Chapter 118
#Chapter 118: Demonic Sword Forte (20) - Flower Banquet
It was a truly ominous day.
Even though it was not yet time for sunset, the sky was dark beneath the thick clouds, and the wind carried the mixed scents of blood and corpses.
The Sage thought it ominous, yet utterly out of place.
This place was less than a day's journey from the site that had once been the capital of a kingdom and was now the Demon King's residence.
Wouldn't it be strange for such a place to be filled with bright, lively vitality?
In other words, they had reached the enemy leader's doorstep, but the Sage could not bring himself to rejoice at that fact.
He watched the soldiers hurrying between the ramshackle camps scattered about like a patchwork of rags.
Worn-out armor and chipped or broken swords.
Their clothing had not the slightest hint of uniformity, and every one of them looked filthy from being unable to wash properly.
For elite soldiers who had contributed more than anyone else in the fight against the Demon King's army, they looked far too shabby.
“Fucking bastards.”
The Sage cursed without thinking.
It was not a curse aimed at the soldiers before him, or at those who had decided to stand against the Demon King's army for their own reasons.
It was a curse aimed at the ‘self-proclaimed’ allies who had pushed every difficult and arduous task onto their comrades while spouting plausible bullshit from the rear.
“What are you so dissatisfied about?”
When the Sage turned toward the voice beside him, he saw the woman called the saintess standing there with a wry smile.
“None of your business. Get lost, you fraud of a saintess.”
“I would like to, but when you make such a gloomy face, it makes the others uncomfortable.”
Though she appeared humble, she still said everything she wanted to say, and the Sage felt a strange sense of admiration.
The saintess had not been like this when they first met.
She had been weighed down by her family's sins, the guilt and obsession they had caused, and she had constantly watched the Sage's reactions because he knew her identity.
But although the saintess was not exactly close to the Sage now, they maintained a more or less equal relationship.
There was no need to mention that the fool who had forcibly dragged him out of the forest was the reason for it.
The Sage himself thought the current saintess was better than the trembling woman she had once been, but he disliked showing that in his attitude, so he spoke as gruffly as ever.
“This is fucking madness. Our supplies are inadequate, and we don't have enough troops. We should retreat right now instead of invading the Demon King's castle.”
“Haa.”
The saintess created a thin, spherical barrier that blocked sound.
She had decided that it would not be good to let the others hear the Sage ranting like this.
Of course, their allies knew the Sage well enough that they probably would not care, but at least the saintess herself felt more at ease.
“And if we retreat? You know how hard it was to get this far. What about the allied forces' backlash?”
“Fuck. What have those bastards done to warrant backlash? Damn them.”
“They are confronting the Demon King's forces in various places and keeping them from moving.”
“Yeah, they're thoroughly holding their positions without the slightest intention of pushing toward where the Demon King is. But is that the full extent of their forces?”
Sharp, venomous criticism poured from the Sage's mouth in succession.
“If those bastards hadn't dismissed the commanders who were at least somewhat competent because of their damned military exploits and internal politics, replacing them with idiots; if they hadn't whined that they couldn't even provide supplies despite not sending a single soldier; if they hadn't subtly delayed the advance because they didn't want to step forward and shed blood, pushing the burden onto us instead!!”
As he spoke, rather than calming down, the Sage's anger seemed to grow, and his face became increasingly red.
“Then the situation would at least be better than it is now. They're the ones who created this mess. So what's the problem with saying we should retreat?”
The saintess gazed silently at the Sage instead of answering.
Even beneath that look, which seemed to say that he already knew the answer, the Sage stubbornly kept his mouth shut.
In the end, the saintess spoke aloud once more of the fact that both the Sage and she, along with everyone else here, already knew.
“If we retreat, there won't be a next time.”
……
“It's true that the allied forces are being passive, but they're still helping us. However, if we let this opportunity slip away, there's no guarantee they'll do so again next time.”
