Chapter 149 The Deceiver Demon
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
I ran flat-out toward the sector where Tatia waited. Along the way, every foe I met seemed to be a direct result of that lurking presence — the ‘Sword Demon Lord’ — and they were almost all top-tier demons. I could have done without every enemy jumping straight to ‘Supreme Demon,’ but grumbling wouldn’t help. I used the Stealth Step and Concealment I had and kept contact to the bare minimum.
A short distance ahead, a single Supreme Demon stood out. I cast Appraisal and watched the numbers appear.
A floating status window shimmered in the air:
Demon Clan — Supreme Demon
HP: 400 / 400
Mana: 150 / 150
Skill Power: 150 / 150
Physical Attack: 180
Physical Defense: 130
Magic Attack: 100
Magic Defense: 80
Speed: 70
Movement: 3
Status Ailments: None
Special Ability: Darkness
Equipment: None
This was the result of my appraisal on the one I had seen. It carried no equipment, but even so its physical stats outclassed an Angel’s. Its magic scores were relatively weak, which, frankly, made it one of the better ones. Demons normally balance physical and magic; many of them sit in the 150–180 range across the board, which is what makes them feel truly demonic.
I picked off only the unavoidable ones from behind using Auto Eizul as I moved. Without a map the center of the dungeon was still a guess, but the scouting skill I had unlocked with a level-up let me deduce room and corridor shapes and narrow down our location.
I could have Appraised the whole dungeon to map it, but trying to understand the entire layout at once would fry my head. Worse, exposing myself while doing it would invite a sneak attack. Not worth the risk.
After passing several rooms I reached a larger chamber. At its center stood Tatia, and beside her, a man.
He was roughly mid-180s in height — shorter and narrower-shouldered than I was. From his temples a pair of twisted horns jutted back, dark as night with red veins like cracks. A pair of glossy bat wings folded over his shoulders like a mantle. He wore no obvious weapon or noble clothing, yet he looked every bit a prince and a warrior at the same time.
This had to be him: the Sword Demon Lord, the one etched in memory as the strongest Demon Lord in the first epic — the one called the King of Demon Blades who slew gods.
”…Huh. You actually came,” he said.
”Of course I did. How could I abandon my companions?” I answered, bracing myself. His presence alone sent a chill down my spine, but I couldn’t leave Tatia to fend for herself.
He studied me with a voice that carried an odd mix of curiosity and amusement. “Hm… you’re blessed with athletic Ability, but you’re a little too muscular. Do you enjoy making your body bigger?”
”No. I’m a Crafter. I swing a hammer every day. This is what it made me,” I said.
”I see. Since when have you held a hammer?” he asked.
”Since I was five. For a while I beat out a single sword a day.”
”Why did you stop?”
”Because I found someone I love.”
”…Huh.”
I answered him honestly; there was no point lying. He and Tatia were about twenty meters away. Close enough that a single breath could cross the distance, but still a gap in which we could breathe. For someone like him, even that distance might as well be nothing.
”Who’s your blacksmithing teacher?” he asked.
”Ame-no-Mahitotsu-no-Mikoto. A god who lives across the sea on an island nation.”
”…The one who forged the mighty Katana Shura Ichimonji?” he asked.
It seemed even this Demon Lord knew of my Master. Apparently that legendary blade—Shura Ichimonji—was famous beyond what I had guessed. I’d learned only how to face a katana and swing a hammer under Master’s guidance; I’d never heard the story of that exact sword.
”Master never told me about that Shura Ichimonji. I only learned how to make and approach a katana,” I said.
”The great Katana smith taught you the way? You must have talent,” he mused.
”Maybe. I think of myself as an imperfect disciple.”
Despite my words, I had learned Master’s techniques and received a hammer as a mark of mastery. I could now shape an 空裂 — a sky-splitting strike — and forge conceptual armaments, but that was all. When Archangel said there was a role waiting for me from the moment of my reincarnation, it meant I, as a Crafter, had to make something and give it to someone. I hated being pushed by the world’s laws, but if a role existed that I had to fulfill, shirking it would be irresponsible.
