It Seems the Demon King Has Returned to a World Where Gender Roles Are Reversed - Chapter 2

 Chapter 2  : Resurrection

How much time had passed?

He muttered to himself, as if the thought had suddenly surfaced.

_ _

On the far side of oblivion, in a place often called the boundary of consciousness, he waged a solitary battle.

An endless cycle of oblivion and awakening.

Amidst this, his worn-out reason clung desperately to the frayed edges of memory, asking itself:

(Who am I? )

(Why am I standing here?)

He couldn’t comprehend what he was resisting or why he persisted in doing so.

He stood there simply because he had always been there, because he felt he had to.

But in doing so, he was slowly losing himself.

The cycle of reincarnation is akin to divine providence.

Just as stars hang in the sky, the moon and sun traverse their paths, day and night continue, and mighty rivers cascade from high to low it is utterly natural.

To resist it was like trying to hold back the rising sun or standing firm against the torrential flow of a raging river.

Yet he repeated this foolish, meaningless act.

Endlessly, endlessly.

Scraping together the fragments of himself as they wore away, he had come this far.

But even his resistance was now reaching its limit.

A question suddenly surfaced in his consciousness:

"Who am I?"

The meaning of existence is a primal question inherent to all.

For any living being, it is a matter of selfhood.

But for him, fighting a lonely battle at the edge of consciousness, it was like poison a forbidden fruit.

Another question followed in his mind:

"Why am I standing here?"

"Why must I endure this suffering?"

No matter how heavy, vast, or sturdy a rock, it will eventually be worn down and shattered into pebbles by the relentless flow of a river.

Over the eons, his consciousness, which had stood resolute, was beginning to fracture under the weight of endlessly surfacing doubts.

Little by little.

Regret over his actions began to erode his soul.

If he didn’t even know the meaning behind his struggle, what was the point of persisting like this?

Wouldn’t it be better to let go and surrender to the flow, to find ease?

With that thought, he began to let himself drift into the current.

And like a collapsing tower, his spirit started to crumble into the vast flow of souls. As it did, memories buried deep within his core began to surface, one by one.

Then, in an instant

A memory flashed through his mind.

It was none other than the memory of a woman he had loved so dearly.

A memory from mere minutes before his final moments.

In that memory, a man mocked him, saying:

“Oh, right. That dark-skinned girl’s"

“...!”

In that moment, he gritted his teeth.

Or rather, it would be more accurate to say he braced himself as if gritting his teeth.

After all, the "him" that existed now was merely a thought-form, a soul without substance.

Yet, through the emotions still flowing within him and the memory that had just resurfaced, he was unmistakably the same being from his living days.

And as that being, he muttered to himself:

"Unforgivable"

No matter what, he could never forgive "that man".

For the sake of vengeance against him, he would do anything.

With that, he gathered the scattering fragments of what had once been “himself.”

Suppressing them with sheer will, he began to recall who he was.

Yes, that’s right.

"I am the Demon King."

The leader of the demon race, the ruler of the demon realm.

And now, he was awaiting the moment of his resurrection.

He steeled his mind.

And he thought to himself:

"That was close."

It had been a hair’s breadth. A single misstep, and he would have been swept away by the flow of souls, lost forever.

Regaining his composure, he calmly assessed his situation.

For now, no severe corruption had occurred. Though some memories were missing, he could still consider himself “himself.”

But there likely wouldn’t be a next time.

“...”

Confirming his state, he traced the faint thread of magical energy connected to his soul to check its progress.

And with a sigh of regret, he realized:

The preparations for his resurrection were still incomplete.

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_

What he was examining was none other than the resurrection spell array installed in the Demon King’s castle.

This array could transcend the cycle of reincarnation, allowing his soul to return to the world as long as it could withstand the flow until the spell was activated.

It was a grand magic befitting the title of Demon King.

But such grand magic naturally demanded an equally grand price.

And that price was none other than magical energy.

An immense amount of magical energy, greater than any other magic in existence.

Without it, the resurrection spell could not be cast.

And as he checked, the magical energy amassed in the spell array was only about 80% complete.

“...”

Enduring the flow of souls, he pondered.

What should he do?

In this situation, he had two choices.

The first was to endure and wait for the next moment of awakening.

The second was to attempt the resurrection ritual with only 80% of the required magical energy.

Both were fraught with risks.

The former carried the uncertainty of whether he could remain “himself” at the next awakening. Even if he preserved his sense of self, he would likely lose most of his memories.

