I Reincarnated as a Demon King,I Will Kill Everything

The smoke hadn't completely cleared when a soft clap of applause rang out—calm, measured, painful precisely because it was unhurried.

Rena and I turned together.

A man stepped out of the ash haze: his gray-white coat spotless, his silver hair neatly tied back, a sword at his waist, sheathed but radiating pressure as if already unsheathed. Each step left no trace, as if the ground chose not to touch him.

"Remarkable," he said lightly. "You brought down Darrius and extinguished Garruk's Aegis in one night. If you had been like this before, our 'trial' would have been brief."

Kravius.

His very name was an old wound. The space around me felt tight.

Rena took a half step forward, her two swords raised, though her hands trembled. "One more step, and—"

"I didn't come to draw my sword on a bleeding man," Kravius ​​interrupted. His gaze traced the cut on Rena's shoulder, then returned to my face. "I came to talk. We owe a conversation, don't we?"

I swallowed the blood rising in my throat. "You waited for me to finish, then showed up alone. Praise? Or insult?"

A faint smile. "A confession."

He stared at the ruins of the nameless village. "It's quite satisfying to see a theory come true."

I frowned. "A theory?"

"That once the Gods' shackles are weakened, you will choose to be who you truly are." He stared at the Noa Genesis in my hand. "And look. You stole their light, twisted their pact, made the weapon that was supposed to kill you bend to your will. Elegance."

"So," I said quietly, "all that torture was for 'elegance'?"

His eyes didn't blink. "To ensure this world doesn't crumble under ignorance. The Oracle hinted that 'one hero destroys the world.' I reread it, many times. It wasn't a lack of strength, but rather an excess of will." He shrugged thinly. "You."

Rena hissed, stepping forward. "You tortured him to death."

"Yes." Kravius ​​didn't look at Rena. "I killed him too. And do you see him now? He's risen more clearly than we've ever seen him—without the mask of a hero, without the shield of dogma." He looked me straight in the eye. "That's the truth I need."

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "So you call that betrayal an 'experiment'?"

"Prevention," he corrected without raising his voice. "If you choose to remain a dog of the Light, you'll be crushed on the altar. If you choose the Devil, you'll become a negotiable opponent." His lips curled thinly. "I prefer enemies who understand the cost."

"And the cost?" I asked.

"You stop slaughtering the unarmed," he replied quickly. "You focus on those who raise their swords against you. I will slow the Church's wheels. Buy time. 'Misinterpret' reports. Cover your tracks."

Rena let out a short, cold laugh. "The man who slaughters in the courtroom speaks of mercy."

Kravius ​​glanced at Rena for the first time. "You who once danced under the moon. Rena, wasn't it? Now dancing beneath the abyss." He stared into her eyes. "You seem more honest in the dark."

I raised my hand, stopping the throbbing in my chest. "You think I'll believe you. Why?"

"Because our enemy is the same." He stared at the finely cracked sky—the remains of the oath that had burned. "They're up there. The patrons. The Church is just a shell. I want the world's shackles broken—with ordinance. You want them broken—with fire. Two paths, one goal."

"And in the end?"

"In the end," he replied flatly, "I will kill you. Once the world is safe."

Rena raised her sword halfway. I didn't move. "You think I'll sign a contract that ends up at my throat?"

"You don't have to sign anything." Kravius ​​sideways, revealing the undrawn side of his sword. "I'm simply informing you. Tonight, the Church loses two pillars. They will respond by mobilizing the Conclave. You need three days to reunite your soul and flesh. I won't interfere with that process."

"Since when did the Sword Hero give the Demon King a break?"

"Since my sword has a higher target." He raised a finger, gesturing vaguely to the sky. "I will open the way to the highest altar. If you wish to slay a god, we will meet there—not over a peasant's corpse."

Silence. Only the wind and the sound of crumbling stone remained.

I tightened my fingers on the hilt of my gauntlet. "And if I choose to cut you now?"

Kravius ​​smiled. Not arrogant—calm, confident in his own breathing. "You can try. But you're bleeding, your Warbringer is about to fall, and my sword isn't hungry tonight." He tilted his head, slightly—a gesture he never made in court. "Let your hatred ripen. I prefer the full flavor."

