In the mystical village of Thal'Rivain, the ancient forests perpetually brimmed with enigmatic clans—most notably, the Elves.
These elven clans differed fundamentally from humans. Renowned for their longevity, elves were said to outlive both humankind and the sturdy dwarven clans. Given their celestial heritage, the elven lifespan often extended beyond a thousand years, whereas dwarves were said to live up to three centuries before their eternal slumber.
The residence of these elves, Thal'Rivain, was a vast settlement profoundly permeated with primordial magic. The village was reputed to house the greatest and most potent mage in living memory—a being who had witnessed over a millennium.
Their king, Sherc, was an elder elf who had lived a life of peace and adventure in his youth. In those early days, leveraging his status and prodigious prowess, he formed a party of four who absconded on a monumental journey to defeat the Demon King, Añůl.
Añůl was a formidable demon monarch who had plagued the world for hundreds of years. Despite the countless heroes who had challenged him, his overwhelming power had crushed every party that dared to apprehend him at his grim castle.
Alas, a fateful day arrived after years of arduous adventuring. Sherc's party consisted of four: the mage himself; a devout priest; a stalwart dwarf warrior who served as the party's frontline bulwark; and a skilled swordsman.
The party made their way toward Silvarin, where the Demon King resided. As they approached, they felt sinister chills from the dark aura emanating from the fortress.
"The time has finally come. It is now or never to claim the title of hero," one declared.
"Indeed. Let us be killed fighting the Demon King, or let the Demon King die fighting us," another affirmed.
"Let us claim victory!" The party shared this resonant moment simultaneously; it was time to make history, to carve their names into the world as the heroes who slew the Demon King.
"Let us go!" Sherc exclaimed, tightening his grip on his wooden staff, crowned with a dark red crystalline orb.
They surged into the castle, systematically defeating the demonic sentinels safeguarding its gates.
"Subarashiiii!!" The Demon King Añůl exclaimed, rising from his throne within the castle's inner sanctum. He had observed the party through a magical orb of his own creation. "Who would have thought any mortal or party would dare return here after so many years?"
A dark, ominous aura radiated from him as he strode outside to welcome his prey.
"Añůl, the Demon King," Sherc hummed in recognition.
The Demon King halted. "Welcome to my castle, humans! Who would have thought you would make it here, exorcising my underlings?" He laughed, still refraining from attack. "I feel a tremendous well of magic emanating from you. Regardless, you shall serve as my meal."
Erwin swallowed audibly. "Today, we will be taking your head, Demon King."
"Entertain me, humans!"
"Gladly."
Sherc charged forward, swinging his staff diagonally. The dark red orb glowed brightly, unleashing a series of white lasers toward Añůl, who instantly waved his hand, dispelling the magical projectiles with his bare fist.
"How did he dispel that with his bare hand?" Sherc muttered, a grim grin forming.
Añůl was a towering figure with three piercing eyes, long curved horns, and sharp, prominent teeth. Enormous feathered wings and a powerful tail completed his infernal visage. He was neither human, elf, nor dwarf, but a pure demon from the netherworld, possessing tremendous and entirely unique magic.
"Die, weaklings!" Añůl snapped his fingers, enacting a greater magic unknown to any other, a spell of his own devising.
Sherc and his party instantly collapsed to their knees, blood gushing ceaselessly from their eyes, ears, and noses.
"Ho! You have some backbone, humans! That spell instantly kills most upon dispersal, and yet you four mere mortals withstand it? Subarashiiii!"
They coughed up handfuls of blood. "He is no mere Demon King for a reason," Vira murmured, gritting her teeth in agony. "If we do not end this quickly, we will die at any moment."
Summoning his will, Sherc managed to cast a counterspell, breaking the curse that held them.
Sherc then cast a defensive enchantment on Rizen, the swordsman, as he lunged forward to cleave Añůl in two. Añůl outstretched his hand mockingly, but to his shock, Rizen's blade severed the massive limb, purple blood erupting from the wound.
"Interesting!" Añůl's hand regenerated in a flash, compelling the four heroes to stand flabbergasted and dumbfounded.
"That is a lie. Unbelievable."
