─ What a relief.
The oldest memory was of a face crumpled beyond recognition.
She was a beautiful girl. Words like "beautiful" or "girl" — the man found such terms embarrassing. They weren't fit for a man to speak aloud. His thoughts may have been rather brutal, but this was an era where you had to wear brutality like armor just to survive.
The man had been a member of the Tiger Tribe, a proud lineage even among demonkin. He had rolled across a hundred battlefields. And just a short while ago, he had met his death. A knight's blade had pierced his heart, killing him instantly. ……That was surely how it had happened. So why was a girl reflected in his eyes?
Droplets welled up in the girl's pupils and fell.
─ That you came back to life... truly, what a relief.
The tears had definitely fallen onto the man's cheeks. The sensation was foreign to him. Neither cold nor hot. Something had fallen and struck his cheek — that was the extent of the impression left behind.
─ Thank you. Thank you for coming back to life... I'm sorry...
The girl kept shedding tears. Her face was a mess of tears and snot.
This is awkward, the man thought. His memories were slowly coming back now. The girl before his eyes was his liege lord. A liege lord of magnificent pride. He had wanted to charge alongside her to the very end of her convictions. That was why he had left his household and shouldered the girl's military banner.
─ Are you weeping because of me, Your Grace?
─ No.
She murmured in a voice choked with moisture.
The girl couldn't speak any further. Her sobs swallowed her voice. Awkward, the man thought once more. He must have been too dense and made the girl cry. To make one's sovereign weep. There was no way around it — he was a failure of a retainer.
─ I... I disgraced your death. I insulted a warrior's convictions.
─ What do you mean?
─ You fought brilliantly and died brilliantly. To end your life just as it was — that was the final chapter worthy of you as a warrior. But……I brought you back to life. I'm sorry...
The man looked at his hand. The right hand that had once proudly shed a bronze sheen was nowhere to be found. In its place was the back of a corpse's hand, rotting into a sickly green. I see, the man thought. So I died, and now I've come back to life...
─ I insulted your life, your convictions, even your death. I'm sorry... truly sorry...
A warrior, so it is said, is one who charges straight ahead for a lifetime and meets his end without a single shadow of doubt. The girl had been sovereign to such men. She understood better than anyone how great a sin it was to deny a warrior's death.
─ Did you need this humble servant once again?
─ Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't realize it until now, but I must have been an irredeemably stupid kid all along.
The girl smiled. Her lips were trembling. On a face overflowing with tears, an awkward smile was barely held together. It was a wretched sight.
─ Without you all, I just can't bear it. Even if I'm alive, it doesn't feel like living. The air without your battle cries and your laughter was nothing but cold to me. I'm sorry. Just for my own selfishness… could you live again, one more time?
He had known for some time that the girl before him had a surprisingly tender heart. Once, his comrades had spoken of it in secret. It was a terribly irreverent thought, they said, but perhaps it would have been better for their lord if she had never been born a Demon Lord.
She had been a diligent person above all else. She was someone who could not lie to herself first and foremost. She had accepted the fact that she was born a Demon Lord and understood precisely what it meant to live as one. While this and that Demon Lords revelled in power, the girl raised her battle scythe and shouted only forward, forward.
The man smiled. Could a walking corpse like him even manage a smile? He had no confidence whatsoever. But he still wanted to tell the girl, who was still shedding tears, that she could rest easy now.
Because he had sworn to her that he would live as a warrior forever.
─ A hundred years ago, I swore to serve my lord until the very last day of this life ended… but this servant has been fortunate. Even after life has ended, I can still work for my lord. My lord — not once, but twice. Not twice, but a hundred times, a thousand times. I, Ulan, will live only for you.
So the man asked her to stop shedding tears.
─ Our proud lord, Barbatos.
The girl's face twisted. Her expression crumpled, and then she burst into tears. This time it was not the quiet weeping from before. She wailed loudly enough for everyone far and wide to hear. The man raised his right hand. It was to stroke the girl's head.
