Ishura - Volume 8 - Chapter 1

Chapter 1- Sword of Faint Silver

“Vile dragon! O vile dragon! Wings of treachery defiling the heavens!” The grown man faced the garden tree and shouted. He was a tall man, just over the age of twenty.

His name was Narta the Mindful. Rosclay had only just turned ten, so Narta was twice his age.

Narta lifted the long tree branch hanging from his hip in an exaggerated arc and held it out in front of him.

“You ask me my name, do you?! Very well!”

The piece of wood Rosclay carried was simply the wooden plank his household used to shovel dirt, but when swung, it moved as gracefully as a beautiful silver sword.

“Know this! You have asked the name of your prey this day! The prestige of killing a single man, a royal knight and a minia! Thus, vile dragon, this battle is not a challenge from I, Altoy the Authority. No, you, Jigradeel, Blade of the Throne, are challenging me this day.”

The clear and resounding voice seemed to shake the air.

The tip of the wooden plank, still gripped like a sword, was motionless in the air—it didn’t tremble so much as an inch, even as he spoke.

A bead of sweat flowed from the man’s temple and dripped from his chin. Then he whispered, “…How was that?”

“Can I point something out?”

Rosclay was sitting in the eaves by the back door and had watched the whole scene. He had also looked at the slightly overgrown weeds and felt that they would need to be cut soon.

“Whether you announce yourself or not, I don’t think you’re supposed to drone on like that. I think it’d be much better to strike at your foe while you’re talking.”

“Really…? That’s the issue? You watched me for so long, and you’re only saying this now?!”

“It bugs me. I mean, it’s so weird. You’re trying too hard to look cool.”

“Rosclay…! You gotta dream bigger, c’mon! Listen. We’re talking about announcing yourself in a show of heroism! It’s the most important part of all!”

Narta the Mindful was a young man looking to join a theater troupe. Since Rosclay didn’t have a father, his family had entrusted the man with some of their heavy labor, and on top of his pay, they would allow him to use their garden as his rehearsal space.

“That’s seriously all you have to say after witnessing such a moving performance? I’m hurt.”

“Oh, no, um… I think you’re getting better, overall. That was really something, Narta.”

“Your compliments always sound so half-hearted.”

Narta sat down beside Rosclay and drank a water flask dry. While Narta hadn’t actually been showing off in a real fight, Rosclay knew that true-to-nature acting was almost as exhausting.

“Can you really beat a dragon, though?”

“Huh? I mean, yeah. Don’t you know the plot of Altoy the Authority? Afterward, there’s this battle nearly to the death with Jigradeel. ‘Jigradeel! If you boast that my skills cannot pierce you, then I dare you to defend against this!’ Then he uses the arrow he stole from the Life Arts user Hittolip—”

“…That’s not what I meant. I already know all of that. Even I’ve memorized the lines by now. I mean, is it really possible for a minia to defeat a dragon?”

“Hell if I know, but Altoy does it. He has to. Otherwise, he can’t turn into some legendary hero.”

“I learned about this in class. The minian from the past and the knight don’t really seem to have this big difference in their physical abilities or anything.”

This world had legends of its own. Passed down through people’s memories across generations, there were some who made a living off them, like those in a theater troupe and poets. Though occasionally someone would find an old record written in the nobles’ script, too.

Among his classmates at military school, there were those who looked up to these legends and sought to become mighty champions themselves. Rosclay understood the adoration, and he was aware that there was part of him that felt the same way.

“I feel like these sorts of legends are actually all made up.”

“What did I just say, kid—you’re crushing dreams with remarks like that! That’s not gonna make you popular with the ladies. The quintessential trait of a guy who’ll never get a girl, believe me.”

“No, I’m really popular. Actually, just the other day someone asked me if I would take their daughter as my wife in the future. The girl was barely more than a month old…”

“D-dammit…cheeky brat…”

“Pfft.”

“All ’cause of that nice face of yours! Dammit! I wanted the girls to fawn all over me back in the day, too, y’know! I swear, it’s all in the looks! No one cares about anything else!”

Rosclay regularly bantered with Narta like this.

He often heard he had inherited his handsome features from his dad, but without knowing what his father’s face looked like, he had no way to confirm this for himself. He believed he looked more like his mother, if anything.

He was raised in the middle of a dark age. Shortly after Rosclay was born, his father was sent to the front lines with the initial force sent to subjugate the True Demon King, and he later passed away. His mother didn’t want to talk to him about what sort of battle his father had fought against the terrible demon king before dying, and Rosclay tried not to ask her. He assumed it hadn’t been a heroic death.

“I wonder if my good looks would help me become an actor.”

“Wait, an actor? Didn’t you want to be a royal knight?”

“Yeah, I guess. My mom told me to and all. But I don’t really like knights or anything, either.”

“…I don’t think I’ve heard that before. You were so focused on your sword training, too. You hated it this whole time?”

“It’s not that I hated it. I do like sword fighting, but…a knight is always putting his life on the line, right?”

Narta then made a complicated expression, sort of surprised and unsure how to respond.

“Yeah, that’s true… Hell, the same goes for me. The truth is, I sort of chose the path of an artist in part because I didn’t want to do that stuff. I get it. The demon king… That’s one hell of an adversary.”

“…I wonder if someone will kill them for us.”

