Coming here was the right choice.
『…The Heroic March has been delayed. But we can't drag this out for long.』
"That's enough."
Draxon let out a sigh of relief. For the moment, one burden was lifted.
『Your behavior lately has been extremely displeasing. I'll say it again—there won't be a second chance.』
"I told you clearly that it wasn't my doing. That bastard Berze is a complete idiot."
『A prince died to demons in your territory, and you insist it wasn't you? Unbelievable.』
『If the other party hadn't been Ormus, you wouldn't have been able to smooth this over at all.』
Draxon ground his teeth. Between him and the figure beyond the crystal ball stretched a gulf that could never be closed.
'If I ever catch that bastard, I'll tear his limbs apart.'
Both the demon, and the Demon King who ordered him.
"In the second Heroic March to come, I will release the prince and princess we're holding captive—along with the other captives of the Heroic March."
『I'll take that as your word.』
Tok.
The connection cut.
Draxon irritably tore into the meat on the side table.
"If I stall for time like this, find the culprit, and receive His Excellency's support to restore the tower…"
There would be some losses, but he could survive.
"No… not some losses. Enormous losses."
He knew that receiving the Grand Duke of Alkaine's help—and accepting demons and demonic beasts—meant paying an even greater amount of demonic energy in tribute.
But nothing was more important than his life. He had no choice—
"A disaster, my lord!"
Casey burst through the door, panting.
"What is it?"
"I–Intruders! Roughly five hundred humans have stepped into the territory. Judging by the number of heroes among them—"
KWAAAAANG—!
The table shattered without a trace.
Casey choked as dense, suffocating demonic energy filled the room.
"Those sons of bitches…!"
***
The Hero Guild had those who publicly represented its glory.
The ten greatest heroes.
People called them the Ten Stars, stars of hope—but the heroes themselves weren't fond of such an embarrassing name.
Regardless, Rozel Charnt was one of the Ten Stars.
So was Balaf Dislord, who refused the Heroic March.
And not only those with martial strength—Hillen Cargill, who had defeated the Lustful Demon King and earned fame and honor, was also counted among them, though he sat near the bottom.
And the man standing before them now—
Ralph Schmitz was also one of the Ten Stars.
The Ralph Schmitz Berze remembered was an annoying chunk of scrap metal.
A wall—one who hid behind a shield larger than his own body and blocked nearly every attack thrown at him.
"Are you all right?"
Sensing Berze's strangeness, Hillen quietly called out.
"…I'm fine."
Berze barely managed to breathe.
Hearing a hero's name and actually standing face-to-face with the hero involved in your own death were realms apart.
Even so, he endured. He barely held back the murderous rage boiling in him, barely suppressed the violent demonic energy surging inside.
'Endure. If you don't, you die.'
Just as Rozel Charnt was a powerhouse, so was Ralph Schmitz. Berze could not win here.
And it wasn't just Ralph Schmitz. This was the heart of the Heroic March. Enemy territory.
'In that case…'
Could he strike them from behind when they were in a desperate battle with Draxon?
He couldn't guarantee anything. Right now, nothing mattered more than killing Draxon. He could not gamble.
"It's been a while."
"Looking forward to working together."
"Don't forget our promise."
Ralph Schmitz exchanged only a brief greeting with Rozel and then ignored everyone else.
"He's famous for being taciturn."
It wasn't taciturnity—more like terrible manners.
With the final member joining, the Heroic March advanced quickly toward the Beast Tower. Perhaps because the first Heroic March had already swept through once, very few monsters attacked.
And so they arrived at the tower—an enormous eleven-story structure.
'I never thought I'd come here as a member of the Heroic March.'
Much less that he'd be here to kill Draxon himself.
"We're going in. Don't let your guard down."
At Rozel's signal, the knights stepped forward. The mages prepared to cast at any moment.
Creak—
The tower began welcoming its guests.
