The Villainous Son Loves His Mother - Chapter 95

◆

The smell of iron and dust filled the air in the Great Forest of Yggdra.
The national army, organized by the principality with its very existence at stake, was marching forward.
Leaving only a minimal force to guard the capital, they marched to defeat Fabian, including adventurers mobilized by the guild.

Leading the charge was the Principality Knights, personally commanded by Marshal Vargas.
Securing their flanks were the adventurers led by Webster.
Though fewer in number than the knights, each adventurer was a seasoned veteran of formidable strength.
Their faces bore the grim determination of those marching to their deaths.

And there was yet another group.
A group unlike either knights or adventurers, they silently accompanied them, weaving their way through the trees of the forest.
This was the Doll Legion sent by Duke Caliste of Idra Ira Caliste.
Their movements were neither human nor beastly, inspiring an instinctive revulsion in those who beheld them.

Yet now, that revulsion had been replaced by a strange sense of reliance.
Everyone could sense it—the overwhelming aura of death lurking deep within the forest.
The air hung heavy, and the unnatural silence, unbroken even by birdsong, only heightened the soldiers’ tension.

◆

“They’re here.”

Marshal Vargas murmured, his voice low.
Before his line of sight, the darkness of the forest was flickering unnaturally.
This was no heat haze.
The miasma radiating from the dead was distorting the very fabric of space.

From within the shimmering darkness, countless shadows began to materialize.
Skeletons, zombies, ghouls…
A legion of the dead, composed of rotting flesh and exposed bones.
It was impossible to tell which side outnumbered the other—the humans or the undead.

Yet the overwhelming wave of unholy energy forced some of the knights to recoil.
But retreat was not an option here.

“All forces, prepare to charge!”

Vargas’s command echoed across the battlefield.
Knights and adventurers alike drew their weapons.
The battle had begun abruptly.

◆

“Forward!”

The Knight Commander roared, leading the charge.
A wave of steel crashed into the Undead horde.
The leading skeletons were scattered and shattered by the knights’ charge.

But the Undead knew no fear.
Undeterred, the ranks behind them surged forward relentlessly.

“Hold the line! They’re just low-level Undead!”

Webster roared, swinging his longsword to decapitate a zombie.
Adventurers flanked the knights, striking at the enemy’s flanks.
Mages began chanting, unleashing volleys of fire arrows and ice spears from the rear.

The battlefield erupted into chaos, filled with roars, screams, and the clash of steel.
Amidst this pandemonium, the Dolls danced.

A girl-shaped Doll plunged into the zombie horde.
With strength belying its small frame, it tore off rotting limbs and crushed skulls with ease.

[Aha ha, weak! Humans and Undead, all weak!]

The innocent voice echoed incongruously across the battlefield.
A Doll in military uniform transformed its arms into cannon barrels, unleashing a rapid barrage of magic-powered bullets.

[Turn to dust! You fools who dare obstruct my master’s path!]

The overwhelming firepower tore a massive hole through the Undead army.
But the gap was immediately filled by newly risen corpses.
Fabian’s forces seemed inexhaustible.

The forest itself was the source of his power.
Life and death were two sides of the same coin.
This great forest, teeming with life, could also be seen as a breeding ground for death.
Rotting trees groaned as new skeletons crawled from the earth.

The tide of battle was gradually turning against the Allied Forces.

◆

Ayla observed the battle from a nearby hilltop.
Around her, the subordinates Hein had assigned her stood silently at attention.
The clamor of the battlefield stirred no emotion in her heart.

To Ayla, the Principality Army, the Adventurers, and even Duke Caliste’s Dolls were mere pawns.
She saw them as shields, meant to draw the attention of the Undead King Fabian and whittle down his forces.
Ayla’s sole purpose was to claim Fabian’s head.

(That was the supreme mission bestowed upon me by my master.)

Whenever she thought of Hein, a slow, burning pleasure welled up from the depths of her being.
It was nothing like the pious joy she had once felt as a Saintess, offering prayers to the gods.
This was a raw, almost carnal delight.