The students at military school all looked up to the legends and believed that someday they’d become the sort of grand champion that got immortalized in stories themselves. Rosclay didn’t have the talent to dream like all of them did.

He imagined standing up against the Demon King’s Army as a royal knight. The Rosclay of his imagination died all too easily. Rosclay couldn’t believe—neither that he would leave something behind, nor that a minia could slay a dragon.

“All right, Rosclay, might as well try to become an actor then, huh? You could be my apprentice! I bet you could do it if you tried. You’ll just have to practice every day. Society’s all about appearances.”

“No… I already know that becoming an actor isn’t in the cards for me. I have my sword training and my classes, so… I don’t have time to practice acting every day on top of all that. It can’t happen, it’s just too unrealistic.”

“Sure it can.”

“Okay, Narta. How, then? How could I make it happen?”

“You can practice together with your sword. “

Narta took the wooden plank and stood up. Thrusting out his sword in one hand, he stood at the ready. Rosclay felt like it was very rare to see him wear a serious look outside of his acting.

“What sort of stances are they teaching you at the military school? Standing with your legs in an L-shape, with your back leg set sideways against the front leg…placing your center of gravity on your tiptoes, and then stepping in to stab—would that just about cover it?”

“…Yeah, you got it.”

“But, you see, there’s no need to do that all the time when you’re not in class or sparring. Look, Rosclay. Straighten your torso, from your heel to your neck. Pull your chin in tight and keep your eyes forward. What do you think would happen if you took a stance like this?”

“Well… It’s a really weak stance. Your muscles are too tense, and your joint movements have gotten visibly stiffer.”

“No, no! The answer’s simple.”

Narta flashed a dauntless smile.

“You’ll seem stronger.”

“……”

The man had always been acting. He definitely wasn’t strong, nor did he have some natural gift, either. Nevertheless, Narta had been an actor ever since he was Rosclay’s age.

“Even in an actual fight, it isn’t all bad. Steel your nerves and stiffen your muscles tight. Try moving while being aware of how others are seeing you. What happens when you do…? You get shockingly tired, that’s for sure.”

“I think that would be pretty obvious.”

“Exhaustion signals just how much pressure was put on your body. So then, that’d mean you could hone your body just by standing, right? Just as a rule of thumb, though.”

“Pfft. I really don’t think it would be that easy.”

“Wait, there are other ways to practice looking tough.”

Narta bent down and placed a hand on the lower section of Rosclay’s ribs.

“One way is how you breathe. I’m sure they teach abdominal breathing at military school, but when it comes to projecting your voice, the world of theater has honed the skill for a thousand years. Strictly speaking, you don’t breathe out with your stomach muscles. You use the part behind that, the diaphragm, to exhale. You can do that, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“Okay then, time to practice. Take a deep breath and project, and you’ll be able to move better than anyone else, and appear way stronger. You just gotta do both acting and swordplay at the same time. Though, actually… I regret not doing that, so you do it instead. Then you’ll be able to choose either path in the future.”

“That’s just more self-consolation. Narta, you’re just making this up as you go, aren’t you…?”

“I mean… Well… Sure, I might be, but still!”

“…Ha-ha.”

Although he returned Narta’s lukewarm reaction with a sarcastic laugh, and despite saying nasty things about his technique, Rosclay figured he would give it a try. Though he didn’t know if it would have any effect—or even before that, whether it was even possible or not—but he sensed there was a dream to have with it.

He felt that way a lot more than compared to what he had imagined—putting his life on the line, fighting, and dying without becoming a champion.

“You’re really funny, Narta.”

“Right? After all, you’re looking at the guy who’s gonna win the leading man’s role.”

“With a face like that?”

“Whaaat?! Listen, kid! My face— Okay, let me tell you something!”

It was the age when the True Demon King’s terror had begun to spread, much like a dark mantle covers the world with the arrival of the setting sun.

Narta, setting off on a trip to the Kingdom as a member of theater troupe, had also been swallowed up in the mad butchery of the Demon King’s Army, and died. It was said to be a miserable death, with his extremities torn asunder.

Rosclay later heard that Narta the Mindful’s final role was as neither Altoy the Authority, nor any other champion, but a stagehand who engaged in the trivial chores of cleaning and maintenance.

Months passed. At fifteen years old, Rosclay had become a royal knight of the Central Kingdom.

In the age of the True Demon King, strong and healthy adults were the first to die. As long as they were highly competent, it wasn’t rare for a young man like Rosclay to be appointed to the kingdom’s elite units.

Royal knights who were employed as periphery defense troops were assigned mock battle training twice every big month. During these mock battles, they trained while clad in heavy armor from head to toe.

Just as in a one-on-one duel, the training sword would actually make contact with the opponent’s body. These combat drills were especially harsh on new recruits. After a drill ended, they would take off their helmets and a river of sweat would pour out.

However, when that time came, Rosclay would always be sure to wipe himself down while no one could see him. He did his utmost to make sure he didn’t show any exhaustion or weakness to others.

The soldiers he would battle used the same dressing room as him, but none of them showed any hints of picking up on this charade. Rosclay felt confident when it came to this point, and this point alone.

“Rosclay, you must come from a family of knights, right?”

“No. My father was a knight, but he was simply conscripted from the peasantry.”

“So then, it’s more about talent than lineage, eh? Must’ve been a gap in effort, too… I felt like I couldn’t get a blow in at all.”

