Chapter 1: THE DEMON KING WANTS TO DIE PEACEFULLY

At ninety-seven years old, Vael Zar Astaroth had finally achieved what six kingdoms, three Heroes, two saintesses, and one particularly vindictive dragon had failed to give him.

Peace.

Not eternal peace. He was not dead yet.

Just ordinary peace.

The kind involving a wooden cottage at the edge of a village, a crooked fence, twelve rows of cabbages, and neighbors who believed he was an irritable widower named Vale.

Every morning, Vael woke before sunrise because his knees hurt too much to keep sleeping. He heated water, fed a one-eyed black chicken he had named General, inspected his cabbages with the seriousness of a battlefield commander, and complained about taxes.

It was, in his opinion, a perfect retirement.

Sixty years earlier, people had called him the Calamity of the Western Continent. The Black Sovereign. The King Beneath the Crimson Moon. The Butcher of Ragnor.

Vael personally preferred the last one. At least it was concise.

Now the Butcher of Ragnor was sitting on a stool, arguing with a turnip.

"You’re rotten."

The turnip offered no defense.

"Coward."

General the chicken pecked his boot.

Vael sighed.

He had buried emperors, generals, rivals, enemies, and nearly every fool who had once sworn eternal loyalty to him. His magic core had withered. His once-black hair had turned white. The hands that used to crush enchanted steel now trembled while lifting a kettle.

Death was close.

Vael did not mind.

He had even prepared for it properly.

Behind the cottage, beneath an old plum tree, waited a grave he had dug himself. The coffin had been purchased from a traveling carpenter at thirty percent discount because the lid had a cosmetic scratch.

Vael considered this excellent financial judgment.

That afternoon, he climbed into the coffin to test it.

The padding was thin.

"Cheap bastard."

He folded his hands over his chest.

The inside smelled of pine.

For the first time in several days, his back did not hurt.

Vael closed his eyes.

"This will do."

DING.

His eyes opened.

A translucent pink window floated three inches above his face.

[CONGRATULATIONS!]

Vael stared at it.

[YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED AS THE MALE LEAD OF A ROMANTIC COMEDY!]

Silence.

A bird chirped outside.

Vael slowly sat up inside his coffin.

The window followed him.

[Host detected: Vael Zar Astaroth]

[Age: 97]

[Occupation: Retired Demon King]

[Relationship Status: Single]

[Romantic Experience: 0]

Another line appeared.

[Assessment: Catastrophic.]

Vael blinked once.

Then twice.

"I am hallucinating."

[Incorrect.]

"Senility."

[Incorrect.]

"A curse."

[Incorrect.]

"Divine punishment."

[Possible, but irrelevant.]

Vael climbed out of the coffin.

"Begone."

[No.]

His left eye twitched.

He raised one trembling hand and drew an ancient demonic rune in the air. Black sparks gathered between his fingers. It was a pathetic shadow of his former strength, but still enough to kill an ordinary man.

"Dispel."

The rune struck the pink window.

Nothing happened.

Instead, another message appeared.

[Host has attempted to destroy the System.]

[Confidence: Attractive.]

"What?"

The System changed screens.

[MAIN QUEST — FIRST CONTACT]

[Hold hands with a woman for ten consecutive seconds.]

[Reward: Biological Age -1 Year]

Vael read the line three times.

Then he looked at his own hand.

The skin was thin. The veins stood beneath it like blue roots.

He looked back at the System.

"Biological age?"

[Correct.]

"You mean rejuvenation."

[Correct.]

"Organ function?"

[Improved proportionally.]

"Mana channels?"

[Improved proportionally.]

"Magic core?"

[Potentially.]

Vael went still.

For sixty years, age had been the only enemy he could not threaten, bribe, outmaneuver, poison, imprison, or throw from a tower.

He had spent fortunes on alchemists. He had forced necromancers to explain every known method of life extension. He had rejected undeath because smelling like a crypt forever seemed inconvenient.

Nothing had worked.

Now an obnoxiously pink interface was offering him one year of youth in exchange for ten seconds of hand-holding.

Vael narrowed his eyes.

"What is the price?"

[Hold hands.]

"The real price."

[Ten seconds.]

"No soul contract?"

[No.]

"No hidden clause surrendering my firstborn?"

[Host has no firstborn.]

"Unnecessary observation."

[Accurate observation.]

Vael climbed fully out of the coffin, suddenly irritated enough to feel ten years younger without magical assistance.

"Fine. I will prove you fraudulent."

[Excellent!]

[Romantic Comedy Route initiated!]

Pink hearts exploded across his vision.

Vael staggered backward.

"Stop that."

[No.]

For the first time in sixty years, the former Demon King screamed loudly enough to frighten every bird out of the plum tree.

General the chicken watched from the fence.

Even the chicken looked embarrassed for him.