He turned, then stopped. "Oh, and Neil—"

I lifted my chin. "What."

"That mask." His chin pointed gently at my face. "She doesn't close her eyes. Be careful what she sees."

One more step. The air around his scabbard hissed—a thin line cut into the hillside far behind me, only to collapse as he took a step, as if time had slowed down specifically to let us understand.

"Two nights after the half moon," he said without looking up. "The Supreme Cathedral. Come or send a storm."

He disappeared without a flash. No teleport. No mist. Just a neat absence, as clean as a perfect slash.

Rena held a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "My Lord…"

I closed my eyes for a moment; the taste of iron filled my tongue, my shoulders throbbing, my wounds singing. When I opened them again, the sky was whole again—or pretending to be.

"He offered us fire with the fuse he held," I said. "We will come with our own fuse."

Rena nodded slowly. "Orders?"

"Clear the field. Bring back what's left. And prepare everyone for three days without sleep." I looked at the gauntlet. "Noa."

"Ready."

"We'll teach that sword—what it's like to be a target."

The smoke of war still billowed as we crossed the portal. Rena supported me; our steps dragged, the echo of Noa Genesis fading in my fist. On the other side, the darkness of hell greeted us—a deep red sky, castle towers casting knife shadows into a sea of ​​stone.

The black gates of the zygote closed behind us. The main hall was already full: the remaining demons knelt, their armor shattered, their eyes burning with a mixture of respect and panic. Nana stood with a shadow bandage wrapped around her waist; Malrik held her remaining arm with a bone ligature; Clarissa the vampire carried a crystal casket filled with fresh blood.

Selena stepped quickly as we entered. Half her face was bandaged with ice, her shoulder pierced by black stitches.

"Reporting, My Lord," her voice was steady, though hoarse. "Zereth…"

I straightened. "Where is he?"

"The Undercrypt. His soul—torn." Her blue eyes dimmed. "Not a flesh wound. Lunar shear. He blocked one of the sacred pillars—probably when the Church sent lightning down on the village. Zereth's soul is slashed three layers deep. If we sew it wrong, the anchor will collapse."

Rena tensed. "How long does he have?"

Selena held her breath. "Noa can confirm, but the crack marks have reached the very essence of the name. At least one day, at most two."

Noa vibrated against my gauntlet, his voice heavy. "Range scan. Subject 'Zereth's' soul integrity: 41%. Anchor frayed, core bleeding. Estimated collapse: 30–38 hours without intervention."

The hall constricted. The sound of scraping armor, cursing prayers, gnashing fangs.

I raised my hand; silence fell like a thick cloth.

"Simon," I called.

From the side, Simon—the blacksmith—knelt. "My Lord."

"Heat the Soul Crucible. Prepare the Anvil of Dross, Stygian Amber rope, and Nightshade Myrrh. We will inflict wounds on the soul—not the flesh."

"I obey."

"Algor."

Algor emerged from the shadow of the pillar, his robes still stained with laboratory stains. "Ready, My Lord."

"You prepare the Loom of Amon. We will sew the anchor crack—not patch it. Need a buffering agent—take a fragment of Moon Ash from Elrodan's ritual—Rena?"

Rena nodded, fighting back the pain. "There's still some lunar ash left in my armor. Enough for a restraining ring."

"Good."

I looked at Selena. "You lead the evacuation of the hall and perimeter. Those who are not needed, retreat. Whoever remains—only the core."

"Acknowledged," Selena bowed, then shouted to the troops, "Everyone not in the core team—get to the third floor! Guard the exit routes! No sound in the eastern corridor!"

The wave of demons inched like an obedient sea. Only Rena, Selena, Simon, Algor, Clarissa, and Nysha—who emerged from the shadow of a pillar—remained.

"Nysha," I called without turning.

"Here, My Lord." The shadow woman's voice was a breath on the back of my neck.

"Get me the Shard of Storm from the crater where Darius died. One small piece. We need its ions to bind the stitches."

"Now?"

"Now."

The shadow slumped and vanished—like a candle going out.

I sighed—the wound in my left shoulder stung, my collarbone creaking with every movement. Rena sensed my wavering and held my elbow.

"To the Undercrypt," I said.