“I was planning to let one person go alive regardless. It seems like your resistance was stronger than expected, so you ended up more badly hurt than I intended…… but it can’t be helped.”
The man said this while drawing steadily closer to Casioth.
Despite saying it was “a bit worse than intended,” he remained entirely unhurried as he looked at Casioth’s state, which was clearly beyond what anyone would call a minor injury.
“So when you get back, spread the word to the surrounding area. For the next 100 years, no one should come near the Demon King’s Castle……”
And then, having arrived right in front of Casioth, the man finally realized — belatedly — that the other’s injuries were not as light as he had assumed.
“Oh.”
He reached out toward Casioth and waved his hand in front of his face. The young man, eyes half-open and unfocused, didn’t stir in the slightest.
Is he dead?
He focused on listening for a moment — and heard a heartbeat, slow and faint.
Not dead.
But he didn’t seem to be in any state to regain consciousness easily, either.
The fierce determination that had been burning in his eyes just moments ago when he’d looked ready to kill Ranok had faded, and it seemed like if his back were to lose contact with the wall propping him up, he’d simply topple over and die on the spot.
“Well.”
Did I misjudge the force?
Ranok clicked his tongue. Truthfully, it wouldn’t be a major problem if this man died here — but it did make things a bit more troublesome.
If the Hero’s party were wiped out entirely, it wouldn’t be long before another group of humans came barging in. That much was certain from long experience.
Due to a number of reasons, large-scale armies could not enter the castle — so whenever humans charged the Demon King’s Castle, their numbers were always small and elite.
But Ranok was of the opinion that a large-scale army would actually be more convenient. Having them poke and prod at him like this in small doses was an incredibly tedious affair.
And so Ranok would make his opponents feel fear down to their very bones, then deliberately let one person go free.
That way, at least several decades of peace were guaranteed.
Simple but effective — Ranok had relied on this method more than a few times over the years. It had never failed him.
But Ranok now found himself facing the first potential failure of that method. The greenhorn had been stronger than expected, and it seemed he had completely misjudged how much force to use.
This is a problem. Ranok clicked his tongue.
“Hey.”
Ranok shook the shoulder of the young man — not just youthful but barely more than a boy. The boy didn’t move a muscle. He had completely lost consciousness.
Ranok’s brow furrowed.
If this one died here? Another Hero’s party would probably show up to be a nuisance in a year or two. It was obvious without even having to think about it.
Reassigning every Demon Clan member from the 1st to the 99th floor all over again, and dealing with the whole mess of maintaining the castle they’d wrecked on their way through.
The mere thought of it was horrifying. Ranok swallowed his groan.
As expected, it would be a problem if this human died here.
He looked around. He had hoped otherwise, but all the others had already stopped breathing.
He had intended from the start to keep only this youngest swordsman alive, and had shown no mercy with the rest accordingly.
He has to wake up so I can give him the warning too. Should I tell him this time to stay away for several hundred years? What a pain.
But all of that was only possible if the swordsman was alive.
Ranok couldn’t hold back a sigh under the wave of exhaustion rolling over him.
“Haa.”
Ranok looked down again at the fallen young man. The greenhorn, who had only just shed the look of boyhood to edge closer to young manhood, had a strikingly vivid golden-blond hair that left an impression.
His sword was reasonably decent, but the rest of his equipment was nothing expensive, which suggested his social standing wasn’t high.
To have this level of ability at this age, and yet a status as low as this compared to his talent.
“…….”
Ranok silently swept the blood-matted golden hair from the young man’s face and tilted it slightly upward.
He was still young — but his appearance was quite, no, considerably fine. By the high aesthetic standards of the Demon Clan, it would not be an exaggeration to say he was the best-looking among humans at this level.
If that face grows into adulthood, it might be quite something to see.
“Is there anyone here capable of healing him?”
He asked the shadows — but they all shook their heads side to side.
“Mas.”
— Do you think I’d be able to, either?
The Demon Clan were beings that stood at the polar opposite of sacred power — the power of healing.
The Demon Clan possessed an innate gift for destruction and ruin, but when it came to healing or restoring someone, they had no aptitude for it whatsoever.
“…….”
After deliberating for a long while, Ranok used his shadow to lift the young man’s body out of the debris.
