28. The Demon King's Arrival

"Are you… an Alderman?"

Dante raised a brow at Taouon's question. A thousand other questions churned in his mind, like splinters under his skin.

Why had Kilamahi been sealed inside him, along with her mana foundation? Who was his mother, Blake's true identity? Why did he possess Kalikrithar, a gift by the unkwon initials D.R., a metal lost to all known worlds?

He exhaled slowly, rain dripping from his jaw.

"No."

His voice was steady despite the chaos around them.

"Honestly, I don't know who I am, and I don't care."

Dante lowered his blade. He turned his gaze from Taouon's battered form, over to Domikhael's motionless body lying in the mud.

His eyes wandered to Diana Ruthwilfer standing among the soldiers, then to Giang, Xilang, Zhurong, the crowds of academy students and teachers, the wounded human generals, the elves, the dragons.

A hollow chuckle escaped his chest. In that moment, he felt more lost than he ever had in any past life.

"Life finds meaning when we give more than we take," he murmured to himself, "and love more than we fear."

He raised his head, eyes half-lidded in weary defiance.

"And right now… I'm just trying to find my peace. Then I'll deal with my demons."

Taouon spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the soaked earth. His breathing was ragged, but something in his expression shifted.

"Though I fought you hand to hand," he rasped, "you look more like a swordsman than a brawler."

Dante cracked a tired smile.

"Is that so? I did train with a sword once. But I prefer to stay open-minded. It pays to know how to use everything at least once."

Their eyes met, and both let out a faint, humorless laugh that vanished into the rain.

Slowly, Taouon lifted one trembling hand, palm open. A silent offer. A last gesture between warriors.

"Become my disciple, Dante. Not as a demon's gift… but as a swordsman's request."

Dante looked at the hand. For a moment, he almost considered it. But then he shook his head gently.

"Even if demons can live a thousand years, humans don't."

Taouon's cracked lips curled in a half-smile.

"Heh. I can make you live longer."

"It's not about my lifespan, Taouon. It's the journey."

Taouon stared at him, taken aback. Then his shoulders sagged. He took a slow breath and drove the tip of his own blade into the ground as if to surrender the last of his malice.

"I suppose… even someone like you values life more than any of us."

Dante gave a faint nod.

"I've got a lot to live for right now."

The rain poured harder, drumming on steel.

For a single heartbeat, there was peace.

Then a metallic clang split the air.

Both men leapt backward, blades raised again. Their swords met with a flash of sparks, then again, each strike heavier than the last.

"Ragh!"

"Raghhh!"

The two bladesmen collided over and over, water cascading off their weapons. But there was no hatred left in their eyes. Only the shared understanding of warriors who had nothing else to give.

Taouon's grin grew wide, almost boyish.

"Hahaha! Come at me, boy! It's been centuries since I faced a worthy swordsm—"

His voice broke off.

Dante's eyes widened in horror. A blade erupted from Taouon's chest, dark blood spraying over the cracked stone.

Taouon's body stiffened, breath shuddering in his lungs. He turned his head over his shoulder.

Behind him stood a figure in armor as red as fresh blood. Her eyes gleamed like burning coals, her black hair plastered to her face by the rain.

She wore war-forged chain blades, but unlike Dante's, hers could fuse into a single greatsword at her command.

"Why… why, Vexira…?"

Taouon's voice was a broken whisper.

Vexira, the Sinner of Wrath herself. The War Demon. His lover.

She pulled the blade free and stepped around to face him, her expression unreadable.

"You failed, Taouon." Her voice was soft, almost tender. "You, Domikhael, and Lustia all failed to bring back the one thing that mattered."

Her crimson eyes locked with his as she raised the sword again.

"The Infinity Mana Foundation."

She thrust the blade into his wound, deeper than before. Taouon gasped, crimson foam bubbling from his lips.

"But be grateful, my love," she whispered, brushing his cheek with gloved fingers. "He is coming. His Majesty… Lord Malric."

A cruel smile spread across her face as her voice turned to a guttural purr.

"Hehehe…"

She pulled the blade free and raised it high to finish him.

Dante moved before he could think, intercepting her strike with a savage swing. Sparks flew as their weapons locked.

Vexira turned her gaze on him with cold amusement.

