Chapter 9

CHAPTER THREE The Immortal Furnace The Hero Gram was of ordinary birth. He was raised by his parents with his twin sister in a small village near the border of the Ohm Kingdom, on the western side of Alnaeth. When he was fifteen, he trekked to the caverns in the mountains to look for an herb to cure his sister’s fever. During his absence, one of the Six Dark Peers, Zenol, decided to lead his Order of the Karmic Sword to Gram’s village. They burned it down out of fear for the Hero of prophecy. Having lost his family and home, Gram was taken in by Althia the Paladin, who would later become his teacher before he set out on his journey to defeat the Demon Lord. That was the basic gist of the story of the Selfless Hero, the Shining Brave, the Sun That Never Sets. His monikers were plenty, for his name was known throughout the entire continent. And yet, his achievements were now no more than legend. Veltol invited Gram to join him for some udon at a stall on the main street. The orc cook drained the udon from behind the red curtain and paper lanterns. The war between mortals and immortals and the battle between Hero and Demon Lord was a very, very long time ago for Gram, and although it was still something recent from Veltol’s point of view, he also viewed it as a thing of the past. There was no reason for them to kill each other in this era—and so, the Demon Lord had very naturally approached the Hero and invited him for lunch. Gram silently obliged. Veltol took a glance at Gram sitting beside him. He was lifeless; his lips were chapped, his eyes dim, and his hair appeared damaged. A far cry from the Hero Veltol remembered. On his nape was a Familia, slightly bigger than others. Unbeknownst to Veltol, it was an old military-issue Familia—proof of his time in the army. He then looked at Gram’s rusty sword, placed beside his chair: the symbol of Gram’s legendary exploits, the mythic armament of legend—the Holy Sword, Ixasorde. The Unwavering Silver Sun that never rusted, never broke, never faded. Nothing remained of that sun-like shine of the immortal slayer. It was now rusty, smashed, chipped—it had turned into more a staff than a sword, and it was unceremoniously resting on the ground. The Holy Sword perfectly reflected its owner’s state. For it to be rusty meant that the Hero’s heart was equally rusted. And as proof of this, Veltol saw no gleam of the dazzling light that shone brighter than even the sword itself, which he had seen in Gram’s eyes five centuries prior. His eyes now seemed broken, resigned, despairing—as if he had given up. Those were the eyes of the defeated. Veltol couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. He couldn’t bear to see his eyes even more decayed than the Holy Sword of legend. Gram was like a mirror. Veltol was sure that he himself had looked just as hollow until only recently. As if void of life’s little glimmers… Ridiculous. Veltol stopped thinking about it. “Machina’s taken me to plenty of udon places, but this one’s the best I’ve found. Enjoy it. It has my seal of approval,” he told Gram. There was no need for Veltol to show concern, and yet he couldn’t help himself. “Okay,” Gram replied. “…” “…” “Really, though, food has gotten much tastier from my time. I thought it would take a while for my palate to adapt, but to my surprise, that wasn’t the case.” “Yeah.” “……” “……” Awkward silence. The obvious outcome of having these polar opposites—human and darkling, mortal and immortal, Hero and Demon Lord—sitting side by side at an udon joint. Why am I having such a hard time striking up a conversation? He was much more easygoing and approachable five hundred years ago… Perhaps I ought to do more “just chatting” streams to improve my small talk skills… Two steaming bowls of kitsune udon were placed in front of Veltol as he brooded over the subject. “Two kitsune udons, comin’ right up.” It was a traditional dish of thin noodles, two sheets of fried soybeans, chopped scallion, and a single mernius. The Hero and Demon Lord grabbed their chopsticks and spoons and started slurping. Veltol’s chopstick skills had improved significantly in these three months. “So good,” said Gram. “It’s been ages since I had decent food…” Veltol couldn’t say anything in response. They kept on eating in silence. After a while, Gram finally put his chopsticks on top of the bowl and said, “This feels kinda weird.” “What does?” Gram’s voice sounded empty and hollow, like dried, cracked, barren earth. “Here I am, eating udon alongside the guy who killed my parents, my sister, and my friends. I never would’ve thought this day would come.” Veltol couldn’t tell