35 — Chapter 35

If that was the case, then there was only one answer to what was coming now.

Monsters.

And judging by how many were moving in packs of dozens, they had to be orcs.

“Damn it…”

A curse slipped unbidden from my lips. Looked like I wasn’t going to get any proper sleep tonight. First, Horse-face had annoyed me. Now it was monsters? The memories of the Demon Realm resurfaced vividly. It had been the same back then—relentless downpours and monsters. Those cursed days of battling fiends in the storms of that realm of nightmares. The Demon Realm… a place I never wanted to remember again.

I exhaled slowly, trying to let the memories fade. Dwelling on them did me no good.

“Black. Summon.”

If these things had dragged me back into such unpleasant memories, I should at least give them a gift in return. A gift called death. I would kill them all.

When Hiberio left the Demon Realm, Heaven did not remain idle. Because he had broken the laws between realms, the Demon King moved first.

Demon King Belephor crossed the dimensional gate into Heaven. Behind him followed his loyal retainer, Baan. Belephor’s expression was unreadable, while Baan wore a faint grimace. The contrast between them was striking.

The surroundings were not the pure, blinding white that humans usually imagined Heaven to be. Yes, the base of it all was white, but here and there, dark patterns appeared. The same held true in the Demon Realm. Just as humans imagined wrong about Heaven, so too did they misunderstand the Demon Realm.

“Guide me.”

Belephor’s low voice carried power that pressed down on everything around him.

“Yes.”

Before him, a figure appeared—celestial in the form of a human. The celestial bowed deeply and gave a simple reply before turning to lead the way. Their movements were disciplined, formal, perfectly respectful. It was the proper etiquette before the absolute ruler of another realm.

As they walked, the grimace on Baan’s face deepened. It was an uncharacteristic display for him.

“Endure.”

Belephor’s voice was soft, yet absolute. At once, Baan smoothed out his expression. Whatever the Demon King commanded had to be obeyed—even if it meant death.

Their celestial guide finally halted before a massive lake. Closing their eyes, they spoke.

“I have brought him.”

The words rang out, but nothing stirred in their surroundings. No—that wasn’t true. A tiny ripple spread across the lake’s surface.

“I understand.”

The ripple faded, and the celestial opened their eyes again. Extending one hand forward, they created a portal. It was a passage that led directly to the Heavenly King.

Belephor stopped at the gate’s threshold. He inclined his head slightly toward the celestial still bowing deeply at his side, then stepped inside.

Baan did not follow. He could not. The place Belephor was heading to was a sanctum, a domain no being could enter unless they were native to Heaven itself.

For a demonkin, a symbol of darkness opposed to light, entering such a place would sap their strength until they withered away. But the Demon King was different. The laws did not bind an absolute ruler of a realm.

When Belephor disappeared fully into the portal, it shrank and vanished behind him.

“Well then…”

The celestial left a few final words for Baan, then vanished. Their duty ended there.

Even as they departed, they could not steady their trembling body. They had only stood near the Demon King for a brief moment, yet the sheer tension had left them unable to move properly. Still, they forced themselves to act calm and somehow fulfilled their role. It was a feeling they knew they would never forget.

“Lord Belephor…”

Once the celestial was gone, Baan spoke softly and bowed toward the place where the portal had stood. Even if it cost him his life, he would not raise his head until the Demon King himself returned.

White. The place Belephor entered was pure white—so white it seemed to shine. The entire space blazed with light. The aura was the complete opposite of the Demon Realm, radiant and overwhelming.

But none of it could touch Belephor. The Demon King stood too high above for such forces to have any effect.

Waiting opposite him was the Heavenly King.

A pale face, long white hair that flowed like silk, and the beauty of the beginning itself. A golden diamond-shaped jewel was set in their forehead. The Heavenly King appeared in human form, and their beauty was flawless.

