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Truly, those were eyes of steadfast belief. To others, they might seem like eyes full of noble convictions. However, to Repenhardt, they appeared as the gaze of those too caught in their own righteousness, embodying a dangerous mix of self-righteousness and obstinacy.

The blonde youth, Alex von Hallein, drew his sword. Pointing the royal blade, adorned with lavish decorations, he declared,

“I shall soothe the souls of those who died by your hand with this sword!”

Repenhardt, with a somber tone, retorted,

“…And who shall soothe the souls of the elves and orcs who have died?”

Taken aback, Alex shouted in indignation,

“Detestable Repenhardt! Were it not for your vile powers, they would not have fallen to corruption! They could have lived peacefully, fulfilling their true roles! Was it not you who killed them?”

It was futile. There was no room for dialogue.

In their eyes, he was nothing but an evil Demon King. To them, any race that dared to step out of the servitude was merely a dark race, tainted and corrupted by demonic influence.

A light of anger flashed across Repenhardt’s dark eyes.

“In that case…”

Gradually, a purple aura began to rise from his blood-red robe.

“I shall become the Demon King you so desire!”

Repenhardt gathered all his magical power. A terrifying momentum swirled around him, as a pillar of purple magic shot up into the sky.

Simultaneously, Alex and his companions assumed battle stances. A blue and golden aura emanated from the martial king and the sword sage, respectively. Jade also summoned his magic, and Ellin enveloped the group with a holy aura.

Alex charged at the Demon King, sword in hand, crying out,

“Taaaah!”

Thus, the battle that would decide the fate of the continent began. Powerful magic shattered the surroundings, as blue sword light and golden martial energy stormed through like a tempest. The aftermath alone was enough to send the hall’s ceiling flying and crumble the solid granite walls into sand. The marble floor cracked as if struck by an earthquake, and flames sparked by magical aftershocks spread intense heat.

About half an hour later, Alex, despite being a hero, was the first to fall, vomiting blood. Though it might seem somewhat ridiculous that he was the first to be defeated, upon closer examination, it wasn’t so strange at all.

People marveled at Alex, who was proficient in swordsmanship, magic, and even possessed divine power, bestowing upon him the title of “hero.” However, this title wasn’t entirely meant in a positive light. In essence, it suggested ambiguity in his specialization, as if to say, “He seems strong, but what exactly is his main field?” Positively speaking, he was a jack of all trades; more bluntly, a master of none. While in heroic tales the hero remains to sever the last breath of the Demon King, reality favors those who excel in a specific field.

Even when Alex was down, the others continued to fight. True to the saying, Repenhardt found it challenging to easily defeat those who “dig one well deeply”. The battle prolonged, stretching into the night as the moon rose. Each individual, excelling in their respective fields, launched relentless attacks against Repenhardt.

Yet, Repenhardt stood unyielding. Protected by his infinite magical power, he calmly parried all attacks, dealing deadly blows in return. Eventually, the saint Ellin fell, the light magician Jade was knocked unconscious, and even the sword of the sword saint Cyrus broke, leaving only two standing in the hall.

Teslon, the Fist King, with his unparalleled physical strength and stamina, persisted alone in the battle against Repenhardt.

His body was formidable, and his will, terrifying. Dodging, evading, and sometimes absorbing ultimate magics with his body, bleeding and injured, he never kneeled.

As dawn approached, Repenhardt’s seemingly infinite magical power finally waned.

This marked the turning point in the fate of the continent. Deprived of mana, Repenhardt was no different from an ordinary person, while Teslon, though on the verge of death, still had the strength for one last blow.

“Cough, cough…”

Repenhardt coughed, expelling bloody clots mixed with sharp pains as if his lungs were being stabbed.

He was dying. A single punch from Teslon was enough to halt most of his bodily functions. Although he was delaying death with his magic, it was clear he wouldn’t last long.

Leaning against the collapsed wall, gasping for breath, Repenhardt gazed at the dawn sky with a look full of regret. His vision was blurring.

‘Is this… death?’

Regret washed over him. Not for aiding the other races – he held no regrets for assisting the beautiful elves, the reliable dwarves, the brave orcs, and the wise trolls.

His regret was his own folly.

He had always responded to everything too passively. Even as invasions came one after the other, he only retaliated without ever decisively invading another country. Because of this, he gave other nations the leisure to rearm for another invasion. He even provided the opportunity for the alarmed nations to join forces against him. Until the entire continent conspired against him, Repenhardt held on to the optimistic belief that, with time, they would all come to understand.

This was the cost of such beliefs.

If he had intended to help, he should have done so properly. He should have anticipated the backlash from humans and that the entire continent would become hostile. Instead of accidentally founding a nation, he should have firmly planned and established a strong state to protect the diverse races from the start.

If called a Demon King, he should have acted the part!

“What’s the use in regretting now, though…”

With a blurry smile, Repenhardt’s eyes caught Teslon rising up, leaning against a pillar. He, too, was covered in wounds and blood. But he was alive, not dying like himself.

Wiping his blood-soaked lips, Teslon solemnly said, “This is our victory, Demon King Repenhardt.”

Yes, they had won. How wonderful. To win.

With no energy left to scoff, Repenhardt closed his eyes. He just wanted to find peace.

Then Teslon continued, “…Now, the others will also be freed from the Demon Castle and return to their original forms.”

“Ugh!”