He had to make his strong points look even stronger. He took pains to either skillfully avoid revealing his weaknesses or hide them.

Rosclay was already a first-class knight when it came to his skills, but his opponent also fought as far as he had all while maintaining this somewhat childish posturing.

“Just between you and me, there’s rumors you’re gonna be named the next captain.”

“No, that can’t be. I’m too young, aren’t I?”

“But even Commander Oslow has acknowledged your skills.”

Oslow the Indomitable. Among the courageous generals like Haade the Flashpoint and Gilnes the Ruined Castle who made up the Central Kingdom’s Twenty-Nine Staff Officers, he was renowned as being the strongest among them all, holding the position of Second General.

Rosclay’s periphery defense troops served as the first shield against any potential invasion of the Central Kingdom by the Demon King’s Army. It was also an elite troop helmed by Oslow the Indomitable. It was a post that Rosclay had wanted and achieved as a result of all his hard work—however, he had no interest in continuing up the path to further promotions.

If he was able to hold himself here as part of the Kingdom’s defense corps, then just like he and Narta had previously hoped, he could live out the rest of his life without having to fight the True Demon King… Until the Kingdom was annihilated, at least.

Fortunately, ever since he had arrived at his post, the Demon King’s Army hadn’t launched a single attack. Rosclay had trained himself constantly to have the power to fight, but this power wasn’t actually saving anyone. If there was any path to avenge Narta, dying with his ambitions unfulfilled, it must have been to use the skills Rosclay learned from the man to keep himself alive as another who didn’t wish to fight. That’s what Rosclay had believed.

“Besides, you’ve been training your Word Arts real hard lately, and that’s gotta be to take the promotion exam, right?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I overheard it in the cafeteria. Someone’s spreading the rumor.”

“…I see.”

He’d had no knowledge of the rumor whatsoever. His reputation as a knight prodigy meant that, occasionally, he’d be hounded by baseless exaggerations.

Even when faced with these claims, Rosclay maneuvered to avoid denying them as much as possible. It was perhaps best for him to prepare a suitable excuse should someone seek him out for a Word Arts display.

…Though, if I just insisted that I couldn’t, I could get by without having to go to such efforts.

Yet at the same time, Rosclay wouldn’t have been able to grow as strong as he had if he hadn’t been goaded on by such lofty expectations. Rosclay’s lineage was average at best. His father had died as a perfectly mundane foot soldier.

By staying abreast of rumors and watchful eyes, he could infer others’ thoughts. By pretending to be strong and using any methods at his disposal to achieve his desired results, he was forcing his real skills to catch up with his deceit.

He couldn’t bear the thought that if he got rid of his affectations, exposed his weakness, and cut his performance short, the only end awaiting him was his own death as a trivial foot soldier.

“What’s the truth, though?”

“Yes, I’m constantly practicing offensive Word Arts and the like. I… I swore to myself that I would only exhibit the skills that were worth showing. The same goes for the promotion exam—I don’t plan on taking it whatsoever.”

“Ha-ha. Too bad.”

As if to interrupt the laughter, the alarm bell rang out. The blood drained from his fellow soldier’s face. Rosclay first wondered if he was revealing the same degree of unrest of his own face at that moment.

“The south gate.”

“……”

The pair immediately donned their practical combat gear and headed for the assembly point. In an alley along the way, they joined several others who flew out from the training grounds and gathered underneath the blue flag in the plaza.

Assembled there were not only knights, but even a squad of Word Arts soldiers led by Ownopellal the Bone Watcher. This wasn’t a simple alert concerning the approach of the Demon King’s Army. Rosclay could tell that the situation was out of the ordinary.

There, in front of the elite troops lined up in the plaza, was a tenacious long-haired man standing on the wooden platform. His name was known to all in the Kingdom. He was the unparalleled Second General, Oslow the Indominable.

“…This everyone then? I have a critical mission for you all.”

Oslow was around forty years old, but both his expression and complexion were youthful and full of vigor. He seemed to have muscles that were denser than his already brawny appearance suggested. The broad double-edged sword he held was said to be an enchanted weapon that would send the bioelectric currents of anyone it touched into disarray.

“Currently, the Demon King’s Army is approaching from the south! All members of the periphery defense troop will intercept them!”

“Commander!” someone from the squad shouted out. Oslow’s commanding policy actually encouraged these sorts of questions and proposals from the squad members. “What are our enemy’s numbers, sir?!”

“Tell me why you ask!”

“Yessir! Having an idea of the enemy troops’ strength will greatly influence our plan of action on the ground! Depending on the situation, we will need to work with the town guards as well…”

“Your answer is correct. However, this time, you need not consider anything beyond intercepting the enemy!” Oslow declared. “Let me explain! In this fight, simply coordinating with the city shall spell our defeat! I will also inform of you our enemy’s numbers! They number a single individual! It will be a battle with the fate of the Kingdom on the line!”

A sense of unrest spread among the soldiers.

Though this world was vast, there was only one race whose individuals could shoulder the fate of an entire nation.

“Our enemy is a dragon! Tiael the Crusher! Let me say once more! The fate of the Kingdom rests on this battle! There will be no exceptions! Every single one of you shall lay down your lives this day!”

Oslow’s speech held an enthusiastic and absolute trust for the soldiers under his command. They were allowed to give their opinions regarding their maneuvers. Even if they didn’t face the True Demon King, all of the soldiers deployed to the periphery guard troop, without exception, were the country’s final shield, embodying the pride of Oslow the Indominable.

