After a brief lapse of time, someone finally entered the throne room.
A man… or something that resembled one.
He wore a black suit of impeccable cut, sober and old-fashioned. The white gloves stood out sharply against the dark fabric, drawing the eye at once. His gray hair, carefully combed back, framed a face marked by centuries, dominated by a finely groomed mustache of the same silvery hue.
He could have passed for a human.
Were it not for that detail.
Behind him, gliding just above the floor, a thin black tail swayed slowly, ending in a sharp, pointed tip, motionless like a blade at rest. Discreet—but impossible to ignore once noticed.
She watched him approach.
His gait was steady, measured, entirely unhurried. Every step seemed perfectly calculated. He showed neither fear, nor haste, nor arrogance. Only a quiet certainty.
Two thoughts crossed her mind almost simultaneously.
The first imposed itself immediately, clear and undeniable.
This man is strong.
The second came more slowly, more insidiously, taking the shape of a question.
Did this throne belong to him?
The man stopped a few meters from her. His gaze lifted briefly to her face, then slid down to the katana resting carelessly across her legs. He studied the blade for a few seconds, without surprise and without excessive admiration.
Then he knelt.
His fist struck the floor in a heavy, solemn gesture. His head bowed deeply, so low that his gaze disappeared entirely into the shadow of his posture. His tail froze, perfectly still.
A complete submission. Without theatrics. Without coercion.
"Ophar, First Demonic Archduke, humbly presents his respects to Her Majesty the Empress."
…
Huh?
She blinked slowly.
Did he just say… Empress? Did I hear that right? Wasn't I merely an experimental subject?
She lifted her cheek from her hand, straightened slightly, and spoke in a calm, almost neutral voice.
"Tell me… what am I?"
Ophar did not raise his head. Yet his voice resonated clearly throughout the hall, deep and composed.
"You are a homunculus, Your Majesty. An artificial being created from the preserved body of the First Heroine, combined with the organs and genes of the last Demon King."
She absorbed the information without reacting immediately.
"Is it… common here, to create living beings in such a way?"
"No, Your Majesty. You are the one and only entity artificially born in the entire history of this world."
"Hm…"
She remained silent for a few seconds, her gaze drifting into the distance.
Unique.
"Then why do you call me Empress?"
"You are the wish of the late Demon King. He offered what remained of his life to create the future of the demons. The next Demon King. The one meant to bring prosperity and stability to our race. We have awaited your arrival for several centuries."
She lowered her eyes slightly.
Centuries of waiting… creating an overwhelmingly powerful being without knowing whether it would even accept their wish.They must have been desperate. Desperately so.
I could have refused.I could have joined the enemy.
She lifted her head again, a glint of amusement in her eyes.
But personally… I have no intention of doing that.
Empress.
A body that was clearly overpowered.
Why not take advantage of it?
"Tell me, Ophar… why didn't you faint like the other demons? And why did they?"
"If Your Majesty permits me to rise."
Ah.
So that's what he had been waiting for all this time.
"Granted."
Ophar stood.
The instant he regained his full height, the air around him began to vibrate. Black particles surged forth, tracing unstable paths around his body, spiraling into a dense, silent storm.
"You see, here… I am deliberately releasing my mana."
Gradually, the storm calmed. The black particles stabilized, forming precise, orderly, controlled flows. A disciplined, tranquil sea—exactly like what surrounded her.
"The powerful beings of this world possess too much mana for their bodies to naturally contain. Unlike breathing, its control is acquired through training. As long as Your Majesty does not consciously restrain it, it will escape from you… crushing demons of lower rank."
He paused.
"But do not wor—"
The mana around her suddenly contracted.
The bluish flows that filled the throne room converged violently toward her body, rushing into her as if drawn into an abyss. In only a few seconds, all pressure vanished—absorbed, contained, perfectly mastered.
As if she had trained for an entire lifetime.
Ophar froze.
…
For her… controlling mana is as natural as breathing.
"So that's how it is…"
She observed her hand, slowly turning it as mana flowed back out, coiling around her fingers, swirling like living mist. She compressed it, stretched it, made it vibrate, play, obey.
"Interesting."
Then, suddenly, she smiled.
She imitated Ophar's release.
But this time, the mana was not black.
A blue wave erupted from her body, flooding the throne room, surging through the great doors, spilling throughout the entire palace. The mana whirled everywhere—violent, majestic, ferocious—nothing like the calm flows from before.
It was a savage dance. A spectacle of terrifying beauty.
She rose from the throne… and laughed. A clear, sincere, almost childlike laugh, as mana burst from her like an uncontrollable storm. Then, with a simple relaxation of her will… everything returned to her.
Silence fell.
She turned to Ophar, a smile still on her lips.
"Tell me, Ophar… just how strong am I?"
He looked at her, and for the first time in centuries, something slipped into his voice.
"In my long existence… I have seen Demon Kings fall, heroes rise, and taken part in so many wars that I have lost count. Never—never—have I seen a being as powerful as you, Your Majesty."
She let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. The situation was absurd when considered coldly. Without having to fight, without even having to survive, she had awakened with a power this world had never known, along with a status that granted her authority over an entire empire.
It was exactly the reincarnation so many would have dreamed of.
Yet the thought did not intoxicate her. She analyzed it calmly, as one would evaluate a new variable. Overwhelming power, a throne already prepared, subjects ready to obey. All of it came with responsibilities, expectations, and above all, consequences. If she accepted this role, she would have to be worthy of it.
She slowly turned her head toward Ophar, who stood nearby, straight and silent.
