I Became a Murderer in the Academy.-Chapter 111

Having lost direction in life, she searched for a reason to keep living.

All she knew was how to kill demons, so she kept killing demons.

Otherwise, it felt as if her existence would be denied.

And so two years passed.

That was when she cut down one of the Demon Lord’s officers on her own.

Someone came looking for her—a man with black hair, wielding a large sword.

“Are you here to laugh at my pitiful, blood-soaked life?”

Since no one had sought her out since she graduated from the Academy, she was wary of him.

The man, who introduced himself as a hero, asked if she would join him on his journey.

He claimed he could end this tragedy. He asked her to help him.

He said that together, they could bring peace to the continent by taking the Demon Lord’s head.

“…”

At first, she thought it was nonsense. Did he truly believe he could kill a being that had ruled over the Demon Realm for over a thousand years?

It was a mad endeavor, a path to death.

But the man’s expression was full of conviction. He looked as if he had no doubts about his path.

He dreamed of an impossible ideal. And somehow, back then, that didn’t seem so bad to her.

“Well, I don’t know how far I’ll go.”

Her life didn’t mean much to her anymore.

She thought it would be fine to die while killing demons with him. If she had to die, then she preferred to die on the battlefield.

She simply continued her demon-hunting, now with someone by her side.

A saintess joined their party, making three. She started alone, but now there were two others with her.

With three of them, they could kill far more demons than she could have alone. Serthia learned a lot by staying at the hero, Elion’s, side.

She learned how to overcome sorrow and how to live anew in this harsh world.

She learned that killing evil beings wasn’t everything. She learned that protecting something was more valuable.

Though she had thought she had nothing left, now she had something to protect. Though she had lost her family, she found new ones.

Just that alone made Serthia believe this world was worth living in a bit longer.

At least until the final battle that would determine humanity’s future.

The hero’s party fell along with the Demon Lord. Elion died in that last battle.

Not long after, Karen died too.

The Demon Lord, who had taken Serthia’s first family, also took her second family.

From that day on, her purpose and the precious bonds that sustained her were all gone.

To Serthia, the Demon Lord is the source of all tragedy.

He killed her family, killed the hero, cursed Karen, and now, even she is being consumed by that curse.

The Demon Lord Echidna.

How long would he continue to take from her?

How long would she continue to lose everything?

“If only you hadn’t existed.”

At least then, things wouldn’t have been this miserable.

Serthia raises her head and sees the Demon Lord’s fragment.

She sees the figure of the Demon Lord, now returned in a new form, having been split into hundreds of pieces.

Though she thought her tears had dried up long ago, one tear escaped, trailing down her cheek.

Serthia draws upon her immense mana and ignites hundreds of spells.

“If only you hadn’t existed.”

The new name is undoubtedly Iria.

She claimed she bore no ill will, but in truth, Serthia hated her.

She hated this new Demon Lord, who might bring the same tragedy.

And so, Serthia…

“Back-Alley Monster, Iria.”

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She grasps a spell that once pierced the Demon Lord’s heart.

“I am stronger than you.”

The surroundings crumble under the weight of her vast power.

Serthia’s library, as large as the Empire’s tower, begins to collapse.

The ground breaks and the terrain is torn apart.

It’s a battle between monsters that far surpasses human limits.

Raging flames melt the ground, and where the red sword passes, a clean cut remains.

As the library collapses, Iria is thrown outside, her body battered and bloodied, still clutching her sword.

Even after expelling all her demonic energy, she had never been this cornered before.

Her broken bones hurt.

Half of her body is burnt, and she can barely speak.

Is that what it means to be the kind of mage that terrifies even the remnants of the Demon Lord’s army?

Serthia still stands before her, drenched in blood like Iria.

But her cold, piercing gaze remains unchanged.

“…”

“…”

Iria wipes the blood off her face, and Serthia begins casting again.

They are two monsters whose fight has yet to be resolved.

“Didn’t you say you bore no ill will?”

“I don’t.”

“But it sure seems like it.”

“…”

Did her emotions slip out unknowingly? Serthia takes a step back.

Then she looks directly at Iria.

‘Why?’

Even to Serthia, Iria is a truly fascinating creature.

