The Calamity Sword and the Bear Beastman

Bester, the bear beastman, was originally a mercenary who operated in the northern conflict zone. He didn't work alone. For some reason, the public seemed to have a prejudice that beastman mercenaries were solitary creatures. But despite their wild appearance, beastmen were respectable people, not beasts. They were perfectly capable of leading normal social lives.

At the time, Bester had joined a certain mercenary band as a rookie. It was a group that had long contracted with the demon faction. They were quite infamous among humans, renowned enough to strike fear into their hearts. There was no personal sentiment behind their alliance with the demons. It was simply because the demon faction possessed far more powerhouses capable of slaying beastman warriors. To put it another way, it was simply much safer to have humans as enemies.

Back then, the war was progressing incredibly smoothly. Although the front lines between demons and humans constantly shifted back and forth, his rookie days were marked by an unstoppable momentum. The humans retreated repeatedly in sheer despair, while the demons pursued the remnants as if ready to chase them to the ends of the continent and tear them apart. This held true right up until they stood before the Aktania Gate, the long-cherished dream of the demon race.

Bester still remembered the conversations his seniors had shared around the campfire. It was idle chatter over meat, alcohol, and simple rations. Some of those words had drifted past him without much meaning at the time.

"I heard we'll reach the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gate tomorrow."

"Sounds good. At this rate, taking it tomorrow will be a breeze."

"Have you ever been there? The Aktania Gate. I heard its reputation is notorious."

"A long time ago. But don't be too scared. The situation is so heavily in our favor right now that we'll be fine. We've pushed all the way down here, and yet we haven't seen a single White Rose banner. It means Marquis Eloran is dragging his feet. Without those bastards, the gate is nothing."

His seniors were seasoned veterans whom anyone in the mercenary industry would recognize. Having fought alongside the demon faction for so long, they had a decent grasp of human affairs as well. Though they didn't know the exact details, it seemed the human reinforcements that should have marched up from the rear had failed to arrive on time. Thus, they claimed the bastards waiting at the gate would be no different from the ones they had already crushed. Bester remembered them laughing, mocking the humans, asking what a bunch of cowards who did nothing but run could possibly do.

"Ah, now that I think about it, I heard there are some strange bastards on the other front."

"Strange bastards? Did another Ability User show up or something?"

"Something like that. Apparently, some newly emerged religion no one's ever heard of got involved. Setting aside their religious antics, I hear their skills are quite formidable."

"Aren't they just making up excuses because they're embarrassed about losing to humans? Seriously, those winged bastards have the slickest tongues on the continent."

"That's just how those bastards are. Anyway, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we might actually run into those religious fanatics this time."

Just in case, Bester kept his senior's words in mind. His seniors might be strong enough to be fine, but he was still just a rookie. It was a time when even a kitten's claws seemed terrifying. He figured there was no harm in being cautious. Even a beastman mercenary only had one life. While he could easily dispatch ordinary humans, he knew all too well that not all humans were ordinary. Looking back now, that cautious mindset was the best decision he had ever made in his life.

The melted castle walls bubbled and boiled. The familiar stench of blood and dust wafted from the fortress the humans had built. It was supposed to be a smooth battle. The demons' magic had crumbled the walls with overwhelming firepower, and the battlefield had instantly transitioned into close-quarters combat. It was a progression that had guaranteed absolute victory up until now.

But now, everything was different. Wounded soldiers, battered and broken, crawled along the ground in a desperate attempt to escape. Those with intact legs ran, trampling over their own allies, while the warriors who occasionally charged forward with brave shouts were instantly severed in half. There were so many corpses cut down by swords that one couldn't walk without tripping over them. The seniors who had charged ahead were nowhere to be seen. A cold sense of dread washed over Bester's back. The severed arm rolling on the ground earlier had looked strangely familiar.

A calm, quiet voice echoed in his mind. It was a beautiful ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠voice, unlike anything he had ever heard in his life. It naturally brought to mind a gentle lullaby—a comforting yet strangely terrifying voice that cast darkness over the battlefield. To Bester, it felt as if a piece of the world had been severed, plunging them into an artificial night.

In the pitch-black darkness, a single lantern swayed gently. Some walked toward it as if possessed, while others saw the girl behind the light—the owner of that voice.

She possessed a delicate appearance that was utterly out of place on a battlefield. She had noble silver hair and crimson eyes that somehow evoked the image of blood. Clad in black holy robes, the girl held a lantern in one hand and gripped a massive axe in the other.