The latter, while possible, would result in an incomplete resurrection. At worst, his body might not form properly, or it could collapse entirely, leading to immediate death upon revival.

Both paths were perilous.

But if that was the case...

“...I have no choice but to bet on the possibility.”

More than anything, he feared losing the burning desire for revenge against "that man" and the love he held for "her".

Thus, he chose to resurrect now, while his emotions were still vivid.

It was, in a way, an inevitable choice.

“...”

With his resolve firm, he sent a signal through the faint thread of magical energy connected to his soul to the spell array.

And with that signal, the spell array, dormant for ages, began to activate.

*rrrrrm.*

The etheric realm, where souls flow, and the material world of the living are like two phases of the same reality.

As the spell array on the ground activated, the boundary between the etheric and material realms began to collapse around the Demon King’s castle.

*Rumble, rumble, rumble...*

He felt the scenery around him shift.

The surroundings, once composed solely of flowing light, began to ripple and distort.

He surrendered himself to the current pulling him in, diving into it. The world around him shook as if caught in a massive storm.

“Urgh!”

A sensation as if his entire being was being torn apart elicited a groan. The impact grew even more intense.

Finally, he reached a point where he could no longer make a sound. And then-

“...!”

He felt his limbs stiffen, as if hardening into stone. The excruciating pain made him want to scream, but no sound emerged, as if his throat were blocked. Worse still, something foreign seemed to clog his lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

He couldn’t make a sound or move his body.

All he could do was barely cling to consciousness.

He had to endure.

Just a little longer.

Just a bit more.

Repeating this to himself, he stared at the growing mass of light before him.

"More, more, more!"

"Aaaaaaaagh!"

With a silent scream, he hurled himself toward the light. In that moment, a searing pain, like crashing into a solid wall, coursed through him. Unable to withstand it, he lost consciousness.

_______

_

“...Urgh.”

With a groan, he raised himself. His body still lacked strength, making him struggle, but he managed to stand.

“...”

Blinking, he scanned his surroundings. And he knew where he was.

No matter how ruined it had become, he could never fail to recognize the Demon King’s castle, which he had built and fortified. Confirming this, he was certain his magic had succeeded.

But-

“Ugh!”

A sharp pain shot through his body. His flesh refused to obey him fully.

As expected, the spell array had been incomplete. Gasping through the pain, he forced himself to stand.

There was no time.

The resurrection spell had just unleashed a massive surge of magical energy.

Humans would soon arrive to investigate the source.

He had to escape before then.

With that thought, he draped a tattered rag lying amidst the ruins over his body and began to run.

He had to get away from this place as quickly as possible.

“Huff, huff!”

He didn’t know how long he ran.

It felt like quite a while.

Among the jutting timbers, he panted and looked around.

Fortunately, there were no signs of pursuers.

It seemed he had successfully slipped through the humans’ net.

Or perhaps their response was slower than expected.

“Cough, cough!”

Either way, it was fortunate for him.

With that thought, he covered his coughing mouth and began walking again.

The frantic running had left his throat parched. If his memory served, there should be a spring nearby. He started walking to find it.

And then-

“...!”

After a short while, he successfully located a small spring hidden among the timbers.

Overjoyed, he approached it to quench his thirst.

He reached toward the clear water, scooping it into his palms and drinking deeply.

The cool stream flowing down his throat felt like nectar.

Having sated his immediate thirst, he let out a soft sigh. He leaned toward the spring again to drink more, but in that moment—

“...”

His expression froze as he gazed into the water.

Had something gone wrong?

With a look of disbelief, his eyes locked onto the reflection on the water’s surface.

Staring back was the face of a young boy with black hair and red eyes.

Wait, a young boy?

“No, this can’t be!”

Panicking, he touched his face. The boy in the reflection mirrored his movements, equally alarmed.

“Ugh!”

Frowning, he hurriedly checked his body’s condition.

His face paled.

“My magic... is this all I have?!”

The reason for his shock was the pitiful amount of magical energy within him.

Before his death, his body had been brimming with an immense volume of magic, enough to wield near-omnipotent power.

But now, the magic in his body was laughably insufficient compared to his days as the Demon King.

With this, he could barely cast a few low-level spells.

In this state, he could hardly call himself the Demon King.

“Damn it!”

And the problems didn’t end there.

Even if his current magical reserves were low, couldn’t he simply gather more? One might think so.

But his situation wasn’t that simple.

