Yaphenon had been trampled.

The Demon King’s army surged forward like a tidal wave, and the capital’s defense forces were powerless to stop them.

“Damn it, e-everyone’s dead!”

“We’re next!”

“Run!”

Panicked citizens scattered in every direction, trying to flee from the approaching army. But there was nowhere to run.

Most were killed. The rest were captured.

It didn’t take long for the capital to fall.

“Demon King.”

With screams echoing all around them, Geshkafor approached Clay.

“Just a few more steps, and everything will be complete.”

A victory beyond mere conquest.

Yaphenon’s territory now lay in Clay’s hands.

“All of this is thanks to you, Demon King.”

Geshkafor bowed in admiration.

“I once insulted you in my ignorance, and I apologize again.”

“That’s enough.”

Clay had already long forgotten that. He glanced around.

A burning city.

A scene no different from the place where he had once fallen to the previous Demon King.

The cries of the people seemed to condemn him.

‘Yeah.’

But this… this was only the beginning of what Clay would have to endure.

‘I’ll get used to it.’

He didn’t even know exactly what he felt right now. But one thing was clear—only this path offered him any solace.

“Geshkafor.”

“Yes?”

“We’re returning to the Demon Territory.”

Hearing this, Geshkafor’s eyes widened. They had just achieved victory, and now he wanted to leave?

“Demon King, shouldn't you stay in Yaphenon a little longer?”

“It’s fine.”

“But if you leave now, we might not be able to incorporate Yaphenon into the Demon Territory.”

He had a point. Even so, Clay shook his head.

“We must go.”

“What? Why…?”

“This place will soon be ruined.”

While Yaphenon was falling, Holy Krata had done nothing. And it wasn’t because saving Yaphenon held no benefit.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

Clay pointed to the plaza filled with corpses.

“Look closely.”

A mountain of bodies. Geshkafor narrowed his eyes, trying to see what was strange.

Then realization struck him.

“No way…!”

“That’s right.”

So many people had died, yet there was hardly any blood.

“Something is absorbing the blood.”

And whatever it was, it was almost certainly part of a formation that spanned the entire city.

“Emperor Lutan of Krata was involved in nearly all the construction when Yaphenon relocated its capital.”

Clay had known this even during his Hero days, though he had assumed it was simply because Lutan had forcibly claimed the contracts.

“He laid a trap in preparation for this moment.”

Clay scowled at the paranoid level of defense.

‘To summon a “Blood-Drinker” that requires a nation’s worth of sacrifice just to appear…’

A contingency plan to summon an ancient god—difficult, demanding, and ominous.

Clay let out a bitter laugh at Lutan’s madness.

‘Let’s see if that blade of yours can even be turned on me.’

Whether it was just senseless destruction or a dangerously precise trap would become clear soon enough.

“Geshkafor.”

There was still time to confirm whether Clay’s suspicions were correct. In the meantime, he would secure what he needed.

“Send word to the Demon King’s army. Tell them to gather as many of Yaphenon’s weapons as possible.”

Even with the enchantments stripped, Yaphenon’s weapons were among the best-suited for rituals. They were crafted purely for holding spellwork.

“Capture the blacksmiths as well.”

“Yes, understood.”

Geshkafor bowed and hurried off to carry out the order.

Clay walked alone through the city toward the royal palace—the place where the throne sat.

Thud.

He sank into the massive throne that loomed over the hall, resting an arm on its side as he murmured,

“So this is what it felt like.”

Whenever Clay had visited during his time as a Hero, Utor would greet him seated just like this.

“So petty.”

He scoffed without meaning to, basking in the brief afterglow of victory.

“Hmm?”

A glimmer of blue flashed across his vision.

‘What was that?’

Clay instinctively rose from the throne and moved toward the spot where he’d seen it.

‘That…’

A wandering light, faint and blue, drifting like a living thing. As he watched it, memories surfaced.

He dug his heels into the floor and bent his knees.

Boom!

With a burst, Clay launched himself forward and snatched the blue light with one swift motion.

“Kyaaah?!”

What came from it was unmistakably a scream.

♧

The Watchers.

In this world, there were those who observed everything from the shadows. They were often referred to by that name.

Spirits.

Born through natural mediums, the spirits soon gained independent self-awareness—and yet, they never involved themselves in worldly conflicts.

They merely observed, recording all they witnessed in the intangible library known as the Akashic Record.

It was more law than custom for them to remain withdrawn, never interfering...

“Aaaaaghhh!”

...though some, driven by curiosity, occasionally ventured beyond.

“What the hell is thiiiiiis?!”

The spirit caught in Clay’s grip screamed frantically. But Clay recognized that voice.

“Naiad?”

Plop.

The shrieking stopped immediately.

“...Clay?”

Hearing her dazed murmur, Clay slowly loosened his grip.

A blue glow—

No, flowing blue water—

From it emerged a tiny, winged female spirit perched atop his hand, glowing softly.

