Has this been sealed the whole time?
There were no marks of anyone trying to force the wall open. Neither the occupying army that took the fortress nor the adventurers who came later had gotten past it. Most likely, they never even knew there was space behind it.
The outer ward was only ten percent of the whole. The rest would be as it was five hundred years ago.
Shing.
Edward drew his sword. If the Demon King’s treasures remained, then so might his servants.
He stepped into the darkness up a stairway polished clean—no dust at all.
Better not to leave a light.
He set his torch down nearby. A torch—or a light spell—would give away his position. From here on, he would rely on night vision. Mana costs would be covered by the mana water in his flask.
Huh?
As he reached for the spell, something felt odd.
…I can see.
Even without a torch, the shapes in the dark stood out as clearly as if he had cast night vision.
Well, it is the Eye of God. Of course it can do this.
Eyes that peered into souls and predicted movement could certainly pierce the dark. He skipped night vision and cast a silence spell instead, erasing his footfalls, then began to climb.
Someone was meticulous.
Unlike the lower level, which had been buried under dust, the stairs gleamed faintly when light touched them.
At the top, a hall even larger than the one below opened out.
No presence.
The lower level had held the tiny scurry of rats and insects. Here, there was nothing—too quiet.
Instead of cutting across the center, Edward moved along the wall to avoid being surrounded in open ground.
What’s that?
Power surged from the stone. He eased back and raised his blade.
Whoosh.
A robed skeleton drifted out of the wall—an antique robe, an enormous scythe over one shoulder, the very image of a reaper. Its body was translucent; he could see the opposite wall through it.
A wraith.
An undead that fed on life-force. Physical attacks passed through it, and it slipped through walls at will. Against someone with no way to strike it, a wraith was untouchable—though its raw combat power was said to be modest.
Seven circles?
Through the Eye, Edward saw seven bright rings spinning within its form. At that level, it ranked among the Demon King’s best—something that would take a dozen elite to bring down.
Troublesome.
He’d expected monsters—just not one this strong.
Demons empowered by the Demon King usually lost their strength when he died—many didn’t survive at all. Those that did were husks. Or else they had never been granted power in the first place.
Unless… because of me?
Edward carried the Demon King’s soul. Without it, he wouldn’t have been able to enter this place. Perhaps that soul’s return had rekindled his servants’ strength.
Wait—if that’s true…
A bold thought flashed through his mind.
That makes me the Demon King.
Strictly speaking, he was the one who killed him. But with the Demon King’s soul inside him, the distinction blurred.
“Who dares set foot in the sovereign’s domain?”
The reaper’s jaw worked as it spoke. The undead voice scraped like ice on iron.
Edward did not retreat. He stepped forward—just as he had when he faced the Demon King.
“It’s me.”
He squared his shoulders and declared it, firm and clear. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t die cringing. He was a Griffith.
The wraith’s empty sockets held on him. Edward’s gut tightened; his heart thudded hard enough to ache. If this thing truly served the Demon King, it should recognize its master. It should—
…Won’t it?
He prepared to run. He couldn’t win this fight, but he might escape. He mapped escape routes in his head—
“Your Majesty?”
At the words, Edward let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Is it truly you, Your Majesty?”
The metallic rasp held shock—and joy.
“It is,” Edward answered smoothly.
If his act slipped, he would die. He kept his mind razor-sharp.
“Oh… it is you.”
The wraith flicked a hand; the scythe faded. It floated closer, the trailing robe making it nearly three meters tall. Its lower body sank into the floor until its gaze was level with his.
It reached out with both hands. Edward flinched back on instinct.
“Do not fear. How could I ever take Your Majesty’s life?”
It clasped his hand in both of its own. Strangely, he could feel it—cool and solid.
…Is it crying?
The wraith bowed its head. Its shoulders trembled, unmistakably sobbing.
This is absurd.
He had met speaking undead before—never one that felt.
“Kh—hkk…”
It wept in great, ragged breaths. Feeling oddly obliged, Edward lifted a hand and patted its back. He felt that too.
“I knew you would return.”
After a long while, the wraith found its voice again.
“…Yes.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Fall to such paltry foes. You are not one to be defeated by gnats. I thought you were merely… indulging yourself.”
It meant the battle with the Execution Squad. Edward himself found it baffling in hindsight. If the Demon King had withdrawn the moment the Black Soul appeared, he wouldn’t have died like a fool. Meeting them alone in the heart of his army’s camp had been a fatal error.
He hadn’t been stupid. Early in the war, he had been at a steep disadvantage and turned the tide through uncanny strategy, not brute force. In the end, it was hubris that brought him down.
“After you fell, the chaos… I loathe to recall it.”
For his servants, it must have been madness—victory at hand, and then their king dead.
“I am sorry,” Edward said.
“No. Had I stopped you, it would not have come to this…”
Somehow, a skull managed a look of deep regret.
“At least you’re back in some form. But… how did you end up reincarnated in a human body?”
“The body’s original owner summoned me in a rite.”
“A remarkable mortal—to call you and bear you as a vessel.”
“He called me, yes, but the vessel was unfit.”