”So you claim the great smith misread your ability?” he asked.
”I learned how to make that Katana and can reproduce the technique, but I haven’t yet elevated the skill. Look at this.”
I pulled Yaku-kiri from my inventory and tossed it toward the Demon Lord. He caught the parabolic blade midair, drew it from its scabbard, and frowned as he inspected it.
”Is that the work of that Katana master?”
”No. It’s my work.”
”I see.”
He sheathed the blade and turned that quiet gaze back on me.
”I forged the material from Mithril and lifted it into conceptual armament.”
”…You, a human?”
”If there are examples, imitation should be possible. Technique is technique.”
”Stories of anyone forging Mithril—aside from the old gods—are rare. Can anyone even imitate your technique?”
”I teach some techniques to juniors as a student. I only showed them forging in person.”
”…Somehow my instinct tells me we shouldn’t pity those juniors,” he said.
He sounded almost sympathetic toward Est and Shamir, then raised the blade in his hand and asked, “When did you learn to make this?”
”Just recently.”
”I see.”
”Around five days after I began learning blacksmithing from Master. I forged it while praying for the safety of my juniors and my in-laws.”
”So you were a disciple of that master?” he asked.
”Yes. I only had a week of lessons, but she recognized me as a disciple.”
”Would the ancestor god grant full mastery in such a short time?”
His expression hardened. Maybe he thought I lied. To an outsider it did sound unlikely, but it was the truth.
”I’m nothing more than a human who loves crafting. I have no magic item to show memories, no magic to prove it. If you want proof, let me do blacksmithing right here after we leave this place. I’ll gladly demonstrate. How about that?”
He considered that a moment, then nodded. Perhaps he intended to cut me down if I proved false. There was no denying how strong he was; a single Demon Lord like him could eclipse an empire’s combined forces.
”Very well. Show me.”
”All right,” I said, “if you can use teleportation magic, then track my mana. I’ll even give you the gate coordinates if you need them.”
”Even setting aside that you’re a reincarnate,” the Sword Demon Lord replied, “calling a man who can forge a blade like this and personally own a teleportation gate ‘ordinary’ is something I can’t agree with. I may not know much of human society, but I understand that’s far from typical.”
Yeah. Why does everyone end up saying things like that about me?
”So, before you studied under that Katana smith,” he continued, “who first taught you blacksmithing?”
”If I had to name one,” I said, “then… the Crafting skill itself.”
”…I see. So you’re a divine smith.”
There it was again — that term Master and the others had used before: shinshō, the “divine smith.” One said to have been sent by gods to spread Crafting itself, or perhaps someone whose craft had transcended into the skill’s origin. If even this Demon Lord recognized the term, it had to mean something. Though honestly, I wasn’t sure what to make of being compared to such a being.
”I still don’t fully get what that title means,” I admitted. “Master said she held techniques refined enough to become skills themselves. My foster mother claimed she was a messenger of the gods, sent to spread Crafting throughout this world.”
”It’s a fine line to draw,” the Demon Lord mused. “But there are others far better informed than I.”
”Yeah,” I said, recalling a certain voice. “I know exactly who could explain.”
If I wanted the truth, I’d just have to ask the Archangel directly.
He nodded faintly. “From the aura surrounding you, it seems you’ve some tie to that being as well — though I doubt it’s one you can speak with easily.”
”No,” I agreed softly, “it isn’t.”
So, he’d met the Archangel too — maybe fought her. In past tales, the Sword Demon Lord was a hidden boss; some hero and his poster-girl ally must have faced him, drawing celestial attention in the process. Poor Archangel, to keep meeting people like that.
”Then I’ll release your companions,” he said suddenly.
He gestured, and Tatia stepped toward me, calm and unbound. Maybe just talking had been enough to defuse this entire ordeal.
