Chapter 45
Aria had fallen.
In Azazel's place.
She felt hollow.
She'd insisted on coming along, and all she could do was act as a meat shield.
She was nothing but dead weight.
Thinking about it calmly, it wouldn't have mattered if Azazel had been hit.
Aria had a way to heal her.
She could have stayed at a distance and used ‘healing.’
Taking the sword in Azazel's place hadn't been a rational decision.
Her body had moved before she could think.
It was simply an impulsive act, born of the wish that Azazel wouldn't get hurt.
It was a pathetic, clumsy form of self-satisfaction.
She scoffed at herself.
‘My own troubles are enough. Why am I worrying about someone else?’
It hurt.
It stung and burned, like she'd slathered on pain-relief ointment until her skin blistered.
Pain was something she never got used to.
Having lived in the modern world, she was weak, after all.
To be honest, even now, it was hard to bear.
Thump, thump.
Her heart was beating fast.
She didn't feel in danger.
She'd survived having her throat pierced.
So a wound like this should be fine, too.
But if the black knight struck her again, there'd be no chance of survival.
She would definitely die.
Was she afraid of death?
Of course she was.
But what she truly feared was never being able to see you again.
Aria looked up at the night sky.
Thick clouds covered it, and snow was falling.
She frowned.
It was dark, so dark.
There wasn't even a speck of light to be seen.
Goddess.
I know Ain isn't dead.
Because I believe in him.
I follow him more ardently and fervently than anyone.
But...
If he really has died...
I won't believe in you anymore.
My faith was something that had been forced upon me from the beginning.
It was faith imposed upon me.
It was false faith.
It was Ain who gave me faith.
It was Ain who gave me hope.
He may not be omniscient or omnipotent,
but Ain is my god.
A morning without him.
A landscape without him.
A world without him.
I can no longer imagine a life without him.
If you truly exist in this world,
bring Ain back to me.
Then I will truly believe in you.
Fill this gaping emptiness.
Save me as I fall apart.
Had her desperate wish reached someone?
At that moment, Aria felt it.
Something on the other side.
It was a resonance.
A vibration like the sound of a heartbeat.
Aria strained with all her might to move her stiff neck.
She saw you.
Ain had come.
That alone sent a surge of electricity through her head.
Her heart swelled.
I'd been so worried for nothing.
You're perfectly fine.
You had me worried sick, you awful man.
“Hhk.”
Suddenly, Aria's body grew hot as a furnace.
The burning heat was tremendous.
Her veins, her organs, her entire body felt as if they were melting.
Then a voice spoke to her.
-This is the first time I've spoken to you directly, isn't it?
It was a crisp, effervescent voice, like sparkling soda.
“……W-who?”
-For Ashtein to face that man, Aria, he needs your power. But for the girl to wield your power, she needs your permission, so I've had to go on at some length……
“Take it. Right now.”
If it could help.
If it could give him strength.
That was all she wanted.
-I like your spirit.
The holy power inside her was sucked out in a great rush.
It felt as if every last bit of it might be drained away.
Aria grew dizzy, and her consciousness faded.
When she came to again, the black knight was taunting Ashtein.
She didn't know what was going on.
But a thousand, ten thousand fires were raging in Aria's chest.
No one could insult him.
No one.
“Y-you're awake. Can you hear me?”
Azazel asked, relief on her face.
She was more than awake; she was so clearheaded it was a problem.
“Azazel, could you help me sit up?”
“…All right.”
Azazel looked puzzled, but did as Aria asked.
Her body still hadn't recovered.
But she had to say this.
Aria drew a deep breath.
Her already ample chest swelled.
Then she shouted.
“Shut up!”
Her voice rang out loudly.
Azazel's eyes widened.
Aria had always seemed so delicate that Azazel had never imagined she'd shout.
Even Ashtein and the black knight stopped moving and stared at Aria.
“Don't presume to judge him as you please.”
He's amazing.
He's more wonderful than anyone.
“Pathetic? Not at all.”
He'd overcome a painful past and stood back up.
He'd lived with courage.
And you call his journey pathetic?
“Ain is greater than any other Hero.”
She clenched her fists.
No matter what anyone else said, he was Aria's one and only Hero.
And so he wouldn't lose.
He would win.
No matter who he faced.
“You don't stand a chance against him.”
-That was an embarrassing little speech, but well said. This girl agrees with you.
Clank.
As Aria spoke, the holy sword changed.
* * *
He had waited a long time.
For someone worthy to appear.
It had been an age of endurance.
‘He’ was a copy created by the previous Hero, existing to test the next Hero.
He was a whetstone meant to sharpen the Hero who came after.
‘This generation won't defeat the Demon King, either.’
When he saw this generation's Hero, he hadn't thought the man would amount to much.
But even if there was no hope, he still had to put him to the test.
That was the sole purpose of his existence.
As expected, the Hero was pathetic.
Was it because he had nothing to protect?
It was a reasonable assumption.
Heroes were naturally stronger when they had someone to protect.
He decided he needed to make this fellow desperate.
As luck would have it, people who seemed to be his companions had entered Mount Ascendio.
The man acted at once.
He meant to threaten them.
At the same time, he wanted to assess the caliber of the companions the Hero had gathered.
The mage was useful. The Saintess was pathetic.
They were hardly impressive.
Compared to those from the past, they were absurdly weak.
Would he have to put it off until the next generation again?
Having made his judgment, he waited for the right moment.
For the unconscious Hero to return here.
‘Here he comes.’
At just that moment, he struck the mage.
