Chapter 14
Chapter 14
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Thorn Rose Belmont (2)
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“Gaaah...! Urgh...!”
A painful scene flickers before my eyes.
In my eyes, revived once more at the tombstone, an immense pain surges in as if a rapier is still pierced right through them.
“Huu, huuu...”
That final thrust—piercing straight through my eyes and blasting my brain away—is still vivid in my mind.
But I don't scream pathetically. There's already an NPC companion beside me, shrieking in my place.
“Gaaak! S-Sir!”
Doren thrashes his long limbs about, sweat pouring from him in streams.
“Oh dear, oh, oh dear!”
Anyone seeing him would think he was the one stabbed and killed. I was the one fighting and dying, yet Doren is the one kicking up a huge fuss.
“Y-You've become a wraith. A wraith!”
I get it. The mortals dragged into this world take mental damage every time they die, and if they can't endure it, they turn into wraiths.
“H-Hurry and finish it off! Miss, quick!”
But Doren doesn't even properly check my condition before urgently begging the woman sitting beside him for help. Then he runs off far away again, hiding behind the tombstone...
“What a mess.”
The woman lets out a mocking sneer at our utterly disastrous party.
“You're not right in the head.”
No, she's actually nagging me instead of Doren, unleashing a torrent of venom.
The 1800s woman.
We've met three times now, so I'd like to call her by name at this point, but we still haven't properly introduced ourselves.
“No way you picked a fight with that flowerhead? Crazy bastard.”
The hooded woman sits enjoying her meal by a campfire she's lit next to the tombstone. Did she catch fish from the lake?
Only now do I notice that darkness has fully settled around us. I hadn't realized time had flown by while fighting.
My stomach growls. The bloody battle drained too much energy, and I haven't eaten a thing since arriving in the Deathcall world...
“...”
My gaze drifts to the woman's perfectly grilled fish. Of course, the moment she senses it, she pulls it toward herself and starts blowing on it to cool it down before eating.
“Why would I give you any? Even left alone, you'll turn into a wraith anyway.”
Yet her venom toward me doesn't let up. Does she hate me? I don't remember doing anything wrong.
“Idiot. That flowerhead doesn't attack unless you touch it first—so why fight it? Do you like pain? Like dying?”
“...No.”
In any case, we sit around the campfire for a while and talk. Doren—who'd called me a wraith and fled far away—sneaks back over, eyes me warily, and squats down by the fire.
“Stop showing off and get lost. Because you're causing such a ruckus, I can't even enter the forest to gather sleepweed. The entire Screaming Forest is on high alert for intruders.”
“I'll finish up quick and go. Sorry if I got in your way. But I have to enter that castle. Just wait a little longer.”
“Ha! You have to go deep inside that castle on orders from those monastery bastards? Get real. As long as that flowerhead bastard is standing there, you never will.”
The 1800s woman curses the monastery folk before unleashing harsh criticism on my reckless challenge.
“It's no different from suicide. Looks like you still don't grasp how this world works. I was kidnapped and dragged here a little earlier than you, so here's some advice. Listen well.”
But her sharp barbs gradually turn more serious.
She's no longer talking just to mock me. If anything, she seems to pity me.
“The monastery bastards have zero real interest in mortals like us. They just send us off to fight and die. Fucking irresponsible pricks.”
The most earnest expression.
She stares straight into my eyes and speaks.
“Fine. Suppose you actually manage to kill that flowerhead and get inside the castle. Then what changes? Nothing. Everything stays exactly the same. You'll keep fighting and fighting until you run into someone way stronger, and in the end, you'll become a wraith and die.”
But I have to stand up.
I set aside the greatsword, which doesn't suit Belmont's fast-paced combat rhythm, and grip the longsword I first received...
I have to raise my body and press forward.
“Hey.”
The woman looks up at me. Her furrowed brow condemns and scorns my reckless challenge.
“...Whatever. You'll only get it after it happens to you. Let's see how long you last. There are always guys like you—strutting around like hotshots, only to die the most pathetically.”
Doren—who'd been watching us warily by the campfire—sides with the woman, scurries right up to my feet, and pours out his worries.
“S-Sir! Just having your mind intact is a m-miracle, isn't it? Offer a prayer of thanks to the great will that granted this miracle, and n-now leave the forest...!? I'll pray!”
He drops to his knees and begins a prayer of gratitude.
“Merciful gods! Thank you! For looking upon us graciously, thank you! For saving Sir—”
But before his prayer can finish, I pat his shoulder twice and head off on my way.
“Eh, uh...”
