The laughter faded slowly, as if it didn't want to leave.
Shinji leaned back in his chair, listening to his old friend ramble on about failed quests, cheap drinks, and dreams that never quite reached the sky. For a moment—just a moment—there was no underworld, no throne, no devouring blade resting in silence.
Just noise.
Just warmth.
Kaede and the others watched him from across the table, exchanging quiet glances. None of them said it out loud, but they all saw it.
Shinji was smiling.
Not the faint, polite curve he wore in public—but something real. Something unguarded.
"…You haven't changed much," his friend said with a laugh. "Still quiet. Still weirdly serious. Still clutching that dagger like it's your lifeline."
Shinji exhaled softly.
"Some habits don't fade."
The words lingered longer than they should have.
As the meal came to an end and the group began to rise, Shinji felt it.
A pressure.
Not killing intent.
Not magic.
Just attention.
His gaze shifted slightly—never obvious, never rushed—but the street outside the tavern suddenly felt narrower. The air heavier.
So… you've already found me.
Shinji straightened, the smile gone as quickly as it had appeared.
The moment had passed.
But the shadow had not.
Part Two:Into the Darkness
The farewell lingered longer than Shinji expected.
His old E-rank friend laughed as he stood, clapping dust from his trousers. "Still quiet as ever, Black Dagger. Some things don't change."
Shinji gave a small nod. "You talk too much."
"Someone has to," the man said, grinning. "Next time we meet, maybe you'll tell me where you disappear to after jobs."
"Maybe," Shinji replied.
They parted ways soon after. The noise of the street swallowed the E-ranker whole, leaving Shinji standing still for a moment longer than necessary. The warmth from earlier faded—not abruptly, but like embers cooling beneath ash.
That was when he felt it.
Not danger. Not hostility.
A pull.
Subtle. Precise. Familiar in a way he did not like.
"Wait for me," Shinji said suddenly.
Kaede looked up. "Where are you going?"
"I'll be back."
He turned before anyone could argue.
The Guild Hall was louder than before, crowded with adventurers shouting over one another, steel ringing against stone. Shinji moved through it without pause, his steps silent, his presence unnoticed until he reached the higher-tier postings.
His eyes found it immediately.
A dungeon request buried among routine jobs—its description deliberately plain, its reward unimpressive. But the location… the location told the truth.
Shinji tore the parchment free.
The clerk glanced at the badge at his waist and said nothing.
When Shinji returned, the group was already restless.
"We have a job," he said.
"That fast?" Kaede asked.
"Yes."
No explanation followed. He didn't need to give one.
They set out immediately.
The dungeon entrance lay carved into blackened stone, its mouth yawning wide, exhaling cold air that smelled faintly of iron and ash. The moment Shinji stepped inside, the dungeon reacted.
Demons deeper within shrieked.
Not in challenge — in fear.
Shadows scattered. Lesser demons fled into cracks and tunnels, abandoning territory without resistance. Those that remained trembled, refusing to meet Shinji's gaze.
The party stared.
"He didn't even do anything…" someone whispered.
Shinji did not slow.
When resistance finally appeared, he stopped.
"Fight here," he said calmly.
His companions turned to him.
"Do not follow me past this point," he continued. "What lies beyond the darkness is beyond your limits."
Kaede frowned. "Shinji—"
"I'll handle it."
There was no arrogance in his voice. Only certainty.
He stepped past them, into the deeper tunnel where light ceased to exist.
The darkness thickened as he descended, pressing close, reacting to his presence like a living thing. The dungeon's core pulsed faintly, slow and deliberate.
He stopped when the shadows ahead shifted.
A figure emerged—not rushing, not threatening. Calm. Composed. As though she had been waiting.
"You came alone," she said.
Shinji's gaze slid past her, deeper into the void. "You're not the Third General."
A slight smile touched her lips. "No."
"Then tell your master to stop stalking me."
That drew her full attention.
"So you noticed," she said quietly.
Shinji's eyes hardened. "Why."
She studied him for a long moment before answering.
"The day you were resurrected," she said, "your presence spread across the world."
The dungeon shuddered faintly, as if remembering.
"Lesser demons trembled. Territories collapsed. Something unnatural had returned, and instinct alone told them it was terrible."
Her gaze flicked briefly to the sword at his side.
"Then came the incident at the Guild Hall. The weapon you carry. The way it responded."
Understanding settled between them.
"You were being observed," she continued. "Measured. To determine how dangerous you might become… to the Demon King."
Silence stretched.
Shinji exhaled slowly.
"So that's it," he said. "Curiosity."
She shook her head once. "Preparation."
The dungeon's core pulsed harder, shadows crawling higher along the walls.
"And now?" Shinji asked.
Her eyes narrowed, not with fear—but with interest.
"Now," she said, "we see whether the concern was justified."
Part Three: The Calamity's Shadow
The darkness moved.
Not forward. Not back. It stood up.
Shinji's eyes narrowed as the shadows peeled away from the cavern wall, folding inward like silk being drawn aside. What emerged was not monstrous in shape—no towering horns, no grotesque excess. She was… refined.
Tall. Slender. Cloaked in layered black armor etched with crimson sigils that pulsed faintly, as if breathing. Two curved blades rested at her hips, their edges humming softly with restrained violence. Her eyes were gold. Ancient. Calculating. Unimpressed.
"So," she said calmly, her voice echoing unnaturally through the cavern, "this is the one."
Shinji did not answer. Apex Devour stirred. Not with hunger, but with recognition.
"Your presence is… offensive. Do you know that?" Kaelith asked. The air around them warped. Mana twisted, dragged toward Shinji like iron filings to a magnet. "I am Kaelith. Adjunct Commander to the Third General of Zany. His blade when he cannot be present. His will when he chooses not to be."
"So he sends you instead," Shinji replied.
"No," she corrected. "He does not send me anywhere. I came because you interest me."
Kaelith took one step forward. The dungeon bowed.
Mana compressed violently, dragged toward her like a collapsing star. The pressure hit Shinji a heartbeat later—heavy, ancient, deliberate. His companions would have collapsed. Shinji didn't move.
That was when Azura reacted.
The sword shuddered in its sheath. Not a tremble—a summons. Shinji's hand twitched as a pulse of heat surged up his arm. Crimson light bled through the seams of the scabbard, thin at first, then brighter, sharper, until runes ignited one by one along the blade's length.
The ground beneath Shinji's feet cracked.
Azura tore itself free. Not by his will, but by its own.
The blade floated before him, suspended in the air, radiating a violent pink-crimson glow that painted the cavern walls in bleeding light. Ancient runes burned along its edge, rearranging themselves, remembering.
Shinji felt the pull. Not toward Kaelith, but toward conflict. Toward something worthy. Apex Devour surged in response, hunger sharpening into focus. His heartbeat synced with the sword's pulse—slow, heavy, inevitable.
Kaelith stopped. For the first time, her expression shifted. Interest gave way to caution.
"…So the rumors were incomplete," she murmured. The pressure in the dungeon doubled. Azura's point lowered—aimed directly at her heart.
The blade sang. Not sound. Judgment.
Shinji closed his fingers around the hilt. The moment skin met steel, the light exploded outward in a shockwave that erased shadows and shattered stone. His cloak snapped violently behind him, his aura flaring like a corona of blood-red fire.
He exhaled. "Now," he said quietly, "you may begin."
Kaelith smiled slowly, drawing her twin blades. "Oh," she replied. "I already have."
They moved. Kaelith vanished first. Steel screamed as her blade slashed for Shinji's throat from his blind side.
He blocked.
The impact launched both of them backward, stone exploding beneath their feet. Shinji twisted midair, landing smoothly, Azura humming violently now. Fast. Too fast for an assistant.
Kaelith laughed softly. She attacked again. This time, every strike was lethal. No wasted movement. No flourish. Blades flashing in perfect rhythm, each cut aimed to sever, pierce, end. Shinji matched her. Step for step. Strike for strike. Azura rang like a bell of war.
Their clash carved the dungeon apart—pillars collapsed, walls folded inward, the ceiling groaned under stress it was never meant to endure.
"You're not fighting like a resurrected man," Kaelith said mid-exchange. "You're fighting like something that remembers dying."
Shinji's blade slipped past her guard—just barely—cutting a line across her armor. Gold blood beaded. Kaelith froze. She looked down, then she laughed.
"The moment you returned," she continued, eyes locking onto Shinji's, "the lower demons trembled. Entire nests went silent. Even the generals felt it. We felt you."
She lunged again, faster, stronger.
"This world has resurrected a calamity."
Silence crashed down. Shinji stood still, chest rising once. "So," he said quietly, "you stalked me."
"To measure you," Kaelith nodded. "To decide whether you are a future inconvenience… or a future catastrophe. And now I know."
Shinji's eyes burned crimson. "Then leave."
Kaelith smiled—this time, respectful. "I will. For now. But understand this, Shinji of Apex Devour. The Demon King will not wait forever."
The darkness sealed. The dungeon fell silent once more. Shinji stood alone, Azura slowly dimming.
"…Good," he murmured.
Because deep inside, something ancient smiled back.
Part Four: After the Darkness
Shinji returned from the depths alone.
By the time he emerged from the shadowed corridor, the dungeon had already settled. The tremors were gone. The oppressive pressure that once weighed on the air had thinned to something almost ordinary.
His companions were waiting where he had left them.
The adventurers stood amid fallen demons and scorched stone, breathing hard, weapons still warm in their hands. Several of them turned the moment Shinji appeared—and froze.
He looked… unchanged.
No blood.
No wounds.
No sign that he had just walked into something beyond their limits.
"You're back," Kaede said carefully.
Shinji nodded. "You did well."
That was all.
No explanation followed.
No one asked.
They had already collected what the mission required—demon cores, fragments, proof of subjugation. Whatever had ruled the depths no longer mattered. The dungeon itself felt emptied, like a carcass stripped of its heart.
They left together.
The path out was quieter than the descent. Even the remaining monsters avoided them, retreating deeper into the stone the moment Shinji passed.
No one mentioned it.
By the time they reached open air, the sun was already lowering, painting the horizon in gold. The dungeon entrance loomed behind them, silent and closed, as if it had never dared to open at all.
They set off for the Guild Hall.
The walk was uneventful, but not comfortable.
Shinji walked slightly ahead, hands relaxed at his sides, Azura secured at his back. Laughter rose behind him once or twice—forced, nervous—but it never quite reached him.
When the city gates came into view, the tension finally eased.
Paperwork was submitted.
Items were verified.
The mission was stamped complete.
Simple.
Routine.
Shinji watched it all with distant eyes.
The system worked.
That, more than anything else, felt strange.
Part Five: The Throne That Rejected Its Ruler
The underworld did not kneel.
Zenny stepped through the gate of obsidian fire, his presence tearing ripples through the realm. Rivers of molten crimson slowed at his arrival. Towers of bone and iron groaned, ancient wards flaring as if recognizing something they had not felt in an age.
At the heart of the realm stood the Throne.
Black stone fused with living sigils. A seat carved not for comfort, but for dominion.
Once, it had answered him.
Zenny advanced, each step heavy with authority. Lesser demons along the path collapsed—not in worship, but in terror. Some fled. Others tore at their own flesh, unable to endure the pressure of his presence.
The throne remained silent.
Zenny climbed the steps.
The moment he reached the final platform, the underworld resisted.
A crushing force slammed into him without warning. The air screamed as invisible pressure detonated outward, cracking the stone beneath his feet. His hellfire crown flickered violently.
Zenny narrowed his eyes.
"So," he said coldly. "You dare."
The throne answered.
Not with words.
With rejection.
Ancient sigils across its surface ignited, burning a deep, condemning crimson. Spectral chains erupted from the stone, wrapping around the armrests, the back of the seat—sealing it.
Closing it.
Locking him out.
Zenny stepped back once, boots grinding against fractured stone.
"This throne was forged under my reign," he growled. "It knows my will."
The underworld trembled.
Then a presence emerged from the darkness behind the throne.
A man clad entirely in black stepped forward, his movements unhurried, his posture calm. No demonic horns. No monstrous features. Just a composed figure whose existence felt… anchored.
Untouched by the throne's fury.
"That is far enough," the man said quietly.
Zenny turned.
Their gazes met.
The man inclined his head—not in respect, but acknowledgment.
"I am now a General of the new king," he continued evenly. "And I will not allow you to approach the throne."
The underworld settled.
Not in rebellion.
In agreement.
Zenny's eyes narrowed. "A new king?" he echoed. "You speak treason."
The man in black did not flinch.
"Under his rule," he said calmly, "this realm grows stronger."
The throne pulsed once.
Not in defiance.
In approval.
Images flooded Zenny's vision—forced, undeniable.
A blade glowing violet-pink, devouring fear itself.
A presence that spread across the world in a single breath, making even generals hesitate.
A man who had died… and returned carrying something older than demonkind.
Zenny staggered half a step, blood sliding from the corner of his mouth.
"…So it has chosen," he muttered.
The man in black watched him without expression.
"The throne does not choose lightly," he said. "It never has."
Zenny straightened slowly, fury coiling beneath his composure.
"This is not over," he said. "No throne decides the fate of kings."
The man in black did not argue.
"You are free to believe that," he replied.
Zenny turned away from the sealed throne, the underworld parting reluctantly before him.
Far above—beyond hell, beyond dungeons, beyond mortal cities—Shinji walked beneath an open sky, unaware that an ancient seat of dominion had already acknowledged his shadow.
And this time…
It was not waiting for the Demon King.