Carrying out that simple action was shocking. Just by having horns, that act of self-defense became incredibly trivial. My whole body instantly felt lighter. The magical energy I was controlling actually felt palpable. In my previous life, using magic had always felt vague and uncertain. It was like I’d had to write something while blindfolded, and now I could see the page clearly. The difference was monumental.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the beastfolk servants kneeling, hair standing on end. The night elf maids were desperately trying to resist. The imps looked moderately uncomfortable, like they were standing in the smoke of a campfire, while Sophia was entirely unfazed.
“Incredible,” Prati smiled, her eyes gleaming. “Even against my pressure, your knees didn’t so much as bend. That’s wonderful!”
The pressure in the room dissipated. The beastfolk returned to their feet gasping for air, while the night elves sighed in relief.
“As expected of my own son. Even without horns, you were a child with an especially strong will.” Something about her wording caught my attention.
The pressure from her words had a weight of familiarity. The difference in intensity didn’t hide the fact I had felt it before.
“You will become the Demon King, Zilbagias.”
Back then when she spoke those words, was that some kind of curse? A spell to turn her own son into someone capable of becoming the Demon King? That realization sent a shiver down my spine.
“If you can withstand my pressure, you’ll be fine. You should be able to enter the palace without fear of perishing. Ah, I’m so glad you turned out to be so strong! If you were a coward who used foolish tactics like layering yourself in talismans to fend off curses, I’d never hear the end of it.” Prati laughed, clearly in a fantastic mood. “I suppose we can accelerate things a little bit. I’m sure you’re quite looking forward to going to the palace and meeting His Majesty Demon King Gordogias, aren’t you?”
I was a hero. Even when face-to-face with the Demon King himself, I feared nothing. At long last, I had been given permission to enter the palace where that bastard Demon King lived. Few things would make me happier.
Though, to be completely honest, I hope you would forgive me for being a little anxious. On my last “visit” to the Demon King’s castle, I’d at least had my sword, shield, and protective talismans.
†††
I was probably fortunate I wasn’t able to storm the palace that day. Having graduated from “hornless-ness,” I was to be given a proper court rank, a procedure that would take a little time. Practically speaking, I would be granted the rank of esquire.
Demon society followed an insane hierarchical system, treating every single individual as some form of nobility. Growing your horns made you an esquire, reaching adulthood at fifteen years of age made you a knight, and from there you could climb the ranks based on your service to the kingdom or during war.
Heritage and territory meant little for one’s social standing; titles were granted to all children, not just the eldest. Even the Demon King’s own children started at the bottom of the hierarchy. This system was drastically different from the one used by humanity. These ranks also correlated to the chain of command on the battlefield. The highest rank was of course the Demon King. Hating to take orders from anyone, demons spent every waking moment pouring every ounce of strength they had into climbing even one rung up that hierarchy.
By the way, ranks were also given to the non-demon species. Night elves and dragons were considered first-class citizens. Some members of the undead that were particularly loyal to the Demon King were also in that class. Leaders among the beastfolk, like their kings and chiefs, and devils were also treated as being on the same level as demons.
“Me? Probably a baroness or something.” It was study time. While correcting an essay I’d written, Sophia responded to my question in a bored tone.
“You don’t seem to care much,” I commented.
“My work has nothing to do with combat, so the title written beside my name on paperwork is nothing more than a formality,” she replied. “Besides, anyone can assess the strength of a devil just by looking at them.”
True enough. A devil’s strength was tied to their magic. I’d come across a number of devils around the castle since my horns came in, and I could very clearly tell which ones were stronger or weaker than her with just a quick glance. If that was the case for a demon like me, it must have been second nature for actual devils.
“But if anyone can climb the ranks with strength alone, doesn’t that cause issues in regard to succession of the throne?”
“In what way?” Sophia asked.
“The archdukes are the rank just below the Demon King, right? Wouldn’t they jump at the opportunity to be the Demon King themselves one day? Seems like that could cause an endless cycle of succession wars.”
“I’m not sure if I follow. How is that a problem?”
I stopped writing at Sophia’s confused response. Ah, that’s right. The Demon King wasn’t decided by bloodline at all. Lineage meant nothing, just the strength to take his place. That meant it also didn’t matter how vicious the battle to become the next Demon King was.
“The current Demon King killed everyone that opposed him, even his own siblings. Those who swore allegiance to him from the bottom of their hearts were spared. Only someone who could come out on top after such a brutal power struggle could command the respect of a willful race such as the demons.”
“So showcasing that huge disparity in power is what makes everyone fall in line.”
“Exactly. You need to prove yourself worthy to inherit the Demon King’s Lance.”
That lance. I remembered it all too well from my fight with the Demon King. It was a simple, brutal-looking weapon that seemed to be made from obsidian. Clearly it was an artifact of incredible power. Despite the numerous protective wards and prayers placed on our shields, it had pierced them with ease like they were nothing more than paper.
“What is the Demon King’s Lance?” I asked.
“Ah, I guess we’ve never explained it to you. It’s common knowledge to us, so I never thought to bring it up.” Clapping her hands together, Sophia began another gleeful lecture. “The Demon King’s Lance is inherited by each Demon King. It was forged by your grandfather, His Majesty the first Demon King Raogias, at the cost of his own soul.”
“At the cost of his soul? Sounds like something a dwarf would do.”
It was kind of like dwarven trueforging. Using their racial magic, they could enhance their blacksmithing to create a weapon or piece of armor, pouring their very soul into it to create a magical item of tremendous power.
“Exactly! I’m surprised you know about that!” A puzzled look played over Sophia’s face at my mumbling. “Wait...how do you know about that?”
Oops. Trueforging had never come up in any of my studies, and this was the very devil that managed my entire education!
“I think I saw it in a book once.” I gave a pitiful excuse, feeling a cold sweat start to form.
Sometimes I could hardly recognize myself. I had learned the demonic alphabet, the human alphabet, and was now starting to learn the elven one. I could read perfectly well, and had made my way through a number of textbooks already. Maybe because I was so young, my memory was quite strong. Thanks to this devil, my distaste for studying was gradually starting to dissipate.
“Ah, that history book I assigned for you to read 371 days ago did mention the dwarves, didn’t it? I never gave an in-depth explanation on that topic, so it seems you actually read it properly!” Narrowing her eyes as her gaze drifted away, she eventually gave an emphatic nod.
That was close. Waaaaaaay too close. She knew the contents of every book I ever read front to back! If one of those books hadn’t mentioned dwarves, I would have been done for! Gotta think before I speak next time. No more sharing my thoughts either.
“Anyways, let’s get back to the lance. Go on.”
“Right. As you may have guessed, Lord Zilbagias, the Demon King’s Lance is a magical weapon. The power of Soul Eater that the first Demon King received from his pact with a devil god is contained inside it.”
Soul Eater. The heresy that granted the Demon King his absurd power. Even we in the Panhuman Alliance knew its name, but our knowledge of it pretty much ended there. My heart was racing, but I silently urged her to continue.
“Soul Eater is the authority of the Devil God Kanibal, a magic that uses the souls of one’s enemies as nourishment for magical power. The Demon King’s Lance contains that power, as well as much of the magical energy of the first Demon King, which is all inherited by anyone who uses the lance.”
The key to the Demon King’s incredible strength and that wicked heresy called Soul Eater was that lance!