whether Gram was being sincere or facetious. But it was only natural for him to say that—not even Veltol would’ve imagined this happening, not in a million…or five hundred years. Veltol had lost his immortal retainers. People who were important to him. He had undoubtedly despised the Hero five centuries before, but now, he didn’t feel the slightest anger looking at Gram. More than anything, he had one question: Why is he here? Veltol couldn’t stop thinking about it as he shoveled udon into his mouth. He couldn’t get the question off his mind, not since he saw Gram here in this world. And of course Gram would find this situation odd. This reunion after five hundred years shouldn’t be possible. Not with a mortal. So Veltol asked: “Gram, have you turned immortal?” “…” He didn’t answer. “You told me that life is brilliant because of its limitations—that you mortals are strong because you fight to survive. And that is why you defeated me.” “…” “So why…? Why?” He felt some indescribable emotion in his chest, like a mix between anger, sadness, and disappointment. “Not exactly, Veltol. I’m not an immortal,” Gram replied, denying those very emotions. “…What?” “After I defeated you, one of the Six Great Gods of Alnaeth, the goddess Meldia, bestowed me with eternal youth as a reward.” “Eternal youth…?” Being immortal implied having eternal youth, but not the other way around. Veltol could hardly imagine the goddess Meldia would be so foolish as to bless the great Hero with eternal youth. She was far too easily charmed, too deeply jealous. She coveted beauty and scorned old age. Gram gazed at his reflection in the bowl of soup and spoke effortlessly: “With the Demon Lord gone, soon the next war began. One that I already expected: a war between mortals. I, the Ohm Kingdom’s hero, was sent to fight against the neighboring countries. Makes you laugh, doesn’t it? The war against the immortals finally ends, and we mortals immediately start killing one another. It’s downright comical… And so I killed many of my people for the sake of my country.” His words were tinged with gloom and despair. “We kept on winning battles and annexing countries, expanding Ohm farther and farther, until finally it was me—the Hero—who’d become the next obstacle.” It was the same conclusion Veltol had reach five hundred years before: The one to be rejected after the Demon Lord’s defeat would be the Hero. “I’d been powerful enough to defeat the Demon Lord, so political leaders started turning on me. They stoked fear among the masses, who then had me exiled. There was no longer any need for a hero. No one wants one anymore. The Hero no longer exists.” Foolish, Veltol thought. Not of Gram, of course, but of the political leaders. It was inevitable that the people would fear him. The masses were, by nature, foolish and weak. It’s why they needed strong leadership. Veltol also pitied Gram having to serve a king who couldn’t handle a Hero. Had this ruler served under Veltol, he would have never committed such a foolish mistake. “I wandered the globe, then the Fantasion came, and I fought in the First City War as a mercenary. I also took part in the Immortal Hunt afterward. I killed many of your kind, too. I fought for my own sense of justice, and now look at me. I finally realized that you and I—mortals and immortals—are no different after all.” Gram sighed deeply, as though expelling everything he had built up inside over the past five hundred years. “I’ve killed too many people, both mortals and immortals… There’s no place for me in a world that doesn’t need a hero. This world has no hero. I’m just so…tired…” His raison d’être denied, his dignity trampled, Gram had become disillusioned with the world. Yet he couldn’t succumb completely into despair nor die. He kept on living aimlessly like a recluse, simply existing. This world had cast the Demon Lord aside and deemed the Hero unnecessary. Despite their incongruity, the pair felt a shared sympathy. Still, Veltol didn’t offer any appreciation or compassion for Gram’s hardships. Such words were unneeded between them. “…” “…” Silence reigned once again. Then came the sound of a spoon hitting a bowl. “Listen, Veltol,” Gram said, breaking the silence. “Hmm?” “There’s something I want to ask you.” “What’s that?” “Why did you decide to take over the world?” The Demon Lord’s answer was emphatic: “So that it could be peaceful.” His words were certain. At his core, Veltol held sincere, heartfelt conviction. “………What?” Gram honestly could not comprehend this answer. He repeated it back to Veltol: “…So that the world could be peaceful?” He was clearly confused. He never would’ve