Her skin is torn, her bones are broken. The bleeding is severe, and she must have aimed for vital points.

Then why won’t she die?

She’s faced creatures with formidable regeneration before.

But the monster before her is fundamentally different.

‘It’s not a matter of regeneration…’

Maybe she simply has no weaknesses.

If you counted the damage taken, Serthia had taken less. She had the upper hand throughout the bloody battle.

But it was dangerous.

Her vision was red.

As she released the mana within her, she could no longer suppress the spreading curse.

She was breaking apart in real-time. She was fighting in a body that shouldn’t even be standing.

At this rate, the one who would die would not be Iria but Serthia.

Even if she hadn’t fought today, she was destined to die soon.

Right now, she couldn’t kill the monster in front of her. Her magic was growing weaker with time.

The curse weighing down on her body made it hard to even stand.

In the end, the mage forgotten by history falls to her knees in the last battle. Iria stands before her.

“I won.”

“…”

“It’s not always the strongest who wins. They say the strong don’t survive, but the survivors are strong.”

The red sword is aimed. The blade that once cleaved the earth in a single strike is now pointed at a person.

She had no intention of sparing her. She was going to die soon anyway.

Even if Iria didn’t swing her sword, Serthia would be dead by tomorrow. She was just a terminal mage who had sacrificed her remaining time for one last struggle.

“Why are you…”

“Why do I only take from you?”

Iria asks, breaking through Serthia’s mental defenses. Her response comes first, revealing that she had read Serthia’s thoughts.

Even a fleeting moment would be precious to someone on the verge of death, so this was a form of kindness, too.

Their gazes entangle.

“I’ll say it again, I’m not the person you think I am. I’m just as lost as you are. You’re not the only one with a tragic story.”

“…”

“It’s not my place to sympathize with anyone either.”

A long silence follows.

Serthia hangs her head low, but even without seeing her face, Iria can tell. She seems deep in thought.

All the while, the curse continues to consume Serthia’s body. Her fading consciousness can barely hold on.

Did the former saintess Karen go like this too? Accepting the demonic energy in her body, slowly sinking as if drowning.

For the last time, Serthia raises her head. She looks at Iria’s face. Iria looks down at her with a calm expression.

Those vivid, red eyes.

The eyes of a monster, signaling she’s no longer human.

Now, she herself has the same eyes. It wasn’t until she reached the brink of death that Serthia could abandon her humanity and become a monster.

Only a monster can understand another monster. She realizes she’s not the only one cursed.

Perhaps Iria’s curse is even harsher than hers.

“I guess I won.”

If that’s the case, the victory belongs not to Iria but to herself.

“Unlike me, you haven’t been freed.”

Serthia, now relieved of all burdens, closes her eyes.

But not Iria.

And yet Iria hasn’t been freed.

Iria received her curse before Serthia did and became a monster long ago.

The life of a monster is more painful than death, so Iria has never truly known victory.

She’s simply survived as a monster, enduring nothing but suffering.

Hearing Serthia’s words, Iria bites her lip. She can’t entirely deny the words spoken by someone on the brink of death.

“…So, what will you do?”

Serthia asks.

“You need to decide quickly. If you don’t kill me here, I’ll lose control, just as you did. In that case, it won’t be me who dies, but you. And perhaps I’ll be the newly resurrected Demon Lord.”

“…”

“One of us is destined to die. You choose who will find true liberation.”

Will she kill Serthia, or will she let Serthia live and die herself?

The decision lies with Iria. There’s no avoiding the choice; one must be made.

This time, Iria is deep in thought. Having lived a long time as a monster, she finds it hard not to waver at those words.

“…”

But soon, she resolves herself.

She knows that even if Serthia becomes a monster, she won’t die.

Serthia can’t kill Iria. Only starlight can end her life. That’s the impression Iria got from fighting Serthia.

Having made her choice, Iria drives her red sword straight into Serthia’s heart.

With a sickening sound, dark blood splatters in all directions.

Not long after, Serthia breathes her last. A monster has killed the forgotten mage.

“I hope you’re happy with your victory.”

Iria is still trapped in a nightmare.

Because she is, once again, alive.