1st floor. Dire Wolves.
There was no need for Berze to step in. A few swings from the knights and they all became corpses.
"As expected, the level's way down. Must've run out of time?"
Rozel and Acan's elites cheered.
Thus the 2nd floor, 3rd floor—they ascended quickly.
'Textbook tactic.'
The monsters grew a little stronger with each level. But still too weak to be inhabitants of a Demon King's tower.
Most likely—
"Seems they're using the same strategy again."
Hillen Cargill whispered. And he was right. Draxon intended to draw all his strength to the top for a decisive battle.
But Berze was doubtful.
Rozel Charnt and the heroes could only draw the same conclusion.
'There's no way Draxon hasn't thought of that.'
Draxon, who graduated from the Arein Demon King Academy and ascended to the throne of Demon King, was no fool. He simply couldn't abandon tradition like other demons.
Tradition that had long since become more than habit—nearly a religion.
Just as Berze thought that and stepped onto the fifth floor—
"Guaaaargh!"
"Poison!"
Screams rang out.
The armor of several knights at the front was melting. A sharp, acrid smoke stung their noses.
Heroes capable of healing magic rushed forward. Knights formed a defensive line and some mages cast scan magic.
Through that chaos, monsters burst out.
"Enemies!"
"Block them! Save our people!"
"There are traces of demonic energy everywhere. This is…"
"This means they rigged the whole place with traps."
'So he resorted to trickery.'
In Arein, Demon Kings sought ways to survive—so long as it didn't violate the sacred textbook of tradition.
This time was no different.
'The Demon King's Fundamentals, Rule Five.'
[Place low-level monsters on the tower's lower floors, increase their strength toward the upper floors. The Demon King must always wait for the hero at the summit.]
Nowhere did it forbid traps. Whether weak or devastating—it didn't matter.
Still, Berze never expected Draxon to actually set traps. Among demonkind, the beastfolk were famed—charitably—for bravery, and uncharitably for stupidity.
In his previous life, Draxon had preferred head-on battles, not traps.
'For him to set traps means he's willing to use anything to win.'
Draxon had abandoned even the pride he stubbornly clung to. It meant he was cornered.
'I never thought this would be easy.'
Draxon's decades in Arein wouldn't have been light ones.
But he was curious.
'I wonder what kind of face you're making right now…'
Berze gave a faint smile.
***
"How dare those bastards stab me in the back!"
Draxon could no longer hold back and crushed the communication orb.
He contacted them dozens of times. More than dozens.
But each time, they cut the connection—saying things like "that can't be true," or "we'll look into it."
No further answers ever came.
In the end, he could only accept the truth.
He had been dancing like an idiot on a stage those bastards had prepared.
"I'll make sure you regret what you've done today!"
Draxon roared.
After venting his fury, he forced himself to regain composure.
First, he had to deal with those insects.
"Have you identified the intruders?"
"Yes. Knights, mages, and heroes combined—526 in total.
The knights and mages carry no crests marking their affiliation, so identification is difficult, but their quality is that of top–tier elites from any major kingdom."
"What's your opinion?"
"Acan, sir. They are the only ones capable of sending elites of that caliber in such a short time.
There's a high chance Rozel Charnt is leading the Heroic March."
"So those magic–crazed bastards have their eyes on my hide and bones.
Anyone we must pay special attention to?"
"Rozel Charnt, Hillen Cargill, and…"
That much he had expected.
It wasn't rare for failures to grit their teeth and climb the tower again.
"Ralph Schmitz, sir."
"…That annoying bastard?"
All heroes were troublesome, but even among Demon Kings, Ralph Schmitz was well–known.
The strongest iron wall among heroes.
Rumor had it he blocked a Basilisk's breath head–on, marched forward, and tore out its tongue.
Of course, a Basilisk could not be compared to a Demon King like Draxon.
But there was no denying that having a nuisance like that among them was a problem.