thought such words would come out of the Demon Lord’s mouth, but they didn’t seem like lies or jest. They were serious, honest, sincere. Veltol continued: “There are many ways to become immortal. Phoenixes, vampires, ancient disease, curses, the pursuit of magic, divine punishment… Leaving aside some rare exceptions, all immortals were once mortals, no different from regular people. Mortals call us darklings out of fear, but we are no different at the core.” “…” “Mortals are weak. That’s why they fear and envy and persecute us immortals.” “But immortals do the same thing. They look down on mortals. They hate us and oppose us.” “That’s right. Because mortals are not the only weak ones—immortals are weak, too. And the weak fear and reject that which they don’t understand. That’s how all people—all living creatures are.” “…That’s—that’s not true. It can’t be…” “There must be someone strong at the top so the weak don’t cause conflict. And that’s where I come in. That is my duty as a strong being.” Veltol admitted it was ridiculous of him to say he was strong in his current state. He was aware of how arrogant he sounded, something that he had never felt before. “That is my ideal of world peace.” “Peace through domination isn’t—” “You experienced it yourself—the betrayal and rejection the weak are capable of.” “…Even so… Even so, I…” Gram cast his eyes down, then spoke firmly: “I want to believe in people. I want to continue being an ally for the weak. After all…I know the light that shines from within that weakness.” Veltol averted his gaze. He couldn’t stand looking at Gram’s face—at those eyes. Both of their conflicting reasonings were too overblown to be righteous. They couldn’t find a compromise, and so silence was all that remained. Veltol couldn’t understand how he was still willing to see eye to eye with humankind, to adhere to that weakness he spoke of even after having been betrayed. “Seems like we really can’t come to an agreement, Veltol.” “Ha! We’ve known that for five hundred years.” Gram placed his chopsticks on top of his bowl, grabbed his sword, and stood up. “Thanks for the meal. The udon was really good. I’m glad we were able to talk, Veltol.” “As am I, Gram.” Veltol didn’t watch him go. He just listened as the Hero departed. “This world has no Hero? You idiot,” Veltol whispered bitterly. “My very existence proves how wrong you are.” Veltol and Gram were opposite sides of a coin, like light and dark, sun and moon, life and death. The paradox of the Hero and Demon Lord was what made their relationship. “That’s not what we agreed on!” A woman’s voice echoed through the backstreet just as Veltol was leaving the shop, having paid for the udon with his PDA. He recognized that voice. There was also another, lower voice of a man. It sounded like an argument. Quarrels weren’t uncommon in this city. Veltol had witnessed several heated arguments end in murder. Usually, he wouldn’t care either way, but he couldn’t ignore it this time considering he knew one of the people arguing. He followed the voice to an even narrower alleyway. That was where he found Takahashi. She was visibly upset, shouting at the ogre man in front of her. Takahashi was small even for a human her age, and she looked even tinier when compared to the ogre. “You’re gonna have to pay me double if it’s the yakuza we’re dealin’ with, Bunny Bones.” “What, you’re chickening out?” “Hell no. I’m talkin’ business here. You feel me?” “Grrr…!” The ogre spoke with a grin, while Takahashi flailed her arms in anger. Veltol recognized the ogre as well. The cheap prosthetic arm, the tank top and cargo pants, the mohawk—he was the ogre who’d given Veltol a beating after he lost to Marcus. “Quit trying to jack up the cost right before the job even starts!” Takahashi yelled. “We have a contract!” “Well, I changed my mind. I’ll be risking my life, so I’ve gotta get something appropriate in return. If you’re not cool with that, then look for someone else. If you can find anyone, that is.” “You can’t even keep a written agreement?!” “Written agreement? This ain’t exactly respectable work we’re doin’ here. How’re you gonna sue me for that, huh?” “Stupid freakin’ bogeyman! You’re all bulk and no brains! Bet you don’t have any balls, either, you wimpy ogre. Aww, poor widdle bogeybaby.” “The fuck did you just say to me, you goddamn hairless monkey? I’m gonna smash your fucking ape skull in!” They threw slurs at each other, the resulting sparks enough to ignite a real fight at any moment. The ogre obviously wasn’t backing down, but Takahashi was fearless. “Stop right there.” “Huh? Velly?!” “Eh?” Veltol stepped forward and loudly