─ …….
The man realized how ghastly his hand looked and stopped. He was no different from a zombie now.
The girl's white hair, on the other hand, was resplendent. He could not tolerate the thought of sullying such a supreme work of art — not even with his own hands. From now on, for all eternity, he would never be able to so much as stroke the girl's head. The man accepted that fact, yet the bitterness lingered.
Grip.
At that moment, something seized the man's hand. The girl had placed her own hand over his. The man was startled. Come to think of it, their lord had always been able to read the hearts of her Demonkin. The girl wept and sobbed, but she refused to let go of the man's hand no matter what.
This is a problem, the man thought, yet he clenched his right hand tight. He still could not feel any warmth. But something warmer than warmth itself was being transmitted. Without loss, undiminished, it was delivered right here, to this very place…
Thus was the Death Knight born.
Five hundred in all.
They were wrapped head to toe in armor as black as pitch. They claimed it was to increase their defensive capability. The truth was different. They did not wish their lord to see the bodies of walking corpses. Every time their gentle-hearted lord looked upon them, guilt would flicker across her face. They hated that.
Having been granted the honor of serving the same sovereign a second time, they raised their swords with pride.
— Rouse, O ye brothers, O ye Walkyrie.
— Here stand we, an army invincible and immortal. Here stand we who, having died, cannot die again, and who, never dying, shall never know defeat for all eternity.
— O Gods, look down upon us. Valhalla lies upon this very earth.
Their lord had found her smile once more. She tossed out jokes, just as she used to.
That alone was enough for the Death Knights. Yes. They did not need any other heaven. If their lord could smile—if they could fight by her side, then right here was heaven itself.
When the day came that the goddesses no longer permitted fate, and their lord collapsed, they too—parasites living on her magic—would crumble to dust and vanish. Together with their comrades, they would see out their lord's remaining life to its end. That was enough. There was nothing more to wish for. That was what the man thought.
Until that damned brat showed up.
"......"
Ullain, the Death Knight, fell silent.
If he had truly been alive, sweat would be streaming down his forehead by now, he thought. He was glad to be dead. He meant it. The girl before him was seething with fury.
"This is... Dantalion's finger, you say?"
The girl spoke through gritted teeth, her voice trembling.
For this, Death Knight Ullain instantly conjured the perfect answer. — Yes, Your Grace. It is that damned bastard's finger. What is there to be so angry about? Losing a finger or two on the battlefield is everyday fare, is it not?
On the contrary, this is a blessing. From the start, I never had any good feelings toward that brat. For Your Grace's consort, did he not look far too delicate? The first time I laid eyes on him, I nearly mistook him for a woman. I swear! How could someone like that ever keep food on the table? It's absurd. He should just go drop dead already.
Good thing he lost the finger! With an injury like that, even that parasite-looking thing might develop a shred of manly dignity. While we're at it, I would love nothing more than to carve a few nice, long scars across that ugly mug of his. Besides that, there is no answer. No answer at all. Please, Your Grace—grant me the privilege of turning that brat into a real man.
— The answer was perfected in a mere two seconds. It was effortless. Death Knights spent every day agonizing over the most effective way to thrash that so-called damned brat.
It was not just Ullain. To the other Death Knights as well, Dantalion was a common enemy.
He was a master who had preserved his chastity for a full two thousand years. And someone had gotten their hands on such a master! To make matters worse, the master's outward appearance was that of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old!
He absolutely could not be killed in any ordinary fashion.
All five hundred knights were in agreement on that point. They disagreed, however, on exactly how he should be killed. Frying him, roasting him, flaying him alive, slowly slicing open his innards, having the orcs gang-rape him, plunging him into the abyss of the deep sea—and so on. All told, thirty-six different methods of murder were devised, but Ulain's heart leaned toward simply pummeling that face until he died.
