"Long live the Demon King."
"Long live our savior."
Those were the cries that echoed through the air as Gregory opened his eyes to a sight unlike anything he had ever witnessed before.
Before him marched an army, vast and unending, composed mostly of demons.
They moved forward in steady rhythm, their voices raised together as they chanted their slogans with fierce devotion.
Horns of many shapes crowned their heads, and their bodies were tall and imposing.
Their armor was simple and worn, their weapons varied, yet there was a sense of unity in the way they advanced.
Among them were not only demons, but also figures from other races, dark elves, humans, and beastmen, all marching side by side beneath the same banner.
Gregory could not help but speak under his breath.
"What is this?"
The army continued forward with a hurried, determined pace, as though they were marching to reduce an entire kingdom to ashes.
Gregory found himself standing directly before them, yet he could not move his body.
The soldiers passed through him as if he were nothing more than air, their presence neither slowing nor acknowledging him.
He watched them from beginning to end, an endless tide of warriors moving as one.
And then, at the heart of that sea of soldiers, he saw a single figure whose presence sent a quiet tremor through his being.
At the very rear of the army stood a demon clad in black armor, his face hidden behind a helmet.
Two sharp horns rose from his head like a crown forged by nature itself.
Though he stood at the back, the aura that surrounded him was unmistakable, commanding and immense.
Gregory felt certain at once.
There could be no mistake.
That figure was the one he had admired for so long.
It was the Demon King himself.
Suddenly, Gregory felt his body being drawn along as if pulled by an unseen force, compelled to follow the army's path.
He began to drift into the air, weightless and untethered, lighter than a feather carried by the wind.
He was like a presence without form, watching yet unable to intervene.
Still, he could not move or control himself.
As he was carried along, he realized that the march had finally come to an end.
In an instant, he found himself standing between two great forces about to clash.
The place was unmistakable.
A vast valley stretched before him, surrounded by twin mountains that rose like silent guardians on either side.
It was a place he knew well from the stories he had read countless times.
It was the place where the Demon King had fallen.
The place of his death.
The valley known as the Valley of Grace.
Not long after, another army appeared from the opposite side.
It was the force of the Hero's party and the Alliance of the Four Major Races.
Their numbers were just as vast, their presence just as formidable.
Soldiers of many kinds stood together, humans, wood elves, beastmen, and dwarves, united beneath a single cause.
At the front of their march walked the heroes themselves, leading their forces forward.
As the opposing army arrived, the Demon King's forces split into two, opening a path at their center.
From within, the Demon King stepped forward to take that path.
As he passed, the soldiers on either side turned toward him and knelt, offering their respect.
Gregory watched in awe, unable to hide his reaction.
"This is truly incredible."
What struck him most was not the power of the army, nor the fear they inspired.
It was the sincerity of the gesture.
The soldiers bowed not out of fear or obligation, but out of genuine reverence.
Gregory could feel it clearly.
This was not merely respect for strength, but a deep admiration that came from the heart.
The Demon King stood before his vast army and beheld, with calm and unshaken eyes, the gathered heroes and the grand alliance formed for the sole purpose of ending his life.
At the mere sight of him standing there in person, the soldiers of the alliance felt their courage falter and their spirits sink.
Ears that had long been filled with tales and whispers of his terror now fell into a tense silence, and eyes that once imagined his figure were forced to witness the dreadful reality before them.
From among the heroes, a man stepped forward.
He was Adnin, the leader of the party.
With steady hands, he drew a sword from his waist.
The blade shone with a deep ocean blue hue, its clear light gently radiating along its edge.
Raising it high with both hands, he spoke with a firm and resolute voice, "Do not be afraid. The gods are with us. My companions and I stand here as proof that the gods are watching over us. We will triumph, and we will slay the Demon King here and now."
As his words faded into the air, the pure light from the sword spread outward, enveloping and protecting every soul who stood behind him.
The soldiers of the alliance, who moments before had been trembling at the sight of their enemy, were transformed entirely.
It was as though the very notion of fear had been washed from their hearts, replaced by unwavering courage beneath the gentle glow of that sacred light.