”Tatia, are you all right?” I asked.
”Yes,” she replied. “He neither threatened me nor pressed his will. The only condition was that I remain silent during your talk.”
A gentlemanly gesture, of all things. Come to think of it, in the old stories he’d also spoken civilly, even when holding a saint hostage. Some habits die hard.
”…I’ve realized I never introduced myself properly,” the Demon Lord said, glancing our way.
”Now that you mention it,” I said, “I’m Tatara Julon — student and Crafter from the dungeon city Whirlwind.”
”Ah, you’ve named yourself first. My apologies, young blacksmith.”
Why was he the one apologizing? So polite it was disarming — and maybe just a little absent-minded.
”Well, I thought you were just a legend,” I said with a grin.
”Even so,” he answered, “to converse without offering one’s name is poor etiquette for a warrior.”
There was something genuinely good-natured about him. The kind of person who made it hard not to like him. I was weak to that sort of earnestness.
”Guess our wavelengths just matched,” I joked. “Maybe we accidentally became friends.”
”Hm. For a human, calling a Demon Lord a friend is… unusual, isn’t it?”
”Not really. My beloved’s a succubus. Honestly, fewer humans have ever said they liked me. I don’t do prejudice.”
”…You’re a strange man,” he said, sounding almost troubled by it.
Didn’t mean to confuse him, but there it was.
”Then allow me to say it properly,” he said, drawing himself up. “I am the one long called the Sword Demon Lord.”
”Glad to finally meet you, Sword Demon Lord.”
”The pleasure is mine, Tatara Julon. And the lady beside you?”
”I am Tatia,” she said with a polite bow. “Wing Knight of the Skyguard.”
”Impressive — to bear the title of knight at your age. Your future must be bright.”
Let’s hope that future doesn’t involve crossing blades with him, I thought grimly. I had no clue how anyone could bridge that power gap, not even with my finest equipment.
”Then, I’ll take my leave,” he said. “We’ll meet again soon, Julon.”
”I’ll have tea ready when you do.”
He smiled faintly. “I look forward to it. Farewell.”
He swung his blade once — and reality split open. The air cracked like glass, forming a rift that he simply stepped through and vanished. So the stories were true: he could slice open dimensions with pure swordsmanship. Just like Master’s Kūretsu — skill so refined it broke the world’s logic.
As soon as he disappeared, Tatia’s knees gave way, her tension snapping at last. I couldn’t blame her; the pressure from that kind of power could crush a weaker heart outright.
”You all right, Tatia?” I asked, kneeling beside her.
”My apologies, Lord,” she said breathlessly. “When that overwhelming presence vanished, so did my composure.”
”On the contrary,” I said, “you held out impressively.”
”I had to,” she said, straightening with pride. “A knight must not disgrace her lord. But I’d never wish to face that being on a battlefield.”
”Agreed.”
Unlike the Immortal King, I hadn’t even crossed swords with him — and yet I couldn’t imagine surviving such a fight. Even Dahlia, strongest among us, would crumble despite the Arcane Armor I’d built for her. Seriously, what balance were the game’s developers smoking, making Archangel-tier heroines only barely equal to him?
A few moments later, Ichika and Dahlia burst into the chamber, looking battered but alive.
”Master! Are you unharmed, degozaru!?” Ichika cried.
”Master!” Dahlia echoed.
”Yeah,” I said, “Tatia and I are fine.”
Still, it was a bit sad that their concern leaned entirely toward me.
”How’re your reserves?” I asked.
”Thanks to the ‘egg,’ fatigue and wounds are no issue, degozaru,” Ichika said.
”I used only my sword,” Dahlia added. “No ammunition spent.”
Reliable as ever — even though the monsters infesting this floor were supposed to be Supreme Demons. They’d handled it like routine work.
