One year after the Demon King's defeat, in the Greze Forest of the Central Lands.
A lone figure treads a mountain path—a petite woman in a white robe, easily mistaken for a girl. But she's no human. Those with keen senses would see the immense magical aura she exudes.
Aura of the Guillotine.
One of the few great demons to survive the Demon King's fall.
(This should be the place…)
Scanning her surroundings, she sees only the unchanging path. Doubts creep in—is this the right way? No humans are around to ask. The cumbersome robe restricts her vision and movement, a constant irritation. Worse, the need to wear it—to hide her demonic nature—gnaws at her pride.
(Foolish humans… Do they think defeating the Demon King made them strong?)
A year ago, the world shifted. The Demon King's defeat sent demons into retreat, hunted by humans. Aura could hardly believe it. Even with the Hero's Party, toppling the Demon King—backed by the Seven Sages and elite generals—seemed impossible. She dismissed it as human delusion.
Then the purge began.
(Idiots… Rampaging without thought, no better than beasts.)
She recalls her fallen kin, some seeking vengeance for the Demon King, others unleashing pent-up rage, or simply acting on instinct. The result? Chaos. Demons, though superior, were culled in the Central Lands within a year if they fought recklessly. The Demon King's strength and terror had united them; without him, most were mere beasts. Exceptions existed, though.
(What of the other Seven Sages? They can't all be dead…)
The Seven Sages—the Demon King's elite, each wielding near-absolute power. Including Shurahto the Omniscient, they were the pinnacle of demonkind. Aura, one of them, knows their magic surpasses human capabilities. They couldn't have fallen so easily. Yet—
(No, I can't be careless. Humans are nothing, but Heroes are dangerous.)
A chill recalls a decade-old memory. A human ravaged the Demon King's frontlines in just a year, reaching the northern plateau's heart.
The Southern Hero.
When Shurahto summoned the Seven Sages to face this threat, Aura was stunned. All seven, plus Shurahto, against one human? Absurd. Yet that arrogance cost them dearly. The Southern Hero slew Shurahto and three Sages, a nightmare Aura survived by sheer luck. She realized then: a Hero is to demons what the Demon King is to their kind. The Southern Hero perished, a mutual kill with Shurahto, but his monstrous strength haunted her. Had she enslaved him with her subjugation magic, he'd have been invincible. But that battle allowed no such chance.
She thought the Southern Hero was unique. Surely no other such monster existed. That hubris led to her current state.
(Hero Himmel… Even now, the thought boils my blood!)
Her hand grazes the scar Himmel left. Unlike the Southern Hero, Himmel led a party of four—mage, warrior, priest. Distracted by his allies, Aura was struck by Himmel before she could activate her magic, forcing her retreat in humiliation. Blood drips from her bitten lip.
(No… I haven't lost! I'm still alive!)
Wiping the blood, she steels herself. Unlike the Demon King or other Sages, she endures. Strength and magic mean nothing in death. Survival is paramount, and demons' greatest edge is their longevity.
(I just need to endure. Humans live a mere century—a blink.)
She breathes deeply, vowing not to repeat past mistakes. Hiding in the Central Lands, far from the demon-heavy, Hero-patrolled North, is strategic. Her undead army, decimated by Himmel's party, can't be replenished without drawing attention. She avoids attacking humans, securing only minimal sustenance.
Thus, her current guise—a shabby robe concealing her horns, posing as a human woman. All for her dream: a demon nation in a Hero-less world a century hence. No hardship is too great.
Her current mission is a step toward that—a gamble to gain an edge, though its success is uncertain. As she muses—
"Well, a traveler? A woman alone is rare," a raspy voice calls from behind.
Finally, her trap snares prey. She'd sensed two humans trailing her, their lack of magic marking them as civilians.
"I'm an adventurer, looking for a village to rest," she says, shedding her thoughts and embracing her demonic instinct to deceive. Her petite frame aids the ruse.
The old man, defenseless, falls for it. "Come to our village, then! It's close. Right, Elder?"
A child, about ten, in a straw hat, chimes in excitedly, pestering the elder. "Sure, it's fate. Join us," the elder says.
"Yay! You're an adventurer, big sis? What's your class? Tell me!" the child presses.
Her adventurer guise works—either they're naive or her deception is flawless. She chats idly, spinning a fabricated backstory. They suspect nothing, lacking even the concept of doubt.
"You're a mage? Quite a coincidence," the elder says.
"How so?" Aura asks.
"Years ago, a mage visited our village—one of the Hero's Party. Her name was… Frieren."
Aura's eyes narrow, predatory. This is why she's here, enduring this farce—for information.
"No way! Forgetting a name like that!" she teases, feigning casualness. "Why was the Hero's Party here? Just passing through?"
"No… cough. Years ago, a demon named Qual ravaged this land. Hero Himmel's party sealed him away," the elder recounts, emotional.
Aura knows Qual better than these humans. The child, suddenly quiet, catches her attention. Did he sense her true nature? No—
"Oh, yeah! You flipped Frieren-sama's skirt and got scolded by Hero-sama!" the child blurts.
"What?! Why remember that?!" the elder stammers, red-faced.
Aura smirks. A trivial squabble. Enough of this.
"You were a naughty boy, weren't you?" she whispers, pulling back her hood.
The humans freeze, terror etching their faces as they see her horns—proof of her demonic nature. Their fear is intoxicating.
"Naughty children need punishment, don't they?"
Before they can scream, Aura raises her scales. None can escape her guile.
"Really sealed, huh, Qual?" Aura muses, gazing at a massive stone statue in a forest clearing.
Its goat-like, inhuman form lacks any deceptive charm, unlike most demons. But its appearance belies its power.
Qual, the Sage of Corruption.
A genius among demons, equal to the Seven Sages. His sealing, not death, proves the Hero's Party couldn't kill him.
Aura circles the statue, inspecting it. No fatal wounds. Touch confirms he's alive, sealed tightly.
(Frieren's magic, no doubt. This seal will hold for fifty, maybe eighty years.)
Only an elf like Frieren could craft such a spell. The villagers' tale was true—Qual would've remained sealed for decades.
Unless a great mage like me intervenes.
Unsealing Qual is her purpose here. Rumors of his fate were unverified, making this a backup plan. Waiting out human lifespans risks new Heroes emerging, like the Southern Hero. Teaming with another demon—preferably a great one like Qual—is her insurance.
Not any demon will do. Mindless brutes are useless. Few great demons remain, and demons lack cooperation—Mahato of the Seven Sages being a prime example. The Demon King's army was a miracle of his making.
(Qual's perfect. Especially with Zoltraak.)
Qual's genius created Zoltraak, a spell to kill humans, revolutionizing demon magic. Humans study it obsessively, a fact Aura finds amusing. Qual's intellect makes him an ideal ally.
(Best case, we cooperate. Worst, his revival distracts Heroes, letting me hide. Plus, he'll owe me.)
If they ally, her safety strengthens. If not, Qual's return draws attention, and his sense of duty ensures a debt. As she completes the unsealing spell—demons master one spell but can use all human magic, especially great demons like her—
"Sorry, Frieren. I'm a five-hundred-year-old great demon," she gloats, ready to cast.
"Stop right there."
An impossible voice freezes her.
"…What?"
Why is her voice so pathetic? Why is she paralyzed? Why does her body tremble? Why is a mere human stealing her gaze? Only terror remains.
Himmel can't be here.
Thus begins an impossible tale—the reunion of Aura of the Guillotine and Hero Himmel.