At the Edge of Hell (1)

《——————!!! ——————!!! ...》

With a heavy thud, the Frost Elder Dragon's corpse toppled over and slowly crumbled into dust, scattering on the wind.

"Whew..."

Even with nothing but an agility buff, Friga had taken down the elder dragon with surprising ease. She was far stronger than I'd expected. I'd been ready to drop a lightning bolt or two if things got dicey, but there turned out to be no need — a relief, honestly.

Friga stood motionless for a moment, watching the dragon dissolve into dust.

I watched her a little longer myself, then moved on to picking the next contestant for a trial.

Up next was a fellow named Tigrius, from the Empire. Looking every inch the knight, he strode out into the center of the Coliseum.

Clank. Clank.

The sound of full plate armor rang through the arena. Last time I'd checked his character title, it had read "Empire's Finest Sword" — and true to the name, a longsword hung at his side.

What kind of trial should I give him...

The familiar dilemma started up again. Doing this over and over was starting to wear on me, and by now I was just scrolling the list without much care. He wasn't even a hero-tier adventurer. Maybe I should just throw him whatever.

"I have a request!"

The sudden, completely unexpected line cut through my halfhearted browsing.

Tigrius, who had walked all the way to the middle of the Coliseum, was down on one knee.

"I renounce the prize!"

"Uh... is that even allowed?"

Tigrius, declaring with his own mouth that he was giving up the prize. Turning down something being offered to him.

Weird guy. Then again, there were hundreds of characters gathered here, and one of them had shown up late and started a drunken rant from the jump. Every flavor of eccentric was probably in the mix.

"I renounce the glory rightfully mine, and offer that glory to His Majesty the Emperor! Grant me your leave!"

The Emperor? If it's the Empire's emperor, that means Caesar, right?

I'd already spotted Caesar sitting up in the stands. I'd figured he was just there for the spectacle — never guessed he was the setup for an event like this.

I hesitated a moment over the choices. The Emperor already held one of the prize items — the scepter. If Tigrius lucked into a high enough ranking and got the scepter, it would go straight to Caesar.

That would be a free win I hadn't even planned for.

The second that thought clicked, I hit accept without another second of delay.

"Thank you! Thank you!!"

"Ah."

...And only after accepting did the realization hit me.

If Tigrius got the scepter, fine. But if he got something else — say, Kenis's greatsword, or Friga's axe — that would be a serious problem.

"Ah, damn it... haah. What an idiot."

I hadn't thought it through. Too late for regrets now, though.

I'm going to have to work the rankings hard on this one.

I needed to focus and manipulate the placements carefully, or this whole thing would fall apart. Thankfully the scepter was the fourth-place prize. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Manageable enough.

I scrolled the trial list fast, eyes narrowed.

"Oh."

A few of them had recommendation marks, but I was a veteran now — a proper old hand. I didn't just follow the game's suggestions. I solved things my own way.

I could feel it. The veteran's instinct was speaking.

This one.

Thinking back to Iscal's case, endurance trials were perfect for keeping a ranking low. If you cleared it by holding out, it took forever — and a low rank was exactly what I needed.

"Just in case he smashes his way out..."

It was a long shot, but a knight might just beat the monsters to death and escape, so I slapped a Touch of Weakness debuff on him. That should keep him from killing anything.

"Where is this..."

Knight-Commander of the Empire. The Empire's Finest Sword.

Tigrius pushed himself up in a space he could not name. His body felt heavy as stone.

Unfamiliar place. Unfamiliar air.

His hand moved on instinct, checking his sword.

Still here.

The blade was fine. The rest of his gear, too — nothing missing. Relieved, Tigrius slowly took in his surroundings.

Yellow wallpaper. A little mold in the corners. Slightly damp air. And candle sconces set into the walls, their flames swaying in silence.

"Is anyone there?"

Anyone there—?

There—?

His shout came back empty, echoing into nothing.

A strange place. Not a single sign of life. Not a sound.

Only the quiet death-rattle of candles burning down.

Tigrius walked carefully forward, recalling the words he'd heard before arriving here.

Avoid the monsters and escape — that was what was said.

He thought he caught a tiny murmur of "Poor soul..." as well — but that was probably just his imagination.

Step. Step.

Footfalls in the silence.

The sword in his hand felt heavy. Heavy enough that he could almost believe the entire space was pressing down on his body.

This place was truly uncanny. Endless yellow wallpaper. Countless forks in the path — and no matter which way he turned, the same scenery waited.

A landscape that felt familiar, as if he had seen it somewhere before.

And that was exactly why the silence ruling this place felt so alien, so wrong.

"Here again?"

Tigrius muttered.

The excessive stillness bred a formless unease, and to fight it he deliberately started talking to himself.

Yellow wallpaper. Yellow wallpaper. Yellow wallpaper.

Step. Step.

His pace quickened, little by little. His body was heavy. The silence of this place closed around his throat.

Zzzt—

The same scenery, over and over. Left turn or right turn.

Even spinning around and running like a madman.

Every path led to the same corridor.