We regrouped, assigned roles as before, and resumed exploring. Tatia’s skills made Supreme Demon Soul Cores drop like candy. If we ever needed to outfit new demon allies or build fresh Arcane Armor, power sources wouldn’t be a problem. If, somehow, I ever had to make top-tier armor, I’d need a Demon Lord core — but hopefully that day would never come.
By the time we descended to the seventieth floor, both Stealth Step and Concealment had leveled up. My only problem: at level sixty-eight, I still hadn’t met the conditions for Sublimation of Existence.
”Lord,” Tatia asked as we paused, “do we have any data on the boss ahead?”
”If the world still runs by the same rules as before,” I said, “then there are two bosses ahead.”
”Two?” Tatia asked.
”An Angel and a Demon,” I replied. “The Angel holds the Fifth Rank, and the other… is a Demon Lord.”
”…Excuse me, what?”
Yeah. Two bosses — one of them a Fifth-Rank Angel, the other a Demon Lord. If we ignored random spawns, these were among the most powerful beings in the entire dungeon. Even at level seventy, each would be strong enough to serve as a final boss on their own. Facing both together was insanity.
I remembered the despair of my first encounter in the original game. Good times.
”Master,” Ichika said, “if it’s Fifth Rank, that’s about the same strength as that bird-thing we fought on the surface, degozaru?”
”Stat-wise, yeah,” I said. “But they’re in the dungeon now, which means their minds are half gone. That’ll dull them a little.”
Maybe I shouldn’t speak so casually about someone’s mother right in front of Tatia, but honestly, after that fight, I didn’t even want to say her name. Meanwhile, Dahlia silently adjusted Elingium’s targeting systems — and that quiet precision was scarier than any glare.
”The tricky part,” I went on, “is that one’s light-aligned, the other’s dark. We only have Ichika’s curses to deal dark damage — and light? Forget it.”
”Can’t we imbue our weapons with attributes using Soul Cores, master?” Tatia asked.
”Not impossible,” I said, “but risky. Only you could handle that safely, Tatia. My hammer or Dahlia’s Lantana would need their spell formulas rewritten for it, and that could cause an error. I don’t want to crash our gear mid-fight.”
Tatia and Yohira’s weapons were simpler, easier to modify. But our high-grade equipment was too delicate; one wrong tweak could warp the whole enchantment.
”Unfortunately,” I said, “the materials we’ve found here can’t craft an ‘Angel’-type Divine weapon or a demon-type Man-Eater either. The Divine blade would’ve been perfect — quadruple damage against that Angel.”
”This time,” I decided, “we ignore experience points and let Dahlia do the heavy lifting.”
”At last,” she said, “I can serve you directly, master.”
”Just remember, your strength’s still a little excessive.”
Even so, Elingium, boosted by Dahlia’s own traits, packed devastating power. The guaranteed Pierce effect ignored defense entirely — and when she calmly corrected, “Seven hundred fifty, master,” I had to grin. “Yeah, right. Over seven-fifty base. Not bad.”
”Dahlia,” I sighed, “only Ichika’s allowed to interrupt my monologues.”
”I have never interrupted your monologues, degozaru,” Ichika protested. “I merely add cultural flavor!”
I wasn’t sure which was worse.
”My apologies, master,” Dahlia said, bowing her head slightly. “But I could not allow a misstatement. A hit of two hundred fifty makes a difference.”
”Fair enough,” I said. “At one and a half times damage, the math changes completely.”
Still, it was ridiculous — in a world where max HP capped at 999, she could deal 750 ignoring defense. Against Sieve, that force probably shattered the barrier and still hit hard enough to kill outright if not for it. Dahlia’s output really was absurd.
”Our opponents,” I reminded them, “are both winged. The Angel and the Demon Lord will stay airborne. To fight them, we’ll need to fly or drag them down with wire anchors.”
”Is that why you built those anchors into our armor?” Dahlia asked.
”Exactly. The same goes for your Tritelia — the anchors can recover projectiles and pull enemies in. Not vital now that we can fly, but still handy.”