To obey Hein’s commands.
To become his hands and feet, crushing his enemies.
These acts were her very reason for existence, filling her with a powerful sense of fulfillment akin to sexual arousal.

“Ah, my lord… please watch. This Ayla will surely crush your enemies and present their destruction to you.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson, and her breath grew hot.
Yet her expression remained unchanged.
She perfectly suppressed her inner turmoil, focusing solely on the battlefield.

Her hatred for Fabian still burned strong.
Why had her comrades died so tragically?
Who was to blame?
The root cause—Fabian.
The hatred and anger toward Fabian were undeniable.

But for Ayla now, even that hatred served merely as a spice to enhance her loyalty to Hein.

(Fabian… by killing you, I will prove my worth to my lord.)

Ayla quietly rose to her feet.
The time had come.

“I’m going.”

◆

Surveying the battlefield from his throne, Undead King Fabian sat with a sullen expression, observing the unfolding carnage.
The throne was nothing more than a grotesque mass of bones and rotting flesh, a throne in name only.

[…Damn it.]

Purple flames flickered resentfully within his pitch-black eye sockets.
His imperfect resurrection had left him unable to wield his full power.
Had Fabian been at his peak, he could have reduced this paltry army to dust with a mere flick of his finger.

Yet what was the reality?
His Undead minions pressed forward through sheer numbers, but lacked the decisive blow.
The humans’ resistance proved far more tenacious than he had anticipated.

[Especially those strange Dolls…]

Those are troublesome, Fabian thought.
They knew no fear of death and felt no pain.
For Undead creatures fueled by negative emotions, these Dolls were far from ideal opponents.

[…Well, no matter. Time is on my side.]

Fabian murmured to himself, as if trying to convince himself.
This forest was Fabian’s domain.
The longer the battle dragged on, the stronger he would become.

Even the fallen on the battlefield would eventually become his loyal servants.
Victory was inevitable.
He was absolutely certain of this.

It was at that moment…

◆

Fabian suddenly felt a piercing gaze and turned his head.
A woman had broken through the Undead wall guarding his main camp and was charging straight toward him.

Clad in nothing but crude rags, she was nearly naked.
In her hand, she gripped an unadorned silver spear.

[…Oh?]

The flames in Fabian’s eye sockets flickered with interest.
He recognized the spear.

[Marcia… that accursed Saintess’s spear. If that’s the case…]

At the same time, he sensed the lingering traces of holy power radiating from Ayla’s entire body.
Fabian was certain: she was a descendant of Saintess Marcia.

[How amusing. The Saintess’s descendant comes to seek her own death.]

Fabian slowly rose from his throne.
The surrounding Undead tried to stop Ayla, but she swept them aside with a flash of her spear.
Her movements were utterly efficient, focused solely on Fabian’s life.

Soon, Ayla stood before him.

[My name is Fabian, the Immortal King who rules over life and death.]

Fabian spread his arms wide with an air of nonchalant confidence.
But instead of replying, Ayla—
gripped her spear, channeled all her strength, and leaped.

The spearhead aimed precisely at Fabian’s sternum.
It was a strike fueled by all her hatred and skill.

◆

The impact…
Yes, the impact felt wrong.

It didn’t go through.
That was the sensation.

In truth, Fabian paid no heed to the spear piercing his chest, merely gazing down at Ayla with quiet contempt.

“…Is that all?”

His voice carried a heavy note of disappointment and a hint of mockery.

“W-what…?!”

For the first time, panic flickered across Ayla’s face.
The violet flames in Fabian’s eye sockets flickered mockingly.

[I knew it from the moment I laid eyes on you.
You may carry the bl00d of the Saintess, but that’s all you are—bl00d alone.
You haven’t inherited even a tenth of her power.]

Fabian gripped the spear’s shaft.
The instant his fingers touched it, a surge of intense black lightning coursed through the weapon and struck Ayla.