Both celestials and demonkin possessed the ability to shift forms. They had a battle form and a normal form. In their battle form, wings sprouted from their backs and their power surged. Their human-like normal form was weaker, but never weak enough to dismiss.

The Demon King walked forward at a steady pace. The Heavenly King, watching his approach, took eight steps closer as well.

The two absolutes met. The rulers of two realms stood face to face. Their powers stood as equals.

But soon, one of them would kneel. Not as a sovereign, but as a father—for his son.

They drew so close that only a fist could fit between them. Golden eyes locked with violet. Within the golden light, violet flickered. Within the violet glow, gold shimmered.

The Demon King knelt.

He did so naturally, without hesitation. The act itself radiated solemn majesty.

Had any celestial or demonkin been present, they too would have dropped to their knees, overwhelmed by the force emanating from the Demon King.

Belephor, fully kneeling, raised his head to look at the Heavenly King. The Heavenly King glanced down at him once, then fixed their gaze straight ahead. It was a wordless message: Not enough.

Understanding, the Demon King lowered his head deeper.

He had laid down his very life before the one standing above him.

The Heavenly King’s lips curved faintly into a smile. It was beautiful—more beautiful than anything in existence, a beauty so intense it threatened to devour the soul. That smile was satisfaction.

The sight was surreal.

The absolute of the Demon Realm, kneeling. The absolute of Heaven, standing proudly before him.

Yet Belephor looked neither pitiful nor degraded. He looked greater than ever.

The Heavenly King, still smiling faintly, vanished from that place. There was no longer any reason to remain.

It mattered little whether one gazed long or short at the Demon King kneeling. The difference lay only in time. For beings like these, time itself held no weight. What mattered was whether the act had been done or not.

And the Heavenly King had been satisfied.

Even after the Heavenly King vanished, Belephor did not release his solemn posture. He remained there, head bowed.

The sight of him was beautiful. The sovereign of the Demon Realm, kneeling to avert war. A father kneeling for his son. It was a beauty unlike the Heavenly King’s. Not beauty of outward form, but beauty born from within—an inner radiance beyond compare.

The Demon King rose.

A faint smile touched his lips. Only he knew its meaning. Even if another could guess, they would never truly understand. For he was both the absolute ruler of the Demon Realm and the father of a son.

Belephor vanished from that pure-white place. He would return to where Baan waited—and Baan would meet him with his head raised.

It was over now. Time to go back to the Demon Realm. Yet pain still lingered in Baan’s chest.

At the heart of the Empire, in the training grounds…

“Jampe!!”

Skoll’s shout rang out, thick with shock and outrage. Seeing the scene before him, it was no wonder.

Jampe wore no armor, only simple training clothes, and in one hand he held an ordinary longsword. But the blade’s middle was split nearly halfway through, and the shirt he wore was slashed vertically open as though every button had been ripped free.

Colin, Skoll, and Jampe had come to the palace yard intending nothing more than a casual spar.

At first, Skoll and Jampe crossed blades. Their duel stretched on for more than thirty minutes. Jampe pressed forward with ordinary strikes, while Skoll slipped back again and again, narrowly evading and occasionally countering to threaten him.

When Jampe realized his attacks would never land, he broke the rule they’d set before sparring—that no one would use mana. He coated his blade in aura and brought it crashing down.

Skoll, seeing the weapon blazing toward him, had no choice but to release his own aura in defense. But by then it was too late. Jampe’s sword had already cleaved halfway through his blade.

Skoll retreated in a rush, white aura bursting around his longsword. Even so, the invisible force spilling from Jampe’s strike tore open his shirt from chest to hem.

“Were you trying to kill me?”

Skoll’s voice was hot with anger. If he had been even a moment slower, he would have died—cut down by his own friend. He glared at Jampe, demanding an answer.

“H-ha… of course I thought you’d block it.”

Scratching the back of his head with his free hand, Jampe let out an awkward laugh, tossing out an excuse that sounded absurd even to himself.