The magic that once filled his body wasn’t ordinary it was the unique “black magic” found only in the demon realm.

And black magic couldn’t be replenished on the surface through ordinary means.

In other words, if he used up what little magic he had now, he would be left with nothing.

“...”

Confirming his state, he gritted his teeth.

The situation was, in every sense, the worst possible outcome.

An incomplete resurrection due to insufficient magic. A lack of power as a result. And as time passed, the humans’ encirclement would only tighten.

If he were surrounded now, he would be as good as dead.

“Stay calm.”

Muttering to himself as if to soothe his nerves, he organized his thoughts.

After all, he was once the Demon King.

The fate of countless demons rested on his shoulders.

There was no time to wallow in despair.

Two things were certain.

First, revenge was impossible in his current state. Second, leading the demons to attack the human world, as he had once planned, was also impossible.

The first was obvious. In a body weaker than an apprentice mage, seeking revenge against a hero was like throwing himself into a fire with straw on his back.

The second was unavoidable for now.

The fundamental principle of the demon realm and its inhabitants was survival of the fittest.

Though he had once tried to change that, uniting the demons for coexistence, the core principle remained largely unchanged.

In the absence of the Demon King, demon society had likely reverted to that brutal, strength-based hierarchy.

In his current state, stepping before them would be tantamount to suicide.

“...”

In the end, there was only one choice.

He had to survive.

He had to endure, somehow, and regain his strength.

With that in mind, he had two paths.

The first was to head to the demon realm through an entrance in the Dark Forest.

Black magic existed only in the demon realm.

To replenish it, returning there was the only option.

There were other methods, but they were far too inefficient and impractical in his current situation.

Thus, heading to the demon realm was the most logical choice for restoring his power. Plus, there was a chance that some demons who remembered him might still be alive.

Though he didn’t know how much time had passed, if it was only a few decades, it was entirely possible.

But there was a downside.

Could he survive in the demon realm?

This wasn’t about surviving against the demons or the harsh, survival-of-the-fittest environment.

It was about whether he could survive at all.

To use an analogy:

Think of him as a turtle.

The surface world was like land, and the Dark Forest, where he stood, was like the shore.

Naturally, a turtle can move freely between land and sea.

So, living on the surface posed no issue for him.

The problem arose if he went to the demon realm.

Though he likened the Dark Forest to a shore, the demon realm wasn’t some shallow coastal area.

No, it was more like the deep ocean.

A place where black magic, accumulated and condensed over eons, permeated the very air a realm akin to the crushing depths of the sea.

A turtle couldn’t roam such depths.

It would be crushed instantly, meeting its demise.

The same fate likely awaited him. His current body wasn’t adapted to the demon realm’s black magic it was a human body.

“If that’s the case, only one option remains...”

If returning to the demon realm was impossible, he had only one choice.

To live among humans on the surface.

But for him, that was nothing short of utter humiliation.

“...”

Closing his eyes tightly, he ground his teeth until they nearly cracked.

In a flash, memories of his subordinates, sacrificed in battles against humans, passed through his mind.

And at the end, the image of his beloved, Margarita, surfaced.

"Unforgivable."

No matter what, he could never forgive the humans.

If possible, he wanted to declare war on them this very moment, slaughtering them all mercilessly.

But he lacked the power to do so.

Worse, to survive, he now had to rely on the very humans he despised.

It was, without question, a humiliating situation.

But-

“...No choice.”

Spitting out the words as if chewing them, he made his decision.

He would infiltrate human society, live among them, and find a way to regain his strength.

He was the Demon King.

The absolute ruler who led countless demons.

But he was also a sinner, carrying immense regret.

The sin of betraying the trust of the subordinates who relied on him.

In the end, consumed by rage, he had resorted to a clownish act of self-destruction.

As a result, the Demon King’s army, without its central command, likely collapsed, and the aftermath was easy to imagine.

And the one who caused it all was none other than himself, the Demon King.

What a fool, clinging to pride in such a state. How laughable.

That’s what he thought.

“...”

With his resolve hardened, he took one last sip of water to quench his thirst and stood.

He prepared to move again.

In his memory, the nearest human village was to the north.

It was a small hunters’ village, but he had to start there.

Having decided, he checked the direction using the rings of a fallen tree stump nearby.

He gazed beyond the timberline.

Good, no problem.

The distance from the Demon King’s castle to the village was about one or two hours.

He could make it. With that thought, he quickened his pace.

And after some time

He had to admit his judgment was wrong.

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