Cecilios Alexander Maximilian VII was a truly repulsive man.

His green eyes and blond hair may, perhaps, have looked handsome on someone else. But this man was dressed in clothing even the Goblin King would have called excessive, to the point where he was absolutely covered in gold. With his every movement, his necklaces clattered against one another, and more sweat rolled down them onto the ground. On his head was a gorgeous, jewel-encrusted crown.

But it was not only his poor sense of fashion that made him repulsive. One could tell at a glance that his eating habits could likely feed several families, and he was constantly covered in sweat. In addition, he made no attempt to cover his scent, and his eyes were just a slight bit too far apart.

If one were to compare him to an animal, a toad would be most apt.

This toad of a man, who happened to be the king of the Holy Astal Kingdom, was currently sitting on his throne, an impatient glower on his face.

“Explain this to me, at once,” he said. It was clear he was trying to feign calm, and it was clear he was very bad at that.

The man he addressed—the pope himself, awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “I, uh… I am terribly sorry, Your Majesty. All the Heroes we sent into the Great Borm Forest, save two, were defeated and killed.”

In actual fact, one of them was imprisoned, but given no one had gone corpse-collecting in enemy territory, the pope was not aware.

“I know that!” Cecilios bellowed, summoning up a voice befitting of his size. “What I’m asking is why! What happened?! What kind of monstrosity could possibly be out there that could kill two hundred and fifty Heroes?! Are they not Lady Luciel’s chosen warriors?!” His shouting caused a rain of spittle, so the people standing before him were rather grateful they were not allowed close. “Or do you mean to tell me you are at fault?” he continued, turning a gaze full of blame to someone else.

The royal knight commander, in charge of training the Heroes.

Muscular and towering as he was, he still looked away at Cecilios’s wrath. “I, uh,” he said, opting to begin his sentence the same as the pope’s. He remained silent for at least ten seconds, building confidence, before-

“I do not believe it would have been possible for me to train the Heroes to be stronger!” he said, pushing his face into the carpet.

Cecilios somehow managed to raise his hand to his face and heaved a sigh, before turning to yet another person. The Hero called Reynald, blessed with the job Holy Swordsman and the wielder of the god-sword, Claiomh Solais.

In addition, one of the two survivors of the attack.

Incidentally, the other survivor was behind him, her face hidden from Cecilios’s view.

“Then, you,” Cecilios said, “explain what happened! What did you fight out there?”

Reynald’s face cramped up as he recalled what happened, and he spent a few seconds looking for the right words. He eventually found a good way to start.

“Well, for one,” he said, “the Goblinoids were a lot more… coordinated than we’d expected. They had walls, and traps, and proper weaponry, and tactics.”

Cecilios tilted his head to the side in confusion. “But surely, with that holy sword, you should have been able to kill any mere Goblinoid. Even a sixth grade monster should have posed no threat.”

“Certainly, if they had only been backed from the shadows, we would still have won… but the mastermind intervened directly, too. He kept us busy.”

“The mastermind?”

To ease his explanation, Reynald decided to start from a completely different angle.

“Your Majesty, you are aware what video games are, yes?”

Faintly, Cecilios nodded. Other Heroes had told him of their entertainment, ‘vidyo gaemes’, which were often remarkably similar to this world.

“In many of these, at the end of the story, you fight the strongest enemy in the game—if you beat it, you’ve won. It marks the end of your journey, and if you can’t beat it, you can’t win. This is a “final boss”.”

Again, Cecilios faintly nodded. His rage was unabated.

“Generally, you can barely beat them even if you’ve prepared as much as you can. If the game’s setting were this world, the final boss would probably be… Entropy, incarnation of malice, or a direct subordinate of hers.”

It appeared Reynald was severely underestimating Entropy, since he was comparing her to “an existence he would have to defeat”.

Cecilios nodded once more, his face a little paler than before. Reynald thought he had started to sweat a little more, too, but it was hard to tell.

“The mastermind and his lackeys… Judging from the mana, he was final boss-class, and the other four together were, too.”

