Fire That at Me Too!

Nahan had never formally learned how to fight.

Of course he had wanted to, the way any child does—taekwondo, hapkido, kendo, boxing, all the rest of it. He had simply never once said so aloud.

And whether that was misfortune or a crooked sort of luck—

—people picked fights with Nahan with almost unnatural frequency. Often enough that—

—he managed to build his skill at fighting without help from anyone.

It carried on past middle school, right up to the verge of dropping out of high school, and once he had finally left school behind for good—

He stayed in the hideout and learned in earnest from the older brothers there, and from the big brother above them, who cleared a floor and laid the whole craft out for him. Thanks to that, a record of never once having lost still held.

"K-kiiiill!!!"

"Shut up."

The punch cracked home.

He could take a win now even against a C+-rank swordsman with no aura to his name.

Of course—

"Kh...!"

Blood sheeted from the longsword buried in his side, and from the cuts laid across the rest of him.

"You son of a—"

A duller blow fell.

In the end, the one who won was Nahan.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beyond ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a vision bleaching white as the blood ran out of him, a red system window rose.

A priest was permitted a single divine authority to a body. Wary of drawing suspicion, he had shut the Ring of Iaso off the moment he seized the upper hand against Kilkilson—and now that same ring shed a faint light.

Two percent every ten seconds, roughly. It might as well have been asking whether he meant to keep refusing even now.

But— ...It's fine. I'm not dead yet. If he were truly at the edge, survival instinct would have answered before a thought could form.

Draw suspicion here, and it might come out that I'm Black Wolf.

And that would be the end of it. Main quest, main scenario—failure, plain and simple. The remaining bad endings would crash down on him one after another, and he would die alongside his people without ever making it back to his original world.

So endure. Whether he returned to that world or not hardly mattered. At the very least, he was not going to die.

"Khh...!!"

The cold rushing in made him curl in on himself before he knew it, and the recoil worsened the bleeding.

Health that plunged to three percent in a single drop.

Shit. This time I actually die.

Just as he had expected, his body moved ahead of the thought. His hand shot out—

Ah.

A thin ringing filled his ears. His vision washed pure white, and dizziness surged up through him.

Damn it. Like this, I can't... He couldn't press accept.

His remaining health had hit one percent. In a matter of seconds, his life would be cut short.

"...!! ...have to drink...!!"

A voice he felt he had heard somewhere reached him at the same moment something spilled into his mouth.

Gulp. Gulp.

Was this survival instinct as well? He swallowed the liquid however he could—something like strawberry-flavored cold medicine—and the vision that had gone pure white slowly returned to what it had been.

"Pwah!!"

He lurched upright, blasting out the breath that had been trapped in his chest, and someone spoke to him.

"Haa... That was a very near thing."

An accent he felt he had heard before. A composure he felt he had met before. He followed the voice, and a solid, imposing man of middle years was looking down at him.

Hair mixed brown and white. Deep brown eyes. Lips pressed shut with a grave dignity.

Tehelan Gardner, head of the Gardner family.

Nahan seized the facts in an instant and barely managed to push himself up, meaning to bow—but Tehelan hoisted him onto his back as he rose and stood.

"Forgive me for saying so, but getting clear of this place comes first. You will have to let me carry you."

"The situation has worsened."

A report delivered in a handful of words. A sudden sense of déjà vu struck him, and Nahan dropped his gaze to the red status window.

The window had already lost its first light and gone a dull, murky black, as if the alert had fired some time ago. As though he had read the question in Nahan's silence, Tehelan hooked a hand axe at his belt and added a word.

"I do not know the precise cause. But foes who were already strong have begun to wield power on the level of a Sword Master."

It was exactly as he said. The assailants, originally somewhere around A-rank, now carried plus after plus on their grade.

One, at the least. Three, at the most.

They had not broken through the wall of S-rank. Even so, that they had grown vastly stronger was beyond dispute.