[Is that all you amount to, descendant of the Saintess?]

Fabian reached for Ayla’s defenseless neck as she collapsed.

“Ayla!”

A shadow lunged from the side.
It was Webster, the Heavenly Knight.

[Fool!]

Webster’s full-force strike was effortlessly deflected with a mere burst of magic power.
With a high-pitched metallic clang, Webster’s longsword shattered into fragments.

“Guh…?!”

Unable to withstand the impact, Webster was sent flying backward.

“Keep going!”
“Surround him! Let’s finish this here!”

Responding to Webster’s actions, several nearby knights charged at Fabian, but—

[—Decay.]

With a single muttered word from Fabian, the knights’ steel spears rusted and crumbled to dust.

“W-what…?!”
“M-my arm… my arm!”

The knights’ bodies, too, were touched by Fabian’s aura of death, their armor rapidly corroding along with them.
Before they could even scream, they collapsed into human-shaped stains on the ground.

Utter annihilation.
The difference in their power was simply too vast.

Fabian didn’t even glance at the fallen bodies before turning back to Ayla.

[Now, let’s finish this.]

Fabian raised his hand to deliver the finishing blow.
But his arm froze mid-swing.

Pale, translucent tendrils had wrapped themselves around his limb, binding it in layers.

“……!?”

Ayla’s eyes widened.
Her three Phantom Warriors, her loyal subordinates, clung to Fabian like wraiths, desperately restraining his movements.

Their incorporeal attacks couldn’t harm him.
Yet their actions were a testament to their unwavering loyalty—the will of knights who, even in death, sought to protect their master.

Marcia.
Alice.
Mia.

Witnessing her comrades’ resistance, strength returned to Ayla’s eyes.
She slowly rose to her feet, picking up her corroded silver spear.

(Master, grant me strength.)

Her prayer wasn’t directed to the gods she once worshipped.
It was solely for Hein, the object of her newfound faith.

◆

The next instant, a torrent of pitch-black Magic Power erupted from Ayla’s body.

This wasn’t her own power.
It was something far greater, more primal, more malevolent.

The Magic Power surged into the corroding spear.

(This…)

Ayla’s hand, gripping the spear, trembled.
She recognized this sensation.
This overwhelming, suffocating Magic Power.

Master…?

The spear’s corrosion halted, and instead, its jet-black luster intensified.
Then, the spear itself began to pulse as if alive.

Fabian’s expression shifted.
His confident smile vanished, replaced by shock and wariness.

[W-what is this power?!]

Fabian suddenly looked up at the sky.

He felt it—an absolute pressure, as if his entire body were being gripped by an impossibly vast palm.
His body wouldn’t move.
He couldn’t even twitch a finger.

The Undead King was completely restrained by an unfathomable force.

Fabian no longer considered the woman before him a threat.
He was hallucinating a vision of the heavens themselves tearing open, revealing a colossal “eye” glaring down at him.

He must resist.
He had to resist.

He must resist—

As Fabian thought this, he suddenly felt a strange sensation in his chest.
He looked down to see Ayla, a sinister smile on her face, had thrust her spear into him.

◆

His strength drained away—no, it was being stolen.

Like a small wave swallowed by a larger one, Fabian felt his Magic Power being eroded by something far greater.

This is poison.
A deadly poison.

[You—a Saintess, of all people… What have you sold your soul to…?]

These were Fabian’s final words.

His body began to crumble rapidly from the feet up, as if a thousand years had passed in an instant.
His bones weathered and turned to sand.

The purple flames in his eye sockets flickered—and vanished.

All that remained were his tattered royal robes and a decaying crown lying on the ground.

Undead King Fabian had been destroyed.

◆

The moment the Undead King vanished, the dense miasma that had blanketed the battlefield dissipated as if it had never existed.

The Undead froze in place, then crumbled into dust.

The desperate battle situation had been reversed in an instant.

The surviving knights, soldiers, and adventurers stood frozen in disbelief, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.