……
“We somehow managed to advance right up to the Demon King's forces this time, but is there any guarantee we can do the same again? Next time, won't they guard their main camp even more thoroughly and persistently?”
The saintess's words were perfectly reasonable.
Yet the Sage's intellect knew what to say to defeat that reasonable argument.
“Then we can make the others fall too.”
“Sage.”
“We can just withdraw. Then the Demon King's army will gain even more momentum and continue its invasions into the surrounding regions, dragging more countries into the war. And among them, there will surely be talented people and forces with the strength to stand against the Demon King.”
“Sage.”
“Am I wrong? Why should we be responsible for all of this in the first place? Haven't you ever thought it was unfair? You opposed summoning the Demon King and were imprisoned as a result, yet simply because you're related by blood, you have to hide your identity and fight? Everyone with the power and forces to resolve this is pretending not to notice, so why the hell should we bear the whole burden?”
The saintess spoke calmly to the Sage, as if soothing him while he was worked up.
“─You know, don't you? If we followed your method, unimaginably many people would die.”
If they escalated the war as the Sage suggested.
If they expanded the war so that no one could remain a bystander, the rulers of every country would then use every means at their disposal to sincerely defeat the Demon King.
Some of them would even be transcendents capable of matching the Demon King, and perhaps the Sage and the others would no longer need to struggle so desperately.
But people would die instead.
They would die until the rulers decided to commit to the war, and until that decision was transformed into actual military strength.
Ordinary people with neither the power nor the qualifications to move their countries would die without end.
“We have to defeat the Demon King here.”
To prevent that, the Hero had taken up his sword, and the saintess and the others had answered his resolve.
And because the same was true of the Sage himself, he could not shout that he was quitting everything and running away, even while hurling curses.
“What? Why do you both look so gloomy?”
Just then, a young man suddenly poked his head into the soundproof barrier the saintess had created.
The young man had a distinctive appearance, with blue streaks scattered throughout his pitch-black hair. He looked at the two of them with a strangely mischievous expression before casually saying,
“Ah, is this perhaps a lovers' quarrel?”
“Do you want to die?”
“No, sir.”
One had a face like he had bitten into a bug, while the other wore a businesslike, expressionless look.
At the sight of the two of them displaying such intense rejection, neither showing the slightest hint of pleasantness, the Hero Fernando Valestia burst out laughing.
The sight was so irritating that the Sage snapped at him sulkily.
“Hero, can you laugh at this fucking mess when you might die tomorrow?”
“If I might die tomorrow, shouldn't I laugh even more? It would be sad to die with a gloomy face.”
“Fuck, is that supposed to be an argument?”
“Please use elegant and archaic speech, Sage. That way, we can protect the dreams and hopes of growing children, can't we?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What's with that? Our story going around these days feels exactly like that, doesn't it? ‘Sage, please lend us your strength. We need your wisdom to help those suffering under the Demon King.’ ‘Oh, your intentions are truly noble! Hero, I shall join you on your journey.’”
The Sage blinked several times with an expression that suggested he wondered whether his ears had malfunctioned, then asked again,
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You realize you're repeating yourself?”
“I'm asking what the fuck you're talking about!”
“What do you think? It means that elsewhere, our first meeting is being told like that.”
“Neither the content nor the way we spoke matches at all! When did you ever invite me like that?!”
“I'll admit it's pretty funny, but what can we do? We're too busy being on the battlefield to go around correcting everyone and telling them that it really wasn't that impressive.”
The Hero's words were perfectly logical, which was precisely why they turned the Sage's stomach upside down.
As much as history might be written by the victors, they had never even lost, so what in the world was this terrible distortion?
“What was I like?”
“Um, Saintess, you were generally quite similar to the real you. Putting everything else aside, your manner of speaking at least retained its original form. It doesn't seem like any unnecessary information leaked out, so you can rest assured.”
