance faltered.
Seizing that moment, I slid my sword along the length of her spear.
I cleaved the interposing shield in two, stepped in, and delivered a rising slash.
The strike landed squarely on the Demon King's torso.
"..."
She retaliated with a rapid flurry of spear thrusts. I dodged by teleporting backward.
If it had struck properly, I would have been at an immediate disadvantage.
It was best to dodge cleanly.
I teleported a short distance away and checked her damage.
A diagonal slash mark remained on the Demon King's torso.
Bright red blood flowed from it.
Ideally, I would have cut her in two, but it seemed my strike wasn't deep enough.
The scales and carapace enveloping the Demon King writhed, sealing the wound from sight.
She was probably already beginning internal healing.
She lightly stroked her blood-slicked torso.
"Pain... There are few moments in life where one feels existence so acutely. Don't you agree?"
"If I can win without taking damage, that's best."
"Kuhaha, you really are a stiff one. Even if your form changes, your fundamental nature hasn't changed a bit. Still the sage supporting the hero, I see."
From the feet of the laughing Demon King, something emerged.
Clinging with a clear metallic sound as they spun in the air were chains composed of holy light.
Dozens of chains undulated around her, as if guarding the Demon King.
Just gazing upon them made my nonexistent eyes ache.
That was Saint Makia's sacred magic.
I could never forget it.
I had been quite troubled by those chains of light before.
I had suspected it when I used this generation's hero's power, but it seemed the Demon King could also wield the Saint's abilities.
Both are devastating forces in my eyes.
From the perspective of opposing the Demon Lord, this is the pinnacle.
I think it’s frankly unfair, but protesting would be pointless.
The Demon Lord looks at her own spear and the chains of light, then lets out a bitter smile.
"Wearing that much holy power, I can no longer even call myself the Demon Lord."
Saying that, she fixes her gaze on me and lowers her body into a crouching stance, leveling her spear.
Her killing intent sharpens to a razor's edge.
The air begins to groan under the pressure once more.
"I am still growing. Follow me, and try not to die."