“And so?”
“Because of the body’s flaws, many memories were lost. Only part of the soul returned.”
That much wasn’t a lie. He had absorbed the Demon King’s soul in his past life, but he hadn’t gained perfect recall. If he had, he would have recognized this wraith at once. Perhaps the soul’s magnitude had outstripped his capacity to receive it.
“Ah…”
The wraith’s grief deepened.
“I know you are mine, but I have forgotten your name.”
It drifted back, then rose, the portion of its body buried in the floor lifting free until its full form hovered above the tiles. With an elegant motion, it bowed.
“My name is Alfred, Your Majesty—chief chamberlain of your court.”
The ghost before him seemed almost human now, perhaps because it had a name and title.
“Was that your name when you were alive?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Glad to see you again.”
“It is my honor to serve you once more.”
“Are there any other subordinates here?”
“No. All have departed. I alone remain.”
“Why did you stay?”
“I am bound to this castle. I am also its steward. At the very least, I had to protect Your Majesty’s legacy.”
Alfred’s voice brimmed with pride.
“My legacy?”
Edward’s ears pricked up.
“This fortress—where your power and genius are concentrated. I could not allow it to fall into unworthy hands.”
“You’re saying my power was consolidated here?”
The Demon King’s authority was a force that could turn natural beings into demons. If such power had been gathered here, then this was no ordinary castle.
“This fortress is alive, in its own way. That life, Your Majesty bestowed yourself. Did you not see how broken it looked from outside?”
“I did.”
The towers and outworks once perched on the mountaintop had mostly crumbled into ruin.
“When Your Majesty’s power returns, it will repair itself.”
“Without construction?”
“Yes. Moreover, at your will, its form and size can change.”
“…!”
“The same is true within. By your will, its halls may be reshaped or expanded.”
“…!”
“And sealed chambers can be opened again.”
“Sealed chambers?”
“Rooms imbued with your unique powers, Sire.”
As Alfred explained further, Edward’s head spun. Training halls that conjured illusions as real as life. Pools that could transform living creatures into demons. Libraries that could pour vast knowledge into one’s mind in moments. Forges that could replicate weapons perfectly.
All far beyond the reach of human ingenuity.
“They cannot be used immediately. But once you reclaim your former strength, they will awaken.”
The Demon King’s fortress had already been an impregnable stronghold. The allied armies had never dared attempt a siege. Now Edward learned that inside lay hidden facilities of staggering potential.
But what he needed most right now wasn’t a base—it was money.
“No treasure?”
If only a tenth of the castle had been touched by human hands, then surely the spoils the Demon King had plundered from across the continent would remain.
“My apologies. When the others departed, they each took their share, believing Your Majesty gone forever.”
Alfred scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.
Disappointing, but not hopeless. There were still chambers only the Demon King could enter.
“Well, they deserved a severance package. Did they at least say where they were going?”
“Some did. But it was long ago—I cannot say for certain now.”
“Would they still be alive?”
“The lesser soldiers, perhaps not. But the officers? They should endure. They were Your Majesty’s chosen, after all.”
“True enough.”
“Does this mean you intend to complete the Great Work, Sire?”
The Great Work of the Demon King could mean only one thing: world conquest. Edward had no such ambition—at least not as it was. To do so meant becoming a warlord.
But he had no intention of leaving his family in ruin either. At the very least, he would reclaim their lost glory. If war was necessary, then so be it.
Tempting, isn’t it…
If other subordinates still lived, and if they were as loyal as Alfred, Edward would gain an army beyond price.
And this fortress itself was the perfect military base. With both, world conquest was no longer impossible.
A matter of choice…
To wield the Demon King’s power, to command his subordinates, to claim his fortress as headquarters… it would be little different from being the Demon King himself.
But memories of his past life—of fighting desperately against the Demon King’s armies—made him hesitate.
All for nothing…
He had given everything to slay the Demon King, only to be branded a traitor and see his house collapse. Bitterness and disillusionment had blunted even his hatred of the Demon King.
As long as I control it, it’s fine.
He could govern himself. The concern was his subordinates. Right now, he lacked even the power to control Alfred. But with time, he would grow to rival the Demon King. Then their loyalty would be no danger.
Forgive me. I never meant for it to come to this.
What weighed on him most was his fallen comrades. To wield the Demon King’s legacy felt like betraying their sacrifice.
But his family stood at the brink. He had no luxury of scruples.
Think of it as spoils of war. Just spoils.
That thought soothed his conscience—for now. He would seek another way to honor his comrades.
“Yes. I intend to complete the Great Work.”
Edward answered at last.
“A wise choice. Now this fortress may regain its former majesty. I, Alfred, your steward, shall serve with all my heart.”
“I’ll be relying on you.”
Alfred bowed deeply again.
The matter seemed settled, but Edward still had one more concern.
“Are there weapons left here—those once used by soldiers?”
“There are a few in the armory, though not many. May I ask… for what purpose?”
“To arm the humans.”
“…?”
The warmth of the moment drained away, leaving the chamber chill again.
Cliche Novel 