"Ah… Dante Ruthwilfer. The manaless boy who has the entire demon kingdom whispering his name."

"Who are you?"

She tilted her head back and laughed, a sound like a funeral bell.

"Hahaha… Me? I am Vexira, Sinner of Wrath. Demoness of War."

A swirling vortex of shadows bloomed behind her, the air vibrating with unnatural pressure.

Dante's heart clenched.

A portal.

Not just any portal. A gateway big enough to swallow the entire battlefield. He felt the roar before he heard it—a chorus of howling demons pouring through the breach.

"Kid," Kilamahi's voice spoke in the back of his mind, uneasy for the first time. "I think it's time you let me take over."

Dante said nothing. His eyes swept the landscape.

Beyond Vexira, legions of demons advanced across the broken plain. Charred bodies of their predecessors lay strewn in heaps, an entire army slain during the last battle. But these were new.

Stronger.

Vexira kicked him back and vanished into the portal's swirling darkness.

Dante dragged himself upright and watched as she reappeared atop a massive, scaled shape.

A colossal demonic dragon emerged from the breach, wings spreading wide enough to blot out the sky.

Atop the dragon's shoulders stood a figure in black and crimson armor, arms folded across a broad chest.

Malric.

The Demon King.

Giang's pupils contracted in dread as he spotted the other dragons circling the host.

"These are… the betrayers…"

Xilang turned pale beside him.

"From the first war…"

Diana, Fina, Milan the High Elf, Will, Avabel, Zhurong, Taka, every soldier and student stared as the horizon vanished behind the marching legion.

They were outnumbered a hundred to one.

All hope felt like it was draining from the world itself.

"…Dante…"

Taouon's voice rasped out, hoarse and thin.

Dante did not look back. His eyes flicked across the battlefield, calculating. Left flank. Right flank. High ground. Choke points.

He saw everything.

"Kid, there's not much time," Taouon croaked. "They'll slaughter every race. Even your own kind."

Dante's lips curled into a tired grin.

"Leave it to me. I have a final plan."

"Eh?" Taouon blinked, too weak to rise.

Dante stepped forward. Mana flickered around his fingertips, strained and broken.

"Tch… It's little, but enough…"

With a grunt, he raised his hands. Gigantic slabs of shattered masonry lifted into the air, each one groaning as if the world itself objected.

He set them down in a wall behind him, one by one, sealing the survivors off from the killing ground.

He turned once, catching Lady Diana Ruthwilfer's tearful gaze.

"No…!" she shouted.

He gave her a weary, lopsided smile. A smile that was somehow still warm.

"DANTE!"

She ran forward, but the last slab fell between them with a thunderous crash.

Now it was only him and the Demon King's army.

Malric tilted his head, studying Dante as though he were some curious insect.

"Either he is a fool or simply suicidal," the young king said. His voice was low, unhurried. "To face all of us alone… Even though I am only fifteen, thanks to Vargoras' invention to accelerate my age… I did not expect this from a mere human."

Beside him, Vexira smiled thinly.

"My lord, he is no mere human. That is Dante Ruthwilfer. The same boy Lustia failed to kill nine years ago in the Ruthwilfer ballroom Raid."

Malric's cold eyes narrowed.

"Dante… hm."

He watched as Dante limped forward across the muddy battlefield, every step echoing in the silence. The demon horde shifted restlessly.

Dante stopped and raised his chin, staring them down with a defiant, unbowed gaze.

He drew in a slow breath.

Then he shouted one name into the storm.

"OURATRIX!"

The earth split apart.

A deafening roar erupted as a titanic, metallic serpent exploded out of the ground, coils writhing around Dante like a living fortress.

KIIIEEEGGHHH!

The metallic dragon's body gleamed with scorched plates and cracked scales, but its eyes still burned with life.

Kkrruuurr…

Dante pressed his forehead to its iron muzzle, smiling through the blood on his face.

"You know what to do, my masterpiece."

Kkrrruuu…

"Don't worry, girl. I'll fix you up again. And when this is over, you'll get a new look."

He stepped back, feeling its massive bulk coil protectively around him.

He turned to face the Demon King, his voice iron steady.

"Begin Operation Forty-Five."

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Chapter 28 – End