Chapter 46
Chapter 46
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: It Was Always the Final Boss That Blocked the Hero
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Now, the baron's provocations, duels, and escapes had become a daily routine.
Remesis, who faced off against the baron each time, grew gloomier with every passing day.
"Please... why do we have to keep repeating this meaningless nonsense?"
The baron was wise in many ways.
If he had launched a full invasion, Rex wouldn't have held back any longer and would have shifted to a siege war.
But the baron limited himself to military provocations that caused no loss of life.
Destroying roads, smashing reservoirs, disrupting farms.
It was infuriating, but not enough to justify a siege in terms of cost-benefit.
Thanks to that, Remesis's daily cigarette consumption had doubled from two packs to four.
"No extra pay for this pointless, joyless drudgery."
Of course, it was an empty complaint.
Remesis had no interest in money anyway, and he'd refused a raise, saying this amount was plenty. That's how it ended up like this.
Naturally, the knights of the Honor Guard, who knew Remesis's personality well, teased him relentlessly for his tsundere attitude.
Six weeks of this routine dragged on.
Then, an unexpected twist arrived on the boring battlefield.
The baron appeared with a group of young men Remesis had never seen before.
"Looks like you're getting comfortable playing babysitter. I suppose I have been too lenient with you."
Remesis sneered, his voice dripping with irritation and displeasure.
He didn't know who those young men were, but at least it meant more work.
But the baron ignored Remesis entirely, focusing only on the newcomers.
"Hero, sir. That's the one. He was guarding this place, so I couldn't advance any further."
Hero.
At that word, a new emotion flickered across Remesis's previously gloomy face.
The red-haired youth who had been called a hero gestured arrogantly at the baron with his chin.
"You got blocked by that scrawny undead? Some lord you are."
"Haha. That's why I'm just a baron, isn't it? So please, Heroes, if you take out that corpse, I'll do my part."
The way he rubbed his palms together ingratiatingly made the hierarchy between the youth and the baron crystal clear.
"Fine. But if he's not as strong as you claim, you'll pay with your head."
The red-haired hero finished talking to the baron, drew his longsword, and slung it over his shoulder.
Following the hero, his apparent comrades drew their own weapons.
Remesis had lit a cigarette when the conversation started; by the time it ended, only the filter remained.
As if protesting being left standing there the whole time, he flicked the butt toward the heroes and lit a fresh one.
"I thought you were just a cocky brat, but you're a racist too."
"Shut up, undead. I have nothing to say to the likes of you."
"Hah... a hero. What an unpleasant face after all this time."
Hero.
Superhumans created to realize the empire's ideology that humans alone were the true race.
Despite possessing martial prowess rivaling that of lords, they didn't take lordly seats, instead wandering on training journeys under the state's banner. Oddballs, all of them.
At first glance, they might seem like Wandering Knights, but their goal wasn't realizing justice—it was hunting non-humans to hone their skills.
This hero party was one such group.
While wandering by chance, they heard that an undead was boldly blocking a baron's advance.
Even worse, this undead served an evil lord who dared claim equality between humans and non-humans.
A righteous hero couldn't overlook such villains.
"I'll return you to the dirt and wipe out the evil horde behind you."
The red-haired hero declared boldly.
Remesis, facing them, showed a different reaction from before.
The irritation was still there, but now it stemmed from anger, not mere annoyance.
"I'm not a corpse. I'm a Returner."
Remesis was displeased at being treated as one of the walking dead.
It had nothing to do with his subordinates and citizens behind him being insulted, of course.
The hero ignored Remesis's words and attacked.
Remesis didn't like their unwavering confidence in their own righteousness.
'Do they think killing non-humans doesn't build karma?'
The concept of karma was known to all.
But its numerical value wasn't visible, and causality was so complex that opinions varied on karma's standards.
Some even interpreted it religiously.
Slaughtering beasts and eating meat didn't build karma, so non-humans could be killed freely.
Heroes were at the forefront, putting this ideology into practice.
"Yeah, I really don't like you lot."
Remesis pressed his lame leg firmly against the ground.
Cold spread out from his shoe.
The cigarette he'd just lit crumbled into icy shards.
Normally, he'd complain about it freezing again, but now he didn't care about the cigarette.
"You lot probably don't care what hell you sent the people you trampled under your arrogance. So let me tell you. Where I came back from... and where you're headed."
