The Villain's Second Time

Chapter 1

Clang-.

The heavy, chilling sound of metal grinding against metal seeps into my ears. Every time I hear it, a pain as if my entire body is being torn apart overwhelms me.

It’s because of the four chains holding my crude limbs together—they are the source of the sound.

Chains. These cold shards of adamantium do not grant me freedom. Instead, they only execute a cruel and merciless punishment of restraint.

Clang-.

The sound of the chains echoes again. It means my body’s convulsions haven’t ended yet. Damn it, this is dragging on for far too long.

Not that it matters; in a week, this wretched life of mine will end with my head severed.

Clang-.

The metallic sound came rhythmically. I suppose even my seizures are on a schedule. Damn that Great Sage Merlin—what kind of curse has that damned old man bestowed upon me?

Truth be told, I should feel fortunate that this only results in mild spasms and excruciating pain for someone like me.

If it were an ordinary Demon, their grotesque body would have exploded with each spasm, scattering flesh in all directions.

After all, this is the 9th Circle Great Magic cast by Merlin Gregory, the sole Archmage of the Continent, using his own life force as the source. The fact that my body is enduring such magic is a testament to how slightly special I am.

Clang-.

There is a prison called Babel Tower. It’s a bizarre structure that rises underground rather than above ground, and only the most heinous criminals of the Continent are confined here.

They named it the Congregation of Vile Desires, and I think it’s quite fitting.

And right now, I’m in the lowest level of Babel Tower, called Tartarus, also known as the Abyss of Hell.

To elaborate, this is the place where even life imprisonment would be deemed too lenient—a pit reserved solely for death row inmates. Moreover, since Babel Tower is inverted, this lowest level is buried deep underground.

To be precise, though they call it a place for death row inmates, I’m the only one currently imprisoned in Tartarus.

The Black King, who once ruled the Continent’s underworld, and Elquines, the Water Spirit King who brought forth a great flood upon the Continent, both moved to upper levels once I was confined here.

“Huff, huff…”

Lucky bastards. I don’t mind being alone, but since Tartarus is so far underground, the geothermal heat rises, making the entire floor as hot as magma. Adding insult to injury, they don’t even provide a single drop of drinking water. It’s misfortune upon misfortune.

Clang-.

Except for the occasional convulsions, my body remains glued to the stone floor, completely immobile.

The sheer weight of the adamantium chains is part of the reason. More than that, my body is in such a dire state that I can’t even twitch a finger.

As a result, I lie here with my limbs sprawled out in all directions, staring up at the high ceiling.

Clunk-.

Thud-.

For the first time in a while, I hear a sound other than the chains or my ragged breathing. It must be mealtime. Probably another two pieces of that tasteless, dry bread.

“Hey, Joker. How’s your body? Hanging in there?”

I lack the strength to even lift a finger, but I can still manage to move my tongue. So, I open my mouth to respond.

“Kelth, don’t mock me.”

“When else would I get to mock you like this? Cut me some slack.”

“Even so, taunting someone on the verge of death is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Just talking leaves me short of breath. It’s because the ground is unbearably hot. Honestly, it feels as if it’s heated to the level of magma.

“Then how about some water? Want to wet your throat for once?”

“…No, I’m fine. What’s the point of water for someone about to die?”

“So, you’re saying you’re not thirsty? That’s fitting for the Northern Duke of the Demon Realm.”

“Stop spouting nonsense, Kelth. I’m just trying to cultivate the virtue of patience before I die.”

While exchanging these frivolous words with me, Kelth skillfully opened the iron door of Tartarus and stepped in. In his hands were two pieces of bread, as mercilessly hard as always.

Truly fitting for a guard managing Babel Tower, and especially Tartarus.

Given that I’m a legend among Demons, he might very well be a legend among guards. It’s a perfectly reasonable thought.

“Kelth, what was your position in society before this?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re the only one I can talk to in Tartarus. Do you have any idea how boring it gets?”

“…Now that you mention it, I can see your point.”

