Chapter 8 – The Grim Reality Tightens Its Grip (2)

–I don’t cling to life with grotesque desperation, like those pathetic Demon Kings of centuries past. You’re intelligent enough to understand why, aren’t you?–

“You achieved everything you wanted in life,” I rasped, struggling to draw breath. “So you have no regrets. No lingering attachments. Humanity’s victory was… a delusion.”

–Precisely, little bird.– She tossed the conjured sword aside, a dismissive flick of the wrist. –I was never defeated. My invasion of the Middle World… it was a success from the very beginning.–

“But humanity stopped you. You died—” A chilling thought occurred to me. “The demons who betrayed you… were they part of your plan all along?”

–A contingency. A way to ensure their survival. A king has a responsibility to her subjects, after all. Even the… disobedient ones. The Middle World is… quite pleasant, actually. Clean air, fresh water… things you humans take for granted.–

Even the betrayal, a calculated move?

–Some of them prefer peace, a quiet life. This world suits them better.–

“……” I stared at her, trying to process the implications.

–You seem confused, little bird. My apologies. I shouldn’t boast in front of a child. How… undignified of me.– Her mock humility was infuriating. And yet, there was a chilling conviction beneath her flippant tone. This wasn’t simply bravado.

–But back to the matter at hand. If you continue to waste your time with their methods, your future will be… bleak. A canvas painted in shades of despair.–

“You’ve certainly… engineered the situation to make me reliant on you.”

–Not at all. Just… stating the obvious. I have no intention of mentoring you, little bird. No contracts, no soul-selling. That ship has sailed.–

“An opportunity…”

–Indeed. And whether you seize it… is entirely up to you.–

–That’s why you need to master those three things: precision, efficiency, sincerity.–

“Precision. Efficiency. Sincerity…”

–All my… boasting… it was to illustrate the first two. Do you understand now?–

Precision and efficiency. Their importance, their necessity.

“And sincerity… what does that mean? Desperation? A burning desire?”

–Those things, yes. But have you ever truly… felt it, Cariel? True sincerity?–

“I…”

–Putting your life on the line. Burning your very soul. Exerting every ounce of your strength. Gritting your teeth and pushing through, even when every fiber of your being screams for you to stop. That’s… a start.–

–It’s about giving everything you have, holding nothing back. Exposing your very essence, for better or worse. Do you understand?–

“Intellectually, yes.”

–That’s enough.– If he couldn’t grasp it with his mind, he would never understand it with his heart. Some acted on pure instinct, but that was fleeting, unreliable. True sincerity… that was something else entirely.

–Whether you can control this, wield it at will… that will determine everything. Your training, your potential, your future.–

“So how do I… achieve it—ah.”

–Quick learner. I like that.– A bright, almost predatory smile. –I won’t tell you. You have to discover it yourself.–

–Start by dying. One hundred times. Sincerely.– Her youthful face was a mask, concealing the Demon King’s cruel amusement. –Don’t worry. You won’t actually die. This is just a dream, after all.–

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I expected arrows. But there was nothing. Just a white void. A small sword on the ground. And me.

I understood. If I hadn’t been quick-witted, my life would be even more miserable. False accusations, slander, endless humiliation… I would have drowned in despair, lost in a swamp of self-loathing.

But a sharp mind was a double-edged sword. It allowed me to anticipate the pain, the injustice, the inevitable disappointment. It was both a weapon and a cage.

Die. One hundred times. Sincerely.

“You’re telling me to… kill myself?” The sword lay there, an invitation, a challenge. The stark simplicity of the task made my hands tremble. In this empty, silent space, I felt utterly and completely alone.

“One hundred times…” It sounded so simple. A small number, really. One hundred apples, one hundred coins… a manageable quantity.

I picked up the sword, my mind racing. But this wasn’t a puzzle to be solved. This was a test. A trial by fire. And the Demon King expected only one answer: unwavering, absolute sincerity.

Sincerity. Earnestness. Desperation.

Was I desperate?

Did I even want to be stronger?

I had, once. But that desire had withered, replaced by a sense of futility. I trained because I was told to, not because I wanted to. There was no joy in it, no sense of accomplishment. Only… emptiness.

“Meaningless…”

It was all meaningless. Effort didn’t guarantee results. Not in my experience. Everyone had told me to try harder, that perseverance would lead to success. They had shouted it, believed it with absolute conviction. And I had believed them, too, until I was left with nothing but despair.

I didn’t know how to be sincere. I had lost my way. My father’s sporadic swordsmanship lessons had only emphasized my lack of a proper foundation. And the world had mocked me for it, for failing to live up to his legacy. Even in his eyes, I was a failure, despite years of effort. I lacked the innate ability to channel mana, my capacity limited, my potential for magic dismissed as negligible.

And what about other talents? A sharp mind? A gift for calculations or strategy? No. I had to claw and scrape for every bit of knowledge, memorizing, repeating, until I finally understood. My theoretical knowledge was adequate, but practical application… that was another matter entirely. Despite dedicating even more time to practice, I had achieved nothing of significance. Swordsmanship, magic, even other physical pursuits… all met with the same disappointing results. My foundation was flawed, and no amount of effort seemed to bridge the gap. Studying, at least, yielded tangible results. But even there… others achieved more with a fraction of the effort.

Why was the world so unfair? Why was I so… inadequate?

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs to their limit. Don’t run away. Don’t wallow in self-pity. The task was simple. Die. One hundred times.

If no one else would kill me… I would kill myself.

I raised the sword, the weight of it strangely comforting. The blade sliced through my skin, a searing pain that made me want to vomit. But the despair of knowing I wouldn’t truly die was even more overwhelming. It hurt. I couldn’t scream. The sound of escaping air, of bubbling blood…

And in that moment of agony and regret, the only thought that crossed my mind was: Next time, I’ll do it cleaner. Such a pathetic, desperate thought.

And yet…

…there was a strange sense of… relief.

–Don’t get too comfortable with that, little bird. Acceptance is just another word for giving up.– The Demon King materialized before me, a mocking smile on her face. –Don’t lose sight of your goal. Who said anything about accepting death? At this rate, you’ll be here for a thousand lifetimes.–

–Don’t lose focus. Remember why you’re doing this. Dig deeper. Burn it into your soul. Think! Use that brain of yours! Ignite your heart and find the answer! Crave it!–

“I don’t need you to tell me!” I reversed my grip on the sword, driving it into my heart. But the release of death didn’t come. The pain was just as excruciating, the despair just as profound.

I know. I knew it better than she did.

A sudden wave of doubt washed over me. Did it really have to be this way? Was this the only path to strength? Did I have to endure this… just to be… seen?

The thought was… strangely depressing.

This… this was exhausting.