What the Sword Swallowed

It was Esmeralda's masterstroke — a decisive blow delivered through control of the environment and of information.

Her opponent took the spell she had cast without warning, and for one brief moment, was blinded.

Yes — she had aimed for that perfect timing, and yet……

"Ghk?!"

She found herself spilling blood and rolling across the ground under Eleven's counterattack.

It had landed. She had certainly blinded him, and her thrust had gone home as well. Esmeralda had unmistakably pierced through his opening.

But there was something she had overlooked.

"A fine attempt — but methinks you are the only one who could ever hope to pull that off!"

That her opponent, too, was willing to give flesh and carve bone for victory.

Eleven parried Esmeralda's blade with the barest minimum of movement, and cut her down in the same breath.

And so she now carried wounds across her body — her arm, the back of her neck, her thigh.

What was most astonishing of all was that his eyes were still wide open.

He had paid no heed to his blindness. Ignoring even the searing agony of his burning eyes, he had simply chosen the best path available to him.

Even now, tears of blood streamed from those unblinking eyes — proof enough that he had stepped forward without the slightest fear of being wounded.

This absolute madman…… He's fighting a weaker opponent, and he isn't careless for even a second?

Esmeralda shuddered.

There was no need for it. The gap in their skill was such that if they fought conventionally, he would win eight or nine times out of ten.

What gave her gambit meaning was precisely that it was the method of the weak, deployed to overcome such an opponent.

But if he came down to her level and fought the same way, all that remained once more was the raw difference in pure technique and strength.

Yes — her opponent was a monster.

The kind who would, quite literally, use any means and any method in pursuit of victory.

To him, injury was not pain, and a scar was not humiliation.

So this is a Legion Commander of the Demon King's Army……

There was no element of victory left to her.

Esmeralda gritted her teeth.

She was not the only one gambling her life here. On a battlefield, that truth was the most basic law of all — and it struck her anew.

Her opponent had grown no more arrogant. He was a lion exerting its full strength even against a rabbit.

There was no chance of winning.

"Hoooh……!"

And yet she raised her sword once more.

She probably wouldn't make it back alive. But at the very least, she had to leave behind a scar he would never be able to erase.

That was the only gift a person like her could leave to this world.

"HAAAAAAAP!"

Esmeralda threw herself at him again.

Defense no longer entered her mind. She fought only to carve a single wound deeper into him than the ones she'd already given.

Blade met blade, and sparks scattered through the dark of the forest.

Eleven, reading her intent, turned fully to stopping it — committing his entire strength to defense.

Absurd resolve.

He had caught on that Esmeralda's purpose was to trade her life for a fatal wound, and so he had gone entirely onto the back foot.

The offensive of the disadvantaged side, the defense of the overwhelmingly advantaged one.

That bizarre stalemate had been brought about, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the end, by Esmeralda's sheer determination.

And perhaps because of that, her resolve brought about an unforeseen result.

"Hk?!"

Thud.

In the darkness of the forest, one more figure lunged at Eleven — and drove a dagger into his waist.

Is that…… Jim?

The movement was, frankly, pitiful in its crudeness.

And yet Eleven, who had failed to sense it until the very instant the blade went in, could not hide his bewilderment.

By all reports, he should have been a mage. The location of the stab, the technique — both utterly sloppy. Of that, there is no doubt.

Then how had it landed?

How had he not felt the man's presence until the dagger was already in his flesh?

The movement was perfectly ordinary, too. The surroundings were full of dead leaves and mire that should have crunched audibly underfoot, grass grown knee-high — any of it should have betrayed him.

Not a single part of Jim's movement made sense, and against all logic, it was Eleven who felt fear.

No killing intent. Even at this very moment, with the dagger buried in his waist, his opponent had no intention of killing him.

And yet the blade in his side carried, unmistakably, the force of something meant to kill a man.

"Where do you think you're—!"

"Gah!"

But it was only a moment's panic.

Eleven shoved Jim away, the dagger still buried in his own waist, and swung his sword in one smooth arc.

Esmeralda bit her lip bloody at the sight of Jim spraying blood and rolling across the ground in an instant.

What the hell is that idiot doing?! Is he trying to die?!

She couldn't tell if he'd finally developed a sense of camaraderie and come to help, or what.

If he was a mage, he should have cast from range like one — why on earth would he charge in and throw his life away ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like a dog?

Don't tell me he was still committed to playing the baggage-carrier?

In a situation where his life hung in the balance, obviously?

Feeling not a single shred of gratitude, Esmeralda lunged forward.

If Jim died here, then everything she had done would lose its meaning.

