Demon King of the Royal Class-Chapter 699: Epilogue - The End of the World

After the New Empire enacted a law granting land ownership to farmers who were willing to cultivate lands left barren after the war, groups of pioneers began to leave the cities behind.

There were vast swathes of empty land throughout the New Empire’s territory, uncultivated plains where wild grass swayed in the wind. Quickly, small rural villages popped up, and tentative farmland emerged. These villages were so tiny that city dwellers had no reason to visit them, even though the inhabitants of these villages might visit the cities now and then.

Around Luanda, a city within the New Empire’s territory, small villages began to sprout like mushrooms after a rainstorm, as residents sustained themselves by consuming their own crops and selling any surplus in Luanda. The city was situated at the southwestern edge of the continent, which was a safe zone but was neither a strategic location nor a bustling hub. As such, it remained largely ignored by the Empire.

In one such unnamed village on the outskirts of Luanda, there was a stranger.

He was more of a wanderer than a guest. He had been staying for quite some time in an abandoned barn, left empty since the village’s only cow had died. Leaning against the barn wall amidst rotting straw, he lay motionless, as if lifeless.

—Hey, mister!

A girl with long, curly brown hair came running toward the man.

He slowly lifted his head, as if he were a weary old tree, to see who was calling him.

The girl stopped in front of him and held something out in her hand.

“Mister, you haven’t eaten, have you?”

He remained silent.

“Here, eat this. My mom told me to bring it to you.”

In her hand were three cold boiled potatoes.

She claimed her mother had told her to bring them, but it was probably a lie. No village welcomes a wandering stranger.

The man stared blankly at the girl before taking one of the potatoes and biting into it.

“Here, I brought water too,” she offered.

He took a bite of the potato.

Then a sip of water.

The man performed these actions slowly and deliberately, as if they were part of a ritual.

The girl watched, captivated by the way he ate the potato and drank the water.

Draped in a cloak that was little more than a rag, the man used only his left hand.

His empty right shoulder, concealed beneath the tattered cloak, told its own story.

The man had no right arm.

***

The girl waited patiently as the man slowly ate the three potatoes, savoring each bite.

“Thank you,” he said.

With a bright smile, the girl took the empty water bottle from him.

From a distance, people carrying farming tools glanced at the man in the barn and the girl chatting with him, shaking their heads and clicking their tongues.

—Oh dear... Tsk. Sandy never listens, no matter how much we tell her.

—Maybe we should have a serious talk with her mom.

—Do you think she’d listen to anything we say?

—Probably not, but still...

The villagers’ whispers drifted to both the man and the girl.

“Don’t pay them any mind,” the girl said. “Adults are just afraid of strangers, that’s all.”

“... I guess you’re right,” the man replied, surprised by the young girl’s maturity.

The adults’ unease was understandable. It was Sandy who had discovered him, a mysterious vagabond, missing an arm, lying in the street. She had screamed for help, and they had brought him to the village.

Despite the villagers’ many questions, he remained silent about his past.

He moved slowly, like a man on the brink of death—or perhaps one already gone—with eyes that seemed to look through everything. There was something unsettling about him, as if he carried a terrible affliction.

It was curious that Sandy willingly approached such a foreboding figure. The village wasn’t cruel enough to drive him away outright, but no one dared to get too close.

After regaining consciousness in Sandy’s house, the vagabond had quietly relocated himself to the village’s abandoned barn at the polite request of Sandy’s mother. There, he sat in silence all day.

Since then, he had survived on potatoes, sweet potatoes, and bits of bread that Sandy secretly brought him, while the villagers cast wary glances at him as he sat motionless in the barn’s corner.

‘Is he planning to stay here forever?’

He barely moved all day. If it weren’t for Sandy, no one would have visited him, and passersby often wondered if he had died while sitting there.

Sandy was indeed peculiar. The other children in the village kept their distance from the ominous vagabond, and rumors that circulated about the village suggested he was either a ghost or a demon that fed on spirits. Yet despite being scolded by the adults and warned by her peers, Sandy continued to care for the vagabond.

About two weeks had passed since he had taken refuge in the village’s barn. The villagers’ patience was wearing thin, and they hoped he would leave soon. Of course, Sandy paid no mind to such concerns.

The vagabond, whom people suspected was mute, had begun to speak, albeit briefly, only to Sandy. Sandy smiled as she watched the once-silent vagabond after he finished his meal.

“Mister, did you know?”

“...”

“This barn smells just like it did when we used to keep cows here.”

“...”

“It stinks, even though we don’t have cows anymore.”

To no one’s surprise, the man, who looked like a ghost with his tangled hair and scruffy beard, gave off an unpleasant odor. Indeed, the barn where he had taken up residence had started to smell just like it did back when it housed cows.

“I suppose so,” he finally replied.

Sandy’s eyes widened at his simple response.

“... I meant you should wash up,” she said.

“...”

“There’s a stream nearby.”

The man didn’t react to Sandy’s suggestion.

