Chapter 7 – Scheduling Conflicts and Holy Wars

The parade ground stretched out before me like an execution platform.

Rows of soldiers stood at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Banners snapped in the wind, displaying the kingdom’s crest—a golden lion clutching a sword. Drums beat a steady rhythm that matched the panic hammering in my chest. Thousands of faces looked up at me with expressions ranging from reverence to bloodlust, waiting for their Hero to inspire them to glorious war.​

I stood on a raised platform next to Elizabeth, trying not to hyperventilate.

The King had insisted on a motivational speech before deployment. Standard procedure, he’d said. Rally the troops, boost morale, remind them why they’re marching to their possible deaths. Easy stuff for a chosen Hero with maxed charisma stats.

Except I didn’t want to rally anyone. I wanted to un-rally them, to convince them that war was bad actually, and maybe we should all just stay home and work on our mental health instead.

“Go ahead, darling.”

Elizabeth whispered, nudging me forward with a smile that promised violence against anyone who disappointed her.

I cleared my throat. The sound echoed across the parade ground thanks to some kind of magical amplification.

“Soldiers of the kingdom.”

My voice boomed out, way more confident than I felt.

“We stand on the brink of war against the Demon King and his armies.”

The crowd roared approval. Swords clashed against shields in a deafening rhythm.

I waited for them to quiet down, my brain scrambling for words that would somehow discourage them without sounding like a coward.

“But we must be cautious.”

I continued, trying to inject doubt into my tone.

“The Demon King is very cunning. Extremely cunning. Like, PhD in cunning. We should wait, prepare more, really think this through—”

“THE HERO CARES ABOUT OUR LIVES!”

Someone shouted from the crowd.

The soldiers erupted in cheers. They started chanting my name, fists pumping in the air.

Wait, no. That wasn’t the reaction I wanted at all.

“No, I mean we should delay—”

“HE’S SO WISE!”

Another voice cut through.

“HE WANTS US PROPERLY EQUIPPED!”

“What? No, that’s not—”

“THE HERO WILL LEAD US TO VICTORY!”

The chanting got louder, more intense. My attempt at stalling had somehow transformed into inspiring rhetoric. The charisma stat was working against me, twisting my words of caution into leadership wisdom.​

Elizabeth grabbed my hand, her eyes shining with pride.

“You’re so strategic, darling. Making them eager by pretending to hold back.”

She stood on her toes, whispering in my ear.

“I love watching you manipulate the masses.”

I wasn’t manipulating anyone. I was failing spectacularly at the most basic level of communication.

A general stepped forward, saluting with enough force to nearly knock himself over.

“Hero, your wisdom has inspired us! We wish to march immediately! Tomorrow at dawn!”

The crowd roared agreement.

Tomorrow? I’d been trying to delay them by weeks, maybe months. Now they wanted to leave earlier than originally planned.

This was a disaster.

My vision blurred at the edges. A sharp pain lanced through my skull, the kind of headache that felt like someone was driving a spike between my eyes. The connection to my other body flickered, sending fragmented sensations across the mental link.

Cold stone. Clawed hands gripping armor. Voices arguing in demonic.

《 WARNING: Demon Body is being assaulted by Lilith and Gorgara. 》

The blue text materialized in my peripheral vision, visible only to me.

《 Stress levels critical. Consciousness stabilization failing. 》

What did that mean, assaulted? Were they fighting again? Trying to wake up my frozen demon body? Actually murdering each other over serving rights?

“Darling?”

Elizabeth’s voice sounded distant, muffled.

Another voice overlapped hers, sultry and venomous.

“My Lord, you must choose between us.”

That was Lilith. But Lilith wasn’t here. She was in the demon castle, probably still locked in a standoff with Gorgara over my comatose body.

I blinked, trying to focus.

The parade ground swam back into view. Soldiers still cheering. Elizabeth still holding my hand. But now I could hear Lilith’s voice layered underneath the human noise, bleeding through the mental connection like a radio signal from another dimension.

“The Orc is unworthy, My Lord. Let me eliminate her.”

Then Gorgara’s rough tone cut through.

“I can serve you better, King. Let me prove my devotion.”

“Are you alright?”

Elizabeth squeezed my hand, concern flickering across her face.

“You look pale.”

“Fine.”

I managed, my voice strained.

“Just thinking about the, uh, war stuff.”

The System notification pulsed more urgently.

《 ALERT: Prolonged separation between bodies causing synaptic overflow. Recommend immediate transfer to stabilize— 》

The text cut off, replaced by static and error codes.

