Chapter 41

—Standing before Rex was none other than the Demon King's Army's strongest swordsman, the one they called the Demon Sword King.

Among demons, the Demon Sword King was a rather peculiar existence. After all, despite being a demon, he had become utterly enchanted by a weapon created by humans—the sword.

It all began with something trivial. At first, he was simply drawn to the beauty of a fine blade carried by a noble he had killed.

A silvery sheen. A blade tinged with an eerie glow. A cruel edge, cold as ice. It looked more like a work of art than a weapon.

As he stared at the sword he had taken from the noble, he found himself wanting to fight with a blade just as beautiful.

But human-forged swords were too small for his stature. So, he forged a massive sword fit for his own frame and swung it relentlessly.

A hundred years. That was the time he devoted to the way of the sword.

“Demons who rely on weapons only do so because they lack confidence in their own strength.”

“If you have claws, if you have fangs, if you have brute force—what use is a weapon to a demon?”

That was the prevailing belief among demons.

After all, demon-forged blades were brittle. The crude craftsmanship of low-culture demon smithing often resulted in weapons inferior to their own bodies.

Weapons were merely desperate tools for frail humans or low-ranking monsters. That was how demons saw them.

So even when a rare skilled demon blacksmith produced a powerful weapon, demons showed no interest. Or they’d simply kill the smith for forging it.

Why kill the blacksmith? Because their thinking was so fundamentally different from that of humans.

“That’s a fine weapon. But it’d be a pain if someone else got their hands on it—so I’ll just kill you here and now.”

That was common sense among demons.

They had superior bodies, yes—but they also valued the individual above all. If something proved inconvenient, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill even one of their own.

Until the rise of the absolute monarch known as the Demon King, demons had lived purely for themselves, with no sense of camaraderie.

And so, the Demon Sword King fell for the sword, forged blades with his own hands, and relentlessly honed them as his weapon of choice.

“What the hell is with that weak-looking demon?”

A demon obsessed with swords was a joke to others. His first prototype blade had a chipped edge, cracks, and warped sections.

He didn’t seem like a threat. Not even worth killing for his smithing.

Everyone dismissed him as weak and left him alone.

---

A hundred years passed.

The Demon Sword King forged swords without distraction, and wielded them tirelessly.

In a dilapidated hut deep in an empty forest, surrounded only by his smithing tools, he immersed himself in the blade.

His forging skills grew dramatically. Eventually, his blades could rival those crafted by the finest human smiths. His swordsmanship, refined over decades, reached a level unmatched by any demon.

Then, sensing he had reached a certain mastery, he set off in search of someone to cross swords with.

He had fallen for the sword, understood it, and now believed he had mastered it. And the first opponent he met—

—was the man who would one day be called the Demon King.

---

“Ahahahaha! Damn, this is great!”

The Demon Sword King's century had been lived through the sword.

His strikes were swift, powerful, precise, and without wasted motion. They were the embodiment of tireless training—an ideal form.

“He’s actually going toe-to-toe with me! Gahahaha!!”

...But tragically, the hundred years that demon spent fell short of Rex’s not-yet-twenty.

He couldn’t get the initiative. Rex moved faster, adapted better. For someone who had placed all his faith in the sword, facing a swordsman like Rex was a waking nightmare.

The Demon Sword King couldn’t mount a proper offense. All he could do was defend.

Managing a fair fight against a swordsman going all out—that was the fruit of his hundred years. His entire century seemed to exist solely to entertain Rex.

Hatred crept across the Demon Sword King’s face. He simply could not accept the existence of Rex.

He’d heard of the Sword Saint from a human swordsman under their command.

“He’s fast, flawless, and his strikes cut right through your guard. Tough bastard.”

“But I’m stronger. I’m better. Hell, I’ve even beaten him a few times.”

“Actually, I’m cooler, more handsome, and stronger too.”

It wasn’t a particularly useful explanation.

Even so, the Demon Sword King had concluded that Rex must be a skilled human swordsman. But no matter how powerful a human's blade might be, he believed there was no way they could match a demon like him.

He underestimated Rex—even after hearing all that.

“You’re the strongest demon I’ve ever fought! But you weren’t swinging that sword to beat anyone, were you?”

Rex kept pressing the attack. The Demon Sword King was stuck defending.

It was painfully obvious who held the advantage.

“Your sword style is that of someone who’s just kept swinging, blindly and earnestly! It’s beautiful—transparent, even—but it has no flavor!!”

Shaken by those words, the Demon Sword King slightly misjudged his block. A hairline crack ran across his prized sword.

“You’ve barely fought other swordsmen! You mask that with sharp reflexes and refined technique, but you’ve got no real strategy, do you!?”

Was that... instruction?

Rex, from his lofty position, began lecturing the demon who had spent a hundred years in training.

“And that’s why this happens!!”

Distracted by the crack in his blade, the Demon Sword King didn’t notice Rex kicking up the hilt of his sword.

He lost his weapon—and before he could even react, Rex had his blade pointed at him.

“Gahahaha! That’s game, baby!”

It was a decisive end, no doubt about it.

He had marched out under the Demon King, eager to prove himself and unleash a century of hard-won skill.

But his long-awaited first battle—

—ended in utter defeat.

---

"Oh, Rex won. Time to stop crying, Flatche. Don’t let him see your face."

"...Yeah."

"I-I just witnessed something incredible..."

This is Rex. This is the Sword Saint.

The strongest in history. The embodiment of the blade. The invincible swordsman—Rex.

"...He's strong. I mean, really... inhumanly strong."