Sandy had come to realize that the man’s hearing was nearly gone. Whenever Sandy spoke, the man would nod or shake his head, without fully grasping her meaning. And it wasn’t just his hearing that was affected. Sandy had noticed that most of the man’s senses seemed dulled, though the villagers were unaware of this.

It wasn’t just that he was missing an arm. The missing arm was the most obvious sign, but his entire body seemed ravaged by illness.

Sandy took hold of the man’s remaining arm without saying a word. Just because he couldn’t understand, it didn’t mean they couldn’t communicate.

“Come on. I’ll help you wash.”

“...”

With a firm tug from Sandy, the man slowly, yet inevitably, rose to his feet.

It wasn’t Sandy’s strength that lifted him; he simply had no other choice.

Though the man appeared suspicious, silent, and foreboding, anyone who observed him long enough would realize he was the best listener around.

Sandy knew.

***

Sandy was already considered an oddball in the village. She had a knack for going to places she was warned against, doing things she was advised not to, and stubbornly refusing to do what she was told she had to. She was a contrarian child through and through.

The village children shuddered at the mere mention of Sandy’s name, having been the victims of her countless tricks and pranks from a very young age.

It was Sandy who had discovered the man collapsed by the roadside, screamed for the entire village, and insisted on bringing him into her home. Her parents had long since resigned themselves to her peculiar antics. But wasn’t this all a bit too dangerous this time around?

Even so, Sandy had taken it upon herself to care for a vagabond who seemed undeniably dangerous, even if she couldn’t quite explain why. Everyone tried to dissuade her, but as always, Sandy was even more determined to help the vagabond precisely because they told her not to.

Eventually, Sandy even dragged the vagabond to the stream to wash him. He offered no resistance, allowing her to handle him like an inanimate object. She lathered his rough hair with soap and scrubbed his face and beard with determination.

It was as if a small mother were tending to a large, helpless child.

“Take off your clothes,” she instructed.

The vagabond remained silent.

Just as Sandy attempted to undress him, a villager happened upon the scene and, misunderstanding the situation, intervened to stop her.

“Why can’t you wash yourself? How can you stand having a child take care of you?” the villager scolded him.

“... I see,” the vagabond replied simply.

“What a creepy fellow,” the village woman muttered.

“Please, miss, don’t!” Sandy protested.

Despite her initial irritation, the woman couldn’t bring herself to scold Sandy any further and eventually walked away.

The next day, Sandy spotted the man again. This time, he was wearing clean clothes, though he still appeared somewhat unkempt.

***

By the following morning, the man had washed and dried all his clothes, which were now hanging neatly against the barn wall.

“You did it all yourself?” Sandy asked, surprised.

“... Yes,” he replied quietly.

Sandy gave a subtle smile at his brief response and playfully ruffled his hair.

“Good job, mister. You can wash yourself now.”

He remained silent.

“I was just teasing you,” she added, trying to lighten the mood.

Still, he said nothing.

“I can’t tell if you can hear me or not,” Sandy admitted, puzzled by his silence.

She couldn’t quite figure out what was going on in his mind. He had managed to wash his clothes and himself sometime during the night, as the foul odor that once clung to him had vanished. Yet, his clothes were still old and worn, and his hair and beard were still unkempt.

Sandy had brought some thinly baked bread that day.

“My mom... Please don’t be too hard on her. She’s just scared.”

“...”

“She knows I bring you food. She always makes enough for you too, whether it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”

“... I see.”

Despite her distrust and dislike of him, there was a part of her that couldn’t help but care. And though the villagers were appalled by Sandy’s peculiar behavior and disliked and feared the unknown vagabond, the thought of leaving him to starve was pitiful.

Knowing her daughter would surely give her own portion of food to the vagabond, Sandy’s mother reluctantly prepared extra food for Sandy to take to him.

The villagers wanted the vagabond gone, but they didn’t want him to die in their village. Thus, despite their fear of the vagabond and their disapproval of Sandy’s actions, they couldn’t help but admire her. They realized that Sandy, whom they had dismissed as a reckless troublemaker, had a kind and gentle side.

Sandy hadn’t just brought bread.

Suddenly, she pulled a knife from her pocket.

“Mister, stick out your chin,” she said, waving the knife with wide eyes.

“...”

“I’ll shave that unsightly beard for you.”

The man, neither frightened nor flustered, simply looked at Sandy with his cloudy eyes.

“I’ve watched my dad do this a lot, so maybe I’ll be good at it too,” Sandy mused.

She gently lifted the man’s chin and brought the knife close to his face.

He stayed silent and still.

Scrape... Scrape...

“Am I doing this right?” she wondered aloud, tilting her head in concentration as she awkwardly attempted to shave him.

The man showed no reaction, either indifferent or perhaps too numb to care.

“Oh, wow... it seems to be working,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

It was her first time shaving anyone, and the knife she used wasn’t designed for the task. Therefore, it was inevitable that things would get awkward.