Dahlia touched the anchors at her hip as if seeing them anew. She’d never needed Tritelia for exploration before; the earlier model, Alstroemeria, didn’t even have to rely on climbing gear. Still, it could double as a grappling tool when needed — simple, effective, versatile.
”Then I should focus my sorcery on the Angel,” Ichika declared, tail flicking. “That should balance the field, degozaru.”
”Wait,” I said. “Doesn’t your foxfire count as dark-elemental?”
In the original game, very few characters could learn the Jujutsu skill. Even for player-made ones, the requirements were tough. I could probably unlock it myself someday, but to wield its curses effectively I’d need grimoires — and Whirlwind held only a handful of black-sorcery texts. Jujutsu was rarer still. Ichika’s natural aptitude made her a miracle — a living special ability.
”Then Ichika handles the Fifth Rank,” I said.
”Understood, degozaru.”
”Tatia, Dahlia — you take the Demon Lord. If Dahlia’s Elingium finishes him fast, great. If not, Tatia follows with a charge to end it.”
”Yes, my Master.”
”Yes, my Lord.”
The plan was set. Time to explain the twist.
”When the battle starts,” I told them, “wait one or two minutes before acting.”
Three pairs of eyes blinked at me in confusion. Yeah, I’d expect that.
”Seeing is believing,” I said. “Just trust me — wait.”
I turned to the door. Its surface was forged like dark iron, carved with a relief of an Angel and Demon, spear and sword crossed. Foreshadowing, I thought dryly, pressing my palm to it. The heavy gates groaned open.
Normally, the chamber beyond would light up as we entered — but this time, the light was already there. A vast hall stretched a hundred meters wide, bright and echoing. And in the center stood two figures.
One, a woman with short golden hair and six radiant wings like a hawk’s, clad in robes and armor woven from pure light. She held a shining spear that hummed with holy power — the Fifth-Rank Angel.
Facing her: a towering man with skin dark as night, muscles like carved stone, and four leathery bat wings flaring behind him. From his head curled twin white horns, and his hair and beard gleamed black with a silver sheen — the Demon Lord.
They didn’t even glance at us. The moment we entered, they were already locked in a brutal duel, blades and light tearing the air apart.
”…Huh?” Tatia breathed.
”Yeah,” I said, smirking. “Everyone’s surprised their first time.”
In any normal fight, this matchup would spell instant death — the strongest of the Angels versus the darkest of the Demons. But because they were eternal enemies, they started killing each other the second we opened the door.
Five turns later, one would fall. That’s when you took down the survivor for the clear — though it wasn’t quite that simple…
Apparently, the flag wouldn’t trigger unless both bosses were defeated. If even one survived, the quest failed, forcing a complete restart. No progress, no Sublimation of Existence, just exhaustion and wasted time. And since we didn’t have the graduation bracelet or the returners I’d collected, we’d have to crawl back from floor one — and fight those cursed bosses all over again. The thought alone was enough to make me groan. If the Demon Lord’s second form appeared again, the only answer would be Dahlia’s Fol-Julon at maximum output, vaporizing him outright.
”Let them wear each other down,” I said. “We’ll swoop in and finish the survivor. It’s the fastest way.”
Tatia gave me a reproachful look. “That sounds… rather underhanded, my Lord.”
”Yeah,” I admitted, watching the Angel and Demon Lord tear each other apart, “but trying to fight them fair would be suicide.”
The only reason we’d survived Sieve — that nightmare of the same rank — was pure luck and timing. Ichika, Hinagiku-san, that bastard from the tower, and Dahlia had all shown up at just the right moment. If it had been just Ethelena and me, we would’ve been annihilated. Even Calmys-san, the city’s strongest, could only hold out until the ‘Divine Punishment’ chant began; after that, the question stopped being who’d win and became how much of the city would survive.
”Whoa,” I muttered, staring ahead. “That’s the same spell Sieve used on me.”
