Chapter 95 – Nothing Changes

“Why? Why!”

“…”

“You, you! Are our king! I can feel it even now! You were meant to be king!”

Clutching his crushed shoulder, Belial cried out, a tone of injustice ringing in his voice.

No, it *was* injustice. He was clearly their king. The new ruler destined to lead the demons.

So why was he banished to that world over there, acting as a watchdog for *them*?

Even masquerading in human skin. Giving himself a ridiculous name!

“I never claimed to be king of this world, did I?”

“No! Fate decreed it! That power! That aura! That instinctive fear and terror! You tried to deny it, but you felt it, didn’t you! We all felt it!”

“…”

It was true, it was odd. As monstrous as the demons appeared to be, they shouldn’t have been terrorized to the extent they were. (It was true.)

If what the demon said was true, and that innate fear stemmed from the aura of a demon king, then everything would become clear.

But.

“So what if that’s the case? Are you suggesting I take up the mantle of king now? Like you said, I’m human, and I’m the one who scattered demon fragments across this hellscape. You demon.”

“It doesn’t matter. It will rise again with time. Do not fret.”

“How long will it take?”

“The king’s aura has spread. Not long. So fear not!”

So it seemed demons and hell wouldn’t be completely erased from this world after all.

To be fair, a world where one life, one death, was the definitive end was even more absurd.

If we were to apply this to difficulty settings, it means we are now in normal mode with hard mode just around the corner?

Deus stared at Belial as if prompting him to elaborate, and the demon muttered, filled with what seemed like utter bitterness.

“This cannot be. Just when we could finally stand. All the hardship our ancestors endured. The sacrifices of our parents. We were just about to break free!”

“…?”

Strange words. According to Zagan, demons were born from darkness, from the fires of hell, or places like that. Not beings with ancestors or parents to speak of.

Yet Belial spoke of them. Even with such a resentful tone.

“Zagan told me demons were born from darkness or flames, something like that.”

“…It’s true. Most of us, no. *All* of us were born that way. And even if we die and die, we are to repeat the same cycle in the abyss.”

This demon. Knew something. It was like an NPC in the finale, providing a lore dump, “In reality, such and such were the circumstances.”

Then a long-standing question sprung to Deus’s mind, and he wondered if the question he had all along could finally be answered.

“Hey. Demon.”

Before Belial, Deus knelt, dredging up fragmented memories, the backdrop from the novel he knew. Parts he’d never spoken aloud, not to a soul.

A world on the brink, and within it, fools determined to drag themselves to hell. And a handful of heroes, burning themselves to ashes to save everyone, somehow.

“….”

Belial, having heard the whole tale, fixed Deus with a sharp gaze.

His lips parted, and for a moment it seemed he would snarl, “Are you mocking me?” or “What outlandish drivel are you spouting?”

“Strange,”

But Belial’s response was neither. His eyes clouded over as he continued.

“Some of it differs from what I knew… yet much resonates with things long buried in my memory. As if you possess a more detailed understanding.”

“….”

To recap. The world he’d transmigrated to was remarkably similar to the one he remembered.

But not identical. Differences existed. That was the first oddity.

And now, here in hell, after this conversation with the demon, he concluded that those differences eerily resembled *this* place’s past.

The demons sought to escape this place, desperately and endlessly. As if cursed.

The world they yearned for was strikingly similar to the one Deus knew from the novel. Like looking into a mirror, or, more accurately, through a broken one.

‘I hope not. I truly hope not.’

Why had he made such an absurd pact, singing the praises of a happy ending?

Because that world’s fate was so hellish. Literally doomed. He’d been so fond of it, he’d wanted to change things.

So, when he truly transmigrated, he felt relieved. He thought he could change things.

Of course, realizing it wasn’t the world he knew had been disappointing too.

And yet… now, facing this demon, he instinctively understood.

Was this some innate sense granted to transmigrators? Everything this demon said, everything he felt, was unadulterated truth.

‘Everything I knew… it all vanished long ago. And now, all that remains are these remnants imbued with curse and hatred, and regret. Fragments clawing back what was stolen. And a new world, eerily like theirs, destined to endure the same cycle?’

In other words, he’d been mistaken, again. Deus managed a wry smile.

The world he so desperately wanted to save had been completely destroyed, cast into the abyss, now a breeding ground for nothing but malice.

And the world he thought he’d simply transmigrated to was a twisted reflection of that ruined place.

“Hah.”

A weight pressed on his chest. He scrubbed his face with both hands, lamenting how things had unfolded.

So, the world he had hoped for a happy ending for was already broken beyond repair, and its remnants were now destined to corrupt another world, as their past had been?

An unbreakable chain. No one could sever it.

Another world would fall, and another be tainted by its remnants. And if it continued, wouldn’t they all eventually succumb?

‘….’

Deus surveyed his surroundings. This place was already ruined. Beyond redemption.

The world he remembered was gone. It existed only in his mind.

“I understand why you clung to it so desperately. Having been destroyed like that, your resentment, your rage, your sorrow, twisted into malice, wanting to make others suffer the same fate.”

“Then…”

“Even so,”

Deus placed his hand on the ground and slowly rose.

“To honor those I knew, this place must be destroyed.”

Though he couldn’t fight for them and their world as he’d wished…

Those beyond, fighting the same battle, were deserving of it.

Deus trailed off, recalling the vow he’d carved into his very soul.

“Alas, there is no goodness left here. Nothing for me to salvage.”

For the tears and blood spilled yonder, now impossible to undo.

And it was all but certain that everyone but Astaroth was implicated in this malevolence.

Unable to shake off the bitter taste, Deus decided to bid farewell to this unpleasant encounter.

*

“You beastly thing!”

The words spewed from the mouth of the demon, Seir. Quite comical, considering his own bestial appearance.

But to witness his current state, and to observe his opponent, one couldn’t help but nod in agreement, despite the demonic origin.

—Tat-tat-tat!!

Though covered in minor wounds, she showed no signs of fatigue or struggle.

Her pink hair, plastered with blood, flying wildly, Ylisia darted in once more, seeking an opening.

A resounding *thwack!* echoed as her fist sliced through empty air.

Had she been a fraction faster, she might have torn into Seir’s flank.

“….”

Ylisia’s eyes blazed, fueled by the fear and dread within.

All that remained was fury at the past, a determination to overcome, and the conviction that, only by surpassing him, could she reach her destination, could she reach the one she longed for.

“Junior! You’re letting your emotions get the better of you!”

Nefertiti, suspended in mid-air after shielding Ylisia from Seir’s attack, issued the warning.

Their opponent displayed no sign of weariness or weakness. They had to assume he possessed significant reserves of stamina.

Conversely, Ylisia, panting heavily, clearly showed the strain.

Had it not been for Nefertiti’s wind magic, she would have long since collapsed from exhaustion after pushing herself too hard.

“President. Next plan.”

“Already?”

“The opponent is stronger than anticipated.”

Luciel, readjusting his increasingly unwieldy blade of light, collected himself.

He had trained relentlessly. Received intensive instruction from a demon, all to learn how to slay demons.

He’d even engaged in simulated combat with Deus countless times, figuring out the best approach.

There was no arrogance. But there was undeniable confidence. A conviction that he could win.

Yet, the true power of this demon surpassed all expectations.

Just as they yearned to win, so too did their enemy. This much became clear as the battle raged on.

Victory was said to belong to the most determined, but when both sides were equally desperate, it would be the strongest who prevailed.

*‘The next move… will decide everything.’*

With that resolve, Luciel prepared the secret technique Deus had taught him.

A blade that pierced the heavens, a sword without end. To cleave the enemy asunder.