He had been ready to give up everything, but those words made it impossible to do so. The Demon Castle? Their original forms? Was being slaves their original form?

Repenhardt gritted his teeth. A mysterious fervor began to flare in his eyes that had resigned to fate.

His mind changed.

He couldn’t die.

It was too unfair, too infuriating. He couldn’t die like this!

With the last of his strength, Repenhardt pulled out a small gem from his bosom.

This was an artifact containing powerful magic, found in an ancient ruin, so potent that even he, who had pioneered the 10th circle, couldn’t fully decipher it.

A spell for temporal regression. A magic that twists space-time to send the caster back in time, a magic that shakes the very foundation of the world, not even permitted by the gods.

Since it was a spell that transcended even the concept of circles, there was no assurance it would activate correctly. Should it fail, space-time could twist, potentially eradicating the entire continent. That’s why, even on the brink of death, he dared not use it. But…

“There’s nothing to lose now…”

Grinding his teeth, Repenhardt slowly chanted the spell.

“La Pert Dem Isted Sapia…… I shall twist the lawful decree and deceive the eyes of fate……”

Teslon’s expression twisted. It seemed he had not expected Repenhardt to resort to such measures even in this dire situation.

“…… Against the flow, I shall remain under the law of defiance……”

“Impossible, you fool!”

In desperation, Teslon kicked off the ground and launched himself forward. Repenhardt panicked at the sight of the foolish fist rushing towards him. If that catapult-like fist were to merely graze him, it would be the end of him.

Repenhardt hurriedly finished the spell.

“…… I shall become the one who traverses time and space!”

Dazzling light burst forth from a jewel. Simultaneously, Teslon’s fist broke through the light and tore apart Repenhardt’s magical barrier.

“Aaargh!”

A powerful mix of magical energy and golden aura created a massive ripple. The magic, which should have flowed orderly, exploded chaotically due to the aura’s interference, running rampant. Engulfed in magic, slowly losing consciousness, Repenhardt repeated to himself.

I can’t die.

I absolutely can’t die like this!

His submerged consciousness slowly surfaced. His severed senses awakened. Repenhardt opened his eyes. His vision cleared, and he could faintly make out the outlines of objects.

The distant chirping of birds tickled his ears. The warm morning sun caressed his face. The feel of the soft fabric wrapping his body was vivid. This sound, this warmth, this comfort……

“Am I still alive?”

Repenhardt blinked. Something felt odd. It was as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep, an ordinary feeling. But soon, his mind cleared, and everything became apparent. He was on the verge of dying to the hands of Teslon, the Fist King. It was impossible for his body to be overflowing with vitality like this.

It was clear. He was alive.

“Good heavens, did it really work?”

The time regression spell was barely half-understood. It was truly a gamble, but Repenhardt hadn’t really expected it to work. Yet, judging by the situation, it seemed to have succeeded spectacularly!

“Wow, I knew I was a genius, but I never really thought it would work……”

With a line that was ambiguously arrogant or humble, Repenhardt got up. He looked around to determine how far back into the past he had traveled. But……

“Where exactly am I?”

Repenhardt’s expression hardened again as he surveyed his surroundings. Everything seemed excessively unfamiliar.

In the spacious room built of logs, the only furnishings were a single wardrobe, a desk, and the large bed where Repenhardt had been lying. At first glance, it might have seemed like a modest bedroom, but what was peculiar was that while the room itself was of cheap construction, every piece of furniture within was of high quality. Both the wardrobe and the desk were luxurious items befitting nobility, and the bed was a lavish piece, sturdily assembled from maple and covered with fine linen, even adorned with elegant gold leaf. Hanging on one wall was a glass mirror so expensive that only nobles would typically own one.

“What’s this?”

Repenhardt was bewildered. No matter how much he thought about it, he did not recall ever being in such a place. If his time regression spell had been successful, he should have returned to some point in his past, whether his childhood or his younger years. Regardless, the place should have been familiar to him.

Undoubtedly, he had no memory of living in a space with such an unbalanced interior.

“Ugh…”

Repenhardt rubbed his forehead. His mind was in turmoil. Amidst the confusion, he got up and walked toward the mirror. It seemed the spell had worked, after all… The question now was just how many years he had regressed into the past, and how old he was at this moment.

And the moment he stood in front of the mirror.

“Gah!”

Repenhardt’s mouth fell open in shock.

“What, what is that?”

Reflected in the mirror was a sturdy boy with short brown hair, shirtless, looking back at him. Perhaps sixteen or so? While his face was youthful enough to call him a boy, his physique was such that even a grown man might envy. He was head and shoulders taller than most, his entire body covered in firm muscles. His hands were rough with calluses, his arms muscular. His biceps and triceps were so solid they seemed as if they would spark fire upon clashing, and his abs were so distinctly defined it was hard to believe they belonged to a human. It seemed as if carving such distinct six-pack abs out of marble would be deemed unrealistic. Despite his muscular build, his overall figure was balanced and did not appear overweight, the epitome of an ideal warrior’s physique.

Of course, to Repenhardt, who aspired to be the ideal mage, this merely appeared as an overly simple and brutish physique.

Repenhardt unconsciously raised his hand to his cheek. The boy in the mirror did the same.

“Ha… Haha…”

Repenhardt let out a nervous laugh, mirrored by the boy in the reflection.

There was no denying it. He had to accept it.

This muscular boy was himself!

Stunned, Repenhardt murmured to himself in disbelief.

“Who are you… you…?”