The door opened, and I knew for certain. Today, the world would change. The Hall of Judgment——the circular chamber at the apex of Demon King Castle Volnagrad, positioned on the twelfth floor above ground. Thirty meters in diameter, with molten lava flowing endlessly down the red-orange walls, a furnace-like space where lighting was unnecessary. The ceiling stretched high, and obsidian-black walls gleamed wetly in the lava's glow. At my feet, a round table. Seven chairs. Currently occupied: five. Two seats empty. It had always been this way. For decades. My name is Diabolos. The world's strongest demon king, Velk Regnas. Height: one hundred seventy centimeters. Lean, but corded muscle lay beneath my black mantle. White shirt. Black slacks. A silver-inscribed ring glowed on my left ring finger. My jet-black, slightly long hair was immaculate as always——at least that much I could manage myself. Deep brown eyes that occasionally flickered with violet flame. Two small black horns on my forehead. The mark of the demon race. My expression barely moved. It never had. I felt little need to display emotion on my face. Seated, I glanced out the window. Below lay Goltvale——the castle town sprawling at the base of the demon king's fortress. Population roughly eight thousand, mostly demon residential districts. From Slug Road in the blacksmith quarter, the sound of metal striking metal rang out as always. Red-iron Madaro——the master craftsman Madaro Keps, who had spent one hundred eighty years honing his skills as a demon-race smith, was wielding his hammer without reservation today. That man was diligent. I wished some of his dedication would rub off on my subordinates. I had constructed this castle on the rim of the active volcano Gromd Caldera, at the center of the Molg Zalen continent. One hundred twenty meters tall, twelve floors above ground and five below, a fortress of pure black. To the eastern edge of the continent stretched the Stygos Marshes, and across the Cleft Sea to the south lay Seliora——the Central Continent, where humans held dominion, the largest landmass. South of that was Hexora, a warm continent where mixed-breeds and demi-humans dwelt. Three continents. That was the world: Valgrande. Through the earth flowed the primal veins——Corvena——the source of all magical power, circulating across every continent. In volcanic zones and mountain ranges, the concentration ran thick. Whoever could control this held dominion over the world. Eight hundred years ago, in the Primal War, demons and humans had slaughtered each other for twelve years over its control. An estimated two million died. The result: the Tri-Continental Treaty, dividing the lands by continent. An unstable equilibrium. Peace dancing on a powder keg. I had assumed the demon king's throne two hundred forty years ago. Through the Seat of the Abyss——Zedra Solium——a ritual of direct fusion with the primal veins. Failure meant bodily annihilation. In eight hundred years, only four had succeeded. I was the fourth. I still remembered that night. The pressure of the continent itself flowing into my body. The murky torrent of primal veins burning through every blood vessel, eroding to the marrow of my bones. Either I would be consumed, or I would consume. For two days at that boundary, I endured through will alone. I survived. And I gained it. Infernal Flame——black-violet fire that burned both matter and spirit. The exclusive high-level magic of the demon king. Because the primal veins connected directly to my will, no incantation was needed. A mere thought, and it ignited. For two hundred forty years, I had ruled Molg Zalen perfectly with this power. Next was Seliora. To unify the human nations of the Central Continent, to place all lands under a single order. That was my lifelong ambition. Today, I would grant final approval to the invasion plan. Two hundred forty years of accumulation would set in motion today—— "Then, Dolkias." I declared the session open. My voice was quiet, yet clear throughout the chamber. "Submit the Seliora invasion plan." "Ah, well——" Dolkias Melve——the man held a seat at the Black Fang Round Table as strategist. Short in stature, his frame was gangly, his appearance that of a desk-bound clerk. Thin fingers, narrow shoulders. His eyes behind his glasses were moving frantically. He began rummaging through his bag. I waited. Ten seconds. Still searching. Twenty seconds. Still searching. Sweat beaded on Dolkias's forehead. Thirty seconds. A single wrinkle formed between my brows. "...I think I left it somewhere." "Somewhere?" "Um..." Dolkias's gaze wandered. He looked at the ceiling, then the desk, then his bag, then the ceiling again. "Yesterday at dinner, the orc steak sauce overflowed. There's a possibility it's underneath that..." My thoughts stopped. "...You brought the invasion plan to the dinner table?" "I was going to review it while eating." "Why didn't you check before the meeting?" "I went to check, but the smell of dinner got to me, so I ended up eating dinner again instead." "..." Silence fell across the chamber. Only the low sound of lava flowing down the walls. A question began circling in my mind. Two hundred forty years. I had led these fools for two hundred forty years. In all that time, how——how could this situation possibly exist? I, who had survived direct fusion with the primal veins, was having my invasion plan buried under orc steak sauce. I wanted to question the very laws of the universe. Seriously. "...Let us hear the next report." I collected myself. I breathed in deeply, quietly. Calm. I was always calm. "Your Majesty!" Zephador Glintz stood up. The man bore the title of Hell Duke. Large-framed, dressed in black formal wear, he always carried himself with an exaggerated theatrical air. His crimson eyes burned with confidence and conviction, and I knew from experience that this was the signal for it to begin. "I have wonderful