Chương 11: Confrontation

POV: The Hero, Evelisse Ardentia I found Mel just outside the Grand Cathedral. I told her that, unfortunately, I had something to do for the Church, so our trip to the central district would have to wait. She looked a little disappointed, but she managed a smile all the same.

"It's okay. I'll go on my own today. And if I find something nice — like that perfume — I'll get you one."

"You know I don't use those things, Mel." I started walking; it wouldn't look right to be seen chatting so casually in front of the Grand Cathedral without any official business. Mel fell into step beside me.

"That's exactly the problem, Eve. You're pretty, and it's a shame all you ever care about is training and the Church."

"You're prettier than me, though." Mel quickened her pace to keep up — I was walking faster than usual, for some reason.

"That. You're just being humble to make me feel better. Anyway, if I find something good, I'm getting you one. No arguments."

"It's just that you're always giving me things, and I've barely given you anything." I tapped a finger against my chin, looking up, trying to recall what she'd been wanting.

"Oh, I can give you that tome on buffing spells. The one you've been after for months. I keep forgetting to hand it over."

"Mm, sure. But you'll probably forget again. Unless we swing by your house and get it right now."

"I won't forget this time. Promise." Soon we reached the edge of the Church complex. Mel asked, lightly, whether I could tell her anything about what I was doing. I said no. The High Priest had told me to keep it to myself.

"All right. But if you're heading out, at least remember to bring food and water this time." She gave me a look.

"You always forget." I nodded, and we parted ways. I watched her shrink into the distance, and something in my chest pulled tight. I had lied to her. There were no instructions. No task from the Church. This was all me, and I was about to do something she would never have allowed. I had to go and meet the Dark Lord. I returned to the complex and took Astra from the stables. To anyone who asked, I said I was going to check on Lunareth. It wasn't entirely a lie; I did mean to stop there, if I had the time.

As Astra carried me through the gates of Astrea, I laid a speed enchantment over her. I had to reach Aniaros Forest quickly and settle this before evening; because tomorrow, at dawn, I would meet the successor, and alongside Mel, we would venture into the forest to kill the Dark Lord. Somewhere in the middle of the grassland, it occurred to me that I had, once again, forgotten the food and water. Mel was going to be insufferable about it. I reached the treeline much faster than last time. It was not even noon yet.

I have been here before. It shouldn't take long to find him. I glanced at the sigil on my elbow. Still mostly blue, but threaded now with a faint, creeping purple. The Dark Lord was here. Somewhere in these trees. I moved into the forest on foot, and the quiet struck me at once. No monsters. Not even the slimes and kobolds from before. Just my own footsteps in the moss, and overhead, the occasional shiver of leaves. But the signs were everywhere. Snapped branches. Trees bent at unnatural angles.

And when I crouched low and looked closely; pawprints, pressed deep into the soil. Each one the size of a dinner plate. The Cerberus was still in the forest. If it came for me, the fight would be brutal. I had barely scratched it last time, and my resolve had nearly failed me then. But if my theory about the Dark Lord was right, the beast wouldn't kill me. Too much didn't add up. If the Dark Lord truly wanted to be feared, none of it made sense.

I had turned it over in my mind all night, long after I gave my report to the Church. No one had died at Lunareth. Someone had posed as Chief Doran and herded the villagers into the village hall while the real chief lay bound in his own home; a home that, conveniently, was the only building left standing. It had been staged. Carefully. So that the Cerberus could level the village without taking a single life. And yet, if that was the plan, why had the Cerberus turned toward the village hall?

Toward the fifty people sheltering inside? I didn't have an answer. But I knew this much: no one died. And before I could engage the beast properly, the Dark Lord himself had appeared, and shortly after, they had withdrawn. It would have been so simple to kill me. Or to kill a handful of villagers and spare the rest, enough death to sow real terror, enough mercy to leave witnesses. That was how you would harvest fear. I shuddered. A Hero, sitting here designing strategies to make people fear the Dark Lord.

