Chapter 106
Chapter 106
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 106
>Chapter Title: A Desperate Stand
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*
-Stop.
“Kugh…!!”
Ignak ground his teeth. With every clench of his fist, the artifact issued a fierce warning. One inch further, and you will die. You will certainly die.
Even now, death lay in ambush somewhere over there, deep in the forest.
No, the phrase ‘even now’ was somewhat misleading. Looking back, he hadn't escaped the creature's gaze for a single moment since entering this forest.
He could finally understand. The reason it had abducted him and the other chieftains, slowly whittled down his pack, and was now playing this puppet show.
The future revealed by the artifact and the insight gradually strengthening through the demonic energy injected into his body whispered the clear truth.
“You dare… you dare use me and my brothers as scarecrows?”
Rage swallowed his fear. Ignak snarled, grinding his teeth as he threw his head back.
He tossed aside the human youth he had been holding and briefly closed his eyes. The thick scent of blood wafted from among his scorched brethren. The faint smell of the brothers he had led to their demise lingered in the air.
He had succumbed to fear, groveling pathetically to prolong his life, selling out his brothers to their deaths. He had done so willingly. For all demons, strength was the proof of one's existence, which conversely meant that life was the right of the strong.
Survive, and there will be another chance. That was the philosophy of the defeated, the demons living in this era.
But now, holding this mysterious artifact called the Eye of the Demon King, in this moment as unknown, jet-black demonic energy was injected into his veins…
He had returned to being the Centurion of the 23rd Strike Team, 103rd Infantry Battalion of the 2nd Dragon General. Only now, and so cowardly.
Ignak took a deep breath. With every thundering beat of his heart, rage pushed fear away.
There was no way to survive anyway. Even if he slaughtered these brats, that ‘death’ would not let him leave alive. With his newfound insight, he clearly understood his position.
If that was the case, then at the very least…
“Kuaaaaargh—!!”
Ignak let out a great roar. With bloodshot eyes, he glared down at the brat holding a sword before him.
A slender body, delicate arms, and, unfittingly for this place, simple attire. Hair that glittered even when covered in dust, and a clean face.
He would not end his life as a scarecrow for a human noble brat like this. Ignak ground his teeth and raised his staff.
“O Tumor!! I offer my struggle as my atonement!!”
Ignak roared and leaped toward the child.
*
-Thump! Thump! Thump!
The ground shook. Or perhaps it was the pounding of a heart shrunken with tension.
Isabelle licked her bitter lips and held her sword steady. The orc was charging, like an enraged bull.
It was like a wall was rushing toward her. Considering the difference in their height and build, the disparity was that great. By momentum alone, the beast was in peak condition.
A chieftain. A powerhouse that had crushed Oskar in mere seconds.
Was she afraid?
>Of course.
Isabelle slowly drew upon her mana, thinking. Fear was natural. It wasn't her first battle with a demon, and she had faced opponents of that caliber during the university entrance train attack.
But a struggle… a fight… real combat… was always frightening.
But even so, even in that moment, would she give up?
“Never!!”
In time that was slowly fracturing, amidst the rough sound of footsteps that shook the earth, and within the fierce heartbeat that still pounded in her chest…
Isabelle could feel the fallen Oskar, Esidis who must be behind her, and Elfihera who had exhausted all her mana.
-Take up your sword.
She recalled the oath from that day.
-You, stand with the weak, and see through the eyes of the weak.
>-You shall raise your sword not for your strength, but for your virtue.
>-The reason we take up the sword is not for our valor, nor our fortitude, nor our superiority.
“Because it is simply right!!”
Isabelle roared. Because it was just, for the great cause that must be protected.
For the friend behind her, and for her ‘uncle’ who might be dead somewhere in this forest.
To save them all, everyone within her reach, if possible. To do her absolute best to save them.
No one’s death could precede hers. If someone had to fall, it would be after she had finally drawn her last breath.