”I remember,” Ichika said, ears flattening. “Seeing you skewered like that made me want to cry, degozaru.”
Countless blades of light stabbed through the Demon Lord’s body. Watching it from the outside made my stomach twist — so that’s what I’d endured, just… dialed down enough not to kill me outright. Lucky me.
The Demon Lord staggered, blood spilling from his mouth. His HP bar must’ve taken a serious hit, organs torn by those luminous daggers. But he wasn’t done — dark mana gathered in his hand, condensing into a dense sphere. “Black Hole,” I murmured. High-tier dark magic, usually an area spell — but he’d compressed it into a single, focused blast. The sphere slammed into the Angel, and her left arm — no, her entire left side — vanished in an explosion of void. One wing tore free, feathers burning to ash. She crashed, half-ruined.
”Dahlia.”
”Firing.”
Her reply came instantly. Elingium’s trigger snapped. The shot punched through the Demon Lord’s skull, erasing his head in a spray of mist. His massive frame toppled, lifeless — for now.
I dashed forward. A Demon Lord wouldn’t truly die until his core was destroyed or removed. And though half her body was gone, the Fifth-Rank Angel still breathed. If I didn’t finish this, we’d be next.
Weapon accuracy 20 + 235 − 150 = 255.
Physical attack 190 + [Heavy Strike] 50 − 150 = 90, critical ×2.
I brought the hammer down on her face — that unnaturally perfect, serene mask — and shattered it. The impact burst with a wet crunch, the floor trembling beneath the blow. Her body twitched, then dissolved into radiant light.
The Demon Lord’s corpse remained. Even headless, his body pulsed faintly, regeneration already knitting sinew and bone. Horrifying vitality. Until the core was gone, he’d always come back.
I crouched beside him, drove my hand into his chest.
Weapon accuracy 0 + 235 − 150 = 235.
Physical attack 165 − 150 = 15, instant death roll.
My fingers closed around the Soul Core. I wrenched it free — and at last, the body stilled, crumbling into light. A triumphant fanfare echoed through my mind. One more level to go. I hesitated about descending to the seventy-first floor… and decided against it. Time to call it a day.
”Mission complete,” I said, exhaling. “Let’s open the boss chest and go home.”
”Isn’t that a bit too casual for what just happened, degozaru?” Ichika grumbled.
Tatia crossed her arms. “Tatara-dono, you could have relied on us a little more. Taking on both alone was reckless.”
They weren’t wrong.
”Yeah,” I admitted. “I could’ve let you handle the Demon Lord, Tatia. Your charge would’ve finished him fine.”
She looked down, thinking, then sighed. “No. That was my selfishness speaking. I wanted to be useful to you, that’s all. Please forgive the impertinence.”
”Don’t,” I said gently. “You did nothing wrong.”
Still, she wasn’t entirely mistaken. I did have a bad habit of trying to shoulder everything myself.
The treasure chest glowed softly. I stepped forward, popped the latch, and inside found a longsword — Angel-Eater. Its description glimmered in gold text: “Effective against Angel-type foes.” Figures. A weapon like that showing up now could only mean more Angels in our future.
Too bad the one human in our group who could wield it properly was still away. If I tried, I’d probably break it.
We decided to leave the dungeon. Everyone placed a hand on me as I activated the Teleportation Crystal, light wrapping around us before the world snapped back to calm.
On the way home, I bought groceries. Without any upper-floor fights today, we made it back before midafternoon. After a quick bath, I joined Ichika in the kitchen to prep dinner — fried fish tonight. If we’d had mackerel, I’d have made perfect aji fry, but Whirlwind’s markets didn’t stock it. Instead, I rubbed curry spice into redfish fillets, sealed them, and left them to chill. The spice would draw out the odor and deepen the flavor.