Great. My consciousness was glitching like a corrupted save file, and I had to finish this speech without looking like I was having a mental breakdown in front of an army.​

I forced myself to focus on the crowd.

“Right. So. We march tomorrow. Very brave. Much strategy.”

The soldiers cheered louder.

Elizabeth pulled me back from the platform edge before I could accidentally say something else that would make things worse.

The war room was quieter but somehow more suffocating.

I sat at a heavy wooden desk, quill in hand, staring at a blank piece of parchment that felt like a death sentence. Elizabeth stood behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders, occasionally massaging them in a way that should’ve been comforting but felt more like a predator sizing up prey.

“You need to write the formal declaration.”

She said, her voice honey-sweet.

“It’s tradition. The Hero challenges the Demon King in writing before the battle.”

I looked down at the quill. My hand trembled slightly.

This was ridiculous. I was about to write a strongly worded letter to myself, declaring my intention to kill my other body. This was beyond absurd. This was performance art in the medium of bureaucratic self-hatred.

“Start with the greeting.”

Elizabeth leaned down, her breath warm against my ear.

“Dear Filthy Monster.”

I wrote the words, each letter feeling like a betrayal.

“That’s perfect.”

She giggled.

“Now tell him how pathetic he is. How his armies will crumble before your holy light.”

I added another line, my stomach churning.

“Your corruption spreads like disease.”

Elizabeth dictated, clearly enjoying herself.

“But I will be the cure. I will purge your existence from this world and scatter your ashes to the wind.”

My hand moved automatically, transcribing her violent poetry onto parchment. Each word was a knife twisting deeper into my sanity.

“Oh, and mention his stupid armor.”

Elizabeth added, her tone shifting to something more petty.

“Say it’s overcompensating. Say real strength doesn’t need that much metal.”

I wrote it down, tears threatening to form in my eyes.

I was insulting my own defense stats. The same stats that had saved my life—both lives—multiple times. The armor that had tanked a dragon bone axe without a scratch was now being called compensatory fashion by my own hand.​

“Beautiful.”

Elizabeth read over my shoulder, her satisfaction palpable.

“Now sign it. Make it official.”

I signed my name at the bottom, the flourish at the end looking more like a cry for help than a signature.

The formal declaration of war was complete.

I had officially challenged myself to a duel to the death, insulted my own appearance, and promised to scatter my own ashes. This was a new low, even by the standards of my increasingly unhinged existence.

Elizabeth picked up the parchment, admiring it like a love letter.

“We’ll send this with a messenger tomorrow. By the time it reaches the Demon King, we’ll already be marching to Fort Ironwall.”

She turned to me, her cyan eyes gleaming with that unhinged devotion.

“Can you imagine his face when he reads this? He’ll be so angry. So desperate.”

She clutched the letter to her chest.

“And then we’ll crush him together. You’ll strike the killing blow, and I’ll be right there, watching the light leave his eyes.”

I sat there, exhausted in ways that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

My consciousness was stretched between two bodies like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point. In the demon castle, Lilith and Gorgara were apparently fighting over my frozen form, creating enough stress to trigger System warnings. Here in the human capital, Elizabeth was planning my other self’s murder with the enthusiasm of someone organizing a birthday party.

And next week, I’d have to be on the battlefield. As both commanders.

The Hero leading the human forces. The Demon King commanding the demon army. Both sides expecting victory. Both sides ready to kill for it.

I was going to have to fight myself. Literally. There was no metaphor here, no philosophical interpretation. I would stand on opposite sides of a battlefield and try to kill my own body while simultaneously trying to defend it.

The logistics alone were nightmare fuel. How do you strategize against yourself? How do you predict your own moves when you’re making both sets of moves? What happens if I win? Which me would be winning?

“You’re thinking very hard, darling.”

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs.

“About the battle strategies?”

“Something like that.”

I mumbled.

The System remained silent, offering no helpful tips or escape routes. Just error messages and warnings about consciousness destabilization.

I stared at the ceiling, sending a desperate mental plea into the void.

“System, is there a cloning feature? Or maybe a self-destruct button? I’ll take either.”

No response.

Just the weight of Elizabeth’s hand on mine, the distant echo of Lilith and Gorgara’s argument bleeding through the mental connection, and the growing certainty that next week’s battle was going to be the most complicated, confusing, and potentially lethal game of rock-paper-scissors in recorded history.​

I was the Hero destined to save humanity.

I was the Demon King sworn to destroy it.

I was one person playing both sides of a holy war.

And I was so cosmically, catastrophically, irreversibly cooked that the universe itself probably couldn’t tell if I was the protagonist or the punchline anymore.