No one here today will die before me.
Isabelle's perception of time finally began to warp and distort.
Time fractured. Senses sharpened.
-Click.
It was as if she could hear the ticking of a second hand. It was a hallucination between nerves stretched thin by the overload of mana.
The air was heavy. The sword felt even heavier. Her arm, once imbued with His Highness’s power, was still difficult to control. It wasn't easy. The swordsmanship she had practiced her whole life felt unfamiliar.
But still, she swung.
-Claaaaang—!!
The staff and sword met. Sparks flew, and through them, the orc’s enormous face lunged closer. Its protruding tusks gleamed menacingly.
Life clashed against life. The more resilient one would survive here.
>So she prayed that, even if she were to finally fall today, she could draw just one more breath than this beast.
Therefore, she did not stop. Though she was outmatched in strength, build, and perhaps even skill, she still raised her sword, swung, slashed, and swept upward.
-Clack! Claaang!!
Even as her vision blurred with a mix of sweat and blood, Isabelle’s eyes remained sharp, fixed solely on the enemy’s heart.
*
“Cough—!!”
Oskar opened his eyes in a haze of pain. The intense clang of swords echoed faintly in his ears.
How long had it been since he was this injured?
The dwarf attack during the first field training. Right, his leg had broken when he fell then. It hadn't been that long, come to think of it.
Oskar forced his stiff cheeks into a smile.
His left hand… was broken. His sword was too heavy to lift with just his right arm. He would have to order a one-handed weapon as soon as he got back to Fritzenkaya. So he could still swing it even with a broken arm.
So, considering this as practice for now, he gripped the hilt tightly with his right hand.
-Claaaaang—!!
Oskar forced his swollen, distorted eyes open. Not far away, Isabelle was fighting back.
She was swinging her sword at a tremendous speed. But every blow was blocked. The orc’s attacks were heavy and slow, but each one easily forced Isabelle’s slender body back.
The overwhelming difference in build and strength was a factor, but from a step back, he could see the decisive issue.
That orc must have incredibly good ‘instincts’.
He didn't think its technique was anything special. He hadn't gotten that impression when they had crossed swords either. It was just ‘instinct’. It might even have an ability like ‘combat precognition’.
He had seen it time and again, ‘reading’ the path of the sword and reacting before the attack even landed. Now, and just a moment ago.
Oskar grumbled. How in the world was one supposed to beat something like that?
If you were outmatched in strength and mana, and even your techniques didn't work, what means were left to win?
Still.
“I have to save her.”
Oskar smiled and raised his sword. He limped toward the battlefield. He circulated a sliver of mana and stepped into the space where blades flashed at speeds invisible to the eye.
He was the son of Gilles Vert. The eldest son of the Lord Protector of Tyles, and an anointed knight of Tyles. And a knight had but one duty.
Always be righteous.
One who is merely strong is not called a knight. One who merely rides a horse is not called a knight.
A knight is a symbol. A symbol that proves humanity can be good even in the darkest of moments. Even knowing that not all humans are good at all times, and that there are, in fact, more wicked people in the world.
Even if it’s a foolish act, a stupid deed, with no gain or honor to be had.
>They must prove that humanity can be good, and can devote themselves entirely for the sake of goodness.
>Be righteous in every moment. That is what Tyles teaches.
So, take up your sword.
Because his right arm was still perfectly fine, too fine to be protected by a girl his age and run away.
>Because even if it was just a sliver, he still had mana left in his body.
>Because he could still fight.
“I have to protect them.”
Time flowed slowly. The blade rose slowly. In the forest night, where the only light came from the moon and the campfire, in this dim hour of death…
A morning star ignited.
*
Esidis couldn't dodge Elfihera’s lightning. She had been too close to avoid it.
Half-conscious, she watched her two friends charge the massive orc.
Ah, the Knight Division.
The thought crossed her mind. They were people who had learned to fight. Unlike her. She was just a little strong; she had never taken a single knight class.