interjected. He couldn’t stand to see a big man trying to intimidate a small woman, even if it likely made no difference in modern society. “The hell are you?” The ogre turned to him after hearing his voice. “Oh, you’re the guy from that one time…” “Stay away from her and I’ll let you go.” “Eh? You know Bunny Bones?” “Bunny Bones? So what if I do?” Veltol looked straight at the ogre, provoking him with a menacing glare. “Hey, pip-squeak, don’t you remember how I bashed your brains in? Man, seeing you puke your brains out was a real hoot! And I’m such a good guy, I didn’t even post the footage on the aethernet.” The ogre took the bait and slowly approached Veltol, all the while dishing out more insults: “Fine with me! You’re gonna regret tryin’ to look good in front of this lady, you barfing shrimpy piece of trash… I’ll take you out right here, right now.” He tried to grab Veltol with his big prosthetic hand, dead set on killing the Demon Lord. His movements were fluid enough to make Veltol realize he was used to murder. “Velly! Just run! Go!” Takahashi shouted. Veltol didn’t evade. He resisted the ogre’s prosthesis and grabbed it back. “Don’t worry, Takahashi. It’s time to test how much power I’ve gained from my million subscribers.” “Ha! You idiot, my arm’s strong enough to pluck yours out!” The ogre upped the prosthesis’s power with his magic. “Time to say your prayers!” Veltol’s bones creaked. His skin burst, and blood spurted out. Had the ogre grabbed him by the head instead, it was clear only a bloody mess would’ve been left behind. The ogre’s prosthetic arm was made of an exposed reinforced carbon and composite eltonium steel frame—no bells or whistles, but top-notch output. “I expected as much,” said Veltol. Even with his arm crushed, he kept a cool and composed expression. “Velly…!” Takahashi screamed in dismay. And who could blame her? Someone without a Familia or prostheses could never defeat a magiborg ogre in a fight. “Heh…” And yet, Veltol laughed. A bluish-black light momentarily enveloped the Demon Lord. The next instant, he gripped hard, and as easily as breaking a twig, he crushed the ogre’s manipulator frames—essentially, the bones of his fingers. “Aaaagh?!” Lubricant and liquid aether gushed out as Veltol ripped the prosthesis off, artificial nerves and all. Since the ogre had his arm’s sensation settings on, his face twisted in agony. Veltol didn’t do anything special this time. He simply initialized his mana and circulated it throughout his body. Reinforcing one’s body through mana manipulation was the most basic thing. Anyone could do it with enough training. However, only the Demon Lord, with his enormous mana capacity and output, could achieve it at this level. Veltol extended his arm. His hand reached for the ogre’s chest, his middle finger held by his thumb, and then he flicked it. “Here.” That was it. A finger flick. In the moment of impact, mana surged like bluish-black shock waves, and the ogre was blown against a concrete wall. He fell to the mountain of garbage bags below. “It seems he’s not quite a strong enough test subject for how much faith I’ve recovered.” Veltol opened his hand. His injuries were already healed. He didn’t spare the fainted ogre even a glance as Takahashi ran over. “A-are you okay, Velly?!” “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Are you injured?” “Nah, I’m all right. Thanks.” “Of course. It’s only natural to help a friend in need. By the way, what was that about Bunny Bones or something?” “Ah, that’s my handle. So what’re you doing around here?” “I came to pick up a delivery, but I ran into my sworn enemy—I mean, an old acquaintance—on my way there. After some chatting, I heard your voice.” “Ooh, gotcha, gotcha. Hang on—hmm? An old acquaintance? Then that means—” “Don’t worry about it. Moreover, what were you doing here? It looked like you were arguing with that dunce.” He pointed at the ogre with his chin. “He’s, like, my bodyguard? Kinda? Anyways, he works for me, and we’ve got this big job today, but the bastard suddenly asked for double the pay, so I told him off. Actually, this dude’s no chump himself, and you took care of him in one blow…” “I see… Wait—he was your bodyguard?” The unconscious ogre was injured, to put it mildly. His prosthetic arm was also destroyed, so his days as a bodyguard were likely over. “That’s, um… I’m sorry.” “No, it’s fine! You seriously helped me out. But anywho… Velly, you’re, like, crazy strong, yeah?” “I am the Demon Lord, after all… Ah, I see where this is going.” “Yep. Wanna be my new bodyguard? I’ll pay you.” He could go to the collection hub another day, and there was no