After clearing his throat briefly, Kelth spoke with a sense of pride.

“I was once a noble White Knight of the great Holy Nation.”

“A White Knight? Then shouldn’t you be in here with me in Tartarus?”

“If I’d remained a White Knight to the end, perhaps. But I quit midway and switched to being a guard.”

“You switched? Why? Why would you willingly throw away such a prestigious job?”

“Because it was clear the Demon Army would win the war. Frankly, if I’d continued as a Holy Knight back then, I’d probably be locked up in here with you by now.”

Kelth gestured lightly to the space beside me. I twisted my lips into a crooked smile.

Throb-.

At that moment, a searing pain, as if my insides were melting, surged from deep within me. My body was warning me that speaking any further was beyond my limits.

Yet, I don’t want to stop talking. This is the only time of day when I can converse with another living being. How could I let such a precious moment slip away?

Clang-. Throb-.

…Ouch.

I tried not to yield to the pain in my body, but enduring both the agony of the convulsions and the searing pain in my throat feels like cheating.

Perhaps noticing my expression and reading my emotions, Kelth began speaking to himself without me asking. It seems he knows I want to continue the conversation.

Kelth is a really good person.

“Have you heard the news? Even the Saintess, who was resisting the Demon Army alone at the final defensive line, has fallen.”

‘How could I have heard that in this place where you’re my only source of information? Of course, it’s the first I’m hearing of it.’

Just thinking about it reveals my thoughts in my expression. Kelth reads it effortlessly. That’s how we communicate.

It’s a new form of dialogue we developed during my three-plus months in Tartarus. If this method spreads to academic circles, it might cause quite a stir among assassins or merchants, who value poker faces above all.

“I heard she was ultimately defeated by the Four Great Dukes of the Demon Realm, excluding yourself. I never imagined the mighty Saintess would fall.”

‘It was a foregone conclusion. The Cowardly Hero submitted to the Demon King, and the Dusk Archmage gave me his aging heart. What chance did they have?’

“True enough. Just holding the line by herself was an incredible feat.”

‘But did you say she was alone? What about the Pope?’

“The Pope surrendered to the Demon King not long after the Hero did.”

‘Pfft! Hahaha! That noble figure? No way!’

I can't see my own face right now, but I imagine it's twisted into a strange smile. It must be because I'm holding both the pain of convulsions and a bitter sneer.

Somehow understanding my expression, Kelth continued speaking calmly.

"It was a noble decision. She surrendered by cutting off both her arms in exchange for the guarantee of her Holy Nation's people's lives."

'Ah... so there was such a hidden story. I thought he tucked his tail like the Hero.'

"Don't equate that Cowardly Hero with the Pope. Damn it, that bastard. If it weren't for her, the Alliance Army could have united!"

'Kelth, you do know that if the Demon Army hears you say that, it'll be extremely dangerous, right?'

Despite my warning, Kelth continued ranting about the Hero. Not that it mattered, since it was just the two of us here in Tartarus.

"Even the Saint fought to the end, but that Hero tucked her tail. What a useless fool."

Kelth's tone was laced with uncontrollable anger. I understood. He was human, after all, and must have felt a deep betrayal when the Hero, who was supposed to be the hope of the entire continent, submitted to the Demon King.

I couldn't empathize, being part of the Demon Clan and all.

'Enough of this boring talk. Tell me more about the Saint who resisted to the end.'

"The Saint?"

'Wait, now that I think about it, you were the White Knight of the Holy Nation. You must have known her personally, right? So, what do you say? Is the rumor about her beauty true?'

"I didn't take you for it, but you're quite the lewd fellow."

Just asking about someone's looks makes me lewd? If he saw someone truly lecherous, he'd probably foam at the mouth and faint.

Even as a warden of Babel Tower, where only the worst criminals gather, it seems he hasn't forgotten the decorum he learned as the White Knight.

'I didn't ask about her sacred three sizes, just her beauty. Why so prickly? Show some flexibility.'