As Sandy leaned in close to shave the man, her fingers brushed against his chin and neck. That’s when she noticed something unusual.

“... Hmm?”

There was something hanging around his neck, concealed beneath his clothes. It was a delicate silver chain, on which hung a ring with a crimson jewel at its center.

It was obvious at first glance that this wasn’t just any ordinary jewel. The crimson hue inside seemed to swirl like a vortex.

“Mister... What is this...?”

Sandy reached out, her curious fingers drawing closer toward the necklace.

Snap!

“Ahh!”

The man, who usually moved as slowly as a turtle, suddenly seized Sandy’s wrist with surprising force. His once unfocused eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that took her aback.

“Don’t touch it.”

The warning was firm, almost commanding, and Sandy found herself nodding without thinking.

“Uh, uh... Okay.”

There was such gravity behind his words that even Sandy, who typically defied instructions just for the thrill of it, couldn’t help but comply.

The man discreetly tucked the crimson-jeweled necklace back into his clothes.

Sandy, still feeling a bit dazed, continued shaving the silent man’s beard. Her hands were unsteady.

—Hey! What are you doing?

A villager, misunderstanding the scene as she saw Sandy holding a knife to the man’s neck, shouted in alarm.

Startled, Sandy slipped and accidentally nicked the man’s cheek.

“Oh, oh! M-mister,” she stammered. “I’m sorry...”

“...”

“Miss! You startled me!” said Sandy to the new arrival.

“Sandy! What are you doing with that knife? Stop it!”

Even though his cheek was cut and bleeding, the man seemed unfazed, staring blankly into space.

In the end, Sandy had to call an old woman from the village to disinfect and bandage the vagabond’s cheek. She also used the knife to give his excessively wild and frizzy long hair a rough trim.

“Hmm...”

Sandy studied the man whose beard she had roughly shaved and whose hair she had just trimmed.

“... Maybe you’re not a mister but a big brother...?”

She stared intently at his face, utterly captivated. Yet, something else intrigued her even more. Despite his sensitivity and startling reaction to any disturbance or attempted disturbance to his necklace, he seemed indifferent to the wounds on his body.

Sandy’s curiosity deepened. What could that necklace be? A man with nothing else but a necklace that looked mysterious and precious at first glance...

“Mister, is that necklace some kind of great treasure or something?”

The man slowly shifted his gaze to meet Sandy’s eyes.

“... No.”

He didn’t entirely dismiss her question.

“It’s not a treasure at all.”

The man closed his eyes, resting against the barn’s wooden wall. “But it’s more important than anything else in the world.”

It was the longest response Sandy had ever heard from him.

The most important thing in the world... Yet he claimed it wasn’t a treasure.

Sandy struggled to understand. How could something so important not be a treasure? Why was it so important if it wasn’t a treasure?

Sandy smiled mischievously, a hint of impudence in her eyes.

“How does someone like you end up with the most important thing in the world?”

How did a dying vagabond on the street come to possess such a thing?

Sandy, who had been tending to him, felt she had the right to tease him a little.

At her words, the man lifted his blank gaze toward the sky.

“... I don’t know either,” he finally replied.

He wore a faint, bitter smile.

Sandy often felt that he was truly a peculiar person while she cared for him. She gently patted his head, sensing a sadness in him.

***

Swoosh...

On a day when the rain poured from the sky so heavily it felt as if the whole world might drown, a fierce and dreadful battle unfolded, unseen by mortal eyes.

“For such an ancient creature, this is a fitting end...” mused the final monster, its heart finally pierced by a golden spear.

It found satisfaction in its demise.

“To think I’d die, pierced through the heart by the last of the five holy relics, in the only era when all five appeared together... What an undeservedly fitting end this is.”

Ludwig looked on, his eyes wide, as the monster, content in its death, began to fade.

In its final moments, the old creature broke open its own chest and retrieved something, a smile still lingering on its face.

“Young man... If you truly wish to become a hero... You must take this... If left unchecked, it will destroy the world... But if you bear it, it will only destroy you. As long as you do not perish, as long as you endure...

“The holy relic of courage... It grants the power to stand against anything. Only that relic will do. It will give you the strength to endure this, but it will never give you the power to surpass it. Perhaps, for the rest of your life... Bearing it will be your glory, and also your destruction...

“Who knows. You might find a way to completely destroy it... But such a day will probably never come.”

The monster’s voice began to fade. “Owner of the last holy relic, Apostle of Courage, you have won... But because you have won, you must bear this eternal destruction... Carrying the burden of sins committed by others, not yourself, for your entire life.

“That is your fate... Yet no one will remember you... How sorrowfully joyful, glorious yet miserable is your end...”

The final monster, seemingly satisfied, vanished into the rain.

He had no choice but to pick up the crimson jewel left at the spot where it had perished, unaware of its true nature. The instant his fingers closed about it, he instinctively understood all that had been said.

It was his fate to carry it for the rest of his life.

He had won. Yet he was acutely aware that victory came with a cost.

From that moment on, every day for him had been a living hell.