Ayla knelt on the ground, her spear clattering beside her.

As Hein’s Magic Power withdrew from the spear, she felt as if a thick veil had been lifted from her consciousness.

“Ah…”

Ayla gazed blankly at the sky, her expression dazed.
Her mind felt strangely clear, yet a single tear traced a path down her cheek.

(It’s over.)

Sunlight streamed through a break in the clouds.
The light seemed like the spirits of her fallen comrades, blessing her from above.

Allied Forces soldiers cautiously approached Ayla.
Their eyes held both awe and gratitude.

But these emotions vanished instantly.

A malevolent aura suddenly emanated from Ayla.
The sanity she had begun to regain was immediately and completely overwhelmed by a renewed, even more intense fanaticism.

“Ah, ah, ah… What have I done?!”

Ayla began to tremble violently.
Her face twisted in ecstasy, her eyes glazed over with feverish fervor.

(I didn’t destroy Fabian with my own power!
It was all, all thanks to the power of My Lord!)

“Ufufu…”

An eerie laugh escaped Ayla’s lips.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

She suddenly stood, threw her arms wide toward the heavens, and cried out in a ringing voice:

“Did you see this, my lord? This Ayla! With the great power you bestowed upon me, I have splendidly cleared the way for you!”

“This victory is Yours, Master!
This Ayla’s body, heart, and soul—all belong to You!
Even if I am stained with the vilest filth, I will gladly offer myself for Your sake!”

Seeing Ayla’s manic display, the surviving soldiers exchanged uneasy glances and slowly backed away.

“Hey, is that woman alright…?”

“She’s lost a few screws…”

“I thought she was supposed to be the Holy Maiden?”

Webster and Vargas watched from a distance, their faces grimacing.

“Lord Webster, what exactly is that…?”

“I don’t understand… But it’s a fact that she defeated Fabian.”

Ayla’s mad monologue continued unabated.

“Ah, Lord Hein, Lord Hein! Just thinking of you fills my entire being with power and ecstasy!
Even Ayla’s spear aches to serve you more, to serve you more…!”

With that, Ayla lovingly clasped the spear’s shaft between her legs, her body trembling in blissful delirium.

The Duchy of Yggdra had managed to repel the Undead King’s threat, but only at the cost of immense devastation.
At the heart of this victory stood a single madwoman.

Oblivious to the bewilderment around her, Ayla continued to offer her prayers of gratitude and loyalty to her lord, her voice rising toward the heavens.

◆◆◆

In an alternate timeline, Hein Sera Aster, who had transformed into the Demon King, led countless demonic beings.

Dragons, giants, demons, and nameless, monstrous abominations.

Even with the soul of the previous Demon King possessing him, the vessel remained that of a frail human.
It was inherently impossible for proud, chaos-embracing demons to follow a Demon King who was merely a human child.

So how did he achieve such dominion?

The answer was simple:
A form of mental corruption through magic power—a technique akin to brainwashing.

Imagine a pitcher filled with pure water.
What happens when you drop a single drop of black ink into it?

The water instantly becomes murky, and soon the entire pitcher is dyed black.

Hein’s magic power was precisely this “ink.”

By blending and amplifying the magic power of the previous Demon King with his own, Hein created an utterly blasphemous and domineering force.

Those exposed to this magic power for extended periods, or who had it directly infused into their bodies, found their own magic power forcibly “overwritten” with Hein’s color.

It was a phenomenon akin to soul assimilation.
The very core of their thoughts, the essence of their souls, had been optimized to align with Hein, an absolute being.

Of course, compatibility played a role.
Demon King Hein’s magic power was so impure, blasphemous, and defiled that this brainwashing would weaken unless the target possessed a correspondingly tainted soul.

For example, it would be impossible to seize control of a pure soul like that of a former Saintess.

So then.
What did this world’s Hein Sera Aster do?

The sight of Ayla, driven mad, made it clear.

Perhaps the Hein of this world was even more dangerous than the Demon King himself.