Echoes of the Past (Part 2)
"And the last..." She looked down. "The erasure of my very existence, which bears the weight of all those wishes."
No. That couldn't happen. Absolutely not. Because—
"If you do that, you still won't be able to keep your promise!"
"That is..." She lowered her head. "But if my sacrifice alone can save the kingdom..."
"No. If anyone is to be sacrificed, it must be me."
"And do you truly believe your sacrifice can stop that Chaos?"
She raised her hand, pointing out past the terrace. Far beyond her fingertips, the Chaos was creeping closer. In six months, regardless of the Chaos Beasts, the corruption would completely swallow the kingdom. And stopping it with his swordsmanship... rationally speaking, it was impossible.
"And you believe the God of Light can stop it?"
She nodded. Damn it. In truth, leaving the palace was only a temporary reprieve. If the Chaos could not be halted, it would eventually devour the entire world. But if the God of Light could truly stop it...
"Your Majesty, I understand your resolve, but I ask that you grant me one condition."
"Oh?"
"Do not begin your prayers until you have given birth to the child in your womb."
Her face flushed crimson. "You... you knew..."
"Did you truly think I wouldn't? You can delay the prayers. Until then, I will handle every single Chaos Beast that dares approach."
He drew his sword, pointing it toward the distant horizon of Chaos. "And if I find a way to cleave the Chaos itself... you will stop your prayers."
"Very well. But you must make a promise to me in return." She placed a hand over her womb. "If you fail to cleave the Chaos... you must grant one wish for our child."
"Only one? For our child, I would do anything."
Of course, he had no intention of letting it come to that. He would succeed. He would cleave the Chaos, no matter what. Watching his fierce determination, she smiled softly. "I believe in you, Libero. You have always been my hero."
From that day forward, he threw himself into slaying the Chaos Beasts with a desperate, burning passion. Perhaps, just perhaps, if he kept carving through them, he would reach the absolute pinnacle of swordsmanship. Perhaps then, he could cleave that foul, corrupting mass.
Three months flew by. The Queen gave birth to their child. Yet, without even a moment to let her body recover, she immediately began her prayers. He had no time to visit her. He only received word of her from afar; he had sworn not to return until he had cleaved the Chaos.
Before long, the only ones left fighting on the front lines against the Chaos Beasts were him and the head of the Lidval family. As the monsters' onslaught grew increasingly relentless, the people fell into deep exhaustion. Yet, Libero's sword only grew faster.
From line to Space. He slashed through places his blade could not physically reach.
From Space to Time. He severed things that, by all laws of nature, should have been uncuttable. Yet... the Chaos remained uncleaved.
He slashed, and slashed, and slashed. The toxic Chaos began to accumulate in his body. Starting from his fingertips, a grotesque mutation crept inward. He didn't know what was happening to him, but he knew it was a dark omen. Yet, he could not stop. He pushed onward, toward the absolute pinnacle of swordsmanship. He carved through the endless, sickening hordes of Chaos Beasts. He was running out of time. He had to reach the end of his path before it was too late.
It was during his fourth month of relentless slaughter that the voice finally spoke to him.
(Do you wish to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship?)
He did not know who or what it was. But he was desperate—desperate enough to grasp even a devil's hand.
Of course.
(Then what is it you require to get there?)
Time.
(Then I shall grant you all the time you need.)
He should have ignored those words. He should never have entered into such a hasty pact. The contract had been rigged against him from the very start.
By the time he regained consciousness after awakening as a Demon King, a full month had passed. The Queen had already finished her prayers and erected the barrier. Her existence had already dissolved into nothingness.
He fell into a bottomless pit of self-loathing. He tore at his own flesh, trying to end his life over and over. But the cursed regenerative powers of a Demon King refused to let him die. Regret consumed him whole. He had failed to save her. She had believed in him as her hero, but he had failed to become one. It was all because he lacked strength. If only he had reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship...
Driven only by that hollow regret, his empty shell of a body began to move. He now possessed infinite time. Within that endless eternity, he trained his swordsmanship day and night, until he finally grasped the ultimate truth.
