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Clayman knew he did not have much time left.
His life was ending, and regret filled what remained of his heart. As his consciousness wavered, voices from the past surfaced, spinning endlessly in his mind like a lantern that refused to stop turning.
"You must be careful!"
Those words echoed again and again.
"Ah, Laplace... you were right."
Demon Lord Milim had never been someone easy to manipulate. Clayman had believed he was cautious. He had believed he had accounted for every variable. Now, looking back, he understood the truth.
He had been blinded by power.
Milim's overwhelming strength had been so absurd that he mistook it for something under his control. He had mistaken proximity for possession. That arrogance had led him here.
"As you thought, I was completely played by Milim."
Before, he had been certain he was the one pulling the strings. That every step unfolded according to his design. Yet in the end, it was he who danced.
"You trusted me and entrusted me with the position of Demon Lord. And this is as far as I go."
The realization settled heavily.
He had ignored the advice of his comrades, and this ending was inevitable.
The voices continued.
"Clayman, your strength isn't as good as ours. Don't try to shoulder everything alone."
"Hehehe. Tia's right. Just come to us if you need anything."
"Ah... Tia. Footman."
Yes.
He had forgotten.
Clayman had always prized his pride above all else. He told himself he never relied on anyone. Yet the truth was different. He relied on them constantly-until the moments that mattered most.
That contradiction had defined him.
"I want to be like you. I'll even try to be strong for that."
He had said it sincerely.
"Of course, right? I'm also a member of the Moderate Harlequin Alliance."
That was the truth he could never admit out loud. Clayman wanted acknowledgment. He wanted his companions to recognize him as an equal. As someone strong.
That desire was why he never allowed the Moderate Harlequin Alliance to step into the spotlight.
Now he understood.
It had been a mistake.
But understanding came far too late.
As his thoughts drifted, another memory surfaced. The day he first met that person.
"Hey. You're Clayman, right?"
"Who are you?"
The audacity still irritated him.
"How dare you call me by name? Are you tired of living?"
"Hey, hey. No need to be so defensive. I came through an introduction."
"An introduction?"
"Yes. From your boss. Demon Lord Kazalim."
"What did you say?"
Clayman had intended to kill him. Without hesitation. But the name had stopped him cold.
Kazalim.
A name he had not heard in a long time.
Curiosity won out.
And so, he listened.
That was when he learned of the other party's ambition. And his ability.
"That's the situation. I want to control this world. Lend me a hand, Clayman."
"Heh. Hahaha."
It had amused him.
"Interesting. Is this a request?"
"Yes. A request to the Moderate Harlequin Alliance."
"And the reward?"
"How about reviving Demon Lord Kazalim?"
There had been no reason to refuse.
That reward was everything Clayman desired. He knew the man before him was capable. There was no doubt. No hesitation.
So he accepted.
"I knew you would."
The man had smiled.
"Let's work together and make this world ours. Then everyone can live happily ever after."
At the time, Clayman believed it.
Watching that person treat the world like a game, Clayman had felt that it might actually succeed. The obstacles only made it more interesting.
That was what he thought.
Until everything collapsed.
The reward had already been paid.
Demon Lord Kazalim had been resurrected.
That, at least, was real.
"My oversight led to this."
Kazalim had only just returned, and Clayman had not even been able to congratulate him.
Orders had been given. Warnings issued.
And Clayman had ignored them all.
Arrogantly.
Finally, he remembered another voice. Another warning. Spoken by the one he revered most.
"Clayman. You are very much like me."
Those words carried no malice.
"It's fine to admire me. But never learn my shortcomings."
He should have understood then.
Those had been words of wisdom.
"Ah, Lord Kazalim... I'm sorry."
He had failed him.
He had chosen the wrong path. Made the worst possible decision.
Just like Kazalim had once done.
Just like him, Clayman had lost to a newly born Demon Lord.
The irony was unbearable.
This was karma.
A regret that could not be undone.
"Even the legion you lent me was not spared."
His misjudgment had cost them everything.
"I cannot die. Not yet."
To die here, having achieved nothing, was unacceptable.
He would never forgive himself.
And so, one final resolve ignited within him.
If nothing else, he had to pass on the information he had obtained.
That single purpose became a beacon in the darkness of his despair.
Another memory surfaced. Another voice.
"You are a Deathman created from my corpse."
Kazalim's words were calm. Precise.
"But I put special effort into your head. You are not suited for combat like Footman and Tia. Planning and command-those are yours alone."
"So, Clayman. You should be a Demon Lord-"
He had failed those expectations.
But power could be acquired.
Power could compensate.
If he could gain strength, he could stand beside Footman and Tia. No.
He could surpass them.
Clayman understood himself well. Given power, his mind would make him superior.
"Yes."
That was the answer.
"It doesn't matter if I can't awaken as a true Demon Lord."
All he needed was power.
"So grant it to me."
His will burned.
"Let me gain power. Give me invincible power."
"Confirmed."
The response came instantly.
"Soul conversion to magicules... Success."
His eyes widened.
"Commencing decomposition of the physical body used as a vessel. Reconstructing-"
His wish had been granted.
In this desperate moment, the Voice of the World had answered him.
"So the heavens haven't abandoned me yet."
Relief washed through him.
Then resolve.
"If that's the case-"
He already knew what to do.
"Hahaha."
Laughter echoed silently within his soul.
"You scum who underestimated me. I'll tear every one of you apart."
But first-
"I need to escape."
His body was too damaged to speak. But his soul burned brighter than ever. The flame of life ignited anew.
Strangely, his mind was calm.
Clear.
Rimuru was an existence he could not oppose. Not now. Not ever.
Revenge was impossible.
That reality was absolute.
Which meant there was only one priority.
Escape.
And then-
Relay everything to that person.
Slowly, carefully, Clayman surveyed the figures around him.
And began to plan.
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