“It was like facing two final bosses at once,” Ebstrea said, still resolutely hiding her face behind his back.

The reason she was hiding her face was simple. She was about to burst into laughter, and that would surely have her executed.

It seemed Cecilios did not fit her image of a king at all.

“About these monsters,” Cecilios said, trailing off.

“Ah, yes,” Reynald said, picking up on the king’s intentions. “For one, there was a girl who I think was a dragon. She looked young, but the pressure was…”

“There was a vampire, too,” Ebstrea said, shuddering. “I think she had more mana than me, though…”

“The girl who had beef with Yxon was a darkness-attribute Devil, I think. She had horns, and she was purple, after all…”

“The woman in the witch hat was a witch, right? And she had more mana than me, too…”

Ebstrea dropped her arms powerlessly to the side. It appeared the unfortunate encounter had wounded her pride as a mage.

Reynald subconsciously grimaced as the face of the last monster came to mind. “And then there was that guy.”

“Did you hear what Yxon said about him?” Ebstrea asked, a similar grimace on her face.

“No, I was too busy fighting the guy, and I don’t even remember most of that.”

“He basically compared him to a Royal Knight.”

“Wh- You mean World End Online’s Royal Knights?”

It seemed the two had an MMO in common, back on earth. Ebstrea nodded, a grim look in her eyes.

“I presume these are different from our royal knights?” Cecilios asked, gesturing to the rows of knights lined up in the room.

“Unfortunately so,” Ebstrea said, nodding.

The two Heroes proceeded to lay out a quick explanation of the concept of a rule-enforcing NPC in an MMO.

Somewhere halfway through, the king looked puzzled, but didn’t say anything.

Reynald restrained a sigh. “Say we take a martial arts tournament. It would be unfair if someone simply bought their way to the finals, right?”

Cecilios nodded strongly. It seemed he had a talent for understanding only things he was personally vested in. Behind him, a young man with his hair and eye colours silently struck an expression of grief.

The Heroes continued their explanation until Cecilios understood.

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“In other words,” Cecilios said, clearly sweating more than usual, “the Barrier Hero compared that monster to an unbeatable existence…”

Reynald nodded. “Frankly, I’m not sure we could win without Lady Luciel’s direct help.”

Although Cecilios opened his mouth to speak once more, he was interrupted by a voice originating from just behind Reynald. «If I may, I have something I should say.»

A number of people looked at Reynald, startled. Interrupting the king was a grave offense.

Quickly, he shook his head sideways and pointed behind him. “The sword, the sword.”

Ebstrea was the first to react, and tilted her head. “The sword talks? Is it that kind of setting?”

“I only found out when I was up against him,” Reynald said, averting his gaze.

«Ahem. As the user said, I am the god-sword, Claiomh Solais.»

The pope swiftly got onto his knees in a position of prayer.

«There is no particular need to bow to me,» the sword said, though its voice did not sound displeased. «I am only a fragment of a god.»

“More importantly,” Reynald said, “about what you were saying…”

«Yes. Madam Ebstrea, I would like you to think back to your brief conversation with the man.»

“Hm? My conversation with him?”

«Yes. I do not mean to shame you for showing respect to such a powerful foe, but… I would like you to recall the form of address you used.»

“Uh… ‘Demon Lord’?”

«That is what he said, yes, but the conversation around it…»

Ebstrea paled as she recalled the conversation she had had with the man. “I called him demon king, and he said ‘not yet’...”

The pope rose to his feet and grasped Ebstrea’s shoulders. “Did you just say ‘demon king’?! Ah, misfortune is upon us…”

Gently, Ebstrea removed the pope’s hands from her shoulders.

«That said, I do not believe he is unreasonable, nor that his objective was anyone’s death. Instead, I believe his goal was likely… a theft.»

As if choreographed, everyone tilted their heads in unison.

«He possessed the Aspect of Protection.»

The pope, this time, grasped Reynald’s shoulders. “That belongs to Lady Theliel! How, how could he-?!”