"I will be worthy of this power," she said calmly. "You have given me this opportunity. In return, I will give you what you hoped for… and even more than you ever imagined."
She paused, her gaze growing more serious.
"But for that, I need to understand this world. I need to know where I stand, to learn its history, its rules, and its flaws."
She thought for a moment, then asked the most obvious question.
"Is there a library in this palace?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Follow me."
Ophar raised his hand and made a precise gesture in the air, as if drawing an invisible line. Space itself warped. The air seemed to split cleanly apart, revealing a stable opening leading into a vast library bathed in soft light.
She observed the phenomenon attentively. This was not a door in the conventional sense, but a true incision in space itself.
Ophar noticed her interest.
"It is the specialty of my magic: space. As you have likely understood, yours is ice—identical to that of the First Heroine."
She nodded faintly. The explanation clarified many things, particularly how he had arrived so quickly, and why her own mana froze everything when left unrestrained.
They stepped through the opening, which closed immediately behind them, the air returning to its original state as if nothing had occurred.
The scenery changed completely.
She found herself in an immense library spanning multiple levels. Shelves packed with ancient volumes stretched as far as the eye could see, connected by staircases and walkways. The scent of old paper and leather filled the air.
She walked slowly between the shelves, her eyes scanning titles at an abnormal speed. Her perception allowed her to read almost instantly, as if each word imprinted itself directly into her mind.
One book caught her attention more than the others.
Chronicles of the First Demon King and the Founding of the First Empire.
She took it without hesitation. The script was unfamiliar, yet she understood it perfectly. Her mind deciphered every symbol effortlessly, as if it had always known this language.
"So the demons are not native to this world," she said while flipping through the pages. "They came here guided by their gods when their original world was on the verge of collapse. Because of their appearance, the language barrier, and above all the divine oracles labeling them as heretics, any attempt at coexistence with humans failed."
She raised her eyes toward Ophar.
"Is all of this true?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. It is entirely accurate."
She continued reading.
"Humans compensated for their individual weakness with numbers. To overthrow the Demon King, the gods then blessed a human—the First Heroine. Their battle ended in mutual destruction. All that remained were their bodies… and the katana."
She paused briefly before continuing.
"Tenkōsetsu, Frozen Sky. A divine weapon created to belong to her alone. The demons honored that foundational duel by building the demon palace around the sword and preserving the bodies. Thus was the Demon Empire born."
She closed the book, thoughtful. She now understood why her body and mana had reacted to the katana. Everything was connected.
"So every time a Demon King appears, the gods create a hero to oppose him?"
"Exactly."
"Do they already know of my existence?"
"Not yet. However, their churches will soon receive an oracle. The one whose soul is deemed the purest will receive blessings and powers."
"No divine weapon?"
"No. Only the First Heroine received one. Since then, heroes have received only powers."
"Very well."
She set the book aside and took another, titled Geography of the Demon Empire.
"Do we have spies among the humans?" she asked while already skimming through it.
"Yes. We have infiltrated the underworld, founded a cult promising a semblance of power, and secured the loyalty of corrupt elites by offering them eternal life."
"Very good," she replied simply.
She turned a page, then issued her orders calmly.
"Inform all our agents, demon and human alike. They are to monitor the emergence of the new hero. Any reliable information is to be reported immediately. If someone manages to locate or kill him, grant them whatever they desire—power, wealth, or otherwise."
Ophar bowed his head.
"It will be done."
"Also summon the regents and influential figures of the Empire in seven days. I will receive them in the throne room. Prepare detailed reports on their affairs, territories, and personalities."
"I will obey, Your Majesty."
She closed the book and turned toward him.
"Also, find me a name before that meeting. I do not know this world's customs, but you do. I will take the name you deem appropriate."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she added:
"Take care of the demons who fainted upon my arrival. Heal them, and ensure they remain silent for now. We might as well take advantage of this head start—even if it lasts only a few days."
"I have taken note."
"Very well. You may go."
Ophar bowed deeply before vanishing into a discreet spatial distortion.
Her gaze slowly drifted across the library surrounding her.
Shelves stretched as far as the eye could see. Centuries of knowledge. The history of an entire world—its wars, its mistakes, its gods, and its lies—neatly arranged around her.
Everything she had witnessed since her awakening flowed through her mind: the overwhelming power of her body, the throne that had accepted her without hesitation, the demonic archduke kneeling before her, mana bending to her every whim, and the single divine sword that belonged to her alone.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Then, without warning, a laugh escaped her.
At first it was short, almost stifled, something she instinctively tried to suppress. She brought a hand to her mouth, but that only made it worse. The laughter swelled, shattered all restraint, and rang freely between the silent walls of the library.
"Ah… ahahah…"
She bent forward slightly, one hand pressed to her stomach, the other gripping a nearby shelf to keep her balance. The laughter grew fuller, more unrestrained, nearly uncontrollable, filled with raw exhilaration and a disturbing clarity.
"Hahaha… hahaha…!"
It was absurd.
It was insane.
And yet… it was real.
She laughed at the impossibility of it all, at a destiny grotesquely perfect, at a world that had fallen into her hands without her ever having to reach for it. She laughed because, deep within her, a certainty had taken root.
She already loved this.
Gradually, the laughter faded. She drew a deep breath, wiped away a tear born more of hilarity than emotion, and slowly straightened. A smile lingered on her lips—calm, assured, dangerously serene.
Her blue eyes swept over the endless shelves one last time.
"Very well…" she murmured.
At that precise moment, something changed.
That day was not merely the moment she understood this world, nor the moment she accepted her power.
That day marked the birth of the Demonic Empress—one who would stop at nothing to conquer the entirety of this world.