“It has all been for this day! This is the day you have all been tirelessly training for! Rise and become champions!”

In response to his voice, the stir among the soldiers changed from quandary to elation, then from elation to fighting spirit.

The terror of the True Demon King continued to spew dishonorable death to every corner of the world.

Much like Rosclay and Narta of the past, the young soldiers feared a purposeless death more than anything else.

Deep in their hearts, they still had the surging passion of their youthful days. They idolized legends and wished to someday become the same sort of grand champion themselves.

…Impossible.

Like the others, Rosclay’s youthful passion had not wavered. Yet he had no faith.

Everyone will die.

A minia could never hope to slay a dragon.

Before he learned how to put on an act from Narta—a memory came to mind from when he was ten years old.

Rosclay was in the garden of the house next door, fully absorbed in practicing his sword swing.

That day he had been invited to a small lunch party the neighbor’s wife had hosted. There were no signs of any children his age, and the guests were mostly the wife’s relatives.

It was awkward to talk with the adults, so he decided to work on the training that he had kept up every day without fail. While he knew it would leave a slightly unfriendly impression, Rosclay understood that his attitude would be well-received, and he would be praised as a fine and diligent child.

“Rosclay. Come here,” the wife called to Rosclay from the house. “Quietly, now. Try not to make any noise.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Brushing off the dirt from his indoor shoes, he entered through the garden door that had been left wide open. The wife was sitting down on the armchair in the living room, and held something small in her arms wrapped in a brand-new white cloth.

It was the wife’s newborn daughter.

“…All the other guests have left, have they?”

“That’s right. I only just realized that I still hadn’t sent you home yet. Sorry, dear. You must have been bored.”

“My house is right next door, so it wasn’t any trouble at all. But are you sure it was all right? For someone like me…to be here.”

Rosclay gazed at the now-silent room. There was another reason why Rosclay didn’t join in with the adults’ conversations: The gathering today was meant to be the funeral for her husband, who died in battle somewhere far away.

“…I ended up giving you the good news and the bad news all at once, didn’t I? The truth is…I wanted to show my girl to you and your mother first, since you’ve always been so kind to me.”

The wife passed him the newborn child and made Rosclay hold her. She looked cheerful and quiet. However, even when she smiled at Rosclay with innocent eyes, it didn’t make him happy at all.

…What is going to happen to these two from here on out?

Would the support provided by the Kingdom to the bereaved family be enough to help the wife raise her daughter? Did one of the relatives he saw earlier have the power to provide for this widowed family?

With his father deceased, Rosclay’s own family was similar, and he would eventually need to allocate the salary he received from military school, in addition to the income from his mother’s work in the market, to provide for them both.

“…I’m sure she’ll grow up happy.”

Rosclay recalled saying something like that as he felt the tiny baby’s warm body in his arms.

“Hmmm. Well, Rosclay is going to become a royal knight, so I’m sure you’ll make this world a better place for us, too.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“In fact, why don’t you take this girl as your wife someday? How does that sound?” she said, looking at her daughter and smiling.

Rosclay was at a loss for words. She and other adults like her would often make these types of irresponsible jokes. Perhaps in moments like these, it would have been better to respond with some flattery, too.

However, this was almost impossible for Rosclay. The margins in his life going forward had long been filled up with his own survival, and with supporting his life with his mother.

To go beyond his own orbit to extend a hand to another, to say nothing of saving the world from the despair of the True Demon King, was impossible.

Furthermore, Rosclay didn’t wish to tell a lie.

“I-I…think you should save that stuff for…someone else…instead of asking me.”

“Okay, then why don’t I ask for something different? Could you give this girl her name—”

Hearing a scream, Rosclay’s consciousness returned to him.

He realized the scream was his own. A cloud of dust and blood mist assailed him from the right like floodwater, and he nearly collapsed just from the weight of it. He barely managed to hold his ground. His military boots dug into the dirt. He used his broken spear as a crutch.

“Haah, haah…”

If he got caught in the aftermath of the attack, he would die. Now that his feet had stopped moving, he needed to quickly hit the ground, but cumulative fatigue suggested if he chose to do that, he would never stand again.

He acted on the next priority instead. He steadied his breathing.

Taking in oxygen, he regained his judgment-making abilities.

Rosclay double-checked the wounds he had received. His upper right arm was dreadfully battered and bloodied. A deep gash left his fat exposed. There was no damage to any major arteries. He could continue to fight. He had maybe one more slash left in him.

The correct decision-making process, exactly as he had been taught.

He retraced his memories. His consciousness was muddled, and he viewed a scene from the past. He wasn’t back in the living room of his neighbor on that day. This was Nanaga Hamlet. The entire surrounding tract was annihilated, with no remnants of the hamlet left behind.

Simply trying to halt Tiael the Crushing’s advance had incurred this level of destruction.

Right now, Rosclay was right in the middle of the valley of death.

Tiael. What happened to Tiael? Did we take him down? What about Commander Oslow…?

Rosclay had come out with lighter injuries because he hadn’t been directly caught in Tiael’s claws.

Rosclay had been one of the men tasked with suppressing Tiael the Crushing with long spears. He had been slightly outside of the range of the dragon’s strike.

