The Great Demon War — in Broo's case

I have seen my elder brother's back since birth.

His figure, rushing to rebuild the shattered demon race after war upon war.

The Demon King is absent.

In the absence of the Demon King, who should have led the race, my brother has carried the role alone.

Among all I have known, no one has worked harder for the demon race than my brother.

The sight of incompetent fools belittling him simply because he is not the Demon King.

My brother is not the Demon King.

Therefore, many demons refused to follow him.

At that wretched state, a wretched man opposed my brother.

Is he insane?

Even I, a fool, understood that the demon race had no room for internal conflict at that time. Why can't they understand?

The demon race is in turmoil. The people cannot even find food.

His elder brother clenched his teeth and held it together.

And finally, after recovering enough to no longer leave the commoners starving.

At that moment, she appeared.

A woman claiming to be the Demon Lord.

Childish in appearance. Childish in demeanor.

Yet his elder brother bowed before such a one.

The part of him that remained calm, not consumed by rage, said: This is what it means when the world turns red.

For so long, it was his elder brother who upheld the demon race. Who served as its guiding light.

Now, that same brother—having rebuilt the demon race with desperate effort—was having it stripped away by this woman, simply because she claimed the title of Demon Lord.

Worse, she boasted of leading the demon race, newly reassembled by his elder brother’s labor, into an assault on the human race.

At the very moment when peace, long overdue, had finally begun to settle over the demon race.

The fragile peace, just within reach.

Now being undone, utterly, by the Demon Lord.

And his elder brother—following her.

Could not accept it.

Impossible to accept.

The girl claiming to be the Demon Lord. The white woman who appeared simultaneously as a lodger. Neither did anything.

Yet they consumed vital supplies.

Simply existing was harmful. They issued commands as if demanding the death of our demon race.

Why did my elder brother obey such a woman without question? At first, I did not understand.

"Brother. I've said this countless times. She possesses power beyond our reach. Defy her, and the demon race ends. No matter how unjust the order, we have no choice but to comply. Understand this."

He repeated it again and again, trying to convince me.

I understand.

My elder brother would never follow someone without reason.

But does having power mean everything is excusable?

What have we, the demon race, actually done?

We know the distant ancestors did something to make the demon race and human race perpetually at war.

But that’s irrelevant to us living now.

We don’t know what the ancestors did, but why should we, their descendants, bear the burden of their sin?

Especially now, when the demon race is already at the brink of extinction—starting a war with humans at this moment would mean total annihilation.

The Demon King doesn’t understand this.

Or perhaps he does—but still acts anyway.

Maybe my elder brother is doing everything he can, prepared for the worst, trying to minimize the damage.

I’m not stupid.

I can sense, despite his small frame, that the Demon King is something monstrous beyond measure.

Still, I cannot worship a being who will lead the demon race to ruin as its ruler.

There is no other way to survive now but to defeat the demon race.

Minimize damage. Achieve victory over the human race.

To that end, something must be done to plunge the human race into despair—a decisive blow.

An ideal target presents itself.

"Shiro. Do not interfere."

I speak to Shiro beside me.

She is affiliated with the Demon King.

Yet thanks to the information she provided, both my elder brother and I have been greatly aided.

The cost of her insatiable appetite was worth overlooking—just barely.

Shiro and her command of the Tenth Army are likely specialized in espionage and assassination.

She herself moves with teleportation magic—elusive, unpredictable.

All her intelligence gathering and assassinations must have relied on that ability.

Yet teleportation magic requires a vast number of skill points to acquire.

The cost is inevitable: other skills must be sacrificed.

Perhaps this one’s combat capability is low.

Without teleportation ambushes, they would be inferior to other generals.

Unlikely they could face a hero.

I will challenge the hero myself.

I know from the messenger’s report that the hero is advancing, dispersing troops alongside their companions.

The hero must fall by my hand.

This victory will be one card in my hand against that demon lord.

If I do nothing, comply with the demon lord’s will, the demon race will eventually perish.

I must drive in a wedge, however small.

Whether I can defeat the hero is honestly uncertain.

But retreat is not an option.

My achievement—no, my elder brother’s future—depends on this.

"Hero?"

Speaking in human tongue.

The figure that emerged was a youth, exuding nobility even in this battlefield.

"Coming all this way to speak in human tongue? Yes. I am the Hero. Hero Julius Zagan Anarait."

The Hero's expression flickered—surprise at my use of the human tongue, or perhaps at my deliberate choice of language. Then, he announced his name.

Gentle features, yet his eyes carried unmistakable resolve.

Undeniably, the bearing of a Hero.

Nodding, he raised his sword.

"I am Broth, Commander of the Demon Army's Seventh Division. Hero. Let us settle this—fair and open!"

"Accepted."

With the Hero's acknowledgment, single combat began.

First strike determines victory.

I lunged at the Hero.

He deflected effortlessly, countered with superior strength, and pushed me back.

Tch!

His physical attack stat clearly exceeds mine.

The Hero pressed forward, exploiting my unstable stance.

Engaging in a sword clash while outmatched in strength is a mistake.

Avoid direct strikes. Dodge the attacks.

The light clinging to the Hero’s blade detached and surged toward me.

I raised my sword as a shield, blocking instinctively.

Shit.

That was likely a magic-based skill.

And now I know—despite my initial assumption—the Hero is clearly more proficient in magic.

Both physical and magical capabilities surpass mine.

Still, I cannot afford to lose.

In mockery of my resolve, the Hero deployed multiple light orbs.

No way.

Each orb radiated immense power.

They converged on me simultaneously.

Dodging would risk drawing in those behind me.

Behind me—Shiro.

The option to dodge was discarded.

I met the incoming light orbs head-on with my sword.

The world shuddered.

Pain surged through every limb. Nothing else was clear.

It repeated.

Consciousness fractured for an instant.

Awareness returned. I was on the ground, face down.

Body broken.

But—still—

"Still... not done."

Recovery began as I rose.

Retreat was not an option.

If I fall, who will support my elder brother?

If I fall, who will face the hero next?

I cannot fall.

"Pushing yourself is unwise. The gap in power is clear."

"Not finished! If we surrender now, I won't have the face to look my brother in the eye!"

I know the gap. I know it already.

"Especially with a brother waiting. Withdraw. Don't press the attack."

"Can't back down now!"

Can't lose. Can't retreat. Can't back down now!

Moving forward toward the Hero.

Hero's magic. Hero's sword. Blows me back every time.

Still, stubbornly, rise again and again. Keep advancing.

Again and again.

Can't retreat here. Can't.

Can't!

"End of the line."

"Not yet... I... I..."

"End of the line. Warning given. You ignored it. Now you've lost."

Warning?

S-so... that... can't... be... heard... like... that...

"Damn it. A...ni..."

Brother...

Shiro...