-He refused the hand that humanity extended to him, and they learned that he was death.-

Just a moment ago, Cyril witnessed a person fall out of the sky, right in front of the Ogre that had come with a monster army to threaten their countryside. When it turned out that the interloper was a small boy, she wasn’t sure what to think. After all, logic would posit that a child would be instantly crushed if they attempted to stand before an Ogre. But it also stood to reason that ordinary children didn’t fall from the sky.

Despite her resignations—thinking that this child might be someone powerful—Cyril still cried out in outrage as the Ogre threatened it.

“You dare to attack a child right in front of a knight?! Let him go at once!”

And yet, her concerns had been wasted, just the same as the life of the Ogre which now lay scattered and burning in the dirt.

“That was incredible!” Cyril exclaimed, removing her helmet and placing it under her arm.

She approached the boy with a mirthful smile and extended her hand as a peace offering.

“Those monsters are completely shaken! I’ve no idea where you acquired such strength, but we would welcome you in our order! Otherwise, we would be happy to escort you to the nearest town once this battle is over.”

Even up close, despite the magical prowess he had shown, this child looked perfectly normal. Well, perhaps not perfectly so? He was a touch pale, and gray hair on a youth was certainly odd.

“… Lowborn.”

The mithril knight, Cyril, flinched in confusion. As opposed to accepting her kindness, the boy glared at her hand with disgust and walked away, toward the monster horde.

Lowborn? Her? She was a knight—a noble. And, those eyes… they were a little too red to be brown, and a little too harsh to be young.

Her surprise stopped her from reacting right away, but her mind did catch up with her.

“You don’t have to accept our thanks, but hold on! I understand that you’re a powerful caster, but look at how many of them there are!”

Standing in the middle of a field of blood and viscera, the afterproduct of his earlier demonstration, the boy glared over his shoulder at her.

“Don’t be mistaken. I only killed that brute since he dared to threaten me. I’m not in a situation where I can be picky about my pawns.”

“…Huh?”

Cyril’s confusion went unanswered, and the boy stepped up to the monster horde.

He shouted so that all the beasts could hear him, and as a consequence, so could the human soldiers across the way.

“It’s thin,” the boy declared, “but I sense infernal blood in you. Where is your noble leader, savages?”

“You killed him, human,” a bipedal lizard snarled.

“Watch your tongue, beast. I am a Devil Prince despite having regressed to my larval state.”

“D-devil?”

“Larva…?”

Both sides were shocked again by the boy’s words. Cyril couldn’t make heads or tails of what she was hearing. All she could do was stare in horror, and instinctively, she put her helmet back on and stepped slowly back toward the line.

The strange boy sighed and brushed a long lock of ash-grey hair behind his ear, which ended in a sharp point. He then tugged down the collar of his ragged black shirt just enough for his collarbone and a few ribs to be visible. The bones pushing against his skin were distinctly sharp and jagged, far worse than what one could see on even the most malnourished human. Those devilish bones bared their spikes even though the boy was a healthy weight.

“I am the Devil Prince Astaroth, ruler of the fourth circle among the Nine Hells. I was fighting an Angel, and it seems I was temporarily shunted here, wherever this is. Now, you beasts must have a higher master. Someone of purer blood? Take me to them.”

A bear-like monster, standing on two feet, yet armored like a quadruped, spoke up. “Do you want us to find you a demon?”

Astaroth bared his teeth—fangs, almost—and scowled. “Not a demon, you bloodless twat! Take me to a devil, or something close, at least.”

“We cannot take you to either,” the lizard from before replied curtly. “We have never seen such legendary creatures.”

“You have no pure-blooded ruler?” The boy tipped his head and then smiled a dastardly smile from the depths of hell. “Then, by law, as the only present candidate, I shall fill that position. Bow to your prince, savages.”

Cyril suspected the monsters wouldn’t have bowed if it weren’t for the aura expelling from the boy in waves that weighed them down like so many tons of sand. She could feel it from here and she wasn’t even the target. One by one, every monster took to their knees (or the equivalent), and the boy turned piercing red eyes back at the human adventurers.

“Now, you humans are standing as enemies against my vassals. Surrender immediately, or else I will rout you here.”

Cold sweat dripped down Cyril’s back, and she raised her sword. Whatever this insanity was, it was going downhill fast, but there was nothing to do but ride the wave.

“Men,” she shouted and took a deep breath, “prepare for battle.”