The wound on his right arm was the result of the explosion of supersonic air, sending the flesh on his arm flying off.

Is this what a dragon’s like? A true, absolute monster…

There was a rumble. A wave of dust hit Rosclay from a different direction.

He could tell it was the aftermath of Oslow’s battle against Tiael. As they hectically attacked each other’s blindspots, the area of their battle continued to shift. Oslow the Indominable had been fighting since before Rosclay lost consciousness. Was he even managing to evade the shockwaves from the dragon’s claws?

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiss! Do you know, Oslow?! Do you know terror?! D-did you know?!”

“……! Everyone, keep going! Regroup, three or more of you! Stop his movements with your spears, and I can finish him off!”

Suppressing the dragon’s movements from behind was all the more dangerous with long spears. It put them right in the range of his tail attacks.

Rosclay’s decision-making abilities were returning.

He could also understand the significance of the orders his commander gave in the extremes of combat.

That’s right. If I don’t help him, the commander will die. That famed champion.

Rosclay was at last able to see how Tiael and Oslow’s fight was going.

The long spears the soldiers stabbed into the dragon one after another, naturally, were destroyed in the face of the dragon’s physical strength, but each one of them hampered the speed of the dragon’s initial action, and by weaving through the razor-thin opening this created, Oslow the Indominable dodged the dragon’s claws.

Oslow was the only one not wielding a spear. Swinging his enchanted sword that halted bioelectric currents, Temilulk the Blade of Slumber, he kept forcing Tiael to focus solely on the sword’s attacks.

At the start of the encounter, Tiael had been knocked down to the surface with wind-aspect Force Arts after the deaths of a tremendous number of Word Arts troops. Making use of the golden opportunity, the enchanted sword had stripped one wing and Tiael’s left foreleg of all movement. The sections slashed by the Blade of Slumber were paralyzed, causing the adjacent limbs to lose all functionality.

The Kingdom’s Second General. An unparalleled champion. There were few who had actually witnessed Oslow the Indominable fight with all his might.

Rosclay, much like many of the Kingdom’s people, had only imagined what his strength must have been based on the many legends surrounding him.

He outdid all his legends.

Maybe… Just maybe, we could manage…

…to actually kill a dragon.

Oslow the Indominable was indeed a powerful fighter beyond anything Rosclay had imagined.

“Jojingepf.” (To Sanga Winds.)

A deathly chill ran through Rosclay.

“His breath! Get to shelter!”

Rosclay, retrieving his spear before returning to the fray, prioritized shelter above everything else.

The clustered soldiers, as well as Oslow himself, fled from the dragon’s line of fire at full speed.

There was a single breath’s pause…and nothing happened.

“Haah, haah…”

Rosclay couldn’t tell if the terrified breaths belonged to him, or someone else.

It…misfired?!

Tiael hadn’t stopped the incantation. Here in the Nanaga region, far from Tiael’s domain, the dragon’s Word Arts, with the ground at their focal point, had grown extremely unstable. Accordingly, dragons were a race who generally didn’t stray far from the domain where they established their den.

Tiael the Crusher had been driven off by a threat that surpassed dragons.

Before, there hadn’t been anything like that in this world, nor should it have ever existed, even now.

The True Demon King was the terror that should not have been.

“Off we go, Commander Oslow!”

“Be well!”

“…Advance!”

With a short back-and-forth, five soldiers challenged Tiael all at once. The light of the dragon’s claws flashed, mowing down the earth, and all of them died in spurts of blood. Rosclay recalled that, amid the cloud of dust that just covered him, there was a lukewarm fluid mixed in it all.

Narrowly avoiding the horrific display of death, the second wave of soldiers put their lives on the line once more to pin down the dragon. Oslow didn’t waste this second, and boldly flew inside the reach of the dragon’s claws.

“……!”

It was right after Rosclay had picked up his fallen spear.

He was supposed to fight just like those soldiers. Their squad carried the weight of responsibility for the lives of the populace, and throwing one’s life away to protect the people was, amid a hopeless world, the only path to becoming a champion.

He felt that the fallen had been magnificent people. Rosclay, too, wanted to be a courageous man, worthy to be counted among them. He wanted to prove himself useful to a genuine superman like Oslow the Indominable. That was what was righteous and proper.

As a soldier, there wasn’t anything more valuable. That was how it was supposed to be.

“It’s okay!”

Even when he should not have had any mind to spare in the midst of such extreme combat, Oslow called out.

Minia died the moment they entered a dragon’s range. Oslow, with his supernatural combat intuition, had clearly discerned the limit of Tiael’s mobility.

Taking in several shockwaves, just as Rosclay had, even as his whole body ruptured and his bones crumpled, Oslow the Indominable hadn’t lost his fighting spirit.

The brandished claws demolished abandoned houses, foundation and all. From the gouged-out terrain, turbid waters from some irrigation channel flowed in. A single soldier, fluttering like scrap paper, fell into the water with less than half his flesh still clinging to his bones.

More than the destroyed terrain, the mountains of dirt and sand that piled up during the attacks’ aftermath, and the corpses of shredded soldiers, showed in detail how ghastly the battle was.

“I…will fight! Nothing has changed! The same goes for you all, too! I’m following you all on your journey into death, got it?! Protect…koff…the Kingdom! Protect the people!”