But I needed it. I needed to understand the shape of this thing—the puzzle in my head, and the feeling in my chest I still had no name for. And this morning, the High Priest had confirmed it: no casualties at Milly. The Dark Lord had simply demanded food. He was plotting for survival. Trying to harvest fear without spilling blood. Which meant this Dark Lord was nothing like the last. This one seemed... almost humane. Or maybe I was wrong. Maybe none of it was real.

Maybe I had built this theory out of nothing, brick by careful brick, just to give myself permission — to make it so that whatever I felt for him wasn't a mistake. I needed to see it with my own eyes. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Because if I was right, if this Dark Lord truly had never taken a life… Then tomorrow, I would have to kill a man who had killed no one. And that thought sat in my chest like a stone.

As I moved through the forest, I used the sigil to track an estimate of the Dark Lord's location. Before long, it had flared almost fully purple. I was nearing a clearing. Earlier, while navigating, I had cast a spell to mask my footsteps and my scent so the Cerberus wouldn't catch me first. As I crept toward the edge of the clearing, I made out a large silhouette stationed in front of a wooden hut. The Cerberus, most likely. Though it gave me pause.

Would a Dark Lord truly live in something as humble as a wooden hut? The air carried faint traces of cooked meat—beef, pork, something like it. And sure enough, near the hut sat a pile of spent firewood, thin wisps of smoke still curling up from the ashes. I couldn't see the Dark Lord, nor the demon girl. If the hut was their stronghold, the two of them had to be inside. I needed to get closer. Close enough to wait for him to show himself.

But the moment I edged nearer, the Cerberus turned its three heads toward me and began to growl, its body coiling low, ready to lunge. Its senses were sharper than I had given it credit for. I froze. If it sprang, I would have to run. I still didn't know the true reach of Mooncleaver's strength — not when, even now, my resolve felt so uncertain. Then the door of the hut swung open. And there he was. The Dark Lord. Still in that dark robe, looking confused and… ordinary. Painfully ordinary. His eyes found mine.

Though I doubted he recognized me; I was still several paces off, half-swallowed by the shadows of the trees. My heartbeat quickened as I looked at him, and I couldn't tell what it was. Fear. Anxiety. Or that other thing. I stepped forward. As I revealed myself and stepped into the clearing, into the sunlight, the Cerberus let out a low growl. I didn't understand why it hadn't struck the moment it sensed me. Then a thought occurred to me.

Perhaps, after the Dark Lord had repelled it last time, the beast had come to understand that he didn't want me dead. The closer I drew, the louder the growl became. Then the Dark Lord rushed forward.

"Luke, it's okay. Easy." He held out a hand toward the beast.

"Relax." Two of the heads swung to look at him; the rightmost kept its eyes fixed on me, unblinking. After a moment, the Cerberus straightened, abandoning its low, coiled stance. The Dark Lord didn't come any closer to me, and I understood why. A single slash from Mooncleaver could end him; I had nearly done it at Lunareth. I caught him clearing his throat. The sound was small, but in the quiet of the clearing, it carried.

"The Hero." He lifted his chin, and something in his posture shifted, stiffened.

"Have you come to defeat me? If so, I'm afraid there is nothing you can do. As you can see, we outnumber you, and I would prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. I had hoped you might entertain me a while longer. To kill you here would only cut the fun short." That manner of speech was too different. Different from the man who, a breath ago, had murmured for his beast to calm down. Different from the one who had stood between me and the Cerberus and said he wouldn't let it hurt me. It had to be a performance.

"You can drop the act, Dark Lord." I kept my voice steady.

"I'm not here to fight." His eyes widened, just slightly, but I caught it.

"Act?" He recovered quickly, folding his arms.

"What are you talking about? This has always been how I speak. And if you're not here to fight, prove it." I reached for Mooncleaver, unfastened it, sheath and all, and knelt to lay it down on the grass between us. I straightened, my hands empty. For a moment he just stared at the sword, as if he hadn't expected me to actually do it.

"Then…" He cleared his throat again.

"Then what are you here for?"

"I need to confirm a few things." He likely couldn't tell, but my heart was still hammering against my ribs.