reason to refuse his friend’s request. If anything, the only problem would be getting back before dinner, but that could be solved with just a call to Machina. Veltol agreed to help. Takahashi took him to a former warehouse in the old port, thirty minutes by flying taxi from the street they were in. It used to be an important maritime transport spot in Shinjuku, but the area was sealed off after the port was destroyed during the City Wars. The Shinjuku Ward didn’t face the ocean in the old world, but the current Shinjuku City had annexed the surrounding wards. This area was once Tokyo’s Minato Ward. The neighboring cities were Yokohama on the sea at the south and Akihabara to the northeast. The poorly constructed warehouses were badly eroded—hardly any were still recognizable. Takahashi and Veltol headed to one that still looked vaguely like a building, although the walls made of shabby synthetic amidas lumber appeared close to collapsing. “This whole area’s untouched. No one comes anywhere near here, so it attracts a rough crowd. Y’know, the broken glass theory or whatever,” Takahashi explained. They observed the surroundings from the mountain of rubble in front of the warehouse. Its metal doors were shut, and two ogre men in black suits were standing outside guarding them. Near them were multiple luxury cars with adamantine armor and magical protection. “So what should I do?” Veltol asked. Takahashi’s eyes lit up. She grinned as if she’d been waiting for that exact question. It was honestly scary. “You’re gonna steal something.” “Aha.” “Do kings steal? Or is theft a no go?” Veltol smiled back. “Not if a friend is asking me to do it.” “Hee-hee. I would’ve made you do it anyway!” Takahashi let out a white breath into her hands and then rubbed them together. Her jacket was enchanted with cold-resistant magic, but it still wasn’t enough to completely protect her from the chill this close to the cryotolerance zone’s border. “Ugh, so cold,” she grumbled. “Shouldn’t you have brought something thicker to wear…?” “Nah, you don’t wear extra clothes because it’s cold. That’s the trend these days. But whatever, let’s get down to brass tacks. The Yakuza Guild owns this warehouse. It’s the perfect spot for crime because it’s almost outside the cryotolerance zone. No one comes near here, not even the City Guard.” “Yakuza Guild, huh? So scoundrels.” “Yep. You scared?” “Ha! Thugs don’t bother me. So what we need to steal is inside this warehouse, correct?” “Yeah, I’m almost certain. There’s a therian and an ogre yakuza group in there—Lobo Brig and Fulmination Gold respectively. They’re doing business as we speak. Oh, by the way, you gotta be slick in this line of work—that’s basically my motto. Keep that in mind, Velly.” “Understood.” “And just to be super clear: We’re not stealing a physical object. It’s not something we can actually take away from these guys. What I mean is we’re here for infor—” Veltol had already run off before she could finish. He needed to speed things up if the deal was already in progress. Takahashi didn’t seem like she had combat training, so he concluded he should go ahead by himself. Having regained faith, his body reinforced with mana was able to move over twenty meters in one step, so he reached the ogres keeping watch outside in a flash. “Wh-who the hell are you?!” Veltol’s sudden appearance left them in shock. One ogre tried to take something out of his suit pocket, but a swift kick in the groin took him out of action. Veltol kicked the other ogre in the stomach while he was still paralyzed in confusion. “Argh!” The well-over-three-hundred-pound ogre crashed against the steel door, breaking it. Both he and the door were sent flying into the warehouse. “If you’ll excuse me,” Veltol said as he carefully entered. There were ten total ogres and therians inside the now well-ventilated warehouse. There were pallets and containers all over, and the sky was visible from a big hole in the ceiling. At the center were a therian and an ogre man exchanging a small, palm-sized cube. Veltol’s sudden arrival had everyone frozen in place. “Takahashi, do you want me to steal that small box?” Veltol asked through the aether. “Yeah, that cube is… Wait, what the heck?! I thought you didn’t have a Familia! How’d you connect to mine?! And I wasn’t even finished telling you the plan!” “It’s nothing particularly surprising. I simply reproduced the Familia’s aether communications function with magic.” “You did what?!” “Familia communications operate via Whisper magic, a form of telepathy. It’s not difficult to replicate once you figure that out.” “Gee, you make it sound sooo easy…” “In