“Clay? Clay!?”

She blinked, puzzled, then finally seemed to recognize the man in front of her.

“Clay!!”

Without hesitation, Naiad scurried up Clay’s arm and flung her arms wide.

“I missed you soooo much!”

She squeezed his cheeks with both arms, burying herself in them.

Clay responded with a faint groan instead of words. To him, this encounter was nothing short of unsettling.

How… is she outside again…?

Naiad was the Spirit King of Water.

Back when the former Demon King destroyed the sacred spring of the water spirits—The Fountain of Eternity—it had spurred the spirits, unusually, to aid the Hero’s party.

Among them, the water spirits gave the most support due to their direct losses.

Naiad had even temporarily joined Clay’s party herself, but she eventually had to return to the spirit realm to restore the ruined fountain.

Back then, she’d said it was nearly impossible to leave again. Too many spirits had objected to their king taking such risks.

And yet…

“Clay! Claaay!”

Here she was, cheerfully clinging to his face.

This is... problematic.

Clay’s expression twisted as Naiad kept nuzzling his cheek.

It made sense. The moment he’d spotted the blue glow, he’d instinctively captured it—not to let news of his condition reach her. It was nearly a reflex, a protective instinct.

He had no intention of dragging Naiad—who likely didn’t even know what had happened to him—into this mess.

“Clay, huh?”

She finally stopped and looked up, sensing something was off in Clay’s rigid stance.

“Clay?”

Her eyes scanned him from head to toe.

Then they widened as she exclaimed,

“What’s with this outfit?”

“…”

“Why are you dressed in all black? You used to hate gloomy colors.”

She scrunched her brows in suspicion.

“Did that creep Lutan give you another one of his weird fashion assignments? Making a Hero dress like this?”

“Naiad.”

Clay finally spoke.

“How did you get out again?”

“Oh.”

Naiad blinked as if she’d forgotten to mention it.

“The Fountain of Eternity’s been restored! Now that the spirits can return to their role as watchers, we were holding a little ceremony to celebrate.”

“A… ceremony.”

“Yep! We even fixed the spirit gate the Demon King broke through. So everyone was like, ‘Let’s invite the Hero to the celebration!’ Since we’d eventually cross paths again now that we’re back in action, they wanted to keep things friendly. Hehe.”

Clay quietly swallowed.

“Ah, right. By the way—did the Demon King die? Judging by how busy you are, I’d say the war’s already over.”

“That’s…”

“Oh! No need to answer. I get it.”

Naiad glanced at the sword in Clay’s hand—Syltanaro, the Demon Blade.

“You said when you strike down the Demon King, you’d get gloomy from the recoil, right? You look really gloomy now. So, yup, that checks out.”

She fluttered down his body and hovered before the blade.

“Come to think of it, that Holy Sword used to be so noisy. Is it quiet now ‘cause you killed the Demon King? Hello? Anyone home?”

As she tapped the blade, Syltanaro reluctantly leaked a bit of magia toward Clay. Clay gave the faintest nod in response—permission to play along.

“Hellooo, are you inside?”

『...I-I’m here.』

“Huh?”

Naiad tilted her head.

“You sound kinda…”

『Different.』

“Ah, I knew it.”

She nodded, satisfied.

“Side effect of killing the Demon King, huh? Come visit our fountain sometime. I’ll try running a purification ritual.”

『…If there’s time.』

“Whew.”

She turned back toward Clay’s face.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you, Clay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Even the way you talk’s gotten all stiff. Guess you really have had it rough. Lutan must’ve worked you to the bone, that rotten old fogey. I’m gonna slap him around someday.”

Her rambling nonsense hadn’t changed a bit. As Clay remained silent, Naiad suddenly looked around.

“That’s weird. It was all noisy earlier—that’s why I came this way. But Utor’s not here, and there’s no one else either. Isn’t this the capital of Yaphenon?”

“…”

“Clay, where is everyone?”

To her question, Clay gave no answer. Naiad tilted her head in confusion.

“Clay?”

“Naiad. You should return now.”

Clay met her gaze squarely.

“This place isn’t for you to roam. Go back, focus on maintaining the spirit realm. Tell the others to forget the whole ‘observer’ and ‘recorder’ business.”

“…Why are you talking like that? So cold.”

Naiad pouted.

“Is it ‘cause I’ve been gone so long? I couldn’t help it! I didn’t want to go back either, but everyone kept saying I had to do king stuff.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

She looked puzzled.

“Did something happen? You ran up to me like you saw a ghost. You looked totally panicked.”

Clay couldn’t answer.

If it had been any other water spirit, he would’ve sealed their lips on the spot.

But this was Naiad. No one else.

“Naiad, right now…”

Crash!

Suddenly, a loud clatter rang out, and a Yaphenon soldier—bloodied and barely standing—staggered onto the scene.

“There you are, Demon King…!”

Like a dagger hurled across the plaza, his cry pierced through Clay and Naiad.

(End of Chapter)

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