His frame — built on natural gifts and clearly not neglected in training — was impressive for his age, but regardless of that impressiveness, he was losing vitality in real time, looking as though he might die at any moment.
Left like this, he would die soon.
“Good grief.”
What a letdown.
He had attempted to control his strength, and having failed completely, the two choices left open to Ranok were clear.
One was to simply let them all die and wait for the next batch of Heroes who would show up before long.
Just imagining having to reinforce the castle before receiving the next Heroes was already exhausting and miserable. He didn’t want to do it.
The other was——
Ranok fixed a long, steady gaze on the young man before him.
The boy, whose every breath looked like it could be his last, was a complete wreck from head to toe — but not beyond all repair. If he were to attempt treatment, it didn’t seem entirely impossible.
Of course, since he had no healing power to speak of, he would have to rely on a completely conventional method of recovery. Medicine. Bandages. That sort of thing.
Stealing holy water from a temple wasn’t a bad option either, but holy water was unpleasant even without direct contact — just being near it was enough to irritate him. Ruled out.
That left only one remaining option.
“Ha, honestly.”
The things you end up doing over a long enough life. He pushed his hair back irritably and made his decision.
If both options were a nuisance, he would pick the less of the two nuisances.
The logic that had shaped Ranok over his long life shone in that moment.
Fortunately, not much time had passed since the human Heroes had entered the castle, so there was unlikely to be any additional intruders showing up — and stepping away for a little while should be fine.
Ranok proceeded to haul the young man along, dangling him as he walked. Several shadows followed behind.
The direction he was heading was none other than outside the Demon King’s Castle.
Malek falls.
Then Ilena falls, and Kol and Henri fall helplessly after.
All of them, brought down by the force of a being that looked unlike a person — no, that genuinely wasn’t a person.
Amid his companions crumpling one by one beneath overwhelming power, Casioth cried out.
But no voice came.
“……! ……! ……!!!”
He screamed with everything he had, but no sound would come — and at last, the man’s beautiful but cold hand reached toward Casioth.
“Haah——!”
Casioth forced his eyes open with great effort. His whole body was drenched in cold sweat. Where is this?
“Ugh.”
Finding himself in an unfamiliar place, he tried to bolt upright in confusion — but his injury-ridden body protested with pain, and he had no choice but to lie back down.
Casioth looked around with a grimace. No matter how he looked at it, he had never seen this place before.
The room, made of wood, was simple but tidy. As though it offered a glimpse into its owner’s character.
There was a faint, strange smell of medicine, and judging by the sound of water that reached his ears, it seemed to be somewhere near a river.
Why am I here?
Malek. Ilena. Kol. Henri.
His companions were nowhere to be seen. And in that moment, the contents of the dream he had just had surfaced in Casioth’s mind.
Along with the knowledge that it hadn’t been a dream at all.
“Hah——”
Casioth clutched his own chest. He couldn’t breathe.
His companions were dead. They hadn’t spent a long time together — but they had been people who had united under the same conviction, the same sense of justice, to defeat the Demon King.
The grief of that was one thing — but the reason Casioth couldn’t breathe right now was that he felt revulsion toward himself for feeling relief at having survived alone.
And because of the helplessness he felt toward himself — toward a self that had been unable to resist even slightly against the Demon King’s power, which had far exceeded anything he’d imagined.
A genius blessed by the gods? Ha. I, I am……
Just as Casioth was gnawing at himself, choking himself with his own thoughts, he heard a presence — and the door opened, and someone entered the room.
“Oh.”
The man let out a light sound of surprise. It was entirely at odds with Casioth’s state, which looked serious to anyone’s eye.
He was a handsome man with black hair and black eyes.
The man — with a strangely subdued gaze that left an impression — kept an indifferent face even as he watched Casioth gasp for breath, barely clinging to life.
Casioth felt certain he had seen this man somewhere before.
And yet he could not for the life of him remember where he had seen that face. A face like that should be harder to forget than to remember after seeing it even once.
It was a face that felt both familiar and not — as though someone had splashed ink across that part of his memory — and he couldn’t remember at all where he had seen it.
“You’re finally awake.”
The man, approaching Casioth who was gasping and unable to breathe properly, placed his hand on Casioth’s chest without any particular look of surprise.
“You’re hyperventilating. Breathe out slowly.”
The hand that had come to rest over his frantically pounding heart was warm.