«Calm down. The user is a good match, so if you harm him, I will be forced to retaliate.»

Reynald shook his head. “In other words, he was responsible for Lady Theliel’s disappearance, and now he’s gotten Guriel, too…”

A bleak atmosphere, thick enough to be cut with a knife, hung across the throne room.

***

In a certain location.

No matter which way one looked, they were greeted by gentle golden light. There was no floor, walls or even a ceiling, and the emptiness stretched infinitely in every direction.

In that location was one particular person.

Several times in a row, she shouted curses and profanities this way and that.

“He withstood my divine punishment… What the hell is that pushover goddess doing?!”

These were words she could never let her believers hear. Fortunately, she was alone.

“Wait… I don’t think he ever got rid of his Azalyth, did he? Then all I need to do is wait…”

Like such, a certain goddess hatched a plan undeserving of words such as “good”, “just” or “heroic”.

***

At the border of the nation called Eskaria, there was a pair of figures who truly did not belong there.

Although it was called a border, it was not as though it was guarded all around. There were regularly placed border forts, and occasional border patrols, but other than that, the only way to recognise the border was to see where the grass went from a healthy green to a miasma-infected purple.

This pair of figures was a pair of children. A boy and a girl, roughly the same height. The two were dressed in expensive-looking ceremonial garb, and had eyes like a dead fish. The boy carried what appeared to be a magical bag, likely filled with food and drink.

The boy had ruffled, short black hair, and, notably, on his head sat two large triangular ears. From his lower back extended a black fox-like tail, which drooped low to the ground. He was clearly a fennec beast-person.

The girl’s hair, also black but significantly longer, was unusually clean and pretty for someone who’d been on a journey for perhaps a week. Her skin, smooth and soft, was in a similar state. From either side of her head sprouted both a horn and an ear like a sheep’s, and a short tail rested on her lower back. She was a rare hybrid, and she was part sheep and part ram.

As they crossed what could very well be called a border of life and death, they shuddered without their conscious input. It seemed that despite their eyes, the eyes of one who’s given up, their bodies had not lost their survival instincts.

“I guess we’ll reach the castle soon, huh, sis,” the boy said, his tail dropping further to the ground.

“I hope mister demon king likes us.” The girl clutched her hands in front of her chest, as though praying.

“Me too. Who knows what’d happen to the village…”

“It’ll be alright! Mister demon king’ll like us, and then he’ll spare the village! We were chosen, right?”

The girl’s comforting words were interrupted by a curious gaze. The two of them looked over at its source.

“Who are ya supposed ta be?”

The horns on his head marked this person as a devil, and his red skin meant he was likely of the fire attribute. He floated casually in the air. His diminutive size meant he was likely an Imp.

Startled, the girl took a step back. The boy spoke in her place. “Mister demon, could you read this for us?” he said, taking a letter out of the magical bag slung around his shoulder.

The Imp accepted it and looked at it for a few seconds. “Lad, lassie, this is written in High Kobold. I don’t know High Kobold, I’m a bloody Imp. Sorry.”

The girl looked heartbroken.

That said, her expression had not changed at all—it was simply that her dead fish eyes gave the Imp that kind of expression.

“Ah, but, uh, lassie,” the Imp said, “I have a few friends in a Kobold pack who hunt not too far from ‘ere. I’m sure they could read it for ya.”

“No, we know what it says,” the girl said, shaking her head. “But we need someone to read that, or we won’t be allowed in. The chief said so.”

“ ‘s a visa, then? Then ya’ve got the wrong person in the first place. Ya should show it ta a patrol guard. I’m sure a Living Armour’ll show up soon enough… By the way, what’re ya doin’ out here? Ya don’t often see the races a’ mankind out here.”

“Ah,” the girl said, “we’re sacrifices.”

“... Sacrifices?”

The boy nodded his head and looked at the ground. “... To the demon king.”

The Imp realised at this moment that, perhaps, he shouldn’t wait for a border patrol to arrive.