A hologram window materialized in that instant.
"Affinity with Frank Empire soldier Michel has increased by 13."
That was just the beginning.
"Affinity with Batavia Republic soldier Nicola has increased by 30."
"Affinity with Habsburg Empire aristocrat Alexander von Bayern has increased by 2."
"Affinity with Kingdom of Sardinia soldier Pavia has increased by 11."
……
A blue tsunami surged before my eyes.
Notification after notification flooded in — someone's Affinity had gone up, someone else's had gone down. Not just one or two. Not even dozens. The Status Window split into thousands, tens of thousands of waves and came crashing in.
*Ding-ling, ding-ling* — the sound effects rang out without end. In an instant, the notifications blanketed the plains, then my sides, and finally the sky itself. The sheer overwhelming spectacle left me momentarily speechless. I was certain. Right now, the giant known as history had taken one step forward.
A shiver of pleasure raced up my spine. My entire body thrummed with excitement. An exhilaration I had never experienced before went numb in my head. The feeling of wielding influence over a full one hundred thousand humans set my heart ablaze. It was the fullness you only feel when every last thing is under your complete control.
"A scenario has destroyed a fragment of predetermined destiny!"
But that wasn't all.
"B-rank scenario <The One Who Bears the Hope of All> is being 'seriously' destroyed!"
"A-rank scenario <The Alliance of Royalists and Republicans> is being 'completely' destroyed!"
A Quest Breaker. This was the event I was seeing again after wiping away Laura's Slave Brand.
The One Who Bears the Hope of All — that needed no deliberation. It clearly referred to Princess Elisabeth. The princess was a sovereign who had risen to her feet carrying the hopes of nobles and commoners, slaves, truly all people, on her back. The road leading to that sovereignty was now cut off… Splendid!
What exactly the Alliance of Royalists and Republicans signified was a bit ambiguous. Did it refer to an event in the Frank Empire, or an event in the Habsburg Empire? Either way, it amounted to the same thing — it was an obstruction to the Human Realm uniting. This was by no means bad news….
*I can do this.*
My heart trembled.
The 71st-ranked Demon Lord. Total stats under 100. The trash of trash. A character who couldn't even beat a single woodcutter in some backwater village. And I'd dragged this body all the way here… to crush Princess Elisabeth, the woman who would one day become the continent's supreme ruler! No one else — Dantalion!
*Come at me, heroes. I dare you.*
I knew the rise and fall of every major character in <Dungeon Attack>. Who in this world doesn't have wounds? If you got down to what truly ailed them, every last one of them was limping from some broken bone inside. Whether it was the continent's greatest Sword Master, the queen who would later unify the Kingdom of Bretagne and the Frank Empire, or the lord of assassins — they all had their weaknesses.
That was why I remained composed even when a strange voice drifted over from the far side of the plain.
"…Demon Lord Dantalion. Quite the fearsome eloquence."
Had the human side sent a new spokesperson? Well, if the battle started as things stood, the Demon Lord's army would obviously have the upper hand. The human forces would be desperate to smooth things over, too. I was genuinely curious who they'd send up to the plate next.
I dismissed all the notification windows at once. The blue barrier vanished, and I could finally see the other party.
It was a woman clad in pristine white vestments. Her hair was gray. I recognized her immediately as Saint Gracia. In the game, she was the NPC who constantly dumped quests on the protagonist's party, and because she'd invoke the goddess's will while paying the hero a pittance for all that labor, she was universally loathed by players.
For instance, she'd order you to subjugate an entire army of Ogres, then reward you with a single item. Using her title of Saint to exploit the Hero practically for free.
In <Dungeon Attack>, the Hero was an orphan and a mercenary company member. Unlike protagonists in other RPGs, he was shrewd about how the world actually worked. He'd lodged a heated complaint that this was too much. To which Saint Gracia replied without so much as a change in expression:
"You have the honor of meeting my noble face in person. Could there possibly be a greater reward than this?"
…That was why players called her a witch, not a saint. Well, blessed by the goddess, she'd been living with the appearance of a woman in her twenties for over a century. From the standpoint of an ordinary human, simply being in her presence might genuinely be considered an honor.
In any case, so they'd sent the Saint as their next representative. Not a bad choice. To the common people, a priest — especially a saint — was an object of reverence. Now that the nobles' prestige had crumbled, there was probably no one better suited to keep the current human army together.