It would have been, quite literally, a dog's death.

"The more the tide turns against you, the more you must guard against impatience. This ought to be the most basic of basics."

In that instant, Eleven's icy voice sounded — and the point of his blade was already before Esmeralda's very eyes.

"Though I confess that basic is a harder thing to keep than most would imagine."

Twisting her body mid-charge, Esmeralda managed to turn what should have been fatal into a mere graze across her cheek — but the price was her balance, thrown violently off.

"Farewell, then."

Yes — and that was precisely why she couldn't dodge.

Eleven's sword, fluid and precise, flowing without pause — it carved a great gash through the center of Esmeralda's body.

She, who had somehow endured everything until now, could not endure that single blow, and crumpled to the ground as if collapsing.

Oh. I'm really about to die like a dog, aren't I……

Too much blood.

With the wounds she'd taken even before this, Esmeralda had effectively been spraying blood with every movement she made.

And then that last blow had torn so much out of her, so suddenly, that the world had begun to swim before her eyes.

There was no way she could move. No ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— her opponent wouldn't even need to lay a hand on her to watch her die.

"Ghk……! Khh—guh!"

Esmeralda seized and wrenched at everything within reach, grasping at anything and everything in a desperate attempt to raise herself.

Crack!

She tore up grass, ripped boulders from the earth, splintered trees in her grip — and still her treacherous knees refused to lift her from the soil.

"Ah…… damn it."

In the end, Esmeralda accepted it.

This was where she ended.

"Huh?"

But as she lifted her head to glare at Eleven with those thoughts in mind, something strange appeared at the edge of her vision.

It was the moment that unknown trait of Jim's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— the one she had been trying so hard to uncover — climbed a single step.

And it was also the moment the value of that one solitary trait was finally revealed.

"Ha. If everything about him is a cheat, then how exactly am I supposed to be the hero here?"

When I opened my eyes, I was in a state of detachment so complete it felt uncanny.

Waking belatedly from unconsciousness, the first thing I saw was a sky lit by the moon. A cold sensation lingering on the nape of my neck, and blood, sticky and foul.

It was easy enough to recall that someone had tried to kill me.

So then — who?

Could it be the hero, having uncovered my identity, come to end me?

For a moment the thought crossed my mind, but the wounds that throbbed dully across my body carried a distinctly insidious mana — the kind only demons possessed.

"So, in the end, they decided to cut me loose."

Just as I had suspected from the beginning.

The assumption that they might give up on rescuing me — that they were even capable of giving up on me. That assumption had become reality. No, it had become something beyond what I'd imagined.

Apparently the Demon King's Army had concluded that a traitor like me might sell their secrets to the enemy, and sent a beast to dispose of me.

Then again, there really was no reason to go to such lengths for a single lieutenant.

I didn't feel resentful.

I simply looked at myself through the eyes of a dispassionate outsider observing an outcome.

In this moment, the scale within me tilted from the demons' side toward the humans'.

I could feel the invisible weight shifting across that unseen balance.

"First things first — let's go find the hero."

I didn't have far to go.

The din of fierce battle carried all the way to where I lay.

Apparently the demon they'd sent to kill me had been quite strong.

It would have been better if that kind of power had gone toward rescuing me instead — but that's just the difference of which side ends up carrying me as baggage.

If the Demon King's Army had come to save me, I'd have been their burden.

But since they drew swords without warning to kill me, by rights I became the hero's burden instead.

That's right. I am burden itself.

Whatever happened, for me to survive, the hero would have to win in the end.

And I couldn't possibly defeat an opponent she couldn't defeat.

Better to support the hero's side.

With that thought, I began to walk.

My head was calm to the point of strangeness. It felt as if I weren't quite myself.

"HAAAAAAAP!"

And then, at last, I found the two of them.

I had never seen Esmeralda wounded so badly before.

With a heaviness settling in the corner of my chest, I confirmed the figure pressing the hero to her limit — and the moment my gaze touched his sword,

"……"

I lost all control of myself — of the very thing that was me.

It was a sensation unlike the feeling of moving my own body by my own will.

I watched myself approach with measured, unhurried steps from somewhere apart, detached. The black magic I'd been carrying had been discarded somewhere along the way; armed with nothing but a single dagger in hand, I moved.

"Hk?!"

And then, astonishingly, my strike landed.

It was clumsy, an utterly ordinary approach-and-stab — yet my opponent hadn't sensed it until the very moment the blade went in.

And immediately after that,

as if he had been waiting for it all along, I was cut down by his swinging sword.

Just as my consciousness began to fade at last,

I felt something — something coiled and knotted around his blade — seep into me.