"It's that bitch! We have to kill her!"

A demon charged forward to kill the girl. It was a cold, logical decision. If the girl died, this night would end, and her axe looked incredibly slow. With such clumsy movements, it seemed impossible for her to escape the demon's grasp. Yes, that was how it appeared.

Yet, with a single, sluggish swing of the axe, the demon's head was cleanly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠severed. Bester couldn't even properly perceive the sequence of events. It was as if the outcome of the demon's death had been predetermined from the very beginning, and the world itself had warped to accommodate it.

The girl swayed the lantern again as if nothing had happened. *Thud.* Someone collapsed beside him. Blood dripped from his neck, but no matter how hard Bester stared, it looked as though the man had committed suicide.

His instincts screamed at him. *Do not look at that light.* But the real problem wasn't the girl. A beast lived within the night. A beast wearing the guise of a human. A man with pitch-black hair. Every time his blade flashed, someone's blood sprayed into the air.

Because of his black clothes melting into the darkness, Bester couldn't even track his movements properly. Yet, those piercing blue eyes were something he could never forget. Eyes reminiscent of a ravenous predator. An ominous aura that seemed to flow along the edge of his blade. How could he ever forget that terrifying figure, a specter bound to haunt his nightmares? Later, Bester would learn that this man was known as the fearsome alias, the Calamity Sword.

"Urgh..."

"Cough!"

Was it mere coincidence? When the relentless screaming finally ceased, a head came rolling toward him. *Thud. Roll, roll.* It was a face Bester knew all too well. The leader of his mercenary band. A warrior who had made quite a name for himself in the industry lay dead, his face frozen in utter bewilderment.

And then, a cold blade was pressed against Bester's throat. Needless to say, it was the beast's sword. Death had arrived. An absolute, irresistible death. What saved Bester at that moment was the girl carrying the lantern. The voice he had resented so much just moments ago had never sounded so beautiful.

"Stop. Let's let that one live."

"Why?"

"Fear is contagious. If we kill everyone, there won't be anyone left to spread it."

The beast obediently listened to the girl. By the time Bester regained his senses, there were fewer than ten survivors left, including himself. The survivors shared only one thing in common: they had lost all will to fight and had laid down their weapons. Bester fled, running with every ounce of strength he could muster.

I stared intently at the bear beastman who had recognized us, but as expected, I couldn't recall him. I wasn't the type to remember every single face on a battlefield. It was the same whether they were allies or enemies. Unless it was someone I absolutely needed to know, I generally paid them no mind.

Sirien, on the other hand, was excellent at recognizing people. This time was no different. After staring intently at the bear beastman for a moment, the corners of her lips curled upward into a bright smile.

"Ah, I remember now. You're that beastman from back then, aren't you? The one we let go at the gate."

"Y-Yes... that's right. You remembered me."

"Well, you were the first one to actually wet himself. I figured if you were that terrified, we might as well let you live."

The bear spoke to us with utmost respect. It seemed he truly remembered everything. On the battlefield, Sirien often showed mercy to the enemy. If we wanted to, we could have hunted down every last runaway, but she deliberately chose not to. Her primary reason was to spread terror. The more the enemy feared us, the faster our reputation would grow. After all, they say notoriety and fame are but two sides of the same coin.

But if what Sirien said was true, did this bear survive solely because he pissed himself? Somehow, the reason for his survival felt rather dishonorable.

"Since you recognize us, this makes things much easier. Are you still curious about our lady's face?"

"No. Not at all. I will explain everything clearly to those above me."

The bear was incredibly polite. Even the lion beastman, who had looked ready to devour us just moments ago, had grown remarkably docile after reading the room.

"Now that I hear it, I'm curious. The fact that we let you live means you were our enemy. How did you end up drifting all the way here from the Demon Realm?"

"Well, you see... even we have our own sources of information, don't we?"

"I suppose you do."

"Yes. Those sources have been pushing a lot of jobs in this area lately. And in truth, it pays quite well."

"Weren't you in the Demon Realm? News of this place travels all the way there?"

"Uh, well, I guess you could say that?"

It wasn't... entirely impossible. Beastmen were opportunists who could align themselves with either humans or demons. Since they followed money rather than allegiance to a race, it wasn't strange for word to reach them through word of mouth. Still, it smelled fishy. Nobles were entangled in this city of Requitas. And in this world, whenever nobles were involved, there was always a rotten stench.