The Saintess had always been skilled at healing, so he was certain she'd survive being cut like this.
But it was the Saintess who was struck.
He hadn't considered that she might take the blow in the mage's place.
‘Is she stupid?’
It wasn't particularly important.
He'd succeeded in drawing out the Hero's anger, after all.
Their part was over.
All that remained was to evaluate the Hero.
‘Or so I thought.’
The Saintess's will resonated with the Hero's, and the holy sword's shell peeled away.
It was an unforeseen turn of events.
The man knew that form.
He might be a copy, but he possessed the Hero's memories, too.
‘The Sword of Judgment.’
Even his original self had to sacrifice many companions to draw out the holy sword's true nature.
He had to endure countless hardships.
And yet he'd already unleashed its true power?
Without sacrificing anything?
‘I never thought I'd live to retract my opinion.’
He acknowledged it.
Those two were capable.
Though weak, they held limitless potential.
The man smiled.
-Give it everything you've got. I will, too.
Behind him stood rows of faded iron swords.
Dozens. Hundreds of them.
Every last one was rusted.
They hadn't been properly maintained.
And yet the oppressive presence of those iron swords was overwhelming.
As a Hero chosen by the holy sword, he had an epithet.
Hero of Steel.
He wielded countless swords.
That was why he was called that.
-Here I come.
Creak.
He designated his targets.
Whoosh!
The rusted iron sword cut through the air as it flew.
But Ashtein didn't move an inch.
He didn't need to.
Crash!
The sword hadn't made it anywhere near him.
Azazel, staff in hand, had intercepted it along the way.
-So you're going to interfere, young lady?
“Yeah, tin can.”
-Very well.
Her resolve hadn't been broken.
Admirable.
Dozens of iron swords switched targets to Azazel and shot toward her.
“Not so fast.”
The attack was aimed at Azazel, but Ashtein blocked it.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
Sparks flew.
The number of swords scattered across the ground gradually increased.
He couldn't deflect every sword.
No matter how powerful the Sword of Judgment was, the Hero's own skills still fell short.
Even the wounds that had just healed began to open again.
“Healing.”
Her voice was gentle.
Pure white light enveloped Ashtein.
His wounds healed in an instant.
The dozens of iron swords had been rendered useless.
-This is troublesome.
The Hero.
The mage.
The Saintess.
Individually, none of them posed much of a threat.
But the vanguard and the rear guard worked together naturally.
When he attacked the Hero, the mage supported him, preventing him from landing a decisive blow.
But when he tried to target the mage, the Hero blocked him.
What if he dragged the fight out until they were exhausted?
Then the Saintess would restore their stamina and heal their wounds.
And naturally, if he went after the Saintess, the Hero and the mage would stop him.
Like interlocking gears, they complemented one another.
He took a few steps back and faced them.
Once there was a pause, the Saintess spoke.
“One of the books I've read said that three can take on one.”
Three against one.
Thinking it an evocative phrase, the Hero of Steel looked at the Saintess.
-What are you trying to say?
“That no one can withstand a beating from a crowd.”
The man found that amusing.
He knew that well.
Overwhelming the few with the many.
Wasn't that the Hero party's specialty?
-Well said.
As a test, the Hero had already passed the moment he drew the Sword of Judgment.
What came after this was just an encore—something they could do or leave undone.
And yet the man was curious.
What would they show him?
How far would they go?
The battle unfolded differently from before.
The Sword of Judgment in Ashtein's hand surpassed the copied holy sword wielded by the Hero of Steel, narrowing the gap between them.
Crack.
After only a few exchanges, cracks began to form in the holy sword.
He tried to use the rusted iron swords floating behind him to block the Sword of Judgment.
But every one of them shattered and broke.
And that wasn't the end of it.
The ground beneath his feet surged upward.
The mage was interfering.
If he tried to move away, the Sword of Judgment came flying at him.
When he barely managed to knock it aside, a gust of wind slammed into him from the flank.
He was overwhelmed.
-This is fun.
It was a sense of danger he'd sorely missed.
He shoved Ashtein, who wielded the Sword of Judgment, away.
As he retreated, a huge fireball came flying at him, as if waiting for the chance.
The man sensed that this wasn't an ordinary fireball.
It was a miniature sun.
There was no time to dodge, so he had to block it head-on.
KABOOOM!
The blast hit squarely and drove him backward.
Part of his armor, made from the scales of a Black Dragon, cracked.
The cracks had formed from the extreme cold of the Icefire Core and the intense heat of the fireball that had just struck.
He tried to regain his footing.
-Huh?
Ashtein emerged through the thick black smoke.
Unlike him, Ashtein had no special defensive gear.
The heat from that explosion was more than an ordinary human could withstand.
And he'd walked through it?
His flesh and skin should have melted.
But the skin that should have melted was already healing at an incredible speed.
It was healing close to instant regeneration.
What had he done?
He realized it at once.
A white cross-shaped light of holy power glimmered above Ashtein's head.
The Saintess.
It was the Saintess's rapid healing.
A single-target rapid-healing spell, cast exclusively on the Hero.
Its potency was incomparable to ordinary rapid healing.
Considering the caster was a Saintess, even if Ashtein lost an arm, it would grow back in no time.
He was approaching.
The man tried to move, but he was too late.
Only a few of the iron swords behind him remained.
Most of those were broken in half or chipped.
The swords spread out in front of him like wings.
But they were nowhere near enough to stop the Sword of Judgment.
It was futile.
Even the swords were cut through.
A straight, downward slash.
-I've lost.
This generation's Hero was different.
It was a fact he had to acknowledge.