At the End of Hell (5)
Whoosh—
A fierce sandstorm howled, blotting out the world. The grit was so thick he could not see an inch ahead. Lionheart pressed forward, using the voices ahead of him as his only guide.
"Lord Lionheart! What are you doing out here alone?! This is their territory!! It's too dangerous by yourself!!"
"Don't worry about me! I was only scouting them from a safe distance! They'll never notice me from here, so set your mind at ease!"
"That isn't the point! ...is throwing another fit, saying you left him behind again!"
"Good grief. That boy really is as stubborn as an ox! Fine, fine—I'll be right there!!"
That booming, free-spirited voice. There was no mistaking it.
It was his master.
The conversation sounded as if they were about to leave any second, and his steps quickened all the more. He had so much to tell his master—so many things he had wanted to say all this time. He could not let this chance slip away.
"M-Master!!"
"...Hmm?"
The blurred figure beyond the sandstorm came to a halt. For a moment he seemed to hesitate through the grit—then a thick hand punched straight through the storm, seized Lionheart by the shoulder, and hauled him forward.
"Hm?"
He could have dodged easily enough, but Lionheart made no move to refuse the pull. The moment he broke free of the sandstorm, a cold so sharp it cut to the bone sank into him.
Warmth vanished in an instant.
It was as if he had stepped into the heart of a snowfield.
Thump. Thump.
Lionheart—no, Leon—carefully turned his head. What was he supposed to say when he saw his master? Start with a greeting? Would his master even believe him?
As he turned, his master came into view.
Sturdy legs and a solid trunk. Broad shoulders and a compact, powerful frame. A face both solemn and kind.
How could he ever forget?
It was unmistakably his master—the First Lionheart.
His master's mouth opened slowly.
"...Who are you, and what are you doing in the snow?"
"Pardon...?"
"Taking a nap in a snowbank in this cold. What an eccentric hobby."
At those words, Leon stared blankly at the place he had just come from. The sandstorm was gone without a trace. In its place stood a great mound of snow—and a hole, roughly the size of a man, from which he must have emerged.
"Lord Lionheart! What are you still doing—wait. Who the hell are you!!"
Shing!
His master's adjutant, Elemier. A fussy, thoroughly irritating man—and yet kinder than anyone. Elemier drew his blade, eyeing Leon with open suspicion.
Elemier looked exactly as Leon remembered him. Leon stared at the two of them with trembling eyes. Just what was going on?
Had he truly returned to the past? Or was this some sweet illusion the gods had spun for him?
Elemier and the First Lionheart studied the man who had burst from the snowbank and exchanged a discreet flurry of hand signs. Their fingers twitched behind carefully angled bodies, but Leon still caught fragments of the exchange.
Captain. Outsider. Who?
Unknown. Snow. Pile. Inside. Emerged.
"Huh?"
Elemier let out a stupid sound before he could stop himself.
No matter that this was the northern frontier—
A person just popping out of a snowbank? In the middle of this wasteland?
...Maybe it is possible?
This was a place where a man could walk around in his underclothes and have his stream freeze midair. Anything was possible here.
While Elemier stood there thinking nonsense, Lionheart approached Leon—or more precisely, the halberd in his hands.
"That weapon of yours looks familiar. Very much like the one I use. A bit more worn, though..."
"Lord Lionheart! He's suspicious! Don't get too close...!"
"Elemier, he is no suspicious stranger. Can you not feel the holy power on him? He has hidden it remarkably well—but not well enough to escape my eyes!"
"Holy power...?"
"Indeed! Cunningly concealed, too! He must be a formidable one. Perhaps a retired paladin who settled somewhere nearby!"
"What...? But no one lives around here—"
"Haha! A minor detail. Well met, stranger!!"
Thump!
The First Lionheart laughed heartily and seized Leon's hand. Firm, rough, solid—and warm.
A hand that mirrored the life of its owner.
"I am a Paladin of the Pantheon—Lionheart! What is your name?"
"I—I am... Leon."
"Leon? Haha! Same name as my disciple! What a delightful coincidence!"
Damn it. Leon clicked his tongue inwardly. In the confusion he had given his real name by accident. Fortunately, his master seemed to take it in stride without a shred of suspicion.
"Leon! Judging by your gear, I'd say you're a retired paladin—am I right? If so, I know this is shameless of me, but I have a favor to ask!"
"A favor...?"
"As you may already know, demons have nested in these parts! They've been raiding even distant villages, devouring people, and their numbers have swollen far beyond what we first estimated! We need every hand we can get! So I ask you—will you lend us your blade?"
Lionheart laid it all out in exhaustive detail. Explaining this much to an outsider—holy power or no—struck even Leon as reckless, so Elemier's near-apoplexy was only natural.
"Lord Lionheart!!"
"Now, now, Elemier! I am recruiting manpower as we speak!"
"B-but all we know is this man's name—"
"Why must you nitpick every little thing! Elemier, did we not just say we need one more paladin this very moment!"
Same old master. That particular brand of stubbornness and bluff good cheer had always made life hell for his adjutant. For Leon, though, it was a golden opportunity.
He had no reason to refuse. Whether this was truly the past or nothing more than a vision—
He had to stop the disaster his younger self was about to cause.
"Gladly! It's an honor, if anything! That you'd still have use for an old man like me!"
"Excellent! Come, then—to our camp! That way! Ahahaha!"
"Haa..."
His master strode cheerfully into the blizzard; Elemier clutched his head and sighed. Leon followed them and made a quiet vow.
He would stop it. And if he could not stop it, he would save them.
I swear...!
The camp was smaller than he had expected.