'Ralph Schmitz and Hillen Cargill will try to hold me down.
And Rozel Charnt will prepare a decisive strike.'
In that case, he had to ignore the nuisance and eliminate Rozel Charnt first.
Painting the battle inside his mind, he examined the interior of the tower.
Then—his gaze caught a face that looked strangely familiar.
"…Berze Deias?"
No. That was not Berze Deias.
At a glance the resemblance was deceptive, but the hair and eyes were different.
More importantly—
"Do you sense demonic energy from the Heroic March?"
"There is none at all."
If it were Berze Deias, Draxon would have known the moment he stepped into the tower.
'Even so… how can someone look that much like him…?'
The doubt lasted only a moment—the intruders were getting closer.
The traps he had installed were doing their job, slowing them down.
Should he consider it fortunate that his preparations weren't wasted?
Or unlucky that they were needed at all?
"And the demons?"
"All are waiting at the summit."
"And the monsters?"
"A total of 1,321."
Excluding the weaker monsters placed with the traps to preserve tradition, that was the count.
Originally, there had been more than triple that number, but the first Heroic March had inflicted heavy losses.
Nearly 300 heroes had gathered at that time.
"The royal captives underground—what of them?"
"It's too late to follow tradition now."
Originally, he should have greeted the Heroic March at the summit with the princess.
But the sudden situation ruined the timing.
"Leave them."
Draxon opened the door and stepped outside.
The 11th floor. His retinue filled the space around the throne.
"They're coming! Show no mercy to those fools who look down on the demon race.
Kill every last one."
That was enough.
Thick, murderous intent filled the entire 11th floor.
Draxon, flanked by his demonic attendants, walked across the carpet.
He climbed the steps and sat upon the golden throne.
And then—
The door opened.
***
His first feeling was nostalgia.
The Demon King sitting proudly on his throne.
The demons supporting him.
The thousands of monster minions.
Berze had once been like that. No—he had been greater.
He commanded more demons, more monsters, and carried himself with far more authority.
But he did not miss those days.
It had all been a castle built on sand, and he'd known nothing.
His monsters and demons had been slaughtered, and in the end, Berze himself had been slain.
He had no intention of repeating that humiliation and despair.
He regretted the broken ties with the demons who once gave their lives for him, but even so—this was better.
"...…"
"...…"
An intense gaze fixed on him.
Draxon Dordolf.
The master of the tower stared straight at him.
Berze stared back without flinching.
Draxon was the one who looked away first.
"You stare boldly.
Should I burst your other eye as well to balance things out?"
He growled at Rozel Charnt, leader of the Heroic March.
Then, without any signal, the monsters roared.
The demons brandished their weapons and charged.
'He hasn't noticed.'
Berze confirmed the thought as he surveyed the battlefield.
'Four high–rank demons. Eleven mid–rank. Fifty–two low–rank.'
And roughly a thousand monsters.
Not a light force by any means.
But neither was the Heroic March.
Ralph Schmitz charged toward the Demon King first.
Monsters blocked his path, but the knights following him split their attention.
The mages began their support fire.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Brilliant flashes erupted.
Monsters screamed.
A demon shredded the knights' shield–wall.
A monster blocking Ralph's path fell to his sword.
And the Demon King rose from his throne.
Everything happened in an instant.
Mana and demonic energy clashed violently.
The smell of mingled blood stung the air.
Berze quietly watched.
Hillen stayed at his side.
"Good thing we came after all.
If you hadn't come in person, you would've regretted it."
"What do you mean—"
Before Hillen could finish—
KWOAAAAANG—!
A deafening impact shook the floor.
A massive chunk of something tore through the air beside them.
"Damn it—!"
From a half–collapsed pit, Rozel Charnt rose while vomiting blood.
"Shame."
Draxon licked his claws.
"Just a little higher and it would've done it."
A long gash tore across Rozel Charnt's cheek.
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