Yet despite what he truly thought, Ulain answered politely.
— Yes, Your Grace. It is unquestionably Dantalion's left index and middle finger.
Barbatos's shoulder trembled ever so slightly.
"Which son of a bitch... pulled this kind of stunt?"
— Dantalion relayed the following message to Your Grace. He does not yet know who commissioned the attack on him. He suspects it may be one of the Grand Dukes of Hell.
Barbatos slammed her fist down on the desk. The wooden writing table shattered beyond repair. She drew several deep breaths in and out, trying to quell her fury.
"I made my position perfectly clear. Dantalion is both my close confidant and my lover. Attacking him is nothing less than spitting in the face of my, Barbatos's, protection. I don't know who it is, but I will deliver them straight to hell."
Ahhh, Ulain despaired inwardly. The master had always been calm and composed. But once that rotten parasite had gotten his hooks in, the master... ahh, our proud, dignified master...
He wanted to confess the truth right then and there. That finger had not been cut off by any attacker—Dantalion had done it himself. It was all a one-man show, a circus of his own making. Unfortunately, he was now Dantalion's subordinate. Though he had yet to truly acknowledge Dantalion as his master in his heart, he could not betray the one who was, at least in name, his liege.
Ulain had deliberately phrased it as "Dantalion said the following" in order to keep his lie from unraveling. Dantalion had, in fact, said exactly that. Ulain had not technically lied.
"It's obviously some of those Grand Dukes under the Mountain Faction—those low-born bastards. If the siege of the capital weren't right around the corner, I'd personally descend into Hell and teach them a lesson... Son of a bitch, so that's why they picked now. Bitch-ass, heat-struck mutts."
Barbatos snorted with rage.
"I'll lend you a hundred knights. Track down the culprit and bring them to me."
— Your Grace! That's too many!
Ulain protested.
Barbatos currently commanded a force of five thousand. Of those, roughly five hundred were Death Knights. If she pulled a hundred from that number, it would be tantamount to chopping off a tenth of her total fighting strength.
The decisive battle against the Habsburg Empire, for the fate of their capital, was just around the corner. Committing a tenth of her forces at a time like this was anything but wise.
"Enough."
Barbatos flatly rejected the direct counsel.
"It's not like it's just my legion fighting this time. The other legion commanders will come hopping like frogs with their tails on fire, so losing a few heads won't be the reason we lose."
— But Your Grace, there's always the possibility of unforeseen circumstances...
"Hey, hey. I know you lot don't have particularly warm feelings toward Dantalion."
Barbatos sighed.
"But think about it, pups. Hm? If one of my aides gets beaten up somewhere and I just sit there doing nothing, what happens to my dignity? The other Demon Lords will be over the moon when they hear — they'll have something juicy to chew on."
— ……
"Of course I'm angry that Dantalion got hurt. I'll admit that. But my dignity matters more. You have to step on bugs properly or they don't even realize they're bugs. So this one time, even if Dantalion rubs you the wrong way, just think of it as serving your original liege lord. Hm?"
— ……Understood. We shall obey the order.
Ulain saluted.
The lord was right. A ruler's dignity had to be upheld above all else. To have neglected it out of personal feelings toward Dantalion — that was grounds for severe censure. But rather than censure, the lord had offered comfort. He was grateful.
The next day, Ulain headed to Hell with a hundred of his fellow Death Knights. Leaving Barbatos's side on the eve of a crucial battle — the Death Knights couldn't help but feel it was a waste. But protecting their lord's dignity was every bit as important as combat. They followed the order faithfully.
Barbatos spoke as she sent them off.
"Oh right. Just so you know — I'm telling you this out of an abundance of caution — don't you dare kill Dantalion using the chaos of battle as an excuse. If you do, I'll kill you myself."
— ……
Tch — Ulain and every last Death Knight clicked their tongues in unison. It seemed Dantalion's fate was rather long indeed. Most unfortunately so.