news!" Wonderful. When this man said wonderful, it was usually anything but. "Speak." I said it quietly. Internally, I was already on alert, but my face showed nothing. "To boost morale, I strengthened the punishment standards last month." Zephador puffed out his chest proudly. "Five minutes late: three days in the brig. Paperwork errors: ten times the fine. Negligence in training: collective punishment, everyone goes without food." "...And how did the unit's morale respond?" "Desertions increased." My right hand slowly formed a fist on the desk. "Current estimates suggest approximately thirty percent of my subordinate forces are missing." "Thirty percent!?" My voice nearly cracked. My voice. For the first time in two hundred forty years. "However, the morale of the seventy percent who didn't flee is quite high, I believe. It's only those who fled who lack morale——" "Only those who fled lack morale!?" "The soldiers who remained in this harsh environment are certainly being tempered——" "Silence." It was a low voice. Wrung from the depths of the earth. "Silence!!!" My will connected to the primal veins. Black-violet flame poured from my fingertips, engulfing my entire arm in an instant. Infernal Flame——my will and the primal veins in direct communion, unleashing the highest-tier magic. Black and purple intertwined, making the air of the Hall of Judgment vibrate. And I released it toward the ceiling. A deafening roar. The black-violet flame struck the ceiling of the Hall of Judgment directly, and the roof of the twelfth floor was literally blown away. Obsidian fragments rained down like hail. Beyond the collapsed ceiling, the overcast sky of Molg Zalen appeared. Gray sky. And then. Patter. Patter, patter. Rain began to fall. Rain drizzled into the Hall of Judgment. My jet-black hair grew wet. The desk grew wet. The empty chairs for the two vacant seats grew wet. "Oh." Dolkias let out a small sound. He pulled a folding umbrella from his bag. A small, cheap folding umbrella. "Glad I brought an umbrella." I had nothing to say. "Your Majesty." Zephador opened his mouth with a solemn expression. "Shouldn't the person responsible for this damage face punishment?" "All of you, get out." I spoke. From the depths of hell, truly wringing out the words. The incompetent executives filed out one by one. Dolkias with his umbrella open. Zephador with his back perfectly straight despite being soaked. I could hear them arguing in the hallway, but I stopped listening. One figure remained in the Hall of Judgment. The world's strongest demon king. Looking up at the fragments of the collapsed ceiling, drenched in rain. "...I destroyed my own castle." Those words reached no one, swallowed by the sound of rain. 　 The rain did not stop even as midnight came. The sound of water dripping onto the floor echoed through the ruined conference chamber. I called no one. I issued no repair orders. I simply sat before the desk, took up a pen, and began rewriting the invasion plan from scratch. I would do it alone. If I did it myself, it would be perfect. It had always been this way. Two hundred forty years ago——the night I challenged the Seat of the Abyss, no one was there. When the murky torrent of the primal veins burned through my body, when my flesh began to scatter like mist, no hand reached out to save me. I endured alone. I maintained my will alone. I survived alone. That way of living had seeped into my bones. If I did not rule perfectly, the world would fall into chaos. Two million had died in the Primal War. The Tri-Continental Treaty had only created an unstable equilibrium. Someone had to create order. That was my role. Two hundred forty years ago, I had taken on that role alone. The Black Fang Round Table had seven seats. Now five were filled. Two empty. A flaw I was aware of but had not yet addressed. The pen stopped. For a moment, I thought I heard faint laughter from Goltvale's Sooty Cup——a tavern in the castle town. Even at this late hour, people were still drinking. Eating flame-roasted meat, probably telling stupid jokes. I did not understand that feeling. What it meant to laugh with others. Yuki, my aide——that former human——sometimes came with documents, and I found myself looking away. I did not fully understand why. It was just——well, it was irrelevant now. This was not the time for such thoughts. I set the pen to paper again. From Molg Zalen across the Cleft Sea, to the southeast of Seliora. By sea, roughly three hundred fifty kilometers, five to seven days by ship. After landing, circling east around the Iron-Back Mountains toward Cardonas—— The pen stopped. If the primal veins were severed, Infernal Flame would be useless. That was my greatest weakness. In areas of Seliora where the primal vein concentration was thin, my power would be halved. For complete conquest, I would need to secure resupply points for the primal veins first. I had to include that in this plan—— A vibration. The pulse stone on the edge of the desk trembled. A long-distance communication device. A small blue-white stone, its surface faintly luminous. The sender's name——there was none. I stared at the stone for several seconds. No sender. Deep night. No sender. I could not ignore it. As a demon king, I could not. Every piece of information mattered. I reached out and touched the pulse stone. Information flowed in. ——The Central Continent of Seliora. The Silver Holy Pilgrimage——Turba Ferroalba. A militant knight order formed four years ago. Led by former mercenary captain Orvan Drexia, comprising eighteen hundred regular knights and a total armed force of six thousand two hundred. Their base: the fortress city of Cardonas in the southeast of Seliora——approximately six hundred kilometers from Volnagrad by combined sea and land routes. They had officially announced a declaration of war against the demon king's domain of Molg Zalen. Under the banner of demon eradication a