“You’re not going to tell me you don’t remember — my face.”
In that moment, a memory that had been sealed away in Casioth’s mind came rushing back.
The man who had cut down his companions without mercy. The face of the man who had attacked Casioth without hesitation, who had driven him to the very brink of death.
Ranok.
It was Ranok’s face.
“No!”
Casioth squeezed his eyes shut. No. It can’t be. That’s not Ranok. That was——
“Where is the real Ranok?”
Maybe there never was a real Ranok. Cruel as it was, the reality that fit together piece by piece was making the truth known to him.
His mind, spinning faster than he could stop it, unraveled the question that had been snarled in a corner all this time.
Why did I survive? I was clearly driven to the very edge of death. So why, how, did I survive — only to be found by Ranok outside the Demon King’s Castle?
The house where Ranok had been living alone was neatly built near the Demon King’s Castle. A small stream trickled pleasantly nearby, and the interior was cozy enough — yet it was strangely devoid of any lived-in feel, as though it had just been constructed.
And when they left, Ranok had abandoned that house without a second thought. As if it had never been his home at all.
There hadn’t been a single village around, and Ranok had said he lived there alone. Near the Demon King’s Castle, in a place no one would want to live, alone.
I thought it was strange.
But Casioth hadn’t suspected Ranok. Because he hadn’t wanted to.
Because you are my savior.
Because I——
I——
“……”
Ranok watched in silence as Casioth, who had clearly come to understand that there was no “real Ranok,” tried desperately to look away from that truth.
Even if it was painful at first — Casioth would come to accept it in the end. No matter how close he had grown to Ranok. No matter how much he had trusted him.
That cutting down the Demon King before him was his calling.
Casioth was not the kind of man who turned away from what he had to do. No one knew that better than Ranok.
Just as Casioth knew Ranok well, Ranok knew Casioth just as well.
“How easy you were to deceive.”
“……!”
Casioth’s eyes flew wide at the words Ranok exhaled almost like a sigh.
“You trusted me until the very end.”
At a single gesture from Ranok, the shadows swelled and expanded enormously.
“I never thought you’d be that naïve.”
You need to suspect others a little more.
“You were so foolish it was convenient.”
Don’t let anyone make light of you.
“So — can you kill me?”
Kill me and become a Hero.
It was me who killed your companions. It was me who drove you to the brink of death. It was me who deceived you, misled you, and stayed by your side pretending to have saved you.
So kill me.
If he did only that, Casioth would become a Hero, a true Hero. A rose-colored future would be guaranteed. He would become the Hero befitting the star of a Hero.
And Gerard would become a complete and whole Demon King.
Mas.
— Ranok……
If Gerard holds me responsible for this — tell him I hope he’ll look upon the time we spent together with fondness.
If he wished to pour out his anger over Ranok’s death, he should let it pass with mercy — not toward that young Hero, not toward Mas, but looking to the seasons Ranok and Gerard had shared together.
It was, in essence, a plea that leaned on Gerard’s mercy. A plea made knowing that Gerard would ultimately grant it, even though Ranok himself would not be there to witness it.
Cowardly to the last. Ranok passed a merciless judgment on himself, and smiled bitterly.
Take good care of Gerard.
Even in that moment, Ranok delivered his final words to Mas, who had still been connected to him — then severed the connection.
If Gerard opened his eyes to find Ranok gone, how would he react?
He would be a little sad. Would he be very sad? He would struggle. But in the end, he would come to accept it. He would understand that this had been done for his sake……
And he would become a perfect, flawless Demon King.
I hope he won’t grieve too much.
And if possible——
Ranok looked at Casioth.
He could see his young Hero — utterly submerged in despair, pain, grief, and the feeling of betrayal.
That child too.
But Casioth — I have no regrets. If anything, I feel just a little lighter.
No, perhaps there was a little he would regret. He should have touched Casioth’s bright yellow hair just one more time, while he still had the chance. That, he did regret, just a little.
“Anything you want to say?”
It was as good as asking whether there was nothing more he wanted to know. And even as he said it, Ranok thought to himself that he really did sound like a villain. He was being far too much like a Demon King.
He had been willing to answer anything if asked — but unfortunately, it seemed Casioth had no questions. Or perhaps he simply had no room in him to think of any.
No answer came, and at last the Demon King Gerard and the Hero’s party clashed.
The battle lasted a full day.