Just a music student. The daughter of the Hero’s Party who had run away to pursue music.
As that thought occurred to her, she glanced down at her body.
She was still standing.
Her whole body trembled, scorched by the electricity, but she was still on her own two feet.
Though it was a struggle, as if she would collapse to her knees at any moment, and her quivering muscles were screaming…
Her father’s voice echoed in her numb ears.
-To kneel means you have the strength to bend your knees, doesn't it?
>-A warrior of Droan walks forward as long as their knees can move.
‘But what if I’m really about to die?’
-Look at the sky, Esy. Do you see the stars?
‘Yes, Dad.’
-The stars are the tips of your ancestors’ swords, tearing through the darkness. The warriors of Droan always walk forward.
>-Not just in the moment of death. But even after death. If there is a fight, forward. If you can still move, forward. If you still have the mind to think…
-Forward.
>-Not even death can stop a warrior of Droan. We don't avoid death. We believe that one day, we can even kill death itself. Just as your ancestors did.
-Forward.
“Forward.”
Esidis picked up the axe the orc had dropped and walked, gripping it with both hands.
A music student wasn't needed in this moment. A warrior of Droan was.
Because she could still move, still think, and still had an enemy to face.
Forward.
*
“These idiots, these humans…!! Every last one of them!!”
Elfihera grumbled, pinching her nose as blood dripped from the backlash of overusing her spells. She didn't even have enough mana left to maintain her scrying spell, so she was running.
Towards the place where her companions were fighting. Desperately, even as her skin was scratched raw by bushes and undergrowth.
“Don’t you dare die yet!!”
Elfihera ran, her vision tinged with red. How much mana was left? Of course, not even a speck! Did these humans not understand the concept of a tactical retreat? You have to live for there to be a next time!
Honestly, such a short-sighted species. They were just like hunting dogs. Those loyal beasts that fixate on something and cling to their prey until death.
Short-sighted, weak, smelly, and they even caused allergies, but…
There was one more thing humans and puppies had in common. From the perspective of a superior being, they had to be protected. Because that was the duty of an elf.
Yes, protecting vulnerable species is the burden of the civilized. Can't be helped. Really.
Elfihera smirked and stretched out her hand. If she had no mana, she would just haphazardly gather and swallow the mana from the atmosphere. A spell cast in such an inefficient way wouldn't be much to look at, but…
Still.
-Crack!!
Tears of blood streamed down her face from the intense backlash. Her nose started bleeding again. Her fingertips trembled violently. But still.
“Because I am a Grekenkos.”
To be able to weave a spell even when her mana was depleted—that was what it meant to be Veolgrin’s daughter.
Honor and pride were her everything. Without giving up, she extended her arm, aimed at the orc’s head…
Closed one eye to aim.
>Circulated mana to align.
Tick. Hearing the sound of gears turning, she thought, *yes, good. The tempo and tuning are perfect. I am a genius, after all.*
Time to save the humans.
Fire.
*
“Commander, permission to fire… I’m opening fire.”
>“Wait.”
Ivan quietly reached out and pushed his subordinate’s rifle barrel down.
“Our role is only to watch.”
>“But this is… this situation is too much for students!”
>“For students, yes.”
Ivan replied, his eyes fixed on the battlefield.
“But it is a necessary trial for a hero who has just taken their first steps.”
Follow me.
Ivan gestured with his chin and leaped down from the tree.
>He wanted to watch today’s battle, which might become the first sentence in a long epic, from a little closer.
His role had always been one step behind, both during the war and now.
>He could never share the spotlight that shone on the main actors.
Still, Ivan ran, just like in the old days.
He had never been particularly fond of the Hero. Maximilian was a madman, after all.
But he had admired him.
Even after he had turned his back on the world and gone into seclusion, he still did.
And now, at this moment, watching the birth of new heroes, he still did.
*