Noir Giabella reminisced.
The first time she laid eyes on him was during the war era of three hundred years ago. Noir had already been crowned the Queen of the Night Demons long before the war erupted. It was a title she maintained even throughout the tumult of war.
In fact, she solidified her position even further. Through countless events during the era of war, the name of the Queen of the Night Demons became synonymous with horrific nightmares among humans.
Night Demons weren't particularly powerful as a race. They possessed only a few skills. While high-ranking Night Demons might have boasted a variety of talents, the majority of Night Demons only possessed a single skill: the ability to delve into dreams. Furthermore, lower-ranking Night Demons couldn’t even lead their prey to sleep at will. As such, they resorted to using alcohol, drugs, or even their bodies to extract life-force from their targets.
But the queen, Noir Giabella, was different.
She became a symbol of fear and a living nightmare. Despite being from the relatively unimpressive race of Night Demons, she amassed power rivaling that of the Demon Kings. No one could overlook Noir. Her ascension had elevated the status of the Night Demons as a race.
Those times had been exhilarating and fulfilling. She reveled freely, indulging in both demonic instincts and the unique desires of a Night Demon. She toyed with hundreds, thousands, millions of dreams and crushed human lives as if they were mere weeds or insects.
Weeds? Insects?
This wasn't just a metaphor. For Noir, it was a reality.
Most humans didn’t live past a hundred years, and lifespans were even shorter during wartime. Even those who lived longer only lasted a few extra decades. To Noir, who had lived hundreds of times longer than ordinary humans, humans were a frail, insignificant race filled with flaws.However, they weren’t completely devoid of merits. Noir was fully aware of humans' necessity. While it was still possible to extract life-force from demons or other races, humans made excellent prey.
They were numerous, perpetually in mating season, hence high in reproduction rate, intelligent enough for conversation, quick to learn when taught, allowing for a variety of dreams to be crafted, and even rapidly recovered their life-force.
Such was her awareness of humans.
Equals? She never entertained the thought. The only merits she considered were those of prey. She didn't despise humans. On the contrary, she found them appealing. At most, she considered them cute.
Such were the creatures known as humans. They were trivial.
How could they possibly wage war against demons?
Still, exceptional humans did exist.
As humans weren’t restricted by mating seasons, allowing for constant reproduction, their sheer numbers occasionally allowed them to produce exceptional individuals deviating from the norm of their race.
Three hundred years ago, five such exceptional humans existed.
There was the first Hero since the founder of Yuras to wield the holy sword Altair, Vermouth Lionheart.
The future chief of the Bayar Tribe, known among the northern barbarians for their belligerence, Molon Ruhr.
The most distinguished among all the chosen Saints of Light, Anise Slywood.
An Archwizard raised alongside the elves of the Great Forest, despite being human, Sienna Merdein.
A mercenary notorious on the battlefield for both fame and infamy, Hamel Dynas.
At first, they bore no grand titles. But after the fifth-ranked Demon King, the Demon King of Carnage, fell by their hands, each of their names was suffixed with terrifying and grandiose adjectives.
Vermouth of Despair.
Molon of Terror.
Anise of Hell.
Sienna of Calamity.
Hamel of Extermination.
Naturally, Noir heard of them and their exploits. Her interest was piqued, especially since she was among the demons who had a fondness for humans. She even considered allocating a vast tract of land for humans in her eventual grand dominion once the war ended.
She wished to see them immediately. Special humans, after all, had a taste just as exceptional. But the opportunity was not forthcoming. The war was in full swing, Helmuth was vast, and the battlefields chosen by Noir did not intersect with the paths of these heroes.
Yet, bit by bit, their paths did overlap. Given that the war stretched over a decade, it was inevitable. The Demon King of Carnage, the Demon King of Cruelty, and the Demon Kind of Fury fell over time. Only two Demon Kings remained in the vast Helmuth, and since the Demon King of Destruction wandered the land without establishing a domain, only the Demon King of Incarceration and his dominion had remained standing.