"H-Hey now. What’s up with you, Flatche? Why’ve you been bawling like that?"

"Please let him be... I think I understand exactly how Flatche feels."

As I sat there, sniffling and sobbing, Mei gently rubbed my back.

...She must’ve understood what I was going through. This hollow, hopeless feeling—like the ground had dropped out from under me.

"What’s going on?"

"Well, Karin-san, this was a few years ago, but... back home, Clarise always treated me like a child. And there was a time when I got desperate—wanted to beat her with the one thing she was good at: magic."

"Wow. Seriously?"

"But someone like me—just an average person—could never hope to beat Clarise. Still, I kept pushing myself anyway. I threw myself into studying magic like my life depended on it. But I was self-taught, so all I did was spin my wheels. In the end, I couldn’t even master the basics... and I just ran away from home."

"......"

"Even the one spell I worked my heart out to learn—Clarise saw it as nothing more than child’s play. It was humiliating. And frustrating."

...Right. Mei grew up under the same roof as someone who’s been called a ‘genius beyond human comprehension’ since birth. She’s had it way tougher than me all along.

"W-Well... don’t beat yourself up too much, Flatche. Rex is just... not normal."

"Exactly. Karin-san’s right. It’s easier once you learn to let go."

"...Thanks. And... sorry."

You have to let go. You have to accept that there are some opponents you’ll never beat.

It’s a bitter truth—one that feels like your whole life’s being invalidated. But maybe it’s something you have to come to terms with, eventually.

Just because you work hard... doesn’t mean you’ll achieve everything.

"Clarise was always off from the start. She’d already learned magic by the time she was three, and by the time she turned five, her tutors had nothing left to teach her. From there, she just kept refining herself—pushing past every boundary until she reached a level of magic no one could imitate."

"From the sound of it, Clarise is just as busted as Rex."

"You shouldn’t try to compete with monsters like that. Aiming high sounds noble, sure—but if you push past your limits, all you’ll do is break yourself."

"...Yeah."

Mei had already learned that lesson a long time ago. I was just late in realizing it.

Man... what the hell have I even been doing with my life?

"Rex and Clarise... they’re on a level ordinary people can’t reach."

"Those two aren’t even in the same category as us."

"They’re the strongest in history."

So this... is what I’m supposed to accept?

---

———That moment, Mino noticed a small disturbance on the battlefield.

"...Something’s wrong. Something’s not right."

The battlefield is fluid. Even predictions that seem absolute can be bent and broken with ease.

Mino was quick to sense the signs—the subtle collapse of her entire strategy.

"This can’t be happening. Why? No... no way. Don’t tell me—"

She was the Grand General. Her duty was to repel the Demon King’s army and lead humanity to victory. And to that end, she had arranged what she believed was the best formation possible.

But Mino was still human. No matter how brilliant her mind, she couldn’t foresee everything.

"General Mino... The demons have stopped fleeing. There’s no one left escaping the front."

"What? Why? Why aren’t they retreating into the forest? There’s nowhere else safe to run!"

"......"

Maybe it was arrogance on her part.

She knew how intelligent she was. And even with that brilliant mind, she still couldn’t grasp the nature of the magic Clarise used. So she categorized Clarise as a monster beyond human comprehension.

That’s why Mino had made her battle plan under the assumption that ‘Clarise and Rex will win.’

"Don’t tell me... the northeast fortress is—!"

---

And then, wind swept across the battlefield.

It was a gentle, quiet breeze, like the murmur of a stream. On the battlefield where no more demons came to flee, where the Demon Sword King lay defeated by Rex, face-down in the dirt—there, the wind blew.

"...Hn?"

Satisfied after his first real fight in a long time, Rex readied his sword to take the Demon Sword King’s head—reluctant to end the life of such a skilled warrior.

But then he sensed it.
A wind, curling around him—
—and he reacted instantly, with a force born of instinct.

“…Ah. Yeah. Figures you’d win.”

The wind was behind him.

By the time Rex noticed it, the wind was already laughing—already swinging its blade at his back.

“Whoa—! Shit!?”

A perfect ambush.
But Rex’s reflexes were faster.

The slash from the swordsman who had appeared without a trace—like the wind itself—was narrowly dodged by Rex, his body twisting on its own before he even had time to think.

But the attacker, despite missing, showed no sign of frustration.
As if he had expected it—expected the blow to be dodged from the start.

“…Ah.”

“Yo. Been a while, Rex.”

And then—
Rex, or rather Flatche, turned to face the swordsman who had stepped in to save the Demon Sword King.

“I came back from the depths of hell… to kill you.”

Kazenagi.

A swordsman once renowned for strikes that never landed, as if cutting only wind no matter how close they came.
If Rex hadn’t existed, he might’ve been called Sword Saint himself.

He was—the one person Rex had wanted to see more than anyone.

“Here. Brought you a souvenir. Like it, Rex?”

He tossed it toward him.

The severed head of a young girl, blonde hair in disarray—thrown at Rex’s feet.

“…What?”

A girl they had parted from just days ago.
Famed as the greatest mage of their time.
Rex’s companion. His friend’s sister.
Someone irreplaceable.

“Rex, you knew her, right? That brat.”

“You… you bastard…”

“Rex. This is what you’ll look like in an hour. Now—draw your sword.”

A bright, cheerful girl, now unrecognizable.
A fallen swordsman grinning with pitch-black, warped eyes.

It was a scene that blew away any sense of victory Rex might’ve felt.
A brutal, soul-crushing sight.

“…Sister?”

The dazed voice of the black mage girl echoed in the wind.