“Graaaah… Minia…minia…! Eyes, those black eyes, the eyes…! Don’t look at me! None of you, none of you…! Hraaaaugh!”

“Commander Oslow!”

“Commander!”

“Commander!!”

Standing in for those with broken spears, a new group surrounded Tiael. Rosclay joined up with them. He thrust out the butt of his spear and formed a bastion around the dragon. Blades couldn’t pierce dragon scales.

“Ngh! Grraah…!”

Rosclay was making a desperate effort that pushed him far past his limits, and yet he didn’t feel like he could stop Tiael’s movements. It was as if he was trying to push back the planet’s crust.

“Hrrrraaah!”

“…! Commander! The neck! Tiael’s neck!”

The whole time, Oslow had been searching for his one-hit kill—a single enchanted-sword slash at the dragon’s neck.

However, Tiael didn’t allow it, simply through his supernatural strength and speed.

As Tiael hallucinated out of immense terror and lost his judgment entirely, the virtue of being a dragon had put the ultimate minia-born champion out of reach.

“Die! Th-that’s salvation. I’ll provide it to you all…! J-jojingebf!” (to Sanga Winds!)

“Take shelter!”

Covered in wounds, Oslow still gave everything he had to flee from the line of fire.

The long spear soldiers didn’t. In the middle of the battle of life or death, this time they gambled on the possibility the breath wouldn’t come. They knew if they let go of Tiael, they would have to sacrifice as many people as before, and that they no long had the numbers to waste doing so.

“……!”

Rosclay alone jumped away.

“Jekremjedorho!” (Baleful black, boil and burst!)

Bwoom.

The armor worn by the soldiers standing in front of Tiael burst open from the inside.

It was caused by instantly swelling internal pressure. A second later, they all exploded together in the flash of tremendous heat and blinding light. Next, the trees. Then the stone well swelled up and exploded. Houses, boulders—every object in a straight line, one after the next, was brought to ruin.

Word Arts weren’t as reliable when used in a region one wasn’t native to. Even Tiael the Crusher, if he possessed his normal judgment and ability to reason, may not have exposed such a weakness. However, a misfire wasn’t absolutely guaranteed to happen…

“Aaah…ah, AAAAH…!”

A terribly pathetic and inarticulate cry escaped Rosclay’s mouth.

He had fled.

He watched those who hadn’t fled die.

“Anyone…! Can anyone still move?! We must keep going! Don’t give up the fight…!”

Oslow, showered in bullet-like fragments of the savaged soldier’s armor, had been reduced to a bright red mass of viscera.

Even in his current state, Rosclay managed, just once, to read the trajectory of the dragon’s claws and evade death. It was nothing short of a miracle.

“Me… I’m here, Commander! I can move!”

Rosclay was standing. Almost none of the Kingdom’s elite troops remained. He was surely the only one who could still fight. He had to think so, or else he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself upright. The mixed blood and dust harrowed the open wounds all over his body.

Why?

Why had he fled from the breath just now?

“You.”

Oslow turned around at Rosclay’s reply.

Then, he said something terrifying.

“The rest is up to you.”

Tiael’s claws made a full swing. Oslow had discerned the attack from the dragon’s shoulder muscles and stomped. He escaped to just out of the dragon’s claws’ trajectory. However, the supersonic blast wave had shaved away the flesh from his face.

Scattering an immense amount of blood, his large body was slammed against the ground. Even then, Oslow still moved. In the cloud of dust, he threw his enchanted sword aside and took out his short sword. He kept trying to resist with eyes that could no longer see.

A loud crack rang out, and his upper body was crushed.

Tiael’s forelimb stamped down on the unparalleled champion, and killed him.

“…Wh-why?”

Rosclay despaired.

Why did Oslow look at him?

Anyone else would have worked just as fine. Just by being close by, he had been entrusted to fight against despair.

For a soldier meant to be the people’s shield, it should have been the greatest honor of all.

“…Hngh, why… Why me…?”

He wanted to flee. In truth, he always had.

At that moment, Tiael stopped moving. He was catching his breath.

Oslow’s gallant fight had taken one of the wicked dragon’s wings, as well as his left forelimb. The many slashes he made on the dragon had also paralyzed a sizable portion of the dragon’s skin.

If Rosclay let this dragon be, in Tiael’s current hallucinatory and wounded state, there was no guarantee that he would actually reach the Central Kingdom. Wasn’t there a chance that he would die off somewhere from its wounds?

Rosclay didn’t have to fight the beast himself, did he?

…Ahhh. Is that why? It’s my punishment for thinking like this, is it?

Even after watching Oslow heroically die while fighting for the Kingdom up to the end, Rosclay…

I was the only one who didn’t want to die.

He wanted to be someone courageous, who wouldn’t bring dishonor to the dead. He wanted to prove useful for a true superman, Oslow the Indominable. He had thought that was proper and correct.

…Yet, deep in his mind, Rosclay hadn’t believed.

He didn’t want to end up dying like his father, amounting to nothing more than an insignificant foot soldier.

Even if he had true courage, and even if it were the result of acting with justice and honor, he didn’t want to become a nobody who put his life on the line in battle only to die without becoming a champion.

He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die.

In the drawn-out moment on the verge of life and death, Rosclay had desperately sought a path of survival. It wasn’t honor—he wanted victory. The ability to think, and to observe. Right now, that was what was necessary.

“…Captain…Ownopellal.”