The saintess seemed more relieved that her past had not been exposed than that her character had been preserved.
Of course, the Sage found that irritating too.
“This is ridiculous. This idiot is being portrayed like a hero from mythology. What kind of terrible calamity is this?”
“That's a little harsh. I could do that much if I really tried!”
“You might as well say that a dog can fly.”
“Oh? Shall I prove it? Whether I can or can't?”
The Hero grinned, then appeared atop a high hill at one corner of the camp.
“Everyone, attention!!”
At the booming command, the soldiers who had been bustling about with preparations or resting turned their gazes toward him.
After confirming the countless eyes fixed on him, the Hero spoke.
“We will be victorious.”
Then he continued.
“Um, ah, that's not it. Forget what I said before. Ahem, ─Everyone, we shall be victorious!”
“……?”
Having accomplished the feat of covering every soldier's mind with question marks, the Hero continued delivering his lines in an ill-fitting manner.
“The Demon King will fall before my sword, and we will reclaim our homeland. Everyone here will be treated as a hero. Those of you who are married will be able to tell your grown children about this journey like a fairy tale in the distant future, while those who have yet to find a partner will gain an honorable accomplishment to present to potential lovers. Ah, you'll find jobs easily too! Surely someone with experience defeating the Demon King won't starve to death as an unemployed person!”
The Hero's manner of speaking remained more or less archaic, but everything else about him was a complete mess, so the Sage gave his assessment.
“That fucking idiot.”
“Mm.”
The saintess, who heard him from beside the Sage, did not deny it.
She revered the Hero who had saved her from a life driven by guilt and duty, and secretly loved him as well, but that was a separate matter.
Even afterward, the Hero continued spouting all sorts of nonsense about becoming a general and having great fortune, gathering bewildered reactions from everyone. Perhaps he too felt that he had gone too far, because he suddenly burst into hearty laughter.
“Hmm, one shouldn't do things that don't suit them! I thought I would say something impressive before the final battle, even with my limited eloquence, but I can't do it! Instead, I can at least entertain you with my specialty! Watch closely!”
Shing.
With an exceptionally natural motion, the Hero drew his sword and began to swing it smoothly.
A sword was a tool for slaughter, and the Hero had used his own sword to bury countless enemies.
Yet the Hero looked so utterly childlike now that the object in his hand seemed not like a heavy mass of iron, but a light branch.
A deep-blue flower bud bloomed at the tip of the branch, then opened fully as its petals scattered through the air.
When the Hero stepped forward, the petals flew ahead, and when he flicked his wrist, they swirled.
The beautiful shower of flowers did not merely linger around the Hero. It wrapped around the entire camp and rained down over the soldiers' heads.
The soldiers, who had been inwardly tense before the final battle, welcomed the petals blooming in the barren wasteland devoid of vegetation. Some reached out toward them, while others placed them in their palms and enjoyed their texture and fragrance.
“Huh.”
Watching this, the Sage felt utterly dumbfounded.
He had witnessed the Hero's flower shower gruesomely grind powerful demons to pieces countless times.
Yet the people with the Hero now enjoyed the situation as though they were truly at a flower-viewing festival, without anyone complaining of pain or injury.
Fifth-tier aura was merely materialized mana.
Sixth-tier aura, however, contained the individual's mental image.
Because the Hero did not want to hurt his comrades, and because what he wanted was the laughter of many people, the petals made of aura comforted them with the texture and fragrance of real flowers.
The Sage suddenly looked up at the sky.
The sight of blue petals filling the landscape he had thought dark and gloomy was astonishingly beautiful.
The sensation of the air, once filled with the scents of blood and corpses, changing into fragrant floral air sent even a shiver through him.
The comrades laughing and talking among the drifting petals seemed like a light too difficult to describe.
The five senses he experienced through this body were surely no less real than the genuine thing, yet he wanted to feel this ‘directly.’
That was why, despite all his grumbling, the Sage could not leave their side.