And at last, at the moment the morning sun rose, a Hero who had felled the Demon King was born.
Ten years passed just like that.
Good-looking.
Ranok looked at his own face reflected in the clear water, and that was the thought that came to him.
Milano Mortiel. The black sheep of the Mortiel Royal Family was, at the very least, quite easy on the eyes. Even by the exacting aesthetic standards of the Demon Clan, he was fairly striking.
Black hair, black eyes, slightly wavy strands. His skin was on the pale side, and judging by how well-kept and clean it was — and how soft his hands were, as if they had never done a lick of rough work in their life — he must have taken good care of himself.
“Hm.”
Having confirmed the face, Ranok went on to take stock of the body as well. The clothes he was wearing had become a little ragged after the unfortunate run-in with an assassin, but even so — likely thanks to his mother, who had been an outstanding knight — his natural frame was impressive.
He had been lazy about real training, but had put in his own sort of effort toward a pleasing physique, so the visible muscle was quite nice too. Just not at all suited for actual combat, that was all.
And to think all of this was just to look impressive to women. He couldn’t help but sigh at the kind of person this man had been.
Then again, it was hardly easy for a person of genuine worth to emerge from an environment where they were constantly told they were the finest thing in the world simply for existing.
That’s why a first prince of legitimate lineage got run off without managing to do a single thing, beaten by a half-blood younger brother.
But if there was one good thing — it was that this body’s appearance was strangely similar to Ranok’s own from before. Even his height was nearly the same.
The Faerie had gone on about wavelengths of the soul and whatnot, and it seemed there was actually some truth to it. Though even so, possessing someone else’s body was hardly a pleasant feeling.
“Tsk.”
Ranok clicked his tongue and dropped himself down beside the horse that was drinking from the water.
On the road into the Empire, in the middle of the journey, the Knight Commander had ordered the party to halt at the sight of a striking blue sky and lake. Let’s rest here a while, he had said.
It was a fortunate turn of events, as Ranok’s chest had been feeling unbearably suffocated throughout the time spent listening to the Faerie summarize the last ten years — so he had immediately stepped down from the carriage and made his way to the lakeside.
— Hmph, busy as can be and here you are lounging about by a lake — did you even listen to a word I said?
The Faerie muttered sourly, fluttering in circles around Ranok. Frankly, it was grating on his nerves.
Ranok reached out and caught the Faerie in his palm in one swift motion.
— Squawk!
“Stay still.”
The Faerie, now captured in Ranok’s hand, kicked up a tremendous fuss — but Ranok paid it no mind.
Empty his head? Fat chance. Unlike the tranquil scenery around him, Ranok’s mind was a mess of tangled thoughts. The fault of the things the Faerie had told him on the way here.
The Hero had become a notorious wreck of a drunkard, and the new Demon King — whose name was not yet known — had destroyed half the world. It was a story that was difficult to believe.
“Ha.”
Ranok dragged a hand through his hair. A drunkard? Destroyed half the world? Nowhere in any of it was there a trace of the beautiful, brilliant future he had imagined.
How on earth did things end up like this? He wanted desperately to grab the people around him and demand to know if this was real — but he couldn’t exactly do that.
And yet he couldn’t look away from a truth so clearly imprinted even in the memories of Milano Mortiel, a man who had held no interest in international affairs whatsoever.
He didn’t know what to do with the overloaded tangle that was his head. All Ranok could do was sit there in a daze.
The horse beside him seemed to sense instinctively that defying him was not an option, and snorted but drank its water quietly all the same. It was then.
“Your Highness, your meal.”
A knight approached Ranok carrying a tray with food on it. It seemed they planned to eat while resting before moving on.
The look in Ranok’s eyes went sideways as he took in the contents.
Well, look at this.
On the tray sat a plate bearing a few pieces of bread that looked rock-hard and a few pieces of dry, slightly burnt meat. Even at a glance it was a sorry spread.
Ranok cast a quick glance behind him. Far in the distance, the meat being grilled there was glistening with bright crimson juices.
Not that I have the luxury of complaining about food — but even so, isn’t this a little too blatant? Ranok let out a quiet laugh.
Any nobleman who received something like this would have immediately gone red in the face and upended the plate, demanding to know if they were seriously expected to eat this.
The black sheep of the Mortiel Royal Family probably wouldn’t be any different. Generally speaking, if a knight were to treat a foreign royal this way, the odds of it escalating into an international incident were quite high.