"How in hell is he able to regenerate at that speed?"
Añůl smiled cruelly. "Surprised?"
"Death Hole!" Sherc exclaimed, casting a deadly spatial spell he had learned from his father years prior—a spell that binds and annihilates anything within its event horizon. Yet, Añůl rendered it useless by activating his own counterspell with a snap of his fingers.
The combat intensified, stretching from minutes into hours. The party unleashed a relentless series of coordinated attacks and magic, striving to overwhelm and outpace Añůl's phenomenal regeneration.
Añůl, supremely confident in his magic and his status as the greatest Demon Lord in history, could scarcely believe his eyes. The battle lasted for hours; hours turned into night, and night into day.
Fatigue and adrenaline coursed through the party's bodies, but through Sherc's sustaining magic, their lost stamina was replenished, restoring them repeatedly to their peak.
Añůl, however, began to falter under the relentless assault; his regeneration slowed due to the cumulative damage and magical bombardment.
The castle around them was reduced to ruins, the surrounding forest bulldozed by stray attacks, and the sky grew thick with ominous clouds.
Rain began to drizzle as the fight continued into a second straight day. "You bastards!" Añůl raged, but the party's combined onslaught persisted until they fused their attacks into one cataclysmic strike, rendering the Demon King helpless.
"Beelzebub!!"
The party exclaimed in unison, combining their strength to send a decisive torrent of magic toward Añůl, who, in the final second, realized he could neither dodge nor counter the blinding attack.
"Is this the end of the great Demon Lord? To be defeated by a mere group of four? How low have I fallen?" In his last moment, Añůl reminisced about his ancient reign before his body flared into incandescent ash.
The attack did not stop there but continued, scouring the forest for several hundred meters before finally subsiding.
The party gasped for breath, barely able to remain standing. "We truly did kill the Demon King."
"We won…"
They collapsed onto their backs, faint smiles gracing their lips, knowing they had finally defeated Demon Lord Añůl and his legions.
A week later, the party trailed back toward the city, where the people ceaselessly praised them, exclaiming a single, resonant word: "Heroes!"
They had reached the end of their epic adventure, having defeated Añůl and ascended as the realm's greatest heroes. The grateful villagers erected a statue in their honor, cementing their legendary actions for future generations.
[Back to the present: 88 years after the defeat of Añůl, the Demon King]
King Sherc sat upon his throne, watching younger elves play at being heroes as he reminisced about his own youth and the subsequent passing of his party members, who had died of old age decades prior.
"Are you alright, honey?" His wife, Eris, strode toward him, gently rubbing her swollen stomach. "I suspect the child will be born at any moment," she murmured with a joyful smile, blowing a kiss to her husband.
Sherc placed his hands tenderly on her stomach. "I can feel them kicking. Why do you not retreat to the castle and get some rest?"
"I shall."
Several months later, within the castle, Eris lay upon a birthing bed attended by elven midwives. She pushed harder, sweat beading on her brow as a strained cry escaped her lips.
"It is coming. Keep pushing, Eris! You can do this!"
Sherc prayed fervently to the Goddess outside the laboring chamber. With one final, monumental push, a cry pierced the air.
Kwah! Kwah!
"Eris-sama, they are twins."
"Congratulations!"
"Mash, inform the king his wife has given birth to twin girls."
"At once!"
The newborns cried—or rather, one did. The elder twin wailed lustily, while the younger remained eerily silent.
"Something feels off… why is only one crying?"
Eris smiled wearily at her babies before her consciousness faded abruptly.
"Eris! Eris! Stay with me!"
The infants were carried from the room and presented to Sherc, who cradled both in his arms, tears streaming down his face. "You are my hope and my joy," he whispered, bestowing a blessing upon them.
Two years later.
"Frieren. Eiren." Eris called to her children, who were engrossed in play. "My king, who would have thought both girls would inherit their father's distinctive white hair?" She he chuckled.
"Indeed," Sherc laughed softly.
Sherc began reading magical texts and instructing them in the arcane fundamentals, despite their tender age, confident his twins would one day surpass him as the greatest mages of their era.
Boom!
