Damn these pathetic humans and their obsession with playing hero.

  The Lord of the Rakshasas, commander of the demonic forces, stared down at the legendary relic buried deep within his chest.

  Dark blood soaked his armor, pooling beneath him, warm and thick, carrying the bitter stench of iron and burned mana.

  He would not survive. He knew it.

  Centuries of conquest, of fear, of endless campaigns, were to end at the hands of a mere human archmage. Not the High Elves, not the Dragon King. No. A lowly human army had broken through Raegar’s defenses, deep in the jagged northern mountains. He lifted his gaze.

  The lone figure stood amid ruin. Around him lay bodies, nearly a hundred of them, strewn across the shattered throne hall. Demonic knights, war mages, generals. Slaughtered. The air was heavy with smoke, scorched stone, and the sickening sweetness of blood. Massive pillars had collapsed, cracking the marble floor.

  He had let his guard down for a single moment. Just one. Long enough to savor their despair.

  And a blade had found his heart.

  He wanted to believe this was misfortune. An unlucky lapse. But deep within, he knew the truth. This human would have found a way regardless. There was something terrifying in those silver eyes.

  Bloodlust.

  And beneath it… something else.

  Sorrow.

  Guilt.

  “Your name?” Dravien forced out, blood bubbling from his lips and spilling onto the stone.

  He despised the way the human looked at him, not with triumph, but with caution. Like one might look at a dying beast, dangerous even in its final breaths.

  “Cladius Thunderbloom,” the young man replied.

  So that was his name.

  The reason for his presence needed no explanation. Humans and Rakshasas had waged war for centuries, victories shifting back and forth in endless slaughter. But this— this was different.

  For the first time, human forces had breached Raegar, the capital of the demonic kingdom, buried deep within the nefarious northern mountains. And now, his reign had ended.

  Strangely, his mind was clear.

  He allowed himself to truly look at the archmage.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Cladius’s black robes were torn and soaked in blood. A deep gash split the side of his head, and Dravien’s own sword remained plunged into his stomach — a mortal wound for most, yet not enough to kill him. And his eyes… those eyes still held the same emotion.

  “Tell me…” Dravien coughed, blood splattering the floor. “Are you not… happy?”

  “Happiness is something I forsook long ago, Lord Dravien,” Cladius replied. “I fulfilled my life’s mission. Whether happiness follows no longer matters.”

  “And yet…” Dravien wheezed. “You mourn.”

  He gestured weakly toward the destruction surrounding them. The shattered throne, the broken pillars, the moonlight spilling through the collapsed ceiling. That throne had been forged from the bones of rival kings.

  Now it lay cracked and worthless, just like the empire he had believed eternal.

  “Do you mourn the lives of these insects?”

  “These were my comrades,” Cladius snapped, anger surfacing. Tears streamed down his face. “My friends. They fought and died beside me. And you ask why I mourn?”

  Dravien could not comprehend it.

  Victory had been secured. His enemy lay dying. Legends would be written of this day, of the man who slew the Son of Darkness, the immortal who ruled for centuries.

  And yet the human grieved.

  What value did companionship have in the face of power? How could love protect those now lying lifeless on the stone?

  Love was weakness. A distraction

  And yet it was this same flawed creature who had defeated him.

  Light magic, it was the rarest of all forms, second only to darkness. The perfect counter to his own. It was as though the gods themselves had forged this soul solely to end him.

  In his final moments, Dravien felt disappointment.

  Not fear. Not despair.

  He did not want to die.

  He wanted understanding.

  And then another emotion crept in, one he had never expected.

  Regret.

  “Are you afraid?” Cladius asked quietly.

  “No.”

  “Then tell me,” the hero said slowly, deliberately. “Do you feel regret?”

  Dravien exhaled shakily. “I regret not understanding humans.”

  Cladius stared at him.

  “You slaughtered entire bloodlines,” he said. “Conquered continents. And yet this is what you regret?”

  Before Dravien could answer, Cladius pulled the sword from his own stomach, suppressing a cry of pain. He drank a radiant healing potion, mana flooding the air as flesh knitted together. Then, to Dravien’s shock, he knelt beside him and poured half the potion onto his chest.

  It burned. His body absorbed it instinctively.

  Not enough to save him.But enough to prolong his life.

  “Why?” Dravien rasped.

  “Because I want to know,” Cladius said, his voice tight, displeased even with himself, “what you would do if given another life.”

  “I would seek to understand humans,” he answered. “Their judgment. Their emotions. Why they sacrifice themselves for others.”

  Cladius’s expression changed and something else flickered in them.

  The System stirred — that divine construct bestowed upon Heroes by the gods themselves, whispering mandates he despised.

  “I can let you live,” he said at last, the words tasting bitter. “But not freely.”

  Dravien laughed weakly. “A cruel jest.”

  “It is no jest,” Cladius replied coldly. “You will be reincarnated. As a human. With all your memories intact.”

  Excitement flooded Dravien’s soul, raw and uncontrollable. For the first time in centuries, his pride cracked.

  Death loosened its grip on him, replaced by something far more dangerous, hope. Not the weak, fragile hope of mortals, but a sharp, burning desire to seize what fate had denied him.

  “There are conditions,” Cladius continued. “You will never wage war against humanity. Never seek its extinction. And when humanity faces annihilation, you will aid them. And the next life… it will not be simple.”

  Dravien did not hesitate.

  “Yes,” he said, pain tearing at his throat. “I accept.”

  The binding vow took hold, chains of divine law wrapping around his soul.

  For a brief moment, the ruined hall fell silent. No hatred. No triumph. Only the sound of the world holding its breath.

  Then words appeared in front of him, carrying the authority of The Gods.

  [Divine System Initialized]

  Authority: The Pantheon of Bound Gods

  Purpose: Preservation of the Human Species

  Subject detected: Non-Human Consciousness

  Status: Conditional Existence Granted

  Consciousness is not your own.

  Restrictions Applied. Observation Ongoing.

  [Failure is not permitted]

  Steel flashed.

  Cladius Thunderbloom severed the head of the Lord of the Rakshasas — ending one life, and unwillingly granting another.