Sturdy wooden palisades. Paladins standing rigid watch. A cluster of people huddled around a fire—refugees, by their clothes, without a doubt.
"Those are villagers from the surrounding settlements. The ones who miraculously survived the demon raids."
Elemier answered, noticing where Leon's gaze had gone. Leon remembered them. He remembered all of it with perfect clarity.
Demons. The nest. The purge. And the refugees.
Everything matched his memory.
"Mmph!! Mmph!!"
In the open ground at the center of the camp, someone was on their knees, face down.
"Mmmph!! Mmph! Mmph!!!"
On second look, it was less a person kneeling and more a thrashing beast lashed down with rope. A gag bit deep into the mouth; the figure writhed and strained against the bonds with a frame so massive that, from a distance, it might have been a bear.
Ah. Six gods above...
Leon squeezed his eyes shut. His head swam.
If everything truly followed his memories, he should have expected this too. But expecting something and seeing it with his own eyes were two very different things.
His master approached the thrashing figure without the slightest change in expression. The closer he drew, the more violently the other shook his golden head.
"Hahaha! Don't be alarmed! It's a rather embarrassing sight, but this worthless boy is my disciple, Leon."
"Uuurrgh!! Uuurgh!!"
"I—I... see."
"He's a considerable handful, but damn if he isn't strong. We couldn't keep him still any other way. One of the ten finest fighters we have—if only his temperament weren't like this..."
Elemier added the explanation while Leon stammered and broke into a cold sweat. Leon already knew. He knew far too well—that was the problem.
Thud.
The gag came free, and young Leon bellowed.
"Master—!!"
The roar shook the air. Leon wanted to clap his hands over his ears.
The recklessness of his youth had come swinging back like a boomerang. His hands and feet trembled; the world went dark at the edges.
"Master! Why did you leave me behind!! With the two of us—you and me—we could have turned those filthy demons into a puddle of blood!!"
"You worthless fool! How many times have I told you the priorities have changed!! Simply purging the nest is not enough! We have civilians to protect!!"
"Who cares about that! If we hit them before they hit us, the problem's solved!! I can handle it alone!! Just cut these ropes and I'll prove it!!"
"It is not that simple! If you act on blood and pride alone, innocent lives will be the ones to pay!"
Leon shut his eyes tight.
"You do not understand your duty! You do not know what you are meant to protect—you fight only for the sake of fighting! How are you any different from a street thug! Remember the paladin's oath—to shield the innocent!"
His younger self. Those days of being drunk on power and on himself, screaming for battle and nothing else. Reckless. Arrogant. A complete idiot who believed he was the strongest man alive.
"You will stay here and reflect. Making a spectacle of yourself in front of a guest—shameful!"
"Mas— mmph!! Mmph!!!"
The gag went back in, and young Leon thrashed like a madman. The rest of the camp barely glanced his way—clearly, this was a familiar routine.
Looking at the delinquent he had once been, Leon could only sigh.
"Come, this way! I'll show you where you'll be staying!"
His master led Leon toward a small tent. Leon followed and carefully spoke up.
"Your disciple..."
"An embarrassing display. For all that, he fights well enough. Too well, in fact—that's the trouble."
His master scratched his head and went on.
"He has no sense of duty toward his own strength. He doesn't even know what he's fighting for—he simply lets his power carry him wherever it will."
"..."
"That path leads only to self-destruction."
The same thing his young master had drilled into him until he was sick of hearing it.
Duty.
Now he understood it in his bones.
"Here—this one is yours."
His master assigned him a tent. A little worn and frayed, but more than generous for one man in a camp like this.
Leon carefully set his halberd against one side and looked around. His master stepped back out of the tent and said,
"If anything's uncomfortable or you need something, come find me. I'll be looking forward to your performance in the battles ahead!"
Silence settled over the tent. Only then did Leon let the tension drain from his shoulders and sink onto the cot.
"Hah..."
Everything was unbearably vivid.
The faces of the paladins moving through the camp. Elemier. His master. All of it matched his memory.
...Even the part where he had been thrashing and left tied up in the open ground.
Then tonight is the night.
Tonight, his younger self would snap the ropes and break out of the camp.
And he would charge the demons' nest alone—nothing but his body and a single sword—to purge it by himself.
The result—
I have to stop him.
Everyone died.
The civilians in the camp. The paladins. Elemier.
Even his master, who came to save him.
Everyone except Leon himself. All because of one reckless, childish act.
Crunch.
His teeth ground together hard enough to crack. Waiting until night would be too late. He had to stop his younger self right now.
He surged to his feet.
I'll go reinforce those ropes—no. Better just bury him in the ground.
Leon strode toward the tent flap. The moment he pushed through and stepped outside—
His body lurched.
"Ugh..."
The world reeled. Suddenly everything tilted. The ground rushed up to meet him—no: he was falling.
Thud!
W-who...
Strength fled his limbs. Consciousness frayed at the edges, and an irresistible tide of sleep rolled over him. Poison? He tried to call on his holy power—but the power inside him did not so much as stir.
I have to... stop...
His body felt heavy as waterlogged cotton. His head tipped toward the earth. At last his eyes closed.
A half-waking state between awareness and oblivion—mind faintly conscious, body unable to rise.
Through the haze, he thought he heard someone say, "Cleanly handled."
Clang! Clang! Clang!
"Raid! We're under attack!! Raid!!"
The sharp peal of the alarm bell flooded the camp. His fogged mind snapped awake.
He lurched upright.
The frantic ringing of the bell meant only one thing: he was already too late.
"Damn it!"
He snatched up his halberd and rushed outside.
To atone for the sins of his youth. For the sake of penance.
Even if it was nothing more than self-satisfaction—
He had to stop this catastrophe.