It had been twenty years since Beelzebub’s miraculous revival following his defeat at Alan’s hands. He’d spent the day swinging his sword in a wide room at the demon lord’s castle he had long ago claimed for himself, panting from the exertion.
The sweat streaming like a waterfall down his body and the demolished surroundings from the shock waves caused by his sword swings made it clear that his training was no mere routine.
“The place would be a complete mess if the castle wasn’t capable of repairing itself,” Greha—a one-eyed old woman who served Beelzebub—said from behind him.
“Phew! I think you’re exaggerating. Besides, it would be disrespectful of me to challenge him to a rematch after undergoing some half-hearted training,” he replied.
“It’s certainly surprising. As soon as you returned from the human world, you started swinging your sword or studying magic. All your subjects find it shocking that Demon Lord Beelzebub himself is spending his days training nonstop.”
“It’s no easy task, that’s for sure.”
That he needed to train had been a simple thing to say, but putting it into practice had been no walk in the park. He’d put effort into improving himself a little every day. Once he’d tried training for himself, he’d realized just how much work was necessary, leading his admiration for Alan to grow. After all, Alan had spent his whole life going through much more challenging situations.
“But you seem to be enjoying yourself, Lord Beelzebub,” Greha said.
“I suppose I am. The training itself is the furthest thing from pleasant, but looking forward to demonstrating the fruits of my labor fills me with nothing but joy.” Whenever he thought about his rematch with the Champion who’d defeated him, he was filled with energy. He chuckled while thinking about his past enemy. “This is a feeling I’d like to teach my past self if possible. ‘Don’t worry, you’re not perfect. There’s a man in the human world who can defeat you and make you passionate about your life,’ I’d tell him.”
“I understand. Then, I should move the preparations along on my end as well. I’ve made contact with the Noble of the Isle of the Dead, Grave the Wicked Bone King.”
“Very good. I shall request his participation in my army posthaste.”
Together with Greha, Beelzebub had started preparations to leave the underworld again. There was no end to the work he had to take care of. Rebuilding the demon army, scouting shenmo for every member of the New Seven Black Stars, and above all else, training for his rematch with Alan. But there was no doubt that his current life was more fulfilling than back when he’d ruled over his territory with his naturally unmatched strength and looked down on everything and everyone. He might as well have been dead back then. He now understood that life without passion was indistinguishable from death.
“You have my thanks, Champion. I will be the one to challenge you this time. Our fated rematch is nearly at hand!”
Demon Lord Beelzebub’s life had begun on the day he’d been defeated by Alan. That was what he believed.