any case, I’ll take care of everyone here and steal the objective.” “Just don’t kill anybody!” “I know. I’ll show them the power of a million followers’ faith.” He cut the connection. “Who the hell are you?!” The yakuza men regained their composure and started harassing the intruder. “I am the Demon Lord Veltol Velvet Velsvalt. I pity you, foolish mortals, for I’ve chosen you as the next subjects to test out my recovered faith. Hopefully you will serve as a good enough warm-up.” “Ya got some real guts, tryin’ ta break in here! Say yer prayers!” a dog therian in a black suit howled. He took a magi-gun out from his pocket. Magi-guns were a type of combat magi-gadget that used simplified and specialized magic assistance from the Familia. They were very similar to the magic assistance tools used by the mages of yore: staves, wands, spell scrolls, and the like. Magi-guns worked by inserting a card-shaped scroll into the throttle, then pulling the trigger to activate the magic engraved on the scroll. The therian yakuza pulled the trigger, and a small magic circle expanded for a moment around the muzzle like a flash. Aether Arrow, huh? Veltol immediately recognized it just by looking at the technic drawn in the circle. Aether Arrow was a classic magic that had existed since ancient times. As the name implied, it shot an arrow made of aether, with stronger piercing power than traditional arrows, which made it a reliable attack. “Vestum!” Veltol activated his strengthening magic in response. It was the equivalent of a mix of modern buffs Might of the Dragon, Righteousness, and Gift of Strength. A normal body would break from the overload of so many magics, but Veltol was able to achieve such ridiculous strengthening thanks to his immortal powers constantly regenerating his body. Six blue arrows of light flew at high speeds, leaving a trail behind. Each of them had enough power to pierce a thick iron plate. “Hah!” And Veltol smashed every single one of them with his fists. The shattered aether arrows turned to phosphorescent light. Besides the Vestum enchantment, he also had a magical effect called the Dragonscale Effect, which replicated the natural magical protection found in dragon scales—this barrier was what allowed him to break the arrows. The magic from that ancient spell, possible now that he regained enormous mana through his faith, was on a whole different level from modern magic. “What?!” “You gotta be kidding me!” The yakuza opened their eyes wide in shock at what he had done. The aether arrows easily surpassed the speed of sound, and he took down all six of them at the same time, so of course they were shocked. No human’s reaction speed could keep up—but he was no human. He was the Demon Lord. “Is that all you’ve got? Very well… Now it’s my turn.” Veltol disappeared. He jumped all the way to one of the ogres in a flash and sank his fist into the enemy’s chest. The ogre fainted with no time to even react. He could’ve punched right through him, but Takahashi did tell him not to kill anyone. So he restrained himself to only incapacitate his foe. “Y-you bastard!” A nearby therian pointed his gun at him. Veltol approached him before he could pull the trigger, broke both of his arms, and then dealt a blow to his head to render him unconscious. The ensuing fights followed the same pattern. Veltol would move before the opponent could do anything, and a second later, they were down. He was like a gust of black wind, defeating foes with every blow. He gave them no time to defend themselves. It was a massacre. “Pathetic. I had much more trouble with the tutorial enemies in BS1.” “Shaddaaap!” Veltol finally found himself in the crosshairs after defeating eight enemies with a single breath. This one wasn’t a magi-gun. It was a real one. It was an antique, used alongside daggers in yakuza guilds like a sort of tradition, but they were not only ceremonial—they still had use as real murder weapons that needed no mana. “Rot in hell!” The man pulled the trigger. The 9 mm bullet shot away alongside the muzzle flash. It wouldn’t deal enough damage on Veltol’s strengthened body. However, killing its momentum completely wasn’t possible, so it could deal a serious injury if it hit a place with thin mana protection like the eyes. Even then, he didn’t evade nor defend himself. He didn’t need to. “Argh!” The bullet made the ogre yakuza behind him do a somersault and fall down. “H-huh? Why’d I shoot him…?” The yakuza confusedly stared at the smoking muzzle. He had clearly aimed at the man behind Veltol, as if Veltol hadn’t been there in the first place. But he hadn’t moved an inch. Veltol felt a