"And I need to speak with the real you." A faint flush crept across his cheeks. He blinked, visibly thrown by the words, though I couldn't fathom why.

"I… see." His gaze darted away, then back.

"Well. We should talk inside." He turned, making an obvious effort to sweep his robe dramatically behind him, and started toward the hut. I followed. When he pushed the door open, I saw nothing inside. No furniture. No throne, no trappings of a dark master—just bare wooden walls. And from one of the rooms, faintly, the sound of running water. A few seconds of silence stretched between us. Then the Dark Lord shut the door and turned back to me.

His lip twitched, the way a person's does when they're scrambling for an excuse.

"Unfortunately, my kingdom is currently… undergoing improvements. Would it trouble you terribly if we held this conversation outside instead?"

"I-I suppose so." I stepped aside to give him room. He walked a few paces, then lowered himself onto the grass near the spent firewood, facing me. He'd barely settled before something seemed to occur to him, and he shot back up to his feet.

"My apologies. Perhaps it would be better to have this discussion standing." I noticed his eyes flick downward, just for a second, toward my skirt. Then away. Was he worried it would be awkward for me to sit on the grass in a skirt? Something stirred in my chest. Small. But warm. And before I realized it, the corner of my mouth had curved into the faintest smile.

"It's fine," I said.

"We can talk here." I stepped forward until I stood across from him. He cleared his throat, louder this time—a deliberate, theatrical sound.

"So, Hero. What is it you wish to discuss?"

"You can speak normally, you know." I let the smallest amount of warmth into it.

"I can tell how hard it is for you to keep up the act of sounding so… dignified." He winced. Then he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, like a man surrendering something he had been gripping too tightly.

"…You're right. This hasn't exactly been working."

"I have a few questions," I said.

"And I need you to be honest with me."

"I suppose that's fair." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"But I'll need you not to tell anyone about this. Any of it."

"All right." I drew a quiet breath.

"First. Have you killed anyone?"

"No." He met my eyes when he said it.

"At this point, no. No one."

"Do you plan to?"

"No." His answer came without hesitation.

"I would really, really like to avoid that."

"But you might. If the situation forced you to?" He hesitated, his jaw working.

"…I don't know. Depends on the situation, I guess. But I really don't want to kill." It was an honest answer. Somehow that unsettled me more than a denial would have.

"Then why?" I pressed.

"If you're not doing the things a Dark Lord is supposed to do, why be one at all?"

"It's not like I chose this." The words came out fast, almost frustrated.

"Becoming the Dark Lord. It wasn't my—" He stopped short, the rest of the sentence dying in his throat.

"Uh." His eyes flicked away.

"Can I… not answer that one? I genuinely don't know what'll happen if I do. I'm not being difficult. I mean it." It was strange. But the way he said it, there was a real flicker of fear there, as if he believed something terrible might happen if the words left his mouth. So I let it go. For now.

"Then tell me this. What do you intend to do, going forward? I know you've been destroying property. Making threats for food." I wanted to know, since the more I turned it over, the harder it was to dismiss. It was inefficient compared to slaughter, yes, but it was clever.

He was harvesting fear without spilling a drop of blood, stretching the dread out thin and long, and if I had not happened to be in Lunareth when it fell, word might have taken days to reach Astrea—days the fear would have festered, unanswered, growing in every retelling. Whatever else he was, the Dark Lord was not a fool. But It wouldn't hold. Not over time. Mercy bought him safety today, but it would starve his growth tomorrow; fear gathered this slowly would never outpace the Church.

Unless there was another layer I could not yet see. I wanted to know how far it went. How deep the planning ran. And somewhere beneath that, quieter, and far more dangerous, I had thought that if there were flaws in the plan… perhaps I could help him close them, provided he would not tread in the path of murder. The thought arrived before I could stop it, and it frightened me.

"Honestly?" He exhaled.

"I just need people to keep fearing me. That's all. I was planning to use Luke to—" The door slammed open. A girl stood in the doorway with a white towel on her shoulder, her hair dripping wet. The demon girl.