The lands of the fallen Demon Kings were conquered by humans, and it caused the territories of the demons to recede.
But the war had not ended. A great army loyal to the Demon King of Incarceration remained robust and standing, and the lands behind the domain of Pandemonium were not yet trodden by human feet.
All ambitions had converged towards Pandemonium. Many humans who survived the battles in Helmuth headed towards Pandemonium. Even boys from the continent, who were mere children at the war's onset, now took up arms as young men and marched towards Pandemonium.
Noir, too, shifted her battlefield.
She made no pact with the Demon King of Incarceration. Such contracts, she thought, were but shackles. They bound one to serve under a Demon King for a lifetime, a prospect she did not desire.
Though she made no pact, she struck a deal. She was allowed to reign over a certain area of Pandemonium. She was granted the right to hunt in exchange for her service under the Demon King of Incarceration. Furthermore, she was promised a title once the war ended, in return for her contributions.
But she harbored no greater ambition. She had amassed significant power during the prolonged war, enough to perhaps challenge the throne of a Demon King. Could she overthrow the Demon King of Incarceration? She had briefly entertained the thought before laughing it off.
“I don’t even want such a thing in the first place,” Noir declared.
What was greed, really? Noir pondered. It was to desire something. But understanding greed was difficult for her.
She had obtained everything she ever wanted without effort. Simply wanting something was enough for her to possess it. Even if what she obtained was just an illusion, the illusions she crafted were indistinguishable from reality.
What did she desire?
The throne of a Demon King? The position of the Great Demon King? The lands of the Demon King of Incarceration? She recognized their significance but felt no greed for them. What Noir Giabella desired was….
“What is it?” she asked herself as her desires and aspirations remained an enigma, even to herself.
But when she first saw him, she came to understand things she hadn't been able to grasp before with startling clarity.
Hamel Dynas.
Hamel of Extermination.
He was... special. The unique feeling she felt for him was something Noir had not expected.
After all, who was the most special out of the five, the Hero or his companions? If a hundred people were asked this question, everyone would give the same answer. The most special among the five was the Hero, Vermouth Lionheart.
But not to Noir.
Of course, Vermouth was special. Molon, Sienna, Anise, they were all special. But not as much as Hamel. The uniqueness of the other four did not impress Noir as much as Hamel's did.
The memory was still vivid in Noir’s mind.
When she first ambushed them, Noir was confident in her power but did not underestimate her enemies. After all, they were heroes who represented the human race. Moreover, they had already defeated three Demon Kings. In the first place, as a race, Night Demons did not specialize in direct confrontation. As such, Noir decided to fight them in a manner befitting a Night Demon.
She delved into the dreams of the five.
"Ah."
She was greeted with intense emotions. There was a depth so profound that its bottom was unknown, a relentless pounding that seemed endless. There was a thick scent of blood. Metal clashed against metal in a deadly dance, slicing through flesh and bone and delving into innards, accompanied by the final throes, groans, screams, and a mix of emotions, evidencing one's life by killing others, unbearable heat, ecstasy, and delirium.
Then there was the will to kill.
It was a simple, unmatched will to kill. It was an emotion so intense and vast that its depth was unfathomable. Noir had never felt such intense feelings in any human before.
She could never forget the chill of that moment. Never before had she imagined her own death, but in that instant, Noir grasped the meaning of death for the first time. Despite experiencing it once, Noir could not recreate the chill of that moment or the eventual death it signified.
Hamel was special.
He allowed Noir to become aware of desires and cravings she had never consciously acknowledged. He drew her gaze because he was special.
She became obsessed.
She longed for him to etch into her something she had never known. She hoped that just as she found him special, he, too, would find her special. She wished for it. She wished that they would regard each other as someone special and that they would each long for something.
"Do we really need to do this?"
