Nice to meet you. I am the former hero Alexander, now known as Demon Prince Zilbagias.
A good deal of time had passed since my rebirth. The clarity of my memories as Alexander only lasted a brief time. Then I was sleepy all the time, lacked emotional restraint, and had a myriad of other difficulties. The most terrifying thing was that the more my focus slipped, the more my memory of who I once was started to wane.
Huh? Who am I again?
When that happened, it felt like my memories were fading away, as if Alexander was a stranger to me. It wasn’t much different to how you could remember your dreams quite clearly when you first woke up, but as the day went on, those memories started melting away.
I am the hero Alexander. No matter what anyone says, I’m the hero Alexander! I repeatedly told myself as I drank from a demon’s breast.
Anyway, I’ll spare you the details of my life as a baby, and instead summarize the information I gathered during my time in the Demon King’s castle.
First, two years had passed since our assault on the castle. In other words, it had been two years since the Demon King had killed me. The assault team had been slaughtered while the Demon King was as lively and healthy as ever. The assassination attempt was an utter failure.
Second, the Panhuman Alliance was still losing the war. With the Demon King still in power, his armies were in tip-top shape. The borders of the Alliance were gradually being driven back, and an entire kingdom was ravaged while I was an infant. Dammit.
Lastly, I was the seventh demon prince. Including myself, the Demon King had seven heirs. His oldest son was seventy years old, and his oldest daughter was sixty. The pattern continued down, each of his children being born about ten years apart. With a reasonably long life span of about three hundred years, though it wasn’t as difficult for them as for the elves, having children was no small feat for the demons. One could say that one child every ten years was actually well above the curve for them. However, seeing as I was his seventh child, apparently the Demon King was apathetic when it came to me as I never saw him after the day I was born. His statement that “there is no harm in having more heirs” seemed to have been an accurate showing of his disinterest in me.
That about sums up everything I had learned. What, you were expecting more? C’mon, I’m just a baby. There’s only so much you can do when your daily routine only consists of eating and sleeping.
“Obubu...bonba. (So...what now?)”
Lying in my cradle, I started thinking. I didn’t have a clue why I’d been reborn as a demon, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I may have the body of a demon, but I will forever have the heart of a hero.
Question was, what should be my next course of action?
“Babuu... (Babuu).”
Damn, thinking can be quite the hassle. I was a hero. My job was to slay the enemies of humanity! When the pope said “go and kill them,” my job was to say “gladly!” and rush to the battlefield! I wasn’t good at anything else!
With nothing else to do, I tried shaking my cradle a bit. It seemed the cradle’s frame was made of bone. As far as I could tell, they seemed to be bones taken from a humanoid creature of some sort. Wait, was it possible this cradle was built from the bones of famous heroes? Damn you, demons! I will annihilate them all!
“Boba, buababa (I’m a hero).”
I reached toward the ceiling. My arm was flabby, my skin sickly pale. With training, these weak and flabby arms would take on muscle stronger than steel. As much as it pained me to admit, demons were far stronger than humans. Even without considering their physical strength and stamina, their magic was comparable to that of the elves. On top of that, the blood of the current Demon King now coursed through my body. What exactly were the limits to my potential...?
“Bobba! (All right!)”
I’d made up my mind. I was going to kill the Demon King! At the end of the day I was a fighter, so my options were limited. Fighting was second nature to me. Train my body, hone my skills, and make our mission to assassinate the Demon King into a success. It was time for an insurrection! I squeezed my flabby little hand into a fist.
“Bogya...”
Having made up my mind, I was feeling surprisingly motivated. So much so I started to cry.
“Bwaaaaaah! Waaaaaah!”
Oh, it’s this again. I’m hungry! Feed me! Feed me!
Unable to suppress my emotions, I could only cry. My tantrum quickly signaled my wet nurse to attend to me.
“Yes yes, little one. Time for milk, right?”
“Babu...”
Filling my belly with milk and my mind with thoughts of the Demon King’s demise, I drifted off to sleep.
†††
I had a dream. Beyond a nostalgic-looking forest, I found myself in a small rural village. I was young, accompanied by a naive, carefree girl.
“Alex! Dad found a bee’s nest!” Claire said, my childhood friend’s face brimming with excitement. “I saw him putting the honey in a pot!” she continued, donning a mischievous smile. “Let’s go taste it!”
“Wait, really?!” I replied. “You know how precious honey is! Are we allowed to just take some?”
“Of course not! That just makes it all the better!” As young as she was, the thrill of walking the narrow line of what was forbidden was just as sweet and satisfying as tasting honey. That was the kind of girl Claire was. She was extremely energetic, fearless, and never hesitated to drag me everywhere she went. This usually resulted in my well-being being sacrificed to satisfy her whims.
But...it was fun. Those days of being dragged around the village were a source of nostalgic joy for me now. Both the peaceful village we called home, and the taste of that forbidden honey.
Claire’s father was furious when he learned we had eaten the whole thing; hard to blame him since that was a lot of money now down the drain. Claire was of course scolded to the point of tears, and as her accomplice, I received a much more physical punishment from my father. She didn’t talk much for a few days after that, but it wasn’t long before her pranks were the talk of the village again. That was our childhood, surrounded by the love of our village.
“Hey! They say if you make a soup using red feather grass, it can make your hair fall out! Let’s go put some on the chief’s head!”
“No way! He’ll kill us! It’s way too dangerous!”
“Idiot, that’s what makes it fun!”
“You’re crazy!” My complaining was all talk; I still accompanied her to hunt down the herbs.
Ah, but I already knew. This delightful, joyful era of my life was fleeting. This peaceful, gentle world would soon be overrun by flames and darkness.
“Monsters! Lots of them!”
The sound of someone shouting woke me up that night. In a panic, I ran outside only to see countless tiny lights scattered across the dark mountainside, hovering like will-o’-the-wisps. Those lights were torches. The Demon King’s army had traversed the mountains that bordered our kingdom and invaded. Goblins, ogres, and the cruel night elf hunters. Leading them all was a squad of demon soldiers. I was too young to fully grasp everything that was going on. All I knew was that something terrifying was happening. That was it.
“Run!”
The adults were desperate. Grabbing whatever they could carry, then fleeing the village. But we were too slow. Well, it would be more accurate to say the Demon King’s army was too fast. The enemy forces emerged from the darkness, ravaging our village in no time.
“Ahhhh! Stop!” The village chief, trying his best to protect his personal belongings, was killed and devoured by an ogre.
“Someone, please! At least save her!” The baker Sedrick fell, killed by night elf arrows while sacrificing his body to protect his daughter, Claire.
“No! Dad!” Claire sobbed, clinging to the lifeless body of her father. “Help! Someone, help!” The last thing I saw was a night elf grabbing her by the hair and dragging her away. A group of goblins then swarmed around her.
“Someone...!” she pleaded, reaching out toward us—and our eyes met.
“Claire!”
“Don’t look!”
I tried to rescue her, but my mother picked me up and ran. In order to save us, my father stayed behind to act as a decoy.
“You’re not getting past me!”
“Ha, quite bold for human scum! Die!”
My father’s screams as his life was snuffed out echoed up to the night sky. A demon with brilliant green hair gave a shrill laugh, lifting its spear up high. On the tip of its weapon was something round, vaguely the size of a human head, illuminated by the light of burning houses.
I was literally speechless. The shock, the rage, the despair filling me only came out in tears. Just reliving this through my dreams showcased how brutally real everything felt. Even though it was just a dream, I felt powerless. It was like I was being forced to experience that helplessness again and again.