"Hmm... well, since it's a dying man's wish, I might have been too sensitive. Fine, I'll answer."

'...Must you remind me that I'm going to die?'

"The Saint... she was the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Her silver-white hair sparkled under the sunlight, exuding elegance. Her flawless skin radiated a holiness that even a goddess couldn't rival. And her eyes? I swear, those pure white pupils seemed to hold all the wisdom in the world."

Kelth described her with an exalted expression, like a clergyman trying to paint a picture of a god. I'd never seen the Saint myself, always being stationed on the northern battlefield of the continent. But hearing such praises made me feel a pang of envy.

'Wow, it's a shame I won't get to see her before I die.'

An impossible desire to see the face of that famous Saint, just once, before my death.

"Her face, you say! Do you have any idea how blasphemous that sounds?"

'Hey, how can you read my inner thoughts? You have to respect my privacy.'

"You...! Shut up, you irreverent criminal!"

'Oh, come on, Kelth. Don't get so worked up. It's already hot enough in here without you making it worse.'

Crumble-!

'K-Kelth! How could you throw the bread like that!'

Kelth roughly tossed two pieces of bread and slammed the iron door shut. He didn't react when I called him petty earlier, but the moment I insulted the Saint, he completely flipped.

His reaction only made me more curious about this Saint.

How virtuous must she have been to be revered to such an extent? I could never achieve that, not even in another lifetime.

Anyway, what do I do now? Kelth threw the bread out of my reach and left.

If he leaves it there like that, I have no way to eat it, being unable to move. I can't exactly detach my mouth to eat.

Swoosh-.

As the iron door closed, the dim darkness enveloped me once again. Even as a member of the Demon Clan, I really detest such pitch-black darkness.

Truly, there's no way to grow attached to this place, Tartarus.

Clank-.

The pain of convulsions slowly seeps in. Honestly, I've never regretted anything in my life, but not killing the Great Sage sooner is my one and only regret. How could a magician still cast spells after losing their mana heart?

Clank-.

Only a week remains until my execution at the guillotine. How will I endure this sleepless pain for the next week? It's truly regretful.

Clank-.

I am a condemned criminal. But I feel no shame. I don't even understand the crimes I've supposedly committed.

Clank-.

Truly. I massacred humans, beheaded the Dragon Lord, and burned the Elves' Great Forest. But that doesn't make me a villain.

Clank-.

Who could dare judge me for my actions? The humans executed my sister in public, the Dragons beheaded my mother, and the Elves burned my father alive.

I merely sought righteous blood vengeance.

Clank-.

And, most importantly, the ones who locked me in this Tartarus were not them.

The Demon King—my oldest friend and the one I dedicated my life to. It was him. He threw me in here exactly three months and four days ago, accusing me of the Crime of Disrespect. Me, who was his most faithful servant.

Clank-.

Even so... am I some great figure? Not at all.

I, Oscar Lucifer, am merely a Grand Duke overseeing the northernmost part of the Demon Realm, a tiny territory.

Being the second-in-command of the Demon Army isn't all that impressive, either. After all, we're talking about a mere ten million troops. The truly great figure is the leader, the Demon King.

So why did he imprison me? The Demon King isn't even obsessed with power.

It's truly incomprehensible.

Clank-.

Clank-.

Clank.......

*****

It's been about six hours since Kelth brought my meal.

Clank, the occasional sound of metal echoes in this scorching hell as I sweat profusely and take labored breaths.

Clang-.

Thud-.

The sound of the heavy iron door opening reached my ears.

It's not mealtime, so what's the reason? Could it be that my sense of time is failing?

That's entirely possible. This place is a perfect combination of darkness and stifling heat. It wouldn't be strange if my sensory organs malfunctioned.

Fortunately, I realized my senses were still intact when Kelth's voice echoed loudly through Tartarus.

"It's a newcomer! Make sure you take good care of them!"

"Oh... A newcomer in this dreadful hell."