There was never any such thing as the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
The moment he realized this, his existence lost all meaning. Through the endless eons of doing nothing but swinging his sword, his memories and personality had weathered away into dust. Perhaps that, too, was the price of becoming a Demon King.
Over the centuries, other Demon Kings were born. Of those forged during the ancient era of Chaos, only a handful remained besides him. The newly born Demon Kings established the Demon King Council, drawing up laws and regulations to govern their kind. Having lost all sense of purpose, Libero simply drifted, acting as a tool to carry out their commands.
Yet, a tiny, faint spark of hope had lingered. Perhaps, if he fought someone stronger than himself, he might catch a glimpse of the path he had missed. He had never truly let go of his obsession. He dragged himself through a meaningless, contradictory existence—until he met the boy.
"Because I came to hold you to the promise you made with my ancestor."
The promise he had made to her. It was a vow he had buried deep under the weight of centuries. He did not know how this boy, her descendant, had unearthed it, but Libero could not turn his back on it. And to his surprise, the days he spent with the boy began to change him.
"No. Even so, I have to prove it. Even if the proof turns out to be a lie..."
The boy never gave up. His limitations were painfully obvious, yet he tried and tried again. Through sheer, stubborn repetition, he achieved things that should have been impossible. Even when he slammed face-first into an insurmountable wall, he immediately sought a new path. He had tagged along under the guise of gaining real combat experience, only to vanish on his own whim in the end.
Why did he strive so hard with such mediocre talent and a fragile, mortal body? Libero could not comprehend it. And perhaps, that was precisely why he had been drawn to him.
Most of all, the greatest change was that the emotions buried deep within his chest had begun to stir back to life. His eroded memories had not fully returned, leaving him unable to understand why he was acting this way. He was simply following the silent, persistent tug in his chest.
That quiet tug had erupted into a raging fire the moment he realized the boy was gone, and saw that Guineus had destroyed their favorite tavern. Without even understanding his own motivations, he had marched all the way here. He had set out to kill Guineus, and yet...
What am I doing?
For some reason, he was clashing blades with the boy. Even as their swords collided, the boy's strikes continued to accelerate. By Libero's standards, it was still amateurish, but the boy was performing feats that should have been utterly impossible for someone of his talent.
From line to Space. He could accept this much. Gaining that level of enlightenment in two months was not entirely outside the realm of possibility.
But as the boy's speed surged, pushing him to match Libero's own pace, his skepticism shattered. From Space to Time? This was not something that could be achieved in a mere few months. It was a realm that might not even be reached after hundreds of years of grueling effort...
Wait, hundreds of years of effort?
Libero's eyes narrowed. He peered deeper, reading the sheer weight of karma etched into the boy's swordsmanship. The boy's blade carried the unmistakable, heavy resonance of centuries of training. How? No... why would he ever subject himself to such a thing?
In that split second, the boy's sword accelerated even further. It defied all logic. How on earth is he doing this?
Suddenly, a searing warmth bloomed in Libero's chest. He still did not know what this feeling was. He only knew that this boy had ignited the spark. But for this single moment, he wanted to surrender himself to the flames.
Instantly, his body felt weightless. The boy's sword seemed to slow to a crawl, and Libero effortlessly deflected the incoming thrust. His mind cleared, sharper than it had been in centuries. Finally, he understood. He knew what that burning sensation in his chest was. He knew why he had spent all those years wearing a mask, playing the savior to strangers. It had never been a mere hobby.
Because she believed in me as her hero until the very end.
He had failed to be her hero. The one he had wanted to protect most had slipped through his fingers a lifetime ago. But he still had things left to protect in this world.
"You have grown strong, Alan."
"Of course I have."
"But you must rotate your upper body more to align with your blade. Thrust deeper." Libero smiled, a look of genuine satisfaction crossing his face. "Had you done that, you might have at least grazed me."
He had forgotten. Blinded by his obsession with the 'pinnacle of swordsmanship,' he had lost sight of why he had sought it in the first place. A sword is ultimately just a tool. The pinnacle of swordsmanship lies within the wielder's resolve.
But his realization had come far too late. It was no longer possible for him to be a hero. He lowered his sword and spoke softly.
"Why do you hesitate? Pierce me."
He had already crossed the point of no return. This was the only way left.