peculiar fluctuation in aether from where Takahashi was. He concluded this must have been her doing. Once the last man fainted, Veltol was the only person left in the warehouse. “It’s over, Takahashi.” “H-holy… I was watching through the drones and holy… I kneel, Demon Lord… You defeated the yakuza unarmed, you freakin’ monster… Damn, I’m so glad I didn’t end up hiring that dumbass…” “No, no, I’m actually still quite far from peak condition.” “Man, I kinda don’t wanna see you at your peak…” “In any case, you dealt that last blow, correct?” “Hee-hee, I’ll tell you about it later. We’ve got more important stuff to do right now.” “Right, I’ll go retrieve the box.” “Ah, hold up, I’ll meet you there.” Veltol suddenly felt a chill up his spine. “No! Stay back, Takahashi!” Even he couldn’t explain how he was able to react to what had just fallen down in front of him. He could write it off as a change in the wind, an ambient sound, or a delicate disturbance in the aether, but it really was just a gut feeling. Even so, if it hadn’t been for that gut feeling, he wouldn’t have jumped backward and would’ve been crushed without him even knowing. It wasn’t rain, snow, hail, or even spears that had fallen. A magic circle appeared at its feet as it landed silently. Veltol instantly recognized it was using Catwalk, magic for controlling descent. Its arm stripped away the transparent cloth covering it. The cloth, enchanted with the Chameleon spell, changed color to blend in with the surrounding aether. This was a form of magical camouflage. And since airborne aether was colorless, using Chameleon turned the user invisible. Beneath the cloth was a gray suit of armor that stood more than four meters tall. “Magi-gear?!” Takahashi exclaimed. These magiweapons were usually referred to as MG for short. They were the fusion of the basic concept of powered suits and golems—ground warfare weapons that greatly improved physical capabilities through mana. These full-body military tanks were developed for city warfare with its narrow paths and diverse terrain. They excelled in multidimensional movement. “No way… That’s a fourth-gen MG, an Ashed Dawn… What’s a thing like that doing here? Why do the yakuza have one in the first place?! They’re supposed to be for the City Guard’s special forces!” “So this is an MG… I’ve read about them on the aethernet, but this is my first time seeing one for myself. Its upper half is massive, simultaneously rugged and stocky yet somehow sophisticated. The designer clearly has good taste… What a beauty…” “Now’s not the time! Run! No way you can defeat that thing!” Obviously, no human stood a chance. An MG could only be defeated by another MG. That was an ironclad rule. Nonetheless, the Demon Lord sneered. Veltol’s warrior senses were tingling before the new threat. “Looks like you will satisfy me in testing my power.” “…” The MG didn’t answer, but that was fine. There was no need for words. “On your guard!” Veltol picked up the magi-gun one of the yakuza dropped, aimed at the MG, and pulled the trigger multiple times. It was his first time using such a magi-gadget, but he figured it out the moment he touched it thanks to his Sage Eyes ability. A magic circled appeared around the muzzle, and three magical bullets fired. The Ashed Dawn didn’t move as the aether arrows hit him. The gray armor remained unscathed. It maintained its calm posture. Why wouldn’t it? There was no way an MG could lose. Regular handheld weapons couldn’t pierce an Ashed Dawn’s armor. It then changed its stance, preparing to counterattack. “It’s similar to a metal golem but much more advanced…!” Veltol proceeded to toss the gun aside and dash forward. The gauntlet covering the Ashed Dawn’s arm opened, and its manipulators took out a swordwand made of black mithril. The weapon had two modes—bullet mode and blade mode—that could create projectiles out of mana, allowing the user to fight either up close or from a distance. It set the swordwand to bullet mode, then the assisting arm on its elbow inserted plenty of metal scroll cartridges on the magiweapon. Veltol ran so fast he couldn’t be seen by the naked eye, but the MG’s nerve connection to its state-of-the-art aether sensors could easily locate him. It took aim and immediately fired a blue mana bullet from the swordwand. It was similar to the magi-gun’s Aether Arrow, but the difference in power was like a gun used for self-defense and a military assault rifle. Only the strongest armor provided any protection. The blue bullets easily drilled through the warehouse’s walls. Even Veltol wasn’t quick enough to dodge. He stopped; right before a bullet could hit