"We thinned their numbers, but only a handful. Those ones have found us."

Only then did the view beyond the shield come clear.

"Te—helan!!!"

"Patriarch, patriarch, patriarch, patriarch..."

"Must kill. Everything. For the new... rising... sun...!!!"

Every one of them, faces twisted into something grotesque, had turned toward this place.

"It is fortunate, in its way."

"...Pardon?"

"If they converge here, then the only passage is the ground where I stand. Hold this single point, and the rest will be safe."

Tehelan took up his shield and said nothing more. Nahan, still playing at being Ian Red, asked him.

"What do you intend to do?"

"Endure."

Not a flicker of doubt in him.

"Surely it isn't enough merely to endure?"

"Enduring. That alone is what a Gardner is."

"But—!!"

If all they did was hold, wouldn't they collapse in the end? Better to retreat. Tehelan was an irreplaceable force. The ones who had already fallen, if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he was honest, were not. A strategic withdrawal wouldn't be shame. It would be the groundwork for a victory. Fall back a step, gather information, and answer what came. That was the better play.

He had just finished the thought and opened his mouth to persuade the man somehow—

"...Haa."

Stone ground and grated under a settling weight.

Tehelan set his stance. Left foot, one step forward; right foot, one step back. His left arm held Nahan. His right held the enormous shield. Beneath the shield, his whole body; above it, his eyes. The foot he planted drove into the earth like the roots of a great tree, and the shield he raised stood against the enemy like a rampart.

"I will hold them. Once your strength returns, benefactor, flee—wherever you can."

Beneath the shield lay concern for Nahan's safety. Beyond it, an unyielding gaze.

In that instant Nahan was certain, without ever meaning to be.

He will never break.

Even if he someday fell, it would be his flesh that failed, and not his will.

An indomitable will. Guardian of the Empire. The iron wall that does not fall.

"They are coming. I will remain, so do not trouble yourself. Go wherever you must."

Tehelan was that kind of man.

And so Nahan made his decision.

"I'll help."

This man was not going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠die here. Even if it meant throwing Ian Red away, Nahan would keep him alive. A character can be made again. A living person cannot. He could turn the dead into a character, act the part, and treasure the memory all he liked—but that would only ever be a performance imitating the dead.

And more than anything, turning away while he still had the power to save someone—

—simply wasn't in his nature.

At last he lifted a knife-hand, smiled toward Tehelan, and spoke.

"I'll just—"

"—huh?"

It came a heartbeat after Nahan's strangled I'll—huh.

Thunder rolled.

The clear sky was veiled in a biting cold, and sky-blue lightning kindled in patches across it. Within the storm of driving snow and leaping bolts, only the woman at the center remained whole. Azure hair streamed and flashed as she hung in the air, looking down upon the enemy.

"Seventy-three."

She said it, and swung her sword.

The next moment, the world flashed. A brilliance fit to stand beside a blow of the Yellow Dragon washed over everything, and for an instant the surroundings were nothing but light.

The final condition of the subquest had been met.

...I'm going to lose my mind.

Save a monster like that? Shouldn't he be the one getting saved?

Either way, the mess was over. He was just about to slip quietly out of the spot when—

The Heavenly Shield, silent for a long while—no. The origin of the Gardners dwelling within it, Balak Gardner, turned the question on Nahan.

...You think you could?

Defense and all the rest of it be damned. Even if the Gardner forefather himself showed up, that wasn't something he could block.

The forefather in question seemed to have reached the same conclusion. He nodded and muttered.

Yes, so if you'd just rest a little longer—

What?

He barely had time to ask. Balak's spirit, which had been circling at his side, vanished somewhere.

A moment later—

"Hey!! You there, the cold-looking child!!"

"M-me?! What is that?!"

"...Huh?"

"...Hestia?"

Hestia—looking for all the world as if she had seized Vulcan's Shield—planted both feet on the ground and roared.