Ichika worked on the side dish: simmered vegetables. She’d “borrowed” shiitake mushrooms and bamboo shoots from the Acting Head of Family’s supplies, mixing them with carrots, satoimo, and kelp in white dashi. The savory scent filled the air, making my stomach growl.
Once prep was done, we took a break. Outside, the idiots trained in the yard while I sat on the veranda. Ichika slept soundly with her head in my lap, breathing softly. Her HP had been dropping a little since the pregnancy — I’d have to make sure she rested more. She deserved that much.
Tatia, now out of her armor, bowed deeply to the Acting Head and accepted more lessons — not katana technique this time, but combat theory, sparring strategy, and counters for the knightly sword style she’d learned. Probably to prepare for duels against her old peers. Good. The bastards who’d once tried to assault her didn’t deserve mercy or even to be called human.
Dinner passed quietly. Afterward, I went to the workshop. I checked and maintained everyone’s gear, then moved to the forge. I still owed the Sword Demon Lord proof of my craft — something worthy of his recognition. Should I forge Kūretsu, Master’s final technique? But if I handed that blade to a being like him… the world itself might not survive the result.
If I really gave him Kūretsu, I’d probably have to find someone else capable of wielding a god-slaying weapon — just to counterbalance him. The thought was terrifying. If two blades that could sever the world ever clashed, that might literally be the end of everything. Yeah… not exactly a comforting idea.
”What troubles you, young blacksmith?” came a calm voice behind me.
I turned, startled only after the words left his mouth. The Sword Demon Lord stood there, having sliced through space itself to appear in my forge.
”Welcome,” I said automatically. “I’ll make tea.”
”…Do humans normally not react when a Demon Lord materializes right behind them?”
”I’m used to people sneaking up on me,” I said. “Besides, you’re not radiating any killing intent.”
”…Most would still panic.”
I shrugged and poured tea anyway. Hizuru-grown green tea — fine grade. The Demon Lord eyed the cup warily before taking a sip.
”…Strange color,” he murmured. “Yet… its bitterness holds a quiet sweetness.”
”It’s one of the pricier kinds,” I said. “Different from ordinary tea, but I like it. Glad it suits your taste.”
”…You’re oddly casual, blacksmith.”
He wasn’t wrong. Now that I wasn’t fighting for my life, I realized how familiar his atmosphere felt — too familiar.
”Sorry,” I said. “You remind me of an old friend. My childhood one.”
”Truly?”
”Yeah. He’s human, but… something about your presence feels the same.”
The Demon Lord listened, intrigued, when I described that idiot — my reckless, sword-loving friend. When I mentioned that friend was probably the finest swordsman among humans, the Demon Lord’s eyes gleamed faintly, as if tempted by the idea of a duel.
”You hold this swordsman dear, then,” he said.
”Of course,” I replied. “He’s saved me more than once.”
”Then cherish that bond.”
”Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”
It was strange — we’d only just met, yet our conversation felt natural, almost comfortable. Why was it so easy to talk to a Demon Lord like an old comrade?
”Why,” he mused aloud, “do we speak as if we were lifelong friends?”
”I was wondering the same thing,” I said, laughing.
He blinked, genuinely puzzled. Maybe coming back from death had left him a little… softer, emotionally speaking.
We talked for a while longer — about my city, Whirlwind, about my idiotic friends. He asked questions, reacted with curiosity, even laughed in all the right places. For a so-called Demon Lord, he seemed surprisingly human.
”Hmm,” he said at last, standing. “That was… unexpectedly enjoyable.”
We’d been talking for about half an hour. Time to return to the reason he’d come.
”Truly,” he said, smiling faintly, “your stories made me forget why I sought you — the disciple of Ame-no-Mahitotsu-no-Mikoto. But I can’t ignore my original purpose.”
”Right,” I said. “I got carried away.”
I pulled out my hammer from Inventory. “So, what sort of conceptual armament should I forge for you?”
He tilted his head. “You can make such things on command?”
”To a degree,” I said. “I’ve even crafted items that can’t kill — a conceptual limiter, basically.”