Hah— hah—

Mold-spotted yellow. Yellow wallpaper. That wallpaper!

He ran like a man possessed. He needed to see something — anything — different.

Before that damned yellow wallpaper filled his head completely!

Where even was this? Could he get out? Was this hell itself? Was he doomed to wander this endlessly repeating space forever?

———...

"..."

He stopped dead.

Up ahead — a shadow flickering in the candlelight.

Something was beyond the corner. As the flame wavered, so did the shadow beyond it. A four-legged beast? Wait — were those even four legs? Was that even a living thing?

Huff— huff—

Tigrius forced his ragged breathing under control and slowly backed away. Instinct and reason screamed as one.

Run!

The hand on his sword trembled. He retreated very carefully, very slowly — and the moment the distance was enough, he broke into a sprint.

"What... what in the world was that..."

Sweat poured down his face. What kind of place was this?

An endlessly repeating space. A nameless monster prowling through it.

"Is this... is this hell?"

Tigrius murmured, dazed.

"Hah—!"

Tigrius, who had been lying as still as a dead man, sucked in a huge breath and sat bolt upright. Sweat soaked him from head to toe. His breathing was wild.

Reflexively, he scanned his surroundings first.

A white ceiling.

At least it wasn't yellow.

Confirming that, Tigrius let out a long, shaky breath. At last — he had escaped that damned purgatory!

Creak.

Someone heard him and opened the door.

"You're awake already."

A man in white priestly robes approached the bed.

"Wh-where... is this?"

"Be at ease. This is the treatment ward of the Pantheon."

"How — what happened?"

"Do you not remember? After completing your trial, you rose in the arena — and then collapsed again. Your strength was simply spent. Rest well and you will be fine."

Tigrius felt a hollow emptiness below the waist and clung to the priest, nearly shouting.

"Below — I have no feeling below! What has happened to me?!"

"Below... you say?"

The middle-aged priest exchanged a few words with a priestess who had entered with him, then his face lit with understanding.

"We have taken temporary custody of the sword you were carrying. There is no need for concern."

"Ahh..."

Only then did Tigrius truly relax, exhaling hard as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the tension left him.

"Ah. The trial — what of the trial?"

"You completed it admirably, my lord. Just as with Lord Iscal's trial, a great mirror displayed yours for all to see."

"Heavens. I must have cut a shameful figure."

"Not at all, Sir Tigrius. You emerged safely from that demonic realm, did you not? Everyone is praising your wisdom and courage."

"...I only fled, and looked a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fool doing it. A knight who could not even properly raise his sword."

"Hmm..."

The priest thought for a moment, then pulled a chair over and sat beside the bed.

"Sir. This is only conjecture, but... I believe you may have visited hell itself."

"Hell?! You're saying I went to hell?!"

Tigrius recoiled hard at the word.

Had the request he'd made of the god before the trial been that blasphemous?

The priest smiled gently and soothed him.

"I do not believe the god sought to punish your impropriety. Had He meant to punish, divine retribution would have fallen. There must be some greater design at work. A grand design we can neither see nor foresee... yes. A grand design."

"If you say so, Father, I am reassured. But why me, of all people?"

"Who can say? Only the god would know."

In the end, nothing was certain. Still, simply having escaped that nightmarish yellow hell was enough. Tigrius sank deep into the bed.

Seeing him settle, the priest rose.

"Rest a while longer. And if it is not too much to ask — might you later describe the place you visited in more detail? It appears ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nowhere in our records..."

"I will come find you myself, later."

"Very well. Then I take my leave..."

Click.

The priest closed the door quietly and walked on. His destination was none other than the Grand Council Chamber.

"....!! That is simply—!! ...What?!"

"That place...!!! Surely!!"

Even through the thick, firmly shut doors, a clamor of raised voices spilled out.

Hoo—

The middle-aged priest steadied his breath, then opened the door and stepped into the chamber.

And what greeted him was—

"That place is surely a hell where the god punishes sinners!! A new hell, unrecorded even in the scriptures!!"

"Nonsense!! That was clearly the bottom of the Void, where demons dwell!! Did you not see that hideous form yourself?!"

"That was not a demon's shape!!"

"If that grotesque appearance is not a demon, then what is?!"

A battlefield of furious debate.

White-haired old men clustered together, faces flushed, shouting at the tops of their lungs. The middle-aged priest's expression turned faintly weary.

Ordinarily these were wise and gentle men. Lately, though, this had become a frequent scene.

A sign of how deep their faith ran, no doubt.

The priest crossed himself and muttered under his breath.

I'll come back later...

Creeeak.

He carefully opened the door and slipped back out. Fresh air met him — a sharp contrast to the heated atmosphere of the council chamber.

"Ahem."

"Hm?"

A vast shadow fell across the priest. He slowly turned.

"You. You went to tend Sir Tigrius, did you not?"

A massive frame. White hair settled like snow.

A milky cataract clouding one eye.

The wandering Paladin.

"Did Sir Tigrius say anything about the hell he visited?"

Lionheart asked about hell.