Doren—who'd blocked my path—awkwardly half-crawls after me. But he doesn't say a word to me.
“Uh... Urgh...”
Turning back to check, his face shows more sheer bewilderment than confusion. His dazed eyes blink wide at the ridiculous situation.
“Sir, why go that far...”
Doren and the woman stay behind by the tombstone as I head back toward Belmont.
The challenge continues. Until I become a wraith... or Belmont dies.
“...Idiot.”
No one expects me to win.
Still, I grip my longsword and charge into battle once more.
Clang!
Abandoning the greatsword and swinging the longsword instead, my battle with Belmont takes on an entirely different shape.
He grips his rapier and unleashes the same thrusts as before, but every time, he takes exactly one clean hit from my longsword.
With the greatsword, five or six hits would end the boss fight. But the longsword demands far more effective strikes. Roll, dodge, then one precise blow at exactly the right moment...
Yet this boss feels especially grueling because his unique rapier-thrusting technique somehow pierces a hole in my body every single time.
Just as I target Belmont's openings with my longsword swings, he targets mine and relentlessly stabs away.
Stab.
Then, regardless of my blazing will to fight, every cell in my body screams in torment.
I need to drink a potion. To dull the pain and close the wounds.
But Belmont yields not even that tiny gap. The moment I roll backward to create distance and reach for a potion, he surges forward, closing the gap in an instant and thrusting his rapier relentlessly.
Stab.
Two stabs, and the fight is over. Just as bosses enter a groggy state, if I take too many of their hits, my legs go weak and I lose my footing.
An utterly realistic reaction. Not many humans could stand steady after two sword stabs.
“Cough—”
I don't know if it's a punctured lung or internal bleeding filling my gut, but pooled blood streams from my mouth.
Lost again. Not a boss you beat in just two tries.
Even grasping every pattern is overwhelming, let alone reacting with a roll.
The longsword is far superior to the greatsword, but switching weapons doesn't completely alter my ultimate fate. My combat style is just a touch nimbler; Belmont's swordsmanship remains phenomenal, and the finish is always the same.
He grips the rapier with both hands. The life-flashing montage races by once more.
A single dot swells huge in an instant. Before I can even register the attack, my vision drowns in black—
“...Urk.”
I awaken at the tombstone again. My blackened vision slowly clears, heralding the dawn of morning.
Just two fights, and a full day has passed. My mind feels hazily eroded, like waking from a long, unpleasant nightmare.
“S-Sir!”
But Doren remains steadfast by my side.
“...Now reality's sinking in?”
The venomous woman lingers by the tombstone too.
Conditions aren't right for gathering sleepweed, so it seems she'll silently spectate my challenges from nearby.
Or maybe she just wants to witness my surrender firsthand.
“Give up and leave now.”
But I rise once more.
Souls games are meant to be beaten this way sometimes—through death. By stubbornly ramming your head against it, challenging again and again until the patterns sink into your very muscles.
“Huu, urgh...”
Of course, I can't just laugh off repeated defeats. Regardless of my will, the agony and terror of death gnaw relentlessly at my mind.
Maybe I'll really die this time. A few more deaths, and I'll become a wraith, doomed to wander here forever—
Bang!
“Eek! S-Sir! Why slap your cheek so suddenly...!”
...No. Snap out of it.
So what if I become a wandering wraith? Boss fights need some risk to be fun.
I smack my own head with the sword's hilt and steel my resolve anew.
“I've got the patterns down now. A few more tries, and I'll take him down.”
“S-Sir!”
I'll go all the way.
Just don't break.
The writhing negative emotions get shoved down deep inside with enough pressure.
More than the fear of pain and death, the electric thrill of this boss fight drives me harder.
Isn't this the very moment I've dreamed of?
After over twenty thousand hours of gaming, I've always yearned for this—facing a boss head-on, blade to blade.
...The sun rises, and I lose again.
Belmont and I clash ceaselessly, day and night without pause.
Clang! Clang!
With each attempt, every fight drags on longer—and grows all the more tense.
“Damn! That idiot...! Just dodge! You're getting too hasty!”
As the battles stretch out, Doren and the woman can't hold back their curiosity and finally come to watch the brutality up close.
The showdown unfolding on blood-soaked grass is a moment for me and Belmont alone, but the spectators freely shout advice and cheer.
“Sir! C-Calmly swing...!”
Ah—
It feels like I'm truly alive.
The more Belmont slays me, the more the fight intensifies, the sharper my mind awakens.
Swing, dodge, swing again.
Until my longsword fully severs Belmont's head.
In this moment—this battle is my reason for breathing, my one true goal.