A blizzard swirled around Remesis.
There are all sorts of magics in the world, and the type of magic is a key factor when discussing power.
Among them, some spells boasted performance leagues beyond others even at the same realm or proficiency.
Superhumans called these ascent magics.
Mastering an ascent magic granted performance equivalent to rising an entire tier.
But such spells were rarely shared, and their conditions were often harsh.
So superhumans turned to other means.
What if they bore some cost? Could they achieve ascent-level performance?
Their hypothesis was correct.
By sacrificing certain things, they could wield magic beyond their capacity.
Remesis's cold was one such example.
Normal ice magic left the caster unaffected by the chill.
But Remesis's cold spared even the caster no mercy.
A spell that froze the opponent's heart—with the resolve to freeze his own.
That was Remesis's cold.
For him, though, the penalty was practically nonexistent.
"Damn body. Always causing trouble, then and now."
Barring the fact that it didn't move well, this bloodless flesh didn't care if its heart froze.
It was a body superhumans obsessed with ascension would covet.
But the owner hated it.
"Tch."
Remesis froze the arrow embedded in his forehead and snapped it off.
Flesh welled up in the hole where the arrow had been.
"Hah. Back again."
The hero gasped in admiration at Remesis's return from death.
It wasn't black magic resurrection, nor some special procedure granting regeneration.
Simply: upon experiencing death, his soul briefly left the body, stepped to death's threshold, then returned, healing wounds in the process.
That's why he was a Returner.
Too good at dying for an undead, too cold-blooded for a human.
Remesis opened his eyes again, with the same unfamiliar displeasure.
He didn't not die—he died and revived right there.
The hero party knew this well, so while his consciousness was out, they'd surrounded him.
Remesis immediately stomped a formation step, summoning ice spikes.
But the party's coordination was annoyingly flawless.
Like heroes and comrades from a tale, each acted perfectly at the right moment.
"This is the power of bonds!"
Remesis's displeasure deepened at the hero's triumphant cry, certain of victory.
He had no desire to play the hero himself, but he hated seeing them claim the mantle.
With a mix of annoyance, anger, and heavy reluctance, he fought the hero party.
But ice spikes were blocked by the sturdy knight's shield,
blizzards dispersed by the mage's flames,
and any solid hits healed by the priest.
In the end, Remesis knelt before the hero party.
Arrows riddled his body, limbs mangled just short of lethal, collapsed at the hero's feet.
"Seal him for now and take him to the cathedral for purification."
The red-haired hero spoke proudly to his comrades.
Remesis mocked his own state—unable to die, unable to feel pain.
'Is this the end...?'
Finally, some rest.
But something felt off.
Regret for not fulfilling his loyalty?
He denied it.
He was just a salaried civil servant, after all.
Regret for not buying his men time to escape?
He denied it.
He wasn't worried about them.
Now that he could finally rest, seeing his work subordinates' faces in hell would just bring job thoughts back.
Yeah. This regret was about the cigarettes.
He hadn't finished them all.
Remesis rationalized it that way and closed his eyes.
Muttering about what a shitty life it had been.
.
.
.
.
The hero's hand reached for Remesis.
To purify this insolent Returner who mocked life itself.
But just before it touched, a shadow loomed over their heads.
The party looked up from the fallen Remesis.
A massive figure in an inorganic helm and billowing cloak gazed down at the hero.
The red-haired hero smirked at the territory emblem on the giant's—Duke's—cloak.
"You one of his comrades too?"
Duke ignored the hero party, lost in his own world.
He draped his cloak over the fallen Remesis and spoke in a cavernous voice.
"You fought well, Remesis."
Only then did Duke rise and face the hero party.
"Hero. As the king's sword, you symbolize justice, so I who block you must be evil."
Ching!
Duke drew his greatsword and plunged it into the ground.
An overwhelming pressure dominated the area.
They finally understood what it meant for the air to grow heavy enough to hinder breathing.
The hero party, the baron and soldiers watching from afar—none could move while Duke spoke.
Duke yanked the sword from the earth, swung it in a wide arc, and introduced himself.
"I am Duke. The Providence Royal Family's first sword."
The hero party broke out in cold sweats, regripping their weapons.
*
Meanwhile, Duke was...
'Sigh. How do they lock movement during cutscene direction? And how about the BGM?'
Deep in thought for entirely different reasons.