Gregory watched in silence as the Demon King finally moved.
The act itself was simple.
He merely drew his sword from its sheath.
Yet the blade he held was black as the deepest void, as if he carried darkness itself within his grasp.
Though the motion was slight, the world answered.
The once bright sky dimmed and turned heavy with clouds, and even the sunlight seemed too weak to pierce through the thick veil above.
Then the Demon King raised his right hand, as though addressing the countless forces behind him, and at that very moment the sea of soldiers at his back responded in unison.
"Long live the Demon King."
The cry echoed like thunder across the land.
Soon after, the earth trembled beneath the thunder of marching feet.
Dust rose into the air as both armies surged forward at once, colliding like two mighty waves destined to break upon one another.
For Gregory, this was the first time he had witnessed how a Demon King commanded and arranged his forces.
Every movement, every signal, every silent order was carved into his memory.
What he saw felt less like a battle and more like a lesson unfolding before his eyes, each strategy imprinting itself upon his mind.
And before long, a question rose from deep within him, a question he should have asked from the very beginning.
"What am I doing here?"
In an instant, the vision of the war in the Valley of Grace shattered before his eyes, breaking apart like glass striking the floor after being dropped from a great height.
The sensation of being pulled returned, yet this time it was not toward the Demon King.
Instead, Gregory felt himself drawn upward, toward the endless sky.
He was carried with a speed beyond that of a galloping horse, faster even than a falling star.
Heat surged through his body, and his sight throbbed with pain.
It felt as though his very flesh was burning. A crushing pressure pierced through him, and pain followed in its wake, leaving him with no choice but to endure it in silence.
A blinding light slowly swallowed his vision until he could see no more, and all he could do was shut his eyes tightly.
With the same relentless pain pressing upon him, his only hope was that it would soon come to an end.
Gregory waited, and waited still, expecting the agony to fade.
Yet it lingered, unyielding, while he continued to feel himself being pulled upward without rest.
At last, summoning what courage remained, he forced his eyes open.
What greeted him was a familiar ceiling.
It was the very ceiling he saw each night before sleep and each morning upon waking.
It was the ceiling of his own room.
He immediately pushed himself up from his lying position and sat upright, breath unsteady.
"Was that… a dream? But it felt so real."
As Gregory checked his body, he found himself drenched in sweat.
The pain had followed him out of the dream, lingering faintly in his muscles.
He tried moving his limbs, one by one, and they seemed to respond as they should.
Yet his breath came in hurried bursts, rising and falling in uneven rhythm.
While he was focused on steadying himself, a window of information suddenly appeared at his side, as though suspended in the air.
Upon it were written the words.
[System Notice]
Congratulations.
You have become the new heir of the Demon King.
Through this system, you may grow strong, just like the Demon King.
Gregory stared at it in disbelief.
"What is this? Am I just hallucinating?" he muttered, waving his hands through the strange floating text.
Yet his hands touched nothing at all.
It was as if there were only empty air before him.
He frowned, his voice quieter now, uncertain.
"A system…? What does that even mean?"
As soon as he spoke, the window shifted, its contents changing, as though responding to his question.
A new set of information began to appear, taking on a different form.
[System Notice]
In the future, you will also obtain the skill to summon the Demon King's army.
The moment Gregory read those lines, his gaze froze.
His thoughts drifted back to the memory he had only just witnessed, to the sight of the Demon King commanding his forces upon the battlefield.
Yet what impressed him most was not the command itself, but the way the soldiers carried it out, with flawless precision, as though they placed their faith in the Demon King above life and death.
"Is this… real?" he murmured.
The thought of standing in that same position, of commanding an army as formidable as the one he had seen, sent a chill through his body.
A shiver ran along his spine at the mere imagining of it.
To test himself, Gregory struck both of his cheeks lightly, once and then again, hoping to wake from what he believed might still be a dream.
But the system remained before him, unmoved and unchanged.
Whether it was a blessing granted by the gods or a lingering will of the Demon King himself, he could not tell.
Yet one thing was certain.
This strange system, whatever its origin, would become a powerful aid in the war that was surely to come.
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