Rosclay murmured the captain’s name of the Word Arts troop that should have been totally eradicated. Ownopellal the Bone Watcher. The Word Arts troops had done the essential work of knocking Tiael out of the sky with their Force Arts, but still, when faced with the dragon’s tyrannical violence, they were never going to survive for long.

Ownopellal the Bone Watcher had been defeated just like the other Word Arts soldiers and was amid the mountain of corpses.

“…You’re pretending to be dead, aren’t you?”

“……!”

“I know. I’m also…very good at putting on an act…”

Rosclay wasn’t interested in criticizing him. He couldn’t possibly spare any mental energy for something like that.

Sharing a similar mind, Rosclay understood why Ownopellal had done such a thing.

In the middle of Oslow’s battle, it had been impossible for Ownopellal to provide any Word Arts support without getting caught in the melee himself. In which case, he must have thought that pretending to be dead would let him wait for his best chance.

“Please. Can you use your Word Arts…and pass that sword to me…?!”

“…Rosclay. Yeah. Got it…”

“Antel.”

There was another lone soldier nearby who was still standing. He had joined the squad at the same time as Rosclay.

“…Antel. Please rush to grab the sword. Right at the same time I do.”

“Rosclay… I-I’m begging you. I can’t do it. I can’t charge into a dragon’s claw range.”

“I feel the same way… But Commander Oslow fought all by himself. I can’t win without all three of us. I’ll do it, but I need the help. Leave it to me in the end.”

Rosclay calculated the remaining strength he had. Rushing over to where Oslow threw his sword in the end, and going from there to Tiael’s throat—it was definitely possible. Oslow had understood that, and tossed away the enchanted sword instead of using it to protect himself.

Rosclay heard Ownopellal weave his Word Arts.

“Ownopellalionan. Serpenomer—” (From Ownopellal to Nanaga soil. Notching shadow—)

“Grraaaugh… Grrngh… Sword… The sword.”

It seemed Tiael had finally noticed that the enchanted sword responsible for wounding him was no longer in Oslow’s hands. Struck and torn apart countless times, Oslow the Indominable’s body was now a mass of unrecognizable strands of flesh coiled around bone.

This was death. It was hideous.

Tiael shouted. “Where… Where is it?! The sword!”

Rosclay immediately ran. As if goaded forward by him, Antel ran too.

Tiael saw the area where Temilulk the enchanted sleep sword laid.

The dragon kicked the firm soil with both legs, and his massive body turned into a monstrous cannonball. Far faster than Rosclay and Antel, he pulverized the enchanted sleep sword into dust along with the ground where it laid.

However, even amid his hallucinations, Tiael soon realized the mistake.

“…Grn, This thing! This isn’t…!”

It wasn’t only the sword he had crushed underfoot. Imitations taking the form of the enchanted sleep sword, several fake swords generated from Ownopellal’s Craft Arts, were lying on the ground or stabbed into the terrain.

Rosclay and Antel were racing in the opposite direction from where Tiael had charged.

“H-how dare… How dare you deceive me! Those eyes! If it wasn’t for those eyes! Croooooooo! True Demon King…!”

“Ownopellal io tem! Epthortemken! Modkeporte! Haspe6kormi… Artes!” (From Ownopellal to sword Temilulk! Broken and flittering water surface! Heavenly bridge! Axis sixth leg…! Choose!)

Among the numerous swords scattered everywhere, one flew with Ownopellal’s Word Arts incantation and settled into Rosclay’s hand.

Rosclay, and Antel, who had Tiael fast on his heels, were both brandishing an enchanted sword. Due to the paralysis, Tiael could only move one forelimb. Now, fully exhausted from his intense battle with Oslow, the dragon would be forced to choose one of them as his target.

“Rooooooooooar!”

The dragon felt the most danger coming from Rosclay, closing in from the blind spot on his left side. Just before Rosclay reached the dragon, Tiael’s claws immediately passed right in front of Rosclay’s eyes, and the shockwave blasted him. He felt his flesh and skin burst open.

Yet, in the split-second before he was seriously wounded, Rosclay stopped moving. It was a feint.

Antel was approaching from behind Tiael.

Then, an attack from the dragon’s long, thick tail blocked Antel’s advance. Antel, too, stopped moving just out of range of the tail’s attack.

The final counteroffensive had stopped. There was an insurmountable racial disparity that had shaken the resolve to gamble their lives into nothing.

Crazed from fear, Tiael spoke as if he were the one pleading.

“P-please, let this be the end. That blade… I-I can’t take it, it’s too terrifying…!”

“……”

A dragon was saying such a thing.

Just how unfathomably terrifying was the True Demon King?

Was the extent of the True Demon King’s terror unfathomable?

Rosclay was incapable of becoming a champion. He couldn’t defeat the demon king and save the world, either. Not until the very end.

If Tiael took a single step forward, that would be the end of Rosclay’s life.

He didn’t want to die.

“…Are you scared, Tiael?”

Even then, he stood. Standing with his back straight, from his heels to his head, he pulled his chin in and pointed his eyes out in front of him. As if he didn’t fear death itself staring him down.

He should have run away. If he had pretended not to see the others’ sacrifices, that would have been enough.

Even then, he had chosen to fight.

He had been entrusted with being a champion.

Right now, Rosclay had to deceive his own heart.