"Ha-ha, why would you say that now?"
"Even if it’s not this... maybe there's something else... something different we could have."
"Do you regret it?"
"What about you?”
“I am regretting it. Perhaps... you've penetrated into me too deeply."
"....."
"You feel the same, don't you?"
If he shed tears of regret and resentment, she would wipe the corners of his eyes and cheeks with blood-stained hands.
She would say something cliched like, "I will never forget you in my lifetime.”
If she were to die by his hand, that too would be ecstatic and joyful.
If she were to kill him, she could live the rest of her life cherishing him as a memory while harboring a sense of loss.
Either way was fine. Both would be special experiences that life would not offer again.
That desire and craving belong to Noir Giabella, the Queen of the Night Demons.
— God.
She was a Duke of Helmuth, the ruler of Dreamea and Giabella City.
Emotions.
Desires.
Cravings.
All of it naturally belonged to Noir Giabella. It had never been otherwise. Yet now, it was becoming not so.
Her subjectivity was wavering. Something else was mixing in.
— My Lord.
She ruled a nation, invaded neighboring countries, and offered everything she had seized as a sacrifice to challenge the throne of a malevolent deity.
— You have taken everything from me in the past. I was on the brink of becoming a myth, but I was brought to ruin by you.
She was the God of War's Saintess.
— My Lord. I hated you. I longed for revenge. You took my hatred and desire for vengeance as mere entertainment. You looked forward to the day I would take my revenge on you.
In a time past, she was known as the Twilight Witch.
— Now, everything feels futile.
This wasn’t the life of Noir Giabella but that of the War God's Saintess, the Twilight Witch. She remembered its end, even though she didn't want to remember a life that wasn't hers. They were memories she didn't want to recall.
But the memories surfaced on their own and threw her mind into disarray. Despite repeatedly interrupting her thoughts by digging her fingers into her brain, every time the severed thoughts connected, she was greeted with unwanted memories and accompanying emotions.
The battlefield.
She saw a vast battlefield littered with the corpses of monsters and humans. Destruction approached her.
She saw the crimson divine power.
— I am ashamed to show you my disfigured face.
She had caressed her lips with her fingers. Her face was torn to shreds; she didn't want to show it. She always wanted to show him only her seductive and beautiful side. With her only remaining eye barely functioning, she couldn't see his face clearly.
Even as the end approached, she couldn't properly see his face.
She couldn't live her last moments beautifully.
— You're just as beautiful as ever.
You told me, you said I was beautiful.
Just like always.
— My Lord.
I planned to betray you. Someday, definitely someday. I could have done it at any time. I became your Saintess to bring about your eventual fall. I would become a Saintess who betrays her god and offers the faithful as sacrifices. Such acts have their own significance.
— Now, at our end, I refuse your will. I will not flee. My god, I will not witness your death before mine.
I couldn't betray you. I didn't want to become your enemy. You took me in as entertainment, expecting that I would betray you someday. I couldn't meet those expectations.
Just as your feelings for me changed, I, too, changed.
— If you have a last wish, I will grant it.
You were merciful and kind to the very end.
But, but, I….
— I want a kiss.
I didn't want this to be my last wish.
Someday.
When your war had ended beautifully, if I hadn't been able to betray you, if I couldn't betray you, if I was still by your side as your Saint, not as the Twilight Witch but as the Saintess of the God of War, I wanted to ask you, for you to be my end, not in death, but in another sense.
In a peaceful world, in a world without war.
Not as the Twilight Witch, nor as the Saint of the War God.
— Grant me death.
But as your companion.
Noir Giabella unclenched her fist.
"Congratulations."
With a distorted smile, Noir clutched the ring around her neck. It was the ring she had wanted to place on Hamel's finger someday, the ring engraved with Noir Giabella's name.
“On your victory."
She felt the urge to destroy the ring.
"Eugene Lionheart,” she whispered his name.