A deafening thud echoed throughout Thal'Rivain, seizing everyone's attention.
"What in hell was that? An earthquake?" The elves sensed a sinister, unusual aura emanating from the forest's depths.
"Get Frieren and Eiren inside the castle immediately," Sherc commanded. "If any harm befalls my children, the consequences will be severe."
"Yes, Your Highness. Come, both of you, inside at once."
The girls nodded, tilting their heads at their father, whose expression had grown distinctly grave.
"Do not worry, Frieren, Eiren. All is well. You must simply play together within the castle until daddy returns, understood?"
"Hmm."
Sherc swallowed hard, an instinct screaming that profound danger was approaching. "Warriors of Thal'Rivain, ready yourselves for battle. I sense something far more perilous than any previous threat advancing rapidly."
"Yes, sir!" The elves grasped their weapons, sweat tracing their brows as they felt the oppressive dark aura draw nearer.
A young, elegant figure waltzed through the forest, his mere aura causing weaker elves to faint instantly as he progressed.
"I felt a tremendous font of magic emanating from this village two years ago. I concluded a visit was in order."
Sherc's heart pounded violently; he could not mistake the being before him. "A Demon Lord?" He uttered. "What is your meaning?"
Swoosh!!
Sherc's hands were severed cleanly, blood spurting relentlessly. "Did I grant you permission to speak?" The Demon Lord murmured calmly.
The elves watched in horror before charging the intruder. Mages bolstered warriors with defensive and healing spells, but with a mere snap of his fingers, the Demon Lord reduced the entire contingent to grotesque balls of flesh, killing them instantly.
"Foul! How dare you elves stain me with your disgusting blood?" The Demon Lord hissed, fixing his gaze upon the maimed king. "So, who precisely are you?"
"Sherc. King and Hero of Thal'Rivain."
"Ho? The insignificant cur who defeated that weakling Añůl decades ago?"
"The same. I must warn you, you have chosen the wrong village to menace." Sherc seized his staff; the dark red orb blazed, releasing a volley of magical bullets.
"How could a weakling like you have bested my brother?" He snapped his fingers again, and the projectiles dissipated into nothingness. "First, I shall murder every soul here and burn this village to ash."
"I would like to see you try."
The Demon Lord summoned a horde of demonic beasts that proceeded to rampage through the village, destroying structures and slaughtering elves. 'Frieren, Eiren, forgive me for failing as a father. I know you will both grow to surpass me. And when you do, ensure you bring an end to this Demon Lord.'
Some of the conjured beasts breathed hellfire, others bore three heads, while yet others wielded lightning from their horns. Soon, the village was engulfed in flames, elven corpses littering the ground as Sherc fought desperately to buy time for his wife to escape with their children.
"Die!" Sherc lunged, unleashing a conflagration toward the Demon Lord, who walked through the inferno as if it were nothing.
"Pathetic." The Demon Lord punched directly through Sherc's chest, his hand closing around the elf's heart. "Farewell, once-famous hero!" He extracted the heart and devoured it, even as Frieren and Eiren witnessed the horrifying scene from hiding.
'I cannot believe I will die so pathetically. Forgive me, my twins.' With his final strength, Sherc cast a potent spell upon his daughters, cloaking their presence from the Demon Lord's senses.
"Run, Frieren, Eiren. Live," their mother urged, giving them a final push as they wept. Sherc's enchantment rendered them invisible. "I shall reinforce your protection with a barrier," Eris declared, casting another shield before the Demon Lord's blow sent her head flying.
"I thought I sensed a strange magical flicker," the Demon Lord grinned, then teleported away, leaving his summoned beasts to complete the village's utter annihilation.
[Notice!]
A strange, holographic system interface materialized before Eiren's vision as she cried. Frieren, beside her, shed no tears.
[SYSTEM: Target identified. Magical Beasts threaten dimensional balance. Decision required. Destroy to protect realm? Yes / No. Confirm choice.]
The prompt was visible only to Eiren.
"Yes," she whispered internally.
[At your command, Master.]
A brilliant, purifying light cascaded through the ravaged village, annihilating every magical beast instantaneously and quelling the raging fires.
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