The maid squad is too strong, what use is there for me, the Demon King?

Almost the instant he felt the blow to his chest, Gray clearly sensed that familiar yet repulsive feeling of being watched—cold, supreme, and with a divine indifference.

Undoubtedly, this gaze came from the Goddess of Holy Light.

The last time He "looked upon" him in this way was when He slew Thurt, the demon of desire and truth, with absolute power during His pilgrimage in the Holy Light.

But at this moment, Grey didn't have time to delve into why the Goddess of Light had cast her gaze again—whether she was admiring the drama she had personally directed or confirming the actions of her pieces.

All the chaotic thoughts were overwhelmed by the excruciating pain in his chest and the icy chill surging in his heart.

He looked down in disbelief and confirmed that the sword that had pierced his chest was indeed a light sword imbued with Philippa's pure light magic.

Then, he looked up, his gaze filled with complex emotions as he looked at Philippa, who was standing right in front of him.

In that gaze, there was the physiological spasm caused by the excruciating physical pain, the bone-chilling coldness and absurdity of being betrayed by the most trusted person, but deeper still, it was not pure anger or hatred, but rather a complex emotion... a mixture of understanding and deep sorrow.

He saw her face covered in tears, which were not feigned but a true reflection of her immense inner torment.

He heard her choked, broken "I'm sorry," her voice almost overflowing with despair.

He saw the pain and struggle in her eyes that almost destroyed her; her hand gripping the sword hilt was even trembling violently.

This sword not only pierced his chest, but it also seemed to pierce her own heart.

He watched her tears, listened to her apology, and felt the familiar yet deadly light magic emanating from the sword.

That complex glance contained too much unspeakable information—a momentary assessment of the situation, a speculation about Philippa's predicament, a confirmation of the invisible hand behind it all, and even more so, a deep sigh for this "possibility" that had just begun but had already been crushed by cruel reality.

The last rays of twilight seemed to freeze in this desperate stare.

To be honest, even though the attack pierced Gray's heart with light-attribute magic, it was still not fatal to him.

"A mere fatal wound"—if others heard this, they would probably find it utterly absurd.

However, for a tenth-order being that has long surpassed conventional life forms and stands at the pinnacle of this world, the destruction of a single organ, even the heart, is not an immediate and irreversible end.

His immense vitality and magical ability to repair his body were enough to allow him to maintain his life even after his heart was destroyed, and even seek to rebuild it.

With Gray's strength, he could have reacted the instant the sword tip touched his skin, or even the moment Philippa's killing intent slightly leaked out. With his unpredictable speed and magical control, he could have easily created distance at the last second, at most suffering minor injuries, and completely avoided the blow that pierced his chest.

However, he didn't.

He didn't dodge, didn't block, and even the protective magic that he instinctively activated was forcibly suppressed at the last moment.

He stood there, accepting the blow—a strike of light and pain—from the most unexpected person with an almost nonchalant air.

The excruciating pain swept over him like a tsunami, as the light magic raged within his body, clashing fiercely with his own magical source, bringing waves of burning and tearing agony.

Gray swayed almost imperceptibly, but he remained standing firmly, his gaze never leaving Philippa's amber eyes, which were filled with tears, pain, and despair.

He looked at her, at her fingers that had turned white from the extreme force, at her trembling body, and at the pain on her face that was even more intense than his own, the one who had been pierced.

Then, he sighed softly, almost imperceptibly.

In that sigh, there was no anger, no questioning, no fear of impending death, only a deep weariness and understanding that seemed to pierce through time and fate.

He spoke, his voice low and hoarse from the trauma to his chest, tinged with the friction of airflow, but his tone was unusually calm, even carrying an indescribable gentleness, as if he were merely asking a long-standing, mundane question:

"……Why?"

Faced with Gray's calm, almost cruel "Why," Philippa's pent-up tears finally burst forth. She trembled violently, barely able to grip the hilt of the sword deeply embedded in Gray's chest, her voice choked with sobs:

“Because…because this is my…mission…!” She almost screamed these words, her voice filled with the pain of being torn apart by fate, “Even if…even if the Demon King is you…even if Gray…is my…beloved one…”

“Even if… there really is some… mastermind behind all of this…” She raised her tearful eyes to look at Gray, her eyes filled with deep helplessness and despair, “but… compared to joining the Demon King in rebelling against the high and mighty Goddess of Light… wouldn’t it be much simpler to slay the Demon King…?!”

“Human power…how can human power defy the gods?! That is…that is the gods!” Her voice trembled with fear, a feeling of awe and insignificance towards the divine power that had long been rooted in the hearts of all believers.

"And...I represent...humanity! Olmec...my nation...millions upon millions of its people...they all believe in the Holy Light! The Church of the Holy Light protects them, gives them hope...we...we have absolutely no reason...no reason to rebel against her!"

Her logic appears broken and chaotic under the immense emotional impact, but its core is heartbreakingly clear—between personal feelings and racial righteousness, between insignificant mortals and supreme divine power, the "responsibility" she was taught and given overwhelmed everything.

"If...if I weren't the hero..." Her voice trailed off, filled with endless bitterness and the unrealistic conjecture, "I would definitely help you...I would definitely stand by your side...my...love..."

"But I am the hero..." She seemed to use her last bit of strength to repeat this identity that felt like a shackle, tears mingling with endless sorrow streaming down her face, "Slay the Demon King...to create a better future for humanity...this...is the mission I, as the hero, must complete..."

A hero is never an "embodiment of justice".

They, the heroes of all ages, embarked on the path of defeating the Demon King solely for the prosperity of humanity.

As she finished speaking, she seemed to have all her strength drained away, leaving only uncontrollable sobs and the sword of light that still connected the two of them, stained with blood and tears.

She chose her responsibility, but in doing so, she also plunged herself into an eternal hell.