"My, my. Saint Gracia — beloved of the goddess herself. What brings such an esteemed lady to a brutal battlefield like this?"
"…The goddess declared that hell exists within the mortal world, and that the clergy must always descend to the lowest depths. War is nothing less than the hell of this world. There is no place more fitting for me than here."
Gracia furrowed her brow at the fact that I knew her true identity, but she responded smoothly enough.
"Demon Lord Dantalion. I've seen what you're capable of. Imbuing magic into words of power to bewitch your opponent… To think you possessed magic powerful enough to inflict damage on Her Highness the Princess's mind… Impressive."
"Oh?"
So that's the route you're taking.
"So what you're saying is that what I said was a lie?"
"Yes."
She didn't even blink as she said it. It was an assertion from a Saint of high authority. Princess Elisabeth wouldn't be able to shake off the suspicion of regicide, but at the very least, public condemnation would diminish — unless the Temple intended to make an enemy of her.
Thick-skinned and expressionless. And yet she probed for weaknesses in the other party. Exactly the Saint Gracia I remembered from the game.
"Impressive. But Saint, you would do well to choose carefully. True faith in one who deceives herself is a contradiction in terms."
"You're using the magic of words of power once more. No matter what you whisper, the Goddess is watching over me. Your evil tricks will no longer work."
"Heh."
It wasn't a calculated sneer. The laugh had simply escaped on its own.
"Either way, a priest is still First Class. When push comes to shove, they back the nobles. My, oh my — at this rate, even a Demon Lord like me might just despair of the world. It's nothing more than a single layer of deception. How many more tragedies must humanity suffer, how much more blood must be spilled, just to peel away that one layer?"
"…Your bravado is only for the moment, Demon Lord."
She drew something from inside her garments. It was a small button.
"Can you tell what this is?"
"…?"
I furrowed my brow. Why had she suddenly produced such a prop? I couldn't guess where the debate was heading. Was she planning to use the object as a metaphor and deliver some splendid, eloquent line? That wasn't a style of speech I was particularly fond of. Perhaps I'd test the waters here…
"Beats me. It's an unfamiliar object to me."
"It's just as unfamiliar to me. That's because it is an extraordinarily expensive artifact. Only the wealthiest magnates on the continent can afford one."
The Saint placed the button on her palm and held it out for display.
"The magic imbued in it is Memoria. It's an artifact that stores surrounding scenery and sounds in three-dimensional form. Not only is the spell itself of extremely high difficulty, but implementing it in an object this small requires extraordinary skill. Anything less than an archmage wouldn't dare attempt it."
I tilted my head. I understood what the object was. But why had she brought it out?
"Saint. I did not come here to attend a lecture on magic."
"Don't rush me, Demon Lord. This item is not new. Its use has already been completed. Can you not guess whose it was?"
"I'm sorry, but even though I'm the Demon Lord, I'm a poor man."
I shrugged my shoulders.
"I'm a very long way from being able to afford something this expensive."
"There was a father."
"Hmm?"
Saint Grasia spoke in a calm, measured tone.
"That father had one son. The boy had talent, but he was still unpolished. The father, wanting his son to gain some experience of the world, more or less forced him to strike out on his own. But what father doesn't worry about his child? So he gave his son this Memoria artifact. As a precaution, in case something went wrong."
"......"
"Does an unfortunate premonition always come true? A tragedy occurred. The son died in a foreign land. The cause of death was suspicious. Whether he had been ambushed by bandits or not, the boy was found dead on a forest road......"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"But the son was wise. He did not forget the gift his father had given him, and on that final day, he activated the Memoria magic. Though he died, he left behind evidence of why he had been killed. Thanks to that, the father was able to learn who had murdered his son."
Unease welled up inside me.
Saint Grasia spoke in a low voice.
"That son's name was Jack Orland."
——In that instant.
My mind went blank.
The unease crystallized into a clear definition and crawled up my spine. That red-and-black thing clung stickily to the inside of my skull in an instant, then flooded through my brain.
Jack Orland.
The slave merchant, Jack——.
Why did that brainless innocent's name have to show up now?
The Saint pierced me with a cold gaze.
"Just over half a year ago, a small-scale rebellion broke out in Vernia, a northern city of the Kingdom of Sardinia. It was an incident led primarily by the Mercenary Guild. A large fire devastated the city, and many citizens lost their lives and property."
No way.
No. That can't be right.