“This enchanted sword…! Wicked dragon! Is it not my own skill, but the sword of Oslow the Indominable that you fear?!”

Rosclay ran, as if to sacrifice himself to the dragon’s claws. A charge into death—however, at the same time, he tossed away the enchanted sword in his hands.

Tiael’s eyes reflexively followed the sword, as this blade alone was the last means of eradicating him.

It was at that moment…

“Rosclay!”

With the cry of his name, a sword came flying in. It was from the opposite direction, on the other side of the dragon’s colossal body.

It was an enchanted sword, thrown to him from Antel. Right then, when he grabbed the silver blade, Rosclay had slipped in close to the dragon’s throat.

“Tiael the Crushing!”

“M-Minia…! Cursed minia!”

If the dragon was arrogant enough to believe that Rosclay’s technique truly couldn’t penetrate him…

“Try to block this attack!”

The enchanted sleep sword Rosclay swung was blocked by the dragon’s scales and broke.

However, the single attack brought the spinal nerves of Tiael the Crushing to an eternal standstill.

The vile dragon closing in on the Kingdom had fallen.

The feat amounted to little more than narrowly preventing disaster with a wall built from a mountain of corpses.

The sacrifices had been too great. Every single one of the deceased, without exception, had experienced the unsparing training necessary to become the Kingdom’s strongest elite soldiers.

Rosclay’s group searched for any survivors of the chaotic melee, but there were only eight in total—including himself, Antel, and Ownopellal—and two among them would soon perish from their fatal wounds. Even more so, there was no one besides Ownopellal and Antel who witnessed the decisive final moment.

“…We can’t…let this happen,” Rosclay said to Antel and Ownopellal as he leaned his exhausted body against a stone wall, having finished giving emergency first aid to the last of the wounded soldiers. “Everyone is in despair. We think that we’re powerless…”

“…This might be the end for us. A single dragon…a single, deranged dragon cost this many lives. Commander Oslow is dead, too… Without that man—forget the True Demon King, we might not even be able to stave off a self-proclaimed demon king’s invasion.”

“Oslow was an outstanding man.” Ownopellal agreed with Antel’s pessimism.

As Commander of the Word Arts troops, Ownopellal was a much higher rank than Rosclay and Antel, yet he looked terribly crestfallen and feeble.

“I don’t think there’s anyone who could ever serve in his stead…”

“In that case… In that case, we just need to make one. That’s the only solution.”

The terror of the True Demon King was sinking the people into the darkness of despair.

The populace needed a champion.

A symbol to prop up their legs as they threatened to give out.

“Let’s say that one among us defeated the dragon all by ourselves. That Oslow the Indominable died an untimely death in battle—however, a champion took on his dying wish and slayed Tiael the Crushing.”

“…Ridiculous. That lie’ll get found out immediately.”

“Even still, it has to be done. I’d like to hear your opinion, Commander Ownopellal.”

“Rosclay… You intend to take on that role?”

“…That was my plan.”

In the moment, he had ordered Ownopellal to pass him a sword, Antel to grab the enchanted sword, and for them to leave everything up to him—all with the smallest amount of words possible to ensure Tirael didn’t sense their strategy. Rosclay’s talent for commanding had bloomed.

His talent for commanding had bloomed. In a single moment, where a single wrong move spelled absolute death, he unflinchingly believed it had been enough to convey everything to his comrades.

“Bear witness for me. The two of you didn’t offer me any help—I successfully carried out the task our fallen Commander Oslow entrusted to me, to slay Tiael, all by myself.”

“Of course. Sorry for laying this on you.”

“A difficult role, but we’re counting on you.”

He would play the champion.

A dragon-slaying champion didn’t exist. That was the current reality. In which case, in order to make such a champion the new reality, the only possible option was for someone to lie and play the part.

This was the one thing Rosclay and his mentor, Narta the Mindful, had never stopped doing.

Just as he promised, Rosclay protected the people as an absolute shield guarding the Kingdom.

At the very start, there were those who doubted the unrealistic feat of dragon-slaying, but Rosclay continued to remain unrivaled, without ever falling to his knees in any of his battles.

The few survivors among the Kingdom’s elite squad who headed out to slay Tiael—whose swordsmanship was on par with Rosclay’s—no longer existed anywhere in the Kingdom.

The fact that he had begun to utilize Word Arts in his fights since the incident validated the rumors about him. More than anything, the popularity and authority that came along with his power of ingenuity suppressed any and all doubts and criticism.

Even as the Kingdom fell and gained the name Aureatia, he still continued to be the unequaled Second General.

Just like Oslow the Indominable had once been.

“You need a name.” Antel suddenly brought up the topic on that day they killed Tiael. “Now that you’ve slain a dragon, you’ll need a suitable second name. You can’t keep up the commonplace one you have now, Rosclay.”

“……”

Rosclay thought of the legendary champions.

Altoy the Authority. Oslow the Indominable.

What had they thought when they gave themselves those second names?

A champion who fought justly and proper, who perfectly wielded all kinds of techniques, overcame all their enemies, and slayed dragons.

Even these champions memorialized in stories must have known that such a thing never actually existed.

It was a wish.

They were wishing for such a champion to exist.

A light rain began to fall from the cloudy sky.

Rosclay quietly murmured. “Absolute.”

The word that Rosclay believed in the least of all felt as if it was the most suitable answer.

“Rosclay the Absolute.”