It was both welcome news and unwelcome news at the same time. If someone was imprisoned in Tartarus, it meant they were a major figure. And not just any figure, but one of the worst kind.

To reiterate, my limbs are restrained in all directions—north, south, east, and west. Naturally, I can't move.

If this so-called newcomer were to attack me, I would have no choice but to take the hit.

After all, there's no such thing as a just prisoner protection system in this place.

"Ha... I suppose I should at least take a look at their face."

With a sense of resignation, I turned my head to catch a glimpse of the silhouette Kelth was holding.

But something felt off.

I wasn't sure if it was just because this was the first newcomer I'd seen since being here. But normally, guards don't treat prisoners so graciously, do they?

They usually make idle chatter with the prisoners and, on bad days, use their clubs to vent their stress on them. That's the kind of guard I know.

Kelth, however, was someone who treated us a little more kindly than the average guard.

"Please, step inside."

"......."

"What, what? Is this newcomer really something special?"

"Shut your mouth. This is someone of great importance. Not someone you have the right to speak of carelessly."

"If Kelth is showing this much respect... Could it be the head warden? Heh."

"You insolent fool!!"

Kelth called out to me in a harsh tone, accompanied by intense anger. It was clear he wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Moreover, it also implied that he was in a very foul mood.

"Ah, fine. I'll stay quiet. Seriously, though, who is this newcomer that warrants such deference...?"

Muttering playfully, I squinted and focused my vision. As a result, a scene that would normally be out of sight came into view.

Clatter—

Another spasm, which had briefly paused, erupted again. However, I no longer felt the excruciating, body-tearing pain.

To be precise, I didn’t even have the presence of mind to feel it.

"......?"

Because I was too stunned. Too dumbfounded. Because I had just witnessed something I never thought I would see.

Today, I learned for the first time that when demons are truly shocked, they don’t even feel pain.

"Why are you here?"

I asked in a bewildered voice. The response came from Kelth. In a subdued and somber tone, he answered calmly.

"...The execution date is set to be the same as yours."

"Got it. Thanks for letting me know."

The reply to Kelth's words came from a rough, cracked voice. Despite its coarse tone, it carried an undeniable air of dignity.

Kelth gently pushed the silhouette into Tartarus. His hands, uncharacteristically soft and courteous, were far from the typical guard's treatment of a prisoner. The figure entered the cell quietly, without any resistance.

The first thing that came into view was disheveled, tattered white hair.

It wasn’t the kind of whiteness caused by aging. It looked as though it had been born white, with an inherent luster. But the amount of sheen was far outweighed by the layer of dust and grime, leaving most of it concealed.

The second thing I noticed was the ashen, faded features.

Cracked lips devoid of vitality, a face bleached pale, and eyes hidden behind blood-stained bandages wrapped tightly around them.

It was a face I had never seen before, yet I recognized it instantly. Though it wasn’t as beautiful or elegant as Kelth had described, her inherent dignity and grace revealed the newcomer's identity without question.

I had never met this newcomer before. But I knew. I could tell because I had fought countless beings from the Holy Empire. This newcomer possessed an air of nobility greater than anyone I had ever encountered.

"Well, well, who do we have here?"

I had to correct myself. It wasn’t a "fellow" but a "lady." A lady who was, without a doubt, the most noble and dignified across the continent.

"It's an honor to meet you. I look forward to your guidance."

"Ah, isn't this the illustrious Saint of the Sun?"

To me, who had once been the second-in-command of the Demon Army, she was the greatest adversary and troublemaker.

A woman with snow-white hair, clutching a pitch-black rosary tightly in her hands.

The leader of tens of thousands of holy soldiers, who resisted the Demon King to the very end, and was called the only hope of the Continent.

After the long war between the Demon Realm and the Continent ended with the Demon Army's victory, she had likely been branded a criminal from the Demon Army's perspective.

The noble and dignified Saint of the Holy Empire, Maria.

"What brings someone as esteemed as you to a place like this?"

That was the newcomer's identity.