"The body of her young son, Jack Orland, was discovered in a forest near Vernia. He had died leaning against a large boulder. Jack Orland's blood was stained on the rock. And on the boulder his corpse had been covering, written in red blood, were the words… 'di vendetta.'"
An electric shock ran down my spine.
There had been writing on the rock behind the body?
Jack had bashed his head against the rock and died. He had committed suicide. Unable to defy me, unable to uphold his own beliefs, he had chosen death rather than desecrate his convictions — that was what I had believed. That was why I had left the corpse untouched. I had paid my respects. I had found it beautiful. — Are you telling me that wasn't all there was to it?
He had left a dying message in his final moment!
Jack Orland — that impossibly brainless idealist!
"What was the revenge for? Naturally, I questioned that. Fortunately, the body had not been tampered with. The Memoria artifact disguised as a button and attached to his jacket was also intact. Upon finding the body, Father hired a mage to decode the artifact… Demon Lord Dantalion. No — the herbalist Loretta."
"…!"
"This is that final scene."
A projection formed from the artifact resting on the Saint's palm.
The screen was massive — large enough to be clearly visible from both the Demon Lord's army and the human forces.
— Kgh… kghaaaaah! Kghaaaaaah—!
First, what spilled from the footage was a scream that sounded as though it would tear apart.
Slowly, the surrounding scenery came into view.
— Gkh! Kghuuueeegh! Kghaaagh! Kgh— kghaaaaaah!
— Sigh, Jack... What a shame it's come to this.
— Kghpff! Gguueeegh! Loreta!? Loretaagh!
— I offered you three times. Three offers — truly, that was exceedingly generous. They were offers you should never have refused.
And then... my image appeared on screen.
Me in the footage stepped on Jack with my foot.
— I know it hurts, but you're being far too noisy. Jack! Jack! Can you hear me? Right? I'd like you to quiet down a bit. There's nothing good about this place being loud. Jack! Shut up! If you ignore my request, I'll cut off your left shoulder next. Understood? I'll hack your left shoulder right off.
— Gguueh, gghuuueegh... gguhhuueegh...!
— Very good. Excellent, Jack. That's exactly it. As long as you stay like that, there won't be any more bleeding. I promise.
The scenery kept flowing.
I watched it as though possessed. There was nothing else I could do but watch.
— Change your way of thinking, Jack. It's simple logic. Why did the other party refuse to trade officially through the Merchant's Guild? Why did they resort to such extreme measures? Because — and the logic follows immediately —
— A status... that couldn't trade officially...?
— Exactly. In truth, it's hard to even enter the city properly.
— You weren't a merchant... Loreta!
— Cut off the pinky finger on the left hand.
— Yes.
Once again, a horrific scream erupted. The torture continued. Burning, screaming, threats. It was a spectacle no sane person could bear to witness. Me in the footage maintained a supremely composed attitude throughout. Jack, having already lost an arm, writhed on the ground and howled.
— The medicine that could cure the plague — kgh! — was all a lie too!
— It was! That's how it was! You were the one who summoned the monster at the auction house!
— That's right. I admit it.
—And you're the one who set the city on fire too!
—Oh, so the gears are finally turning in that head of yours.
"……."
He was at a loss for words.
Somewhere deep inside his mind, a voice screamed that he couldn't just stand by and watch. He had to somehow smooth things over. But that voice felt impossibly distant.
—Putting together everything you've laid out over the last minute or so, I'd say I'm a demon, a conman, the worst scum on earth, a rabid dog, and a good-for-nothing bastard headed straight for hell. I accept that assessment entirely.
"……The Memoria magic ends here."
The projection flickered out. Saint Gracia spoke in a frigid tone.
"You set a city ablaze for your own gain. You lied without hesitation. You committed brutal torture without a shred of remorse. You are the very image of a Demon Lord—a monster among monsters, a beast among beasts, someone who will stop at nothing as long as it serves his purpose."
"……."
"That is who you are—Dantalion, the Demon Lord!"
He couldn't say a single word. Only one voice kept echoing in his throat. The innocent smile of a certain slave trader surfaced in his mind.
Jack…….
Jack.
Jack Orland!
Were you my enemy all along?
Not Elizabeth, the conqueror of the continent—not Bael, the Great Demon Lord—but you, a man whose name didn't even appear in the game, nothing more than a greenhorn romanticist—you!
Were you the enemy of me, Dantalion!