”That’s not something to describe with ‘to a degree,’ Tatara.”
The change caught me — he’d dropped “blacksmith” and called me by name. Even when he’d lost to the god-slayer, he hadn’t used such familiarity. What had changed?
”Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Then how about a blade that can cut through all things?”
”That’d require a special sheath just to store safely.”
”You’ve already experienced that?”
”Let’s say there’s someone under my roof who owns one,” I replied wryly.
”Then… what about a blade that grows stronger over time?”
”Impossible to make deliberately,” I said. “I’ve done it once — but that one was born from emotion, not design.”
”…Reproducibility?”
”Zero. I forged it while thinking of one person only. It turned out that way by chance.”
He chuckled softly. “You’re an odd one, Tatara. Your blacksmithing defies reason.”
”Coming from the guy who cuts open dimensions with sword swings, that’s rich.”
He actually smiled at that. “Then what should I request…?”
I thought aloud. “How about a blade that wards off misfortune?”
”Ah, the dagger from before — the one that saved me. Fitting, then.”
”Right. It’s simple — just forge with the intent of protecting the wielder.”
”…But isn’t such a concept supposed to awaken only with time?”
”At this point, are you really surprised by anything I do?”
Sighing, I began preparations for Yaku-kiri, the misfortune-cleaving dagger. The forge hummed, mana pressure thickening the air.
”So this equipment alone can forge a conceptual weapon,” the Demon Lord noted, impressed.
”Could before, too,” I said. “The leyline feed just makes it easier.”
”…Tatara,” he said, tone uncertain, “I’m at a loss for words for moments like this.”
”Apparently, in Whirlwind, they just call it ‘Tatara-ing’ when I do something baffling.”
”…I see. You are indeed ‘Tatara-ing.’”
”You’re really using that now?”
Despite my sigh, I focused. I imagined his greatsword — condensed the shape into dagger form — and began forging. I wanted it to resemble his own weapon, both in design and intent. Maybe it was foolish, but I genuinely wanted to protect this Demon Lord. Somewhere along the way, I’d started to think of him as a friend.
Sparks filled the forge. The blade took shape.
An hour later, it was done — the dagger Yaku-kiri. I finished the mountings, polished the edge, and presented it to him.
”…Impressive,” he said quietly. “If you can craft something this fine, you truly are a disciple of that divine artisan.”
He studied the dagger, a faint smile curving his lips. I could sense the approval in his aura.
”But… is it truly fine for me to accept this?”
”It’s just mithril,” I said. “I’ve got too much stockpiled anyway. Selling it would wreck the economy, so this is better.”
He sighed. “…Your sense of value is utterly broken.”
Still shaking his head, he slid the dagger into his Inventory, then sliced open space again.
”You’re leaving already?” I asked. “I could at least service your Stormbringer.”
”…So you even know the sword’s name.”
”I know your real name, too,” I said lightly.
He paused. The air stilled.
”Even I’ve long forgotten that name,” he murmured. “You wouldn’t understand it even if I told you.”
”…I see.”
”Then remember it for me,” he said softly. “Please.”
He stepped through the rift and was gone, leaving only the faint hum of fading mana. I sat there for a long moment, holding his words close. My own life might have only twenty years left, but I’d carry that promise until the end.
Notes:
• Dahlia – The automaton.
• Ichika – The fox girl. Kunoichi. Virgincest⚠️, becomes pregnant immediately.
• Yohira – Torakuma’s first name. Oni warrior.
• Calmys – War God’s knight, Mayor’s guard chief, whip-master hiding as a swordswoman; sharp tongue, big-sister vibe to Tatara, grants him and Ethelena church protection.
• Hinagiku – A tengu woman as Ranka’s potential companion. She stays with Tatara’s group after travels. Joins household scenes only. Linked to Ranka by shared gluttony jokes. No direct tie to Tatara beyond cohabitation. Cheerful eater.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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