him… “Dell Ray!” …he’d already constructed and expanded a spell, then dictated the maginom while skipping the incantation. Veltol shot rays of black light from his outstretched hands. They engulfed the blue bullets and headed straight for the Ashed Dawn. The compressed aether exploded on impact. The Ashed Dawn ended up shrouded in the smoke. I doubt that’s enough to defeat it… A blue bullet tore through the smoke and flew at him. Veltol jumped back; the bullet pierced the exact location he was standing in just before. “A mana barrier?” The Ashed Dawn, still unscathed, reappeared from the dissipating smoke, standing behind a red barrier. “I could’ve easily penetrated such paltry defenses during my peak… This must be the limit of my mana output with a measly million followers.” “Measly?!” Takahashi objected. Even though he had recovered a decent amount of faith, Veltol was still far away from his prime. But it wasn’t all for naught: The state-of-the-art magiweapon hadn’t canceled his magic. “Not bad. I could have fun with this.” Veltol waved one arm and summoned a pitch-black mana armor. The soul armament was forged from his own soul, and unlike those created with regular magic, armaments created with his soul were easily summoned through a simple ceremonial movement. “Gradschere.” A black mana sword appeared like a bundle of shadows. He’d created it with armament-casting magic. Sword in hand, Veltol sprinted forward like a bullet. The Ashed Dawn switched its swordwand to blade mode. The gun’s barrel extended, taking the form of a mana sword over two meters long. The scorching blade seared the air, creating a sound like a swarm of locusts. The Ashed Dawn prepared to receive Veltol’s attack. “It’s too dangerous, Velly!” “You dare challenge me in close combat? Let’s see what you can do!” The Ashed Dawn ran—nay, flew at him, pulverizing the floor underfoot. The thrusters on its back, on top of its reinforcement magic and the assistance of its mithril fiber artificial muscles, culminated in it reaching 120 kilometers per hour. The mere sight of the huge metal mass moving at such a high speed was frightening enough, but Veltol didn’t run away—not backward nor sideward. He kept on recklessly going forward. The Ashed Dawn’s pilot must have thought he was trying a suicide attack. The weight difference was much too obvious. The impact would send him flying like a piece of paper. The Ashed Dawn held its blade high and swung it to the side. Veltol also swung his—downward. The black and red swords collided in a flash, and aether raced through the ground like lightning. The swords repelled each other, and once again they clashed. “I didn’t think much of the armor, but I have to admit this is more interesting than I expected!” The weapon was powerful, but the pilot’s skills were nothing to write home about. Even then, Veltol couldn’t overpower it. He clenched his teeth as he praised the armor that allowed an average person to surpass a veteran warrior. “You’ve gotta be kidding… You’re actually going head-to-head with an MG?!” Takahashi, meanwhile, was flabbergasted. Of course she was. It was like someone going against a tank. She couldn’t comprehend Veltol’s power despite it being on display right in front of her. “That’s all?! Show me everything you’ve got!” The Ashed Dawn took the bait, and its sensors started shining to indicate its output going on full power. That was enough to hurl away Veltol’s sword and arm. It was the obvious result of both parties’ difference in power. Even with his magical strengthening, it was preposterous that he was standing his ground against an MG. “Marvelous…!” The Ashed Dawn swung its blade before Veltol could take a defensive stance. Then…the Demon Lord’s head went flying. No blood gushed out, for the heated blade instantly cauterized the wound. Veltol’s sword vanished into thin air. The MG stopped moving. The pilot was relieved at having completed the job. “Oh, it’s not over yet.” The Demon Lord’s decapitated head had spoken. “What?! His—his head just…?!” Veltol heard the MG pilot’s confused voice. “A word to the wise: Keep your sword even closer when you feel victorious.” Veltol’s body picked his head up. There was no need to regenerate from zero with his current faith and such a small wound. He put his head back on his shoulders and patched the wounds. His head was fully connected in a matter of seconds, all scars gone. “Here’s your reward for scoring a point.” An amount of mana far exceeding his previous output was released from his entire body. The mana rising from his armor was enveloped in a bluish-black light, and an aether crown formed on his head.