"Aura the Guillotine, huh?"
The title, long unheard, stirs nostalgia. Not just that—the presence, the magic. My first meeting with a fellow demon in fifty years.
A towering figure in rugged armor, horns jutting from his helm. His massive axe catches the eye. I know him. No nameless demon.
Battleaxe Gross
As his title suggests, a demon general, one of the few who mastered martial prowess.
"Surprising. I heard you were enslaved by the Hero, yet here you are."
His words, delivered from above, make me frown. A taunting greeting. I nearly respond with magic but hold back. Such provocations are common among demons. No need for rashness. If he were a lesser, nameless demon, I'd end him instantly. But he's not. His magic's less than mine, but generals excel in combat, sometimes overcoming magic disparities. The Hero's Party taught me that over fifty years.
"…Thanks to him, I'm free. My power's back."
I step back slightly, just outside his axe's reach. Mages fall if warriors close the gap, as I learned with Himmel. I won't repeat that mistake. Though Gross lacks Himmel's speed, caution's warranted. My scale is already summoned.
"That magic… still worthy of the Seven Sages, even tarnished. You haven't slacked in training."
Gross speaks, perhaps sincerely, as if impressed. He's a general, but demons are demons—magic determines strength and hierarchy. He's assessing me. Seven Sages, a title granted to only seven chosen by the Demon King, a mark of honor. That he doesn't bow shows his own strength.
"…Lady Aura."
"Stand back, Linie."
Linie steps between us, unafraid, radiating a cold, beastly aura to protect me. Not her usual self. I stop her—not out of concern, but because it's unnecessary. Gross, a general, isn't foolish enough to attack a Sage like me recklessly. She steps back, staying close enough to intervene, her movements precise, refined. Impressive. Truly the Hero's top disciple. I can almost see Himmel's smug face, but—
"Your new subordinate? Such a low-grade demon… odd taste for you."
To Gross, she's just that. Beneath his helm, he's likely sneering. Understandable.
To him, a mere low-tier demon with negligible magic dares stand between a Sage and a general.
"Hmm… so that's how it looks. That elf's method was right."
I mutter, detached. I knew it in theory, but seeing it firsthand is striking. And stirs a kind of disgust for my kind. Gross is deceived by Linie's magic suppression, misjudging her strength. In a demon mage duel, that's a fatal flaw. If Linie wanted, his head would roll in an instant.
Like demons deceive humans with words, we deceive demons with magic to kill. That's Frieren the Slayer's way.
Linie's inherited—no, mimicked—it. A demon mimicking this is ironic. Even I, who taught her, can't shake the disgust. But she's mastered it, fooling even a general's keen senses.
"What are you muttering? Where's your vaunted undead army? Not here?"
"Out of pieces, sadly. The Hero crushed them. She's all I have."
Gross scans the area, wary of hidden undead. Pointless worry, but I admit it. No need to lie—it'd be obvious soon. Yet I'm surprised at my own calm. This should be humiliating. Why isn't it? Resignation? Or…
"Unexpected. I thought you'd be desperate to reclaim your honor… tamed by the Hero?"
"…!"
Gross points out what I'd just realized, making me grit my teeth.
"Noisy, aren't you? You hid like a coward, scared of the Hero."
"True. Your fear proves I was right to hide."
My sarcasm falls flat, hollow. I'm no different—another beast in hiding. No, another demon. All demons are the same. Except me. I failed at hiding, lived among humans, and now can't return to the wild. Why did this happen? Because—
"You escaping means… the Hero's lost his power?"
The legendary Hero who slew the Demon King is no longer what he was.
"Yeah… they're all faded. Old and withered. Humans are so foolish."
I state the facts, detached. I know better than anyone the Hero's Party's absurdity, their monstrous strength.
I've seen their decline. Their aging.
The Hero can't swing a sword, relying on a staff as a crutch.
The monk, still breezy, is ravaged inside, unable to drink his beloved liquor.
The warrior's proud body weakened, no longer wielding his axe, now just a blacksmith.
None escape age. They withered so fast. We demons were right. The mage is the exception, but no need to tell him.
"Fortunate. Fifty years since the Demon King fell. I was getting bored. Unable to eat or kill freely was unbearable."
Gross nods, satisfied, his demonic instincts gleaming with joy. The joy of suppressed instincts—natural, expected—finally unleashed. I feel it too. I once lived for that, enduring humiliation in hiding. As he says, those were dull days.
"Yeah… I agree."
I lie. No, I let it slip.
I'm bored now, but not like him. These past fifty years weren't boring. Himmel called them fun. I said not bad. No lie there. Far from dull. They just ended abruptly. That's all.
"Why that face? You should be thrilled. With your magic, you could crush humans. Why not? The Hero's no threat anymore."
I touch my face as he speaks. What expression am I making? I don't know. Not joy, that's clear. Why? I don't know. He's right—I'm free. I glance at the scale. I fought to reclaim this. Nothing to fear. It's what I dreamed of. Yet—
"…That's my choice."
I dodge, pretending not to see, lying to myself.
"Pity."
"What?"
Gross's incomprehensible word confuses me. What does he mean?
"A demon of your power shunning conflict. Why not wield your strength like before? Is that scale just for show?"
It's the demonic way I've resisted, feared, this past month.
"…What's the point?"
"To flaunt your power. To dominate humans."
He answers instantly, driven by instinct.
"That just draws trouble. The Hero's not our only enemy."
I resist, seeking reasons. The Hero's Party isn't all. The Continental Magic Association, national armies—they won't stay quiet. Yet—
"Crush them all. Break their will to resist. I'll lend my strength. A Sage like you could rally other demons."
He dismisses fear, uncaring of consequences. My scale trembles, empty yet tilting. I don't know which side is me.
"You want me to play Demon King?"
"Not satisfied? Didn't you aim to be one?"
Demon King. Ruler of demons. I aimed for that. Why did I forget? With the Demon King gone, that's my path. Yet—
"Then what?"
I care about what's next, like him. That fool, always thinking of the future without him.
"After? Odd question. Do as you please. Keep crushing humans. If bored, do something else. It's your freedom."
I understand. He's right, my demonic instincts confirm. Accept it. Yet I resist. What am I?
"…Mind your own business. I'm doing what I want. Leave me alone."
I clutch the freesia accessory, convincing myself this is my choice. Freedom. I'm not bored. I won't do anything else. I'm with him. But—
"So pathetic… have you forgotten what it means to be a demon?"
"—"
His words drown me in overwhelming instinct—
"Shut up… I'll take your head right now."
A cold voice escapes, startling me. Not myself. No, this is me. The past was the anomaly.
I'm gripping the scale, not the accessory. Fine. This is what I need now.
Brandishing the scale—no, the guillotine—I warn Gross. One more word, and I'll kill him. No puppetry, just execution. No need for trials. My pleasure or displeasure guides me. The essence of a demon.
"…My mistake. I apologize. You're still a demon, Aura."
He swallows, feigning calm but yielding. Fool. He underestimated me, thinking I was still the Hero's slave. Serves him right.
"Why are you here? Not just for this nonsense."
"…I recently came to this area. Felt magic, so I checked. Didn't expect you."
He spills his purpose, obeying without my magic. No one commands me now.
I'm exhilarated, my lethargy and gloom gone.
"This is your territory, right? Thought I should show my face."
"Right, you generals are picky about that… Do as you like. This isn't my territory. But—"
I touch my face, grinning, my lips curling. Like when submission was lifted in the capital. Except—
"—you know what happens if you touch us, right?"
No one binds me anymore.
I thrust the scale at him, our souls on it. No need to check which way it tilts.
"…Looks like your revival's near."
Realizing his place, Gross retreats, muttering. He should've done that from the start. With the Demon King gone, he forgot what it means to be a demon.
"…Lady Aura, was it okay to let him go?"
Linie, sheathing her sword, questions me, her eyes asking if sparing him was wise.
"No problem. He's a general, not stupid enough to challenge a Sage like me."
The pecking order's set. He won't dare. If he does, I'll bind or puppet him. Demons turn to dust when beheaded, but I could keep him alive as a servant.
"That's not what I meant…"
"Quiet, Linie. I'm tired today."
She talks back, unusually. Is she bored, dissatisfied